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I Could Write a Sonnet... by Lilachigh
 
Chp 1 ...about your Easter bonnet
 
I could write a sonnet....by Lilachigh








Chapter One - about your Easter bonnet....


Buffy stood at the edge of the sidewalk, waving as the camper van drove away. Hands fluttered at her from the windows, then it turned the corner and vanished into the night. She stood staring after it for a while, then sighed and turned to go back indoors.

“Scoobies off on their holidays, then?”

She turned, scowling, to face the vampire who was lounging on the porch steps behind her, his long legs stretched out just where she could fall over them. “Spike. What are you doing here?”

“Just passing through, Slayer. You know, from point A to point B on a route you want to travel; it’s called walking.”

“Spike, this road is not on any route you would need to be walking. Anyway, you usually go by tunnel. Honestly, your excuses are so lame.”

There was the flick of his lighter as he lit a cigarette. Buffy pulled a face and wondered if it was worth giving him her non smoking policy lecture, then decided it would probably be a waste of breath - hers!

“Niblet gone with them?”

Buffy sat down on the porch step next to him. She didn’t have the energy to go indoors just yet. It was Good Friday and she’d promised Dawn a very special lunch for Easter Sunday. But that meant shopping and cooking and being domestic. And it all reminded her too much of her mother. She just so didn’t want to do it.

“No, she’s round at Janice’s. Anya has been wigging out in a major way all week every time she sees an Easter bunny. So Xander’s hired a holiday cabin down the coast somewhere very remote. Willow and Tara decided it sounded like fun, so they’ve gone as well.”

“You and Dawnie could have joined them. There was room in that van for two more.”

Buffy shrugged wearily. Yes, she could have gone, but that would have meant washing and packing and being bright and cheerful and social. She couldn’t face that. Not this Easter. “Got to patrol,” she said shortly.

Spike threw his cigarette away, the little red cinder sparkling as it flew through the air to land in the shrubbery to join its companions who’d been gathering there over the weeks and months.

“Come on, Slayer. You know as well as I do that Easter is one of the few times, like bloody Hallowe’en, when vampires stay indoors. All those crosses around. We’re not as green as we’re cabbage looking - well, some of us are, I know some very nice demons who have sort of cabbage looking heads, but - ”

Buffy stood up abruptly. “Honestly, Spike, I don’t have time to listen to you burbling on. I’ve got to get things ready for Dawn’s Easter school sale tomorrow.”

She pushed past him, the leather of his coat smooth against her bare arm and felt the hairs on the back of her neck lift - vampire! - but, and this was always so confusing, the signals she received from Spike were, well, warmer, fuzzier, than the ones she got from other vampires.

She didn’t have the energy to stop him following her indoors. Sometimes, wickedly, she blamed her mother for Spike’s seemingly intimate knowledge of her kitchen. Even now he was sorting out mugs and chocolate powder, whistling to himself as he hunted through the cupboards for marshmallows.

“Honestly, Spike. Why do you have to come and make a mess here? Can’t you drink blood down in your crypt like a proper vampire?”

He shrugged off his duster and threw it across the back of a chair. “I shall ignore that remark, Slayer. Your mum liked me to help around the house. She liked me to be well fed, too.”

He slanted her a provocative look from those cobalt blue eyes and Buffy turned away, determined not to drawn into a discussion she knew she wouldn’t win.

“So, what’s all this junk then, pet?” Spike had wandered into the family room and gestured towards the table. “Having a clear out, are we?”

Buffy sighed. “Dawn’s class are running the Easter market at school this year to raise funds for - well, for something stinky in the science lab, I think it is. She’s got to make Easter bonnets for all the girls to wear but, typically Dawn, she’s left it to the last minute, so I’m doing them.”

Spike reached out a long finger and hooked up a flat piece of cardboard, painted a violent orange and covered with screwed up pieces of silver foil. “Slayer, no one alive in Sunnydale would wear this. Come to think of it, no one dead in Sunnydale would wear this!”

Buffy gazed in despair at the littered tabletop. As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. She sat down abruptly.

“Well, OK, they are a bit - a bit rough and ready, I suppose. But I’ve been busy and I’ve still got a cake to make for Sunday and Mom used to do all this sort of thing. I’m no good with my hands.”

Spike raised an eyebrow at her. “Slayer, I’m sure you’re marvellous with your hands,” he drawled provocatively. “Any time you want to try - ”

“Spike - another word and I swear I’ll - ”

He grinned, glad to see the fight come back into her face. Of all the Buffys he’d seen recently, the quiet, defeated one upset him the most.

