TITLE: Light At The End Of A Very Long Tunnel
Spike leaned closer to the television screen and squinted at the
fuzzy picture. It seemed that his pilfered cable hookup was
malfunctioning again. Or maybe it was just the VCR that he had
'borrowed' from the local Mall.
"Bugger it all! I must be losing my touch." He poked at some
buttons and frowned. He could just make out the opening credits of
his favorite daytime soap, 'Passions'. He used to lose sleep
catching it during the day, thus the need for a VCR, but the show
had become a habit, and he actually felt a bit panicked at the
thought of missing an episode.
He scowled. How much lower could a vampire sink?
Perhaps, he thought, he could slip into the Slayers' house if they
were all out somewhere, and see if Joyce had taped it. She loved it
as much as he did. Hell, if Joyce was at home she'd probably watch
it with him...maybe get out the cocoa and the...
He jerked in surprise as the door to the crypt burst open and hit
the stone wall with
a crash, the vibration causing the TV set to teeter on its'
duct-taped stand. Spike
steadied it with one hand while groping for a weapon with the other,
but only came
up with an empty beer bottle.
He leaped to his feet and whirled to face the door, landing in a
defensive stance. When he saw that his killer demon was only the
Slayer wearing her usual pissed off expression, he relaxed and
walked over and flopped into the nearby chair.
"Door's open! Come on in!" he said, with a grand sweep of his
hand. He took a sip from the not quite empty bottle, making a face
at the bitter taste.
Seconds later he found himself tackled and flying through the air.
He landed hard on the stone floor underneath the tiny blonde
Slayer. Buffy's hand was like a vice around his throat, her body
straddling his in a way that could have been quite enjoyable if not
for the fact that the stake she gripped in her other hand was
jabbing him in the chest.
She was breathing heavily and he wondered if she'd sprinted all the
way here from her house.
Spike couldn't be sure that she'd come from home but he figured it
was possible since he'd seen her there, and he'd only just left his
worn spot in the grass below her bedroom window about an hour
before, due to running out of cigs.
He stayed completely still, not wanting to startle her into doing
anything that he might
die to regret.
"Buffy?" He queried, and to his horror, his voice sounded all
squeaky. He tried again, still frozen. "Slayer?" It sounded a bit
like Lauren Bacall that time, which wasn't great but would have to
do.
Buffy glared down into his face for a moment longer and then shifted
a bit and blinked down at him as if just realizing that she needed
to do something besides lie there.
Spike relaxed a little, partly due to the warm fuzzy feelings he
was having below the belt buckle, but mostly because the stake had
shifted a bit.
"What did I do this time, Slayer?"
It wasn't as if he was able to take a leak in the bushes around her
house, for Christ's sake. He wasn't even sure she knew he was out
there nearly every night.
He chanced a wriggle, and tried not to look too comfortable, even if
there *was* a stake
poised close to his heart.
"So, Blondie. You gonna get down to business here, or is this just
a practice run?" He moved his hips suggestively. "Or is it
something else you
wanted?"
Realizing that she was giving him a happy, Buffy put her feet down,
and stood up.
Stashing her stake in her back pocket, she stepped over his still
prone body , stalked to
his chair and sat down in his recently vacated impression, noting
that it was of course,
not warm. She resumed glaring at him.
Becoming uncomfortable under her gaze, he arose from the floor in as
dignifying a
manner as possible and fished a pack of cigs from his back pocket.
Lighting one and tossing the match, he blew the smoke in her general
direction, and smiled.
"Y'know, Luv, it never ceases to amaze me, the differences between
us. You carry a nasty sharp, bloody great splinter in your back
pocket, while I have but a pack of smokes. Makes one wonder just
who *is* the 'Big Bad', now doesn't it?"
In spite of herself, Buffy nearly grinned back at him, which was
especially hard not to do when she saw his hand tremble as he lit
the cigarette. Big Bad, indeed.
"Cut the chit-chat, Spike." Buffy jumped up from the chair and
stood before him, her arms folded in what she hoped was a stern
pose, not realizing how it enhanced Spikes' view down her shirt.
"I'm here for some answers."
Spike was a bit rattled from the scenery but did his best to look
her in the eye. Finally he gave up and snorted in disgust with
himself. "Bloody close your shirt front, or step back a few, if you
want me to pay attention."
Buffys' face turned bright red and she dropped her arms to her
sides, but remained where she was, which suddenly seemed way too
close. "Sorry."
"You should be."
"What?!"
"Comin' in here, half dressed, at this hour.."
