By Jess Marie
Started 1/10/04
Timeline: The Gift, immediately after Buffy leaves Spike at the foot of the stairs
Pairing: Spike/Buffy
Rating: PG


“You cannot put a fire out;
A thing that can ignite
Can go, itself, without a fan
Upon the slowest night.”

“You cannot fold a flood
And put it in a drawer,--
Because the winds would find it out
And tell your cedar floor.”
--By Emily Dickinson


Buffy grunted as she pulled her all-too-familiar weapons chest from beneath the bed and began gathering tools into her black duffle bag. He’s a monster. Yup. Definitely. Vampires count as monsters. Hence, the slaying. Her mouth twisted in a wry smile. She absently tossed a stake into the bag. Definitely useless, but it didn’t feel right to leave it behind.

So why is Spike the only one I trust to protect Dawn?

Because he loves you more than anything in the world.

That couldn’t be right. Buffy hefted a particularly wicked-looking dagger in her hand, tested the weight as she swiped it side to side, watched the glow from her bedside lamp distort on the flashing blade. She placed the dagger in the bag.

She knew how Giles felt, how all of them did, really. If it came down to it, they just loved life more than they loved Dawn. She couldn’t really blame them, but it meant she also couldn’t trust them. Spike, on the other hand… If Spike really did love her more than the world in all its british-y Happy Meal glory, and hey, take a moment to marvel at that eerie concept, then he’d do what she asked.

She finished her mini-mental-checklist and closed the bag. So Spike loves me. I am now officially depending on the love of an evil vampire to save my sister’s life. She stood, picked up her bag, shook her head in resignation, and looked dimly around her room. Might be the last time.

She walked out and neared the stairs, thinking of the proud, hopeful look on his face. I know I’m a monster. Against her will, her mind flashed back to their first fight, her mother beating Spike over the head with an axe. She remembered Willow crying as she told Buffy the way he’d threatened to shove a bottle in her face. Worse, she remembered the others. Her dad’s painful absence at the funeral. Watching Riley fly away. Angel, no, Angelus, and the way he’d looked at her…after.

So what if Spike stops loving me? A cold chill trickled from the nape of her neck down the baby-fine hairs of her back. It would happen. Not like the numbers lie or anything. But, God, please don’t let it happen tonight. She couldn’t let it. Not when Dawn’s life was at stake.

Maybe it’s time for a booster shot.

Just a crumb. A smidgeon. That’s all he’d really need, right? Buffy set her jaw, determined, as she walked down the stairs. Spike was sitting on the couch with his weapons beside him, nervously fingering the hilt of a large axe. He stood and ducked his head when she entered the room. She laid her bag down on the hard-wood floor and walked to stand in front of him. She almost never noticed his hair. Now it was swirled in ragged white-blonde curls. New lines seemed to crease his face, but that couldn’t be right, could it? Vampires didn’t age.

He looked very tired.

Still, he managed a devil-may-care smile. “So we ready for the death and glory bit, then?”

Buffy chuckled a little. “Hopefully more like the death of Glory. But yeah, I guess so.”

He inclined his head to her and reached down to grab the weapons. Buffy laid a hand across his forearm. “Wait.”

“What’s wrong?” Spike’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Spike.” Buffy took a heavy breath, steeling herself. She wasn’t sure why. It didn’t mean anything. It was just preparation. That’s all. Besides, she’d done it before, the day Glory tortured him. And that had been no big. Right? She lifted her head to look into his eyes. They had never seemed so blue before. And why did she know what color his eyes were anyway? She closed her eyes to close the thought, tilted her chin up, and touched her lips to his in a rain-soft kiss.

Her heart beat furiously in her chest, and she felt his calloused hands touch her shoulders. She felt so… Wait. What?

The gentle hands on her shoulders pushed her slowly back and away.

Buffy opened her eyes to see Spike looking down into her face, pain colored with a grim smile. He stroked her arms almost absently.

“Buffy,” he murmured, sotto voice. Bedroom voice, Buffy’s mind supplied annoyingly. “I promised you I’d take care of her, and I meant it. I don’t need any kind of…” his dark eyes flitted, seeking a word, “incentive.” The word sounded like a hard wall.

Buffy felt her face flush at the implications. She wracked her brain for a cutting defense, but when she met his gaze, he wasn’t leering. His face was open and soft. He looked sad, hurt that she might not trust him. Damn him. How did he know, anyway? And if he knew that much, then did he know that it wasn’t the only reason she’d kissed him?

Wait. Huh? Of course it was the only reason. Buffy looked down at the floor. Stupid brain. Apocalypse time. Definitely not the time for crazy. At least not twice in one night.

“I’m sorry,” she started to say, but he was already shuffling his feet, turning his back to her to re-sort the weapons, mumbling about battle plans and hoping ‘the brat pack’ could handle their end of the deal. Preparing to die. For me. And for Dawn. Suddenly, the kiss was very much about another reason.

“Spike,” she said again, and she wished it hadn’t sounded so sharp to her own ears. He turned to face her again. “Humor me.” His eyes narrowed, confused but patient. Buffy reached out and laid an open palm against his cheek. One step, two, and she was there. She pulled his head toward her and kissed him. His lips were soft, pliant. She gave herself over to the warm feeling and felt him gasp against her mouth. Without thought, she swept her tongue past his lips, felt him respond gently and eagerly. Like liquid velvet, she thought, as they moved together in the languid kiss.

He moved his hand to the small of her back and pulled her close against him. She could feel the subtle tension between them. So soft. His body was almost humming. It made her happy. No. Not right. She was happy while Dawn was…

Buffy broke the kiss, panting with wide eyes. It was too much. All of it was happening too fast, and there was no time for her or for Spike or for Dawn or for anyone. She’d had slayer dreams for three days in a row now. She hadn’t told anyone. A tombstone set in an alcove of green. She kept trying to read the name, but it was never clear. She meant it when she told him they weren’t all gonna make it. And it was all just too much. Buffy felt tears slip by and started to turn her head away, but Spike’s hand cupped her chin, turned her face to him. “C’mere, love.”

He wrapped his arms around her, and she turned her head into his shoulder. She felt his hands gingerly pat her back, her hair. “It’s alright,” he whispered against her temple. A few short gasps, and the tears stopped. It wasn’t a valiant effort on her part. She just didn’t have the time or energy for anything more.

She pulled back, and Spike lifted a damp lock of hair from her face and placed it behind her ear. The tender gesture almost undid her again. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hands and sniffled. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “Didn’t mean to go all weepy on the Big Bad.”

Spike laughed softly. “S’alright. Even heroes cry, pet.”

Buffy looked up. “You’ve called me that before.”

“Pet?” Spike quirked an eyebrow at her.

“No, the other thing.” Buffy waved an arm vaguely.

“Oh. The hero bit.”

“So… do you really think I’m a hero?” Buffy desperately told herself she really didn’t care what the answer was.

“If you’re not, I don’t know who is,” he answered simply. “Now, come on, Slayer. Time to get cracking.”

The use of her title brought her world back to focus. Buffy nodded firmly. “Right. Let’s go kick some hellgod ass.”

“That’s my girl.” A wicked grin flooded Spike’s face as he prepared to leave.

Not his girl, some stubbornly righteous part of Buffy’s brain supplied. But Buffy said nothing. She picked up her weapons bag and followed Spike across the cedar floor.