“Where’s Joyce’s sewing box?”

“What?”

Spike sighed. “One syllable words, luv, not difficult to understand: the - box - where - your - mum - kept - her - sewing - things. You know - needles, cotton, silks. Every mum has one. Mine did. It stood in our drawing-room and was made of rosewood and had a green silk lining.”

Buffy bit her lip, tried to picture having such a thing as a room you actually called a drawing-room – did they keep it just for painting pictures? - and vanished upstairs, returning with a large wooden box, decorated with a picture of kittens in x stitch.

She ran her fingers over it. She’d made that picture years and years ago when she was very small. Her mother had loved it, said it was marvellous, although the stitches were lumpy and uneven and there were even a few tiny bloodstains where the needle had pricked her finger.

“What do you need this for?”

Spike was sipping his hot chocolate. “Go bake a cake, Slayer. I’ll sort out the millinery.”

Buffy suddenly found a whole bubble of giggles bursting up inside her mouth. “Spike, there is no way you can make an Easter bonnet. You’re a vampire.”

Spike was busy sorting out the contents of the box. “Go cook!” he said shortly.

She found she was still smiling a bit later as she poured the cake mixture into the baking tin. What was usually a dreaded chore, had seemed quite simple tonight, mainly because she kept laughing at the thought of Spike trying to make Easter bonnets. She dreaded to think of the mess she would have to clear up, but if he’d managed one, then at least she’d have one less to do when Dawn had gone to bed.

She glanced at the clock. Her sister was due back in an hour. Just time to bake the cake and get it frosted. She put the cake tin in the oven, set the timer and was making the frosting when she looked up to find Spike standing, watching her. There was a look on his face she didn’t recognise. She hunted for a word to describe it - and all she could foolishly come up with was - longing.

“Is that icing?” he said hopefully, breaking the silence.

Buffy silently held out the bowl and he dug a finger in and scooped out a dollop of sweetness. She watched as he slid it into his mouth and sucked off the chocolate sugar. She was bewildered to find her legs were shaking.

He was standing closer now - she could see the muscles outlined beneath the thin black T-shirt. Buffy tried to breath normally, but for some ridiculous reason she couldn’t. She was almost panting - she must have the central heating on high, she thought in the back of her brain as she watched mesmerised as the finger scooped up another piece of icing and offered it to her.

It brushed her lips and her tongue slid out and licked it, hesitantly, then greedily. Her gaze never left Spike’s. She felt she was falling, falling, as she sucked his finger into her hot mouth and, oh god, heat, terrific heat between her legs and -

She pushed the bowl hard against his chest and spun away from him, trying to catch her breath. This was ridiculous. She must be running a temperature. She couldn’t be having these sorts of feelings about Spike.

“How’s the hat making?” she said, desperate to break the silence that hung heavily, suggestively, between them. “Finished one yet?”

“Come and look.”

Buffy walked into the living-room and stared. There was a row of little flat hats on the table; she could see that he’d taken some paper plates as a base, but then he’d worked some sort of spell on them. They were trimmed with a riot of ribbons, paper flowers, scraps of lace and velvet in a glorious cascade of colour. They were quite amazing.

Spike watched for the Slayer’s reaction. He hoped she liked them. Years of living with Dru had taught him a lot about poncing things up with lace and ribbons. He’d once spent hours dressing Miss Edith in new clothes for her - but he didn’t think that was something he could tell Buffy.

She picked up one of the bonnets, a smile beginning to creep over her face. The fluffy lace spirals covering it were cut from an old pair of curtains that used to be in her mother’s bedroom and the wide green velvet ribbons had once been wrapped round a box of chocolates.

Spike took it from her, placed it on her head and gravely tied the wide ribbons under her chin. He turned her to face the mirror and she looked at the blonde girl staring back at her, the green ribbon picking up the emerald in her sparkling eyes. She smiled widely, but there was no one there behind her in the mirror.

“Buffy!” Dawn squealed from the door. “Oh my god. They’re beautiful. Hi Spike. Oh, thank you so much, Buffy. You are so clever. Oh, I love you. ”

Buffy opened her mouth to speak, to tell her who had made the bonnets, and nothing came out.

Tbc.






 
Chp 2 Saying Sorry
 

I COULD WRITE A SONNET by Lilachigh

Chp 2 Saying Sorry

The timer on the oven pinged and Buffy removed the chocolate cake, putting it on a grid where the delicious smell crept through the kitchen.

She stared at the Easter offering. She would have to wait until it cooled to put the frosting on top. The bowl of icing still stood where Spike had left it. She could see the deep mark where he’d scooped some up. She stared at the smooth brown surface. Did vampires’ have fingerprints?