"I am *not* half dressed, and it's not that late, and besides...".
She trailed off as she saw by his smirk that he was baiting her and
changing the subject, something that he excelled at.
"I want my shirt back, and I want it right now." She glared up at
him.
Spike took a deep drag off of his cigarette, wondering as he often
did, how he was able to do that, and replied, "Gone and lost some
clothing somewhere Slayer? Been playing it a bit fast and loose,
eh?"
Buffy continued. "I don't have time to banter this back and forth
with you, Spike. My favorite sweatshirt is missing. The one that
says 'I Love L.A.' on it. I want it back now, or your next home
will be a dust buster."
Spike smiled, his half smoked cig hanging from one corner of his
mouth. "The blue one with the frayed sleeves, all soft and smelling
of fabric softener?"
"That's it."
"The one that you can wear wrong side out if you want to?"
"Yes."
"And it kind of slips down on one shoulder real sexy like..when you
wear it?"
"That's the one..Uh..I mean, not the sexy part, but...Just give it
to me!"
"Haven't seen it."
She ignored his low laughter, but her cheeks were pinking up
nicely. "Spike, Angel sent me that shirt for my birthday. It
can't possibly mean anything to you."
The blonde Vampire snorted and flicked some ashes onto the toe of
Buffy's shoe.
"Why should it mean anything to me? If the big 'Poof' wants to send
you an article of clothing instead of a dozen roses or a phone call,
that's your problem." He made a mental note to himself to burn the
shirt, first chance he got. Angel, indeed.
Now he wasn't going to bother to reveal that it had been her baby
sister, the Nibblet, who had left the shirt in his crypt in the
first place. Let her stew.
Buffy felt her blood pressure climbing. Looking over Spikes'
shoulder she spied the
missing cotton garment on top of the chunk of stone the vampire
often napped upon.
She shoved past him and grabbed it, waving it triumphantly over her
head.
"Gee, I wonder what this is, you lying sack of.."
In three long strides Spike was nose to nose with the Slayer,
tossing his spent cig to the floor.
"Let's not resort to name calling, *Elizabeth*, or I'll be forced
to join in as well!" Then he foolishly added, "'Little Miss Can't
Keep a Man'!"
The swift punch landed him on the stone floor, blood from his nose
splattering his shirt front. The nose. Why was it *always* the
nose? Did she have a fixation?
Buffy stood shaking her hand, amazed at how hard she'd hit him. She
hadn't meant to, and suddenly wished she hadn't even come to the
crypt at all. Why did he bring out the bitch in her?
He was only replying to her in the only way he knew how, and he
hadn't really deserved a bloody nose. But she was not about to let
him sense a chink in her armor.
"Get up from there and tell me, if you can form words that are not
lies, *why*
you seem to have half of my wardrobe in your crypt?" Yes, she knew
about his little clothing fetish, but was having a hard time
accepting it, anyway.
Spike was tired. She was always hitting him, sometimes before he
could even get out a word of explanation, and it was getting
monotonous.
"I like the view from the floor just fine, thank you very much. Knew
I'd be down here soon's you came through the bloody door." He
folded his arms behind his head. "So, if you don't mind, I'll just
stay down here and make it harder for you to reach me."
Buffy sighed. Suddenly the whole thing was almost funny. Her
recent past was a blur of things that she mostly did not want to
remember.
Riley leaving her, Glory a constant threat to her family, the
possibility of Drusilla still being nearby, and this stuff with
Spike..feelings she was having towards him that she didn't care to
examine, not to mention the ones that he'd declared for her. She
could blow Spike's off as the wild fantasies of a sick vampire mind,
but her own were harder to analyze.
She thought of the little Buffy Shrine that she had discovered in
his 'basement' just before he had chained her up down there and made
her listen to his proclamation of love. He was 'drownin' in her',
indeed!
She nearly smiled, and then remembered the fact that he had fed
from a human, and hadn't tried to stop the death in the first
place. A new development in the chipped vampire file.
That was most definitely *not* funny.
Buffy walked slowly to where he lay looking up at the ceiling and
stared down at him.
If she were truly the Slayer, she should have staked Spike long
ago. If she were to drop dead on the spot at this very moment,
wouldn't he drain her dry as swiftly as he had that poor guy at the
Bronze? *Why* did she always walk away? Well, ok, she usually
slugged him first, but still..Her eyes narrowed.
Spike tensed at the expression on her face, and wondered what was
going through her mind, and if at last, this might be the end of the
line for him. If her patience had finally run out. Or if she was
just going to stomp him in the eye with her pointy heels.
