By Erin_Cale
Disclaimer: BtVS isn't mine. I only write fictional situations for the fictional characters to fictionally participate in. Please don't sue me. Also, please see the author's note.
Author's Note: THE POEM IS MINE. I know it's awful, but please don't copy it. Anyway, This is my first completed Buffy: The Vampire Slayer fanfic. Please tell me how I did.
The room was completely silent, except for the occasional harsh rasp of paper being compacted into a ball and sent flying for the waste basket near the bed. She was working at a steady pace now. First she’d write. After a few minutes, she’d read over her handy-work, sometimes muttering certain phrases out loud to get the “feel” of the words. Then, with a frown, she’d crumple the paper up, throw it away, and start again. The bin was almost full now, but she didn’t notice. She had other things on her mind.
the sun used to set;
he used to come to me.
dancing was all we’d ever do
but he never knew how much it meant.
for I alone knew the truth.
his heart was mine to break.
but he never knew
that my heart was my dark dancer,
that my strength was in his love,
that he gave me back my soul.
when he held me with his angel’s eyes,
I knew.
I knew exactly who I was
and exactly what road to take.
now, there is no more night.
the sun never sets;
my dark dancer no longer comes to me.
my strength is waning,
my feet forgetting the steps.
Somewhere in this endless day,
my heart lies in ashes
and my way is unclear.
Buffy sighed, again crumpling the paper and throwing it in the vague direction of the waste basket. Only when she heard it bounce off something did she finally turn and look at her intended target. She nodded sadly as she picked up the waste basket, gently placing the ones that had missed on top of the pile already inside.
As she closed the door to her room, waste basket in hand, she muttered, “I guess we were just never meant to be poets, right William?”
Quietly, he entered Buffy’s room through the window. He stood there a second, just taking in the million different sensations that whispered Buffy’s name. The photos in the frames were different now, as were the rest of her belongings, but he could still recognize her and Dawn in the photos. There were the only two beings like them in the world, so how couldn't he?
His footsteps, already almost soundless, were completely muffled by the thick carpet as he walked toward her bed. There, he took a seat on the comforter, both awaiting and partially dreading her return. While he waited for Destiny to return, he distracted himself by taking a mental inventory of the room. A simple desk accompanied by a simple chair, a full-length mirror on the far side of the room, the bed (of course), her nearly empty closet, a crumpled piece of paper by the edge of the bed... With a tilt of the head, he bent low and retrieved the object, which turned out to be one of the poems she had been working on. His curiosity peaked, he couldn’t help but gently pry the paper apart. He read the words inside with only the barest hint of a whisper, afraid that any more would reveal both his emotions and his presence. He was completely taken with the spell her words seemed to weave about his head. Gently, he placed the poem beside him on the bed with all the reverence he felt it deserved. Then his head sunk into his hands and let his hot tears burn their way down his face.
“Dawn, don’t you think it’s about time for you to get to bed?” Buffy asked the couch potato. “Another day of school tomorrow.”
“Hell, you mean,” the teenager corrected with an irritated scowl.
“Dawn…”
A sigh worthy of any acting award was Buffy’s only audible reply, but Dawn got up, turned off the TV, hugged her sister goodnight, and headed upstairs. Buffy emptied her waste basket and slowly trekked back up to her room.
The vibes started right outside her door and she knew for a fact that somebody was in there and that that someone was not her little sister. Knowing just how far she could push the door open before it creaked, she gave the door a little nudge and slowly entered the room.
On her bed sat a man. He had his head in his hands and had apparently not noticed her arrival, so she took a moment to evaluate the intruder. His clothes looked like something Angel might wear, but they were obviously far too big for this man and were in much worse condition. And his hair was definitely not Angel’s. Where Angel had dark brown hair that usually had gel or mousse of some type in it, this man had light brown hair that fell in natural waves over his face and hands.
Buffy put the empty waste basket down and silently drew the chopsticks out of the bun she had put her hair in. Hiding them behind her back, she pushed the door open wider and said in her most intimidating voice, “Who are you and what the hell are you doing in my room?”
The man froze, lowering his hands until he could look at her with one glacier-blue eye. Something about that eye seemed familiar, but she couldn’t place-
“Buffy?” His voice was tired, hoarse, but it was still the voice from her memories, from her dreams.
Automatically, her fingers dropped the chopsticks. They hit the floor with a mild crack. “Spike?”
He removed both of his hands from his face now and stood up, nervously trying to brush the dirt from his clothing. “Hi.”
“How-” Buffy’s voice faltered and she tried again. “How did you…? You died.”
“Bloody poof always thought that he was the one who would fulfill the prophecy, die and come back human. So when I showed up, naked as the day I was born, on his doorstep asking for your address, he kicked me out. Luckily, Cordelia came out a few minutes later with some of Angel’s things, a slip of paper with your address, and some cash.” He took a moment to breathe. “She’s changed a lot, that one.”
Buffy had to swallow against the lump in her throat as she reached out a hand to his unruly mop of hair and felt the softness of it tickling her palm. She smiled and lowered her hand to his sharp cheekbones. With a gentleness that only lovers and mothers know, she brushed his tears away from his warm cheeks before bringing her other hand up to frame his face. “She’s not the only one apparently,” she whispered. Then, she surprised both herself and her returned Champion by admitting, “I missed you.”
The look in his blue eyes made whatever embarrassment she might have felt vanish entirely. “I missed you too,” he replied; his voice, if possible, sounding even more hoarse than it had before.
Buffy took a deep breath and said what she needed to say before her brain could convince her not to. “I love you.”
