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Baby, You Can Drive My Car by slaymesoftly
 
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Title: Baby, You Can Drive My Car
Author: Slaymesoftly
Rating: Eventual strong R or NC17
Word count: 20,000 + or -
Disclaimer: The characters belong to the man who created them, as does the world in which the story is set; the occasional line of familiar dialogue can be credited to the talented writers of BtVS. Everything else is mine and created for fun and my own amusement, not for profit. Feedback, concrit and/or profuse praise all greatly appreciated. :)
Summary: Continues almost immediately after the events of “The Way a Vamp Loves His Car”, in which Spike had found a morose Buffy drinking at the Bronze. He brought a very drunk Slayer home and put her to bed in spite of her having accused him of loving his car more than he loves her – a violation of their unspoken agreement to spend comfortable time together without acknowledging the baggage of his feelings for her. The evening ended with her quiet acknowledgement that she knows he loves her. There was some discussion about Spike’s teaching Buffy to drive – although not in his vehicle.

Unlike the prequel, which was a very possible Season Six BTL fic, this one veers off canon almost immediately and goes to another, slightly less angsty Season Six.

The banner is by my very talented beta, Always_jbj

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Chapter One


Her uncharacteristic knock was the first warning that Buffy was outside his crypt. He threw himself onto the couch, trying to appear relaxed and casual as he called out, “It’s open, Slayer.”

Searching for some sign of her mood, he studied her face in the flickering light from the television. He was expecting anger, embarrassment, perhaps even sadness that she had not been able to drown her sorrows as fully as she’d hoped.

What he got was something he’d never expected.

“I’m sorry.”

Her voice was soft, her eyes downcast as she slowly walked toward him. Spike cocked his head and studied her for a full minute before replying.

“What are you sorry for, love?” he asked, sitting up and leaning forward.

She frowned at him in confusion, then continued, “I’m sorry I threw up on your car, and I’m...I’m sorry I said...” She allowed her voice to die, then, with a determined lift of her chin she brought her eyes up to meet his. “And I’m sorry I acted like I...like I don’t ...I mean, I know you do...but I just... I’m sorry, okay?”

With a rush of warmth, he realized that she was apologizing for trying to use his feelings for her, and he sank back against the cushions – momentarily nonplussed. He recovered himself quickly when it appeared that she was going to leave without saying any more, leaping to his feet and moving to intercept her.

“Would you like something to drink, pet? I could look in the fridge—”

Her shudder and the dismayed look on her face brought a rueful smile.

“I’m guessing that’s a ‘no’, then?”

“A world of ‘no’,” she agreed quickly.

She wandered to a shelf and ran her fingers through the dust there, still uncharacteristically quiet and still. He watched her, indecision keeping him frozen in place while his every instinct was urging him to engage her in some way before she decided to leave. When she continued to move slowly around the crypt, touching an object here, stroking one there and gradually working her way toward the door, he finally moved.

Placing himself as subtly as possible between her and the door to the outside world, he asked softly, “What can I do for you, Buffy?”

“What makes you think I want you to do something for me?” she responded with a guilty start and a trace of her usual asperity. “Maybe I just wanted to...to visit you for a while.” When he didn’t answer, she asked in a softer voice, “Is...is that okay? If I just hang out here?”

He cocked his head and stared at her just long enough to see the uncertainty on her face begin to change to genuine sorrow, then moved swiftly. He caught her just as she tried to push past him to the door, grabbing her arms and holding her tightly. She struggled briefly, her face turned away and her lip trembling while he tried to read what was going on in her head.

Very slowly, giving her plenty of time to object, he pulled her closer until he could slide his arms around her to form a protective cocoon. He held her loosely, daring to lower his head to inhale the freshly shampooed scent of her hair and murmuring, “You know you’re always welcome here, love. You don’t need to ask.”

With a soft sigh, she relaxed her tense shoulders and dropped her head onto his chest. She didn’t move her own arms, but made no objection when he pulled her in closer and turned the loose embrace into a genuine hug. For long minutes they stood there; the now-harmless vampire famed for killing slayers and the slayer who had slain the Master, sent Angelus to hell, defeated a hellgod and come back from the grave.

Spike would have stayed there until he fell down from exhaustion, just allowing her physical presence to fill his senses and her willingness to accept his comfort filling his heart; however, with a small sigh, she eventually straightened up, and he immediately released her. She gave him an embarrassed glance out of the corner of her eye as she moved away from him and back into the interior of the crypt.

Without acknowledging what they’d just shared, she walked to his ‘kitchen’ and opened the refrigerator. When she saw the bottles of water and Diet Coke, she turned to him and raised one eyebrow in a close imitation of his own, patented, knowing look.

“Expecting company?” she asked, taking out one of the Diet Cokes and popping it open.

“More like hoping,” he responded, almost shyly, reluctant to let her know how hopefully he’d been keeping the drinks in his home since her return from the grave.

With a slight flush at his words, she looked away and began wandering around the crypt again, taking the occasional sip from the can as she strolled. When she approached the open entrance to the lower level, she paused and stared down into the darkened room, remembering the only time she’d been down there. Cursing himself for not having covered the entrance to his bedroom, Spike waited with resignation for the memories of his failed attempt to prove he loved her to remind her of what he was and to send her running from his home.

She surprised them both by turning to him and asking brightly, “So, chained up any other girls lately?”

He gaped at her for a second, then caught the twinkle in her eye. Recovering quickly, he leered and licked his lips.

“Vampire, love. I see one, I chain her up. It’s what we do. Jus’ haven’t caught one yet tonight.”