When she sat down cross legged just behind him and took his head
into her lap, it scared the hell out of him.
Not that it wasn't comfortable. Extremely so. Oh yeah, there was
lots of warmth and comfy feelings pooling into mostly one region.
But while that alone would have been more than enough for the 'old
Spike', there was suddenly a 'new and improved' version who was
sensing that this was new territory for both of them.
In other words, (new Spike explained to old Spike who could be a
bit dense) despite all her protesting to the contrary, Buffy was
wavering in her resolve to hate him. What else could this mild
version of a lap dance mean? Why wasn't she dropping his head on
the floor about now, just to hear it thump? Just to remind him that
he existed only for her amusement?
And why was she just sitting there staring into space with his head
in her lap allowing his mind time to come up with wild fantasies?
As if in answer, she slapped his cheek lightly with one hand while
keeping the other firmly under his chin, which forced him to look up
at her.
"Wakey, wakey." She smiled grimly down at him.
"Huh?" was his brilliant reply.
"Sorry, I thought you'd fallen asleep. Your eyes were all glazed
over like you were dead. Oh yeah, you are. I keep forgetting that
part."
"Oh, HA HA. That's very droll, isn't it? Aren't you just the
funniest little thing?
Excuse me you silly bint, but you just knocked me across the bloody
room and most of my last meal is leaking out, which, due to you
clutching my head in your powerful slayer-grip, I can't lick back
up. Do you mind?" He looked pointedly down at the hand that
gripped his chin.
She looked down at him for a moment and allowed her expression to
soften. "Spike, I have all day. And if it takes that long, you are
going to explain to me why you keep following me, stealing my
clothes, popping up wherever I go.."
She paused, then continued. "When I give you NO sign of any
affection. When I break down your door constantly, and then follow
it up by breaking your head! When I *de-invite* you from my home!
Why? Why do you want me to abuse you? Are you a sicko? Do you get
off on it?"
Spike smiled up at her as she looked down at him, their faces only
inches away from each other. This was his chance. At last he could
tell her how he felt, and this time, she wasn't even chained up.
With wide, innocent blue eyes, he spoke.
"Y'know, Slayer, a woman your age needs to be more careful. Do you
have any idea what gravity does to your face in that position?"
Bloody Hell. The old version of Spike just hadn't been able to
resist that one. He closed his eyes and made a face, waiting for
the blow that was sure to make him see stars.
Buffy gave him what he expected. Disgusted that she had even tried
to talk to him at all, she leaped to her feet and let his head fall
back to the floor with a thud.
Then she gave him what he was *not* expecting. Before he could pick
himself back up she landed on his chest, straddled him, and kissed
him as hard as she could. It wasn't a peck, or a Scooby-type
smooch, but a bruising hard kiss that continued until she ran out of
air and realized that the blood on his face was on her tongue.
Which meant it was all over her own face, as well.
"Eyeeew!!!" She sat up, still seated on him, wiping at her face
wildly.
Spike didn't know if he should be offended or not. At least she
wasn't spitting his blood out, not that it was his own blood,
anyway, and she had kissed him, and he wasn't staked, and *Buffy had
kissed him!*
No witches spell this
time.
He'd likely have lain there all day thinking about it, but as she
wriggled around on him he began having even more interesting
thoughts and sensations.
And besides,... He was fairly sure that he'd heard one of his ribs
crack. Buffy had his midsection in a vice like grip with her
thighs. Such a tiny package, with such power. It never ceased to
amaze him.
"Slayer." She ignored him and kept rubbing her face. "Buffy!" She
peered down at him with the cutest little blood mustache.
"WHAT?"
"You're crushin' my bleedin' rib cage. Either get off, or come back
down here and finish what you started!"
Buffy stood up and moved off of him swiftly in one fluid motion.
She stalked back to his favorite chair and sat down in it heavily,
all the fight gone out of her. Where the hell had that come from?
She'd kissed him, yes, but it wasn't just a kiss. It was almost
like she'd wanted to punish him with it, but she realized that the
feeling she had now was not disgust, or even shock, but a kind of
resignation. Her eyes widened and she moaned softly. Was it
possible that she *did* have feelings for him? Was he right, after
all?
And was she ever going to wipe this blood off of her face?
Spike scooted over to sit at her feet. Strike while the iron is
hot. Or, in this case, while the stake is pocketed. Buffy had
crossed her legs and was swinging one booted foot dangerously close
to his ear. He grabbed it and stilled it, trying to keep his
expression neutral.