Buffy went hot all over as she remembered sucking the frosting off his finger. What on earth had come over her? She knew she was stressed out, but that was just ridiculous. No one behaved like that with a man unless they were - well, far closer than she and Spike would ever be.

Buffy pushed her finger into the chocolate next to the mark he’d made and nibbled at the sweetness.

The house was very quiet. Dawn had gathered up the little Easter bonnets, begged to take them round to show Janice who would freak out, whose Mom was cooking pizza and said it was OK for her to sleep over and thanks again, you’re great, what would I do without you and bye!

Spike had stood there, motionless, silent. Buffy knew what she should say “Hey, I didn’t make them, Spike did. Thank him, not me.”

But she couldn’t. It wasn’t often that Dawn looked at her with such gratitude and pleasure. For a long minute it eased the scar in her heart that her mother‘s death had caused. The hours of feeling useless at this parenting job, of not knowing what to do or how to cope.

But, of course the pleasure she felt was nothing but a sticking plaster, that tore off so easily. Because now she was ashamed of herself. There had been a fleeting glimpse of Spike’s hurt blue eyes before he’d grabbed up his coat, said, “Well, be seeing you both. Have fun at the Easter market, Dawnie. Bye, Slayer.” And went.

This was ridiculous. She was standing here, feeling eight years old again, listening to her mother scolding her for saying something nasty to one of her little friends. “You must learn to think of others as well as yourself, Buffy. Other people have feelings, too, you know.”

Well, okay, she hadn’t been very fair on Spike, but hello, vampire! What feelings did he have to hurt? He was an evil chipped thing. It wouldn’t have mattered to him that Dawn thought Buffy had helped her and not him.

But it did! The voice inside her head would not be quiet. You think you’re so brave, big Slayer girl, but you didn’t have the courage to speak up, did you? You just stood there and let Dawn go on and on about how wonderful the Easter bonnets were and how clever you were to make them. And you said nothing.

What was worse - Buffy realised to her horror that she’d eaten all the chocolate frosting and would get fat thighs! - Spike allowed you to stay silent.

Buffy shouted down the little voice. ‘Why didn’t he speak up; he could have said, “Hey Dawnie. I made those while your big sis was making an incredible cake.’ Surely that would have been the normal thing to do? So really it was all his fault.’

Or not. But of course, he wouldn’t speak up because that would have made Buffy look silly. And he would never do that to her in front of Dawn. Or, what was probably more likely, he wouldn’t have wanted Dawn upset by realising she’d made a mistake and thanked the wrong person. Oh no, his Li’l Bit must never be upset, must she?

We all run round in circles protecting Dawn. When is someone going to protect me, she thought, miserably.

Buffy bit her lip hard. She could just imagine what her mom would say. And that, of course, was the problem. Her mom should have been here to concoct the stupid bonnets, frost the cake, even make Spike his hot chocolate. She shouldn’t be lying in a grave, dead. She shouldn’t have left them all alone.

Buffy wasn’t a mom. She didn’t do cooking and craft work and she certainly so didn’t do entertaining evil vampires! She felt mean and cross and - sticky from frosting.

Muttering irritably, she pushed the cake aside, went upstairs, showered and changed into her patrolling clothes - old jeans and a sweatshirt that had had more demon blood washed out of it than she liked to remember.

She’d hoped the hot water would wash away her black mood, but there was no shampoo left and Dawn had used all the towels and thrown them in a damp heap on the bathroom floor.

She broke a fingernail pulling on her boots and realised she was still feeling cross and miserable. Her stomach was tied in knots and she was longing to kill something. She felt all tangled up inside, like a ball of string without an end.

“I suppose I’m going to have to find him and say sorry or else we’ll have hurt vampire hanging around us for days.”

She wished Willow was here. She and Tara would have given her good advice - Willow would have been on her side completely, then suggested a course of action, and Tara would have gently pointed out her faults without making her seem like the worse person living this side of California.

Still grumbling under her breath, Buffy left the house and headed for the cemetery.
She had to admit Spike was right about the distinct lack of vampire activity around town over Easter. She had never noticed it before, but apart from a fledgling rising from a grave just inside the main entrance - whom she dispatched without breaking stride - there was no one else around.

She crashed the door of the crypt open without knocking. Spike looked up slowly as she marched in. He was lying back in his old armchair, reading, his hair a pale shadow against the dark leather.

“Got some grudge against my front door have you, Slayer?”