“No, you don’t. You’re-”
The Slayer’s hazel eyes flashed briefly before she put her anger under barely-concealed restraint. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence. Even if I had been just saying it before, which I wasn’t, what reason would I have for saying it now?”
Spike’s eyes looked into hers then, searching out the truth under all the lies she had heaped on it the past few years. Finally, he cocked his head to one side in that familiar look that she had missed so much and gave her a smirk. “If I weren’t human, I’d be the envy of every vampire in the world. What with the Slayer eating out of my hand an’ all.”
She swatted him playfully. “I wouldn’t go that far.” At seeing his lower lip jut out, she added, “Hey! No pouting. I’m supposed to be the pouter in this relationship, remember?”
His smirk became a grin as he wrapped his arms firmly around her waist. “We have a relationship now?”
“Well, uh, if you want to, I-I guess.”
He brought his face closer to hers, until it hurt her eyes to try to look at him. Closing her eyes, she heard him ask, “And what do you want, Buffy?”
It took a moment for her mind to stop concentrating on the heat radiating from his hands on her back and process the question. “I want to try being an us again.” She pulled back just enough so that she could look in his eyes. “I want you to never leave me again and,” she added with a giggle and a puff of air aimed at his wayward bangs, “I want you to keep the hair. It looks cute.”
“Oh, great. Cute is exactly what I need,” he muttered sarcastically. Then, with a sigh that sounded surprisingly like Dawn’s had earlier, he said, “But I’m love’s bitch and I’m man enough to admit it, so I’ll keep the hair.”
“Good.” She dropped her head on his chest with a contented noise and closed her eyes again.
“Oh, and luv?”
“Hmm?”
“I loved your poem.”
Up went Buffy’s head, smashing into Spike’s chin.
“Bloody hell!” he exclaimed, his hand coming up to rub his chin. “I think you made me bite my tongue.”
“Well, you shouldn’t read a girl’s poetry. It’s a very private thing. Where is it?”
He snatched it off the bed before she could reach for it and tucked it into his pocket. “It doesn’t belong to you anymore. You tried to throw it in the bloody waste bin, remember? Therefore, it’s fair bloody game.”
“Buffy? I heard arguing.”
The arguing lovers both turned to see what had interrupted them. The younger Summers was peaking her head through the open door. When she saw who her sister was arguing with, her eyes grew wide and she stepped tentatively into the room. “Spike?”
“Hey, Nibblet.”
“You’re-You’re back! You-You’re-” When she got close enough, she slapped him hard on the arm. “What took you so long?”
“Angel was being a poof, pet.” Spike chuckled and loosened one arm from Buffy so he could wrap it around his Little Bit. She leaned eagerly into his hug and Spike lowered his head so that it rested half on Buffy’s, half on Dawn’s. “I don’t know about you two, but I could stay like this all night and then some.”
“Well I could too, but not Dawn. She’s got school tomorrow.”
Dawn shot her sister a heated glare. “With Spike back? No way!”
Spike interrupted the sibling argument. “Dawn. You’re going to go get some sleep so you can be all bright-eyes for school tomorrow and after school, we’ll go out and do something, just the two of us. What do you say, Bit?”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Dawn rolled her eyes. “All right. I’ll go try to sleep, if I can. I don’t guarantee anything though.” She gave Spike one last painful squeeze and walked out of the room. But before the lovers could get back to their argument, Dawn poked her head back in for a last comment. “’night, you silly lovebirds.” This time, when she left, she closed Buffy’s door behind her.
The house was silent again until they heard Dawn’s door close as well. Then, confident that they wouldn’t be interrupted for a while, they snuggled back into their embrace.
After a moment, Buffy realized that they were swaying. “Spike?” she asked quietly. “What are we doing?”
“Dancing. It’s all we’ve ever done.” He was silent then, letting the steps of a long-forgotten dance take over the actions of his feet and letting his heart rest in the knowledge that the girl in his arms was finally, truly, his. “It’s all we’ll ever do.”
“I hope not. Don’t you think our feet would get tired after a while?”
“Then we’ll find something else to do.” He smirked. “I’m sure we can think of something.”
“You’re a pig, Spike.”
“Why? I was thinking of a picnic in the mid-afternoon sun in the middle of the park. What were you thinking of?”
“Uh huh. Right. Oh, thinking of which, do you have anywhere to stay?”
“Luv, Cordelia had to lift these clothes for me. What makes you think I have even a bloody penny to my name?”
Now it was Buffy’s turn to smirk. “Oh. Well, I suppose you could stay here. But if you are, you’re going to have to lose the shirt. It’s not you.”
Spike obediently pulled off his jacket and shirt. “I should hope not. Remember that it’s the poof’s stuff, luv.”
Buffy nodded as she gave his body a thorough looking-over. If anything, he seemed even more fit than he had before he died. “Well, come on. If you’re going to be able to keep up with Dawn tomorrow, then you should get some rest.” She took his hand and led him over to her small bed, letting go only to throw off her shoes and pat the bed beside her. “Stay with me?”
This time, Spike didn’t hesitate to settle down onto the bed beside her. He wrapped his arms around the woman he loved and, for the first time in over a century, felt at peace with the world. Sleep quickly claimed him and he drifted in dreams of happiness and sunshine.
Buffy, on the other hand, would not get to sleep that night; she had other things on her mind. For the first time ever, she was reveling in the subtle noise of a heart beat. Her heart had been brought back to life and was beating happily in the chest of her love, her dark dancer.
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