"So, Slayer. What do we do next?" Spike had some ideas that he was
going to keep to himself for the time being. They involved Slayer
sweat. Lots of Slayer sweat.
"Shut up, Spike." She was wondering why she hadn't run out the door
this time. Usually when she finished bashing things out with Spike,
she stomped out of the crypt either in a huff or in victory, but the
key word here was *out*. Why was she still there?
"Actually, I thought I was pretty quiet, under the circumstances. I
didn't yell 'rape', or anything, did I?" He pretended to examine the
sole of her shoe.
She found herself smiling back, pushing her inner questions aside
for the moment.
"Well, Spike, that hardly surprises me, knowing how easy you are."
Spike sat with his jaw gaping for a moment, then replied. "Isn't
that the bloody pot calling the kettle black?! I'm not the only one
with an odd love life y'know! And I won't even bring the bleedin'
great Poofter into this."
Buffy stopped smiling. "You'd better not. I left my dust buster at
home."
Spike snorted, continuing to hold her booted foot, his fingers
stroking the leather. He'd broken the unspoken rule. Never talk
about Angel. "You can drop the threats, Slayer. If I had a nickel
for every time.."
She jerked her foot from his grasp and bonked him on the head with
it.
"OW!"
They continued to sit there for a few breaths (hers, not his) and
she sighed. He was right, and there was no denying it. But she
knew it wasn't love. She glanced at him as he wiped his nose with
the back of his hand and licked the blood off. He turned away so
she wouldn't see. Oh God. It just *couldn't* be love!
She changed the subject a bit. "So, the sweatshirt, all my other
missing clothing, you just slip into my home whenever you like and
take what you want. Don't you find that a little bit wrong?"
Her eyes widened. "Hey! I didn't miss that shirt till today! How
did you get in? You *can't* get in!"
Oh dear. Buffy was glaring at him again. He decided that even if
the bite sized one *had* left the stupid shirt in his crypt, he
might as well come clean with the rest of it.
He folded his hands in his lap, and tried to look as innocent as a
choirboy.
"Well, Slayer, there's a fox in your hen house...or is that a mole
in your garden? Anyway, it seems that I have a sympathetic ear at
your house. Did you really think you could keep me out? If it
hadn't been one, it would have been the other. Joyce always enjoyed
those little talks. The hot chocolate. The marshmallows...."
Buffy, distracted by the thought that Spike looked just like an
evil choirboy realized what the vampire was getting at and tensed up
in her seat.
"What? Who? When did this happen? You're making it up! You talked
Dawn into forgiving you, and she's bringing you things, isn't she?"
"I talked the nibblet into doing more than that, Buffy."
She ignored the shiver. The one that ran clear down to her toes
after making a stop in another area, at his use of her name. "What
do you mean?" She hoped her voice wasn't shaky.
He put his chin on her knee ignoring her involuntary flinch and
looked up at her, his feelings for her written all over his face.
"Come on, Luv. Your baby sister may be brand new at this 'life'
thing, but she isn't stupid. She knows damned well I'd never hurt
you, or her, or your mom. I extend that to your bloody little
Scooby gang, Giles, and even Xander. And believe me, *that* aint'
easy. If you only knew how often I've thought about breaking *his*
neck. 'Evil Dead', indeed!!"
"So, in your own comforting little way, you're trying to tell me
that Dawn invited you into the house?" Buffy sagged in the chair.
This was it. This was the breaking point.
AUTHOR: Barb (Once Bitten Spike) Stewart
PART: 1 of 2
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing, including my house. This was written
out
of my love for the series, Buffy The Vampire Slayer, and my fondness
for
a certain bleached blonde vampire. So sue me for copyright
violation, and
you'll get only blood. But please don't, as I am saving that for
Spike.
DISTRIBUTION: You see it, you can have it, but why?
RATING: Maybe PG, for some language, and sexual innuendo.
SPOILERS: All the way up to and including 'I Was Made To Love
You' Season 5
PAIRING: Spike is really trying hard to make it B/S
FEEDBACK: Stake me good and proper. Just kidding, don't hurt
me!!!!! Unlessthis story really gags you, and then I'll break
my typing fingers. There's only two of them, anyway. So there.
SUMMARY and NOTES: Spike's just being a home boy, minding his
business, and
Buffy comes to disturb him. Again. The only thing that's happened
more times than this in Joss' universe, is them having to save the
world. That's it.
DEDICATION: To all the people who sent me little stories and emails
and included
me in their fictions to cheer me up after the loss of a dog I'd had
for eleven years. I
needed that, and thank you!