Buffy ignored him. She often found that was the best policy when dealing with Spike. “I’ve come to say I’m sorry about the Easter bonnets,” she stated baldly. “You made them and I should have told Dawn that. So, I’m sorry.”

Spike slide a thin piece of red ribbon inside the book as a marker and closed it. Buffy found herself watching his long fingers as he absentmindedly stroked the cover. For a mad second or two, she wondered what it would be like to have your body stroked by those fingers.

She shook her head. Bad, bad, bad! She was obviously wacky from all that sugar she’d eaten back at the house, having hot thoughts like that.

He put the book down on a little table. She could see it was an old volume, like one of Giles’ collection; the cover was a dark green shot silk that gleamed in the light of the few candles Spike had lit around the crypt.

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not what?”

“You’re not sorry.”

“Spike, I just apologised to you! You’re supposed to say, ‘That’s all right, Buffy, thanks for saying it.”

“But what if it isn’t all right?”

Angrily, Buffy tossed her hair back from her face. She really didn’t need this from Spike tonight. She was hot and irritable and she just wanted the whole Easter thing to be over.
“Oh well, if you’re going to sulk, I might as well - ”

Like a giant cat, Spike was out of his chair in one fluid leap, gripping her wrists in the same slender fingers that she realised were as strong as steel vices.

“I’m not sulking, Slayer.” His voice was like crackling ice. “I’d just like to know why you’re being such a bitch tonight.”

Buffy stared into his eyes. It was ridiculous, one part of her brain thought, that a man should have such long black lashes, especially a vampire. There was something basically unfair in that. Then she realised she was still staring at him, and broke his grip, with difficulty, and pulled away.

To her horror, she realized her eyes were burning and knew she was about to cry. No! There was no way she was going to sob in front of Spike. He’d never let her forget it. “I’m sorry - I - ” She spun away from him, clenching her fists at her side, willing herself to be calm.

“Buffy - tell me.” His voice was quiet but insistent, his fingers on her shoulders were friendly, massaging the stressed muscles. She felt them give way beneath the kneading, one by one.

Then, to her surprise, she heard herself whispering, “I miss Mom. I don’t want her to be dead. I want her there at home, helping Dawn make the Easter bonnets, frosting the cake, hiding the Easter eggs in the garden.

“When Dawnie thanked me for the silly hats, it made me feel happy. I forgot Mom was gone - just for a second. And then it was too late to confess you’d made them.”

If she could have turned at that moment, she would have been astonished to see Spike’s soften with tenderness in the candle light. Then he was in control again, staring down at her shoulders as he massaged the tightness between her neck and her back

She had such a frail neck, he thought. He loved the curve of it, the way he hair grew down in a little point on the nape. He had an overwhelming desire to kiss the soft skin under his fingers, but knew she would freak if he did.

But it was there - the attraction that was growing between them - he could sense it, in the same way he knew when thunder was in the air. Good or bad - neither of them could do anything to stop it.

to be continued




























 
Chp 3 New Beginnings
 
I could write a sonnet... by Lilachigh


Chp 3 New Beginnings



Buffy let herself lean back against Spike for another couple of minutes, luxuriating in the massage his strong fingers were giving her neck and shoulder muscles. Then she pulled away.

Not sensible to offer your bare neck to a vampire, she told herself angrily. Even a chipped one. For all she knew, Spike was quite capable of going through the pain barrier if she gave him a chance of free Slayer blood.

Almost as if he could read her thoughts, he dropped his hands to his sides in resignation and stepped back. “I reckon Joyce would be proud of what you’ve been doing for Dawn.”

Buffy stiffened. She didn’t want to talk about her mother any more. That had been a mistake. If she started letting people see how upset she still was, it wouldn’t be long before all her carefully constructed defences came tumbling down.

“I’ll tell Dawn tomorrow that you made the Easter bonnets,” she said, her voice sharp and tight. “I’m sure she’ll thank you herself when she sees you.”

Spike swung round, picked up an empty brass candle stick and hurled it against the crypt wall. Buffy flinched as it crashed to the floor. “Bloody hell, Slayer! Stop hiding. Why can’t you just talk to me?”

“I don’t know what you mean, Spike. You’re just being dramatic. Typical vamp. I’m going home. I’ve got a very busy day ahead of me tomorrow, even if you don’t.”

“You’re so busy being busy, you’ve forgotten how to have fun, Slayer.”

Buffy laughed, but it was a bitter sound. “Fun! That went away with my mother, Spike. There’s no room for fun in my life any more.”

Spike watched in silence as she left. God, she annoyed him so much. She was hurting and she wouldn’t let him help in any way at all. He’d known this Easter was going to be hard for her and Dawn. He still couldn’t believe that the Scoobies had cleared off on holiday, leaving Buffy to cope on her own. Bloody wankers!

He poured himself a mug of blood, drinking it cold. There had to be some way of making her see that she didn’t have to manage everything by herself. Okay, Bit was only fifteen, but surely that was old enough to understand. She couldn’t always be the baby, being looked after by big sis. And there had to be a way to make Buffy have a little fun in her life.

He paced round the crypt, wondering how the hell he’d got himself so involved with the Summers family. Throwing himself down in his chair, he turned on the TV and switched it off again, impatiently. Bloody chip! When he’d felt like this before, he’d have gone out and killed someone. Now he was reduced to throwing candlesticks!

He picked up the book he’d been reading when Buffy came in and turned to the page he enjoyed most. And as the candles burned lower, he lost himself in the words and his thoughts.

Easter Sunday dawned clear and bright, the sun streaming into Buffy’s bedroom. She stirred under her quilt, lazily running through her mind the things she had to do today.

The Easter market at Sunnydale High School the day before had been great. Every girl running a stall was wearing one of Dawn’s Easter bonnets and she’d been so thrilled with their success that Buffy’s confession that Spike had made them passed almost unnoticed. They’d stayed up late eating pizza and watching an old movie on the TV. And, Buffy realised, she’d slept without dreaming for the first time in ages.

As she turned her head to look at the alarm clock, she realised something hard was lying on her pillow, next to her cheek. She sat up in alarm, then giggled. It was a tiny chocolate egg, covered in silver foil.

“Dawn’s been up early,” she murmured, then realised that there was a bright red egg sitting on top of the alarm clock. Stepping carefully, she gathered them from the floor, her toothbrush, the soap dish, the shower, the towel rail.

There were two inside her trainers, a very pretty green one inside her pantie drawer and one in each cup of her bra.

By the time she’d got downstairs, she was laughing, carrying them in an old shoe box.

Two eggs sat on the work surface, one on the coffee maker, several inside the fridge.

“Dawnie! Happy Easter!” she called as her sister appeared. “This is fun. You must have been busy all night long. Where did you get - ”

Then she stopped. Dawn was laughing, too, holding her collection on an old dinner plate. “Buffy! It’s like an Easter egg hunt, but without the hunting. It’s such a lovely idea. I didn’t want a proper egg hunt this year, because I thought it would remind me of Mom too much. But this is nice.”

She swooped forward and pecked Buffy on the cheek. “Look! There’s two on the door mat. I bet you’ve put them all over the yard as well. Come on, let’s find them, then eat them. Mind you, some of these are really pretty. It must have taken you ages to do the wrappings. They’re so cute.”

“Dawnie, it wasn’t me. I thought - ”

They stared at each other, Dawn’s mouth already liberally smeared with chocolate. ‘Spike!” they said together.

Giggling, they raced outside.

“Bet I find more than you,” Dawn shouted as she peered under bushes and inside the garage.

Buffy uncovered a whole nest in the branch of a tree, then sat down on the top step of the porch and unwrapped one to nibble on the sweetness inside. She felt light-hearted and silly, the first time for ages. How long had this taken him? How had he managed it without either of them hearing him? She knew she should be thinking far more serious thoughts - like how dangerous was it that a vampire had been inside their bedrooms and they hadn’t known. But this was Spike.

Spike in her bedroom! That was a big thought in itself. Spike had stood over her while she was asleep. What was more, he’d put these little eggs inside her closet, touching her panties and thongs and bras!

No - bad thoughts. Bad thoughts of Spike touching her panties, even if she wasn’t inside them at the time.

She squinted up at the sun, lifting her face to the heat. Easter Sunday, a day of new beginnings. Perhaps Spike was right. Looking at Dawn’s happy face as she raced round the yard, long legs flying, hair a dark tangled waterfall, she realised that there did have to be fun in their lives as well as grief.

Well, when the others got back from their weekend of keeping Anya free from the Easter bunny, perhaps she could start doing other things with Dawn and her friends.

Yes, today was definitely one for new beginnings....

In the depths of his crypt, the former William the Bloody picked up his little green covered book and turned to his favourite page. Sonnets by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. The words leapt out at him

‘How do I Love Thee,
Let me count the Ways.’

He frowned. Bloody hell, he could make a very long list! His eyes slid to the end of the sonnet and he sat very still, thinking, wondering….

‘I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears of all my life - and if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.’



the end



Early Easter good wishes to everyone.