Her quiet laugh gave him courage and he continued, “’course, if you’re volunteerin’...” His tone was almost wistful and she shot him a hard look, her eyes narrowing dangerously.

Fuck! Can’t believe I spoiled the moment like that.

“I’m sorry, pet,” he said hastily, walking toward her and willing her to believe him. “My mouth isn’t always connected to my brain. I never should have---“

“It’s okay, Spike,” she said, giggling at his clearly visible relief. “I don’t expect smart things to come out of your mouth.”

“Oh,” he breathed. “That’s good – thank you, lo—” Her words finally penetrated and he growled in mid-sentence. “Hey! Take that back, you disrespectful bint!”

Continuing to giggle at his indignation, she waved her hand airily and walked away. He fought to keep the angry expression on his face, while his heart soared to hear her teasing and laughing for the first time since she’d crawled from the earth. Giving up the fight and allowing what he was feeling to bring out a smile, he threw himself back onto the couch and beamed at her without shame.

“What?” Her giggles broke off at the goofy grin on the vampire’s face; she faced him, hands on hips, trying to glare through her giggles.

“Nothin’, love,” he said softly. “It’s jus’...it’s good to hear you laugh again – even if it is at my expense.”

“It’s good to be laughing,” she admitted. “Who would have thought that giving you a hard time would put me in a good mood?”

“Uh...” He struggled to bite his tongue before he could remind her that she’d been the bane of his existence for years. When she just raised her eyebrows at him, he gave it up, shaking his head and laughing.

“If you’d asked me, I could have told you that makin’ me miserable has always been one of your favorite things to do. You remember taunting me while I was chained up at your watcher’s? Flauntin’ all that warm blood and creamy skin in my face and daring me to try to...” His voice trailed off as he remembered how the sight of her blood pumping through her veins had made him salivate and made other body parts sit up painfully.

“Ah, good times,” Buffy sighed, trying to ignore the suddenly lustful expression on the vampire’s face and her own unexpected reaction to the memory.

“You see, Slayer,” he tried to recover, knowing that she had caught his reaction to the trip down memory lane. “I’ve always known how to make you happy.”

“Well, you’ve always been able to make me laugh, anyway,” she agreed, giggling again when he growled. “Maybe I should put the chains on you and keep you as my own personal court jester....”

She flushed bright red when his eyes glazed over at the suggestion and he couldn’t prevent himself from licking his lips. Looking for a change of subject, she peered into the darkness, asking, “So, is it the same down there? What does it look like now? Dawn said you made it almost...homey.”

“Dawn told you she’s been in my bedroom?” His voice rose to a squeak as he envisioned that conversation. “And I’m still standin’?”

She gave him a wry smile. “Yeah, my first reaction was pretty much what you’d expect...but she talked me down before there could be stake-age.”

Buffy tried to control the expressions on her face as she remembered that tearful and loud conversation in which Dawn had explained how Spike was the only one who could calm her when she had nightmares about the tower and about Buffy’s death. To the point that whenever Tara or Willow couldn’t be with her for some reason, they sent her to Spike, knowing that he would not only keep her safe, but soothe her terror and grief. Dawn’s constant presence was greatly responsible for the current improved look of the lower floor. He’d done his best to make it seem less like an underground lair and more like an actual room, even finding a reasonably intact and clean single bed so that she could have her own little corner sleeping nook.

“Can...may I see it?” she asked suddenly, not meeting his eyes.

“Of...of course, pet. Jus’ let me get some lights...” To say that he was surprised would be an understatement. He would have sworn on his non-existent soul that she would never want to set foot in that room, ever again.

“I mean...” She stumbled over her words, the awed expression on his face making her uncomfortable. “You know what my bedroom looks like, so it seems only fair that...”

Okay, Buffy. You are totally digging this hole way deeper. Just shut up now.

Giving her time to collect herself, Spike quickly dropped to the lower level and began lighting candles. He yanked the linens up in a quick attempt to make the big four-poster bed, and kicked his dirty clothes under it. When he’d done all he could to make the room look less like the untidy home of a lonely vampire, he called up to the waiting Slayer.

“You can come down now, pet. Watch your step on the ladder.”

She started down the ladder, pausing when she got close to the bottom and taking in the very different-looking room. Almost absently, she nodded at his words, not looking at him but continuing to run her eyes over the furnishings.

He stepped closer and offered her his hand to steady her as she came the rest of the way down the narrow steps. She paused at the bottom, her hand still resting lightly on his as she responded with a smile.

Removing her hand from where it rested on the now-unnecessary support of his arm, she began to wander around the room, mentally comparing it to the dirt-walled cave that it had been before. Now, the walls were covered with cloth hangings that concealed the packed earth and rocks behind them. The rocky floor was covered with soft oriental rugs and the large bed, which she tried very hard to avoid looking at, was covered in plush linens of black and red.

“Wow,” she murmured, turning around and trying to take it all in. “It’s really different.” She looked at him suddenly, her lips quirking slightly. “So, where did you hide the chains when Dawn was here?”

“Jus’ put ‘em away, Slayer,” he said gruffly. “I know where they are if I need them.”

Buffy’s eyes went involuntarily to the posts to which he had chained her, as well as the one to which he had tied Drusilla. Then they drifted past that area to the recess in the wall that had contained his shrine to her. In its place now was an antique dresser, complete with mirror. On the dresser rested a framed photo of Buffy, Dawn and Joyce – one that she recognized from home.

Seeing where her eyes had gone and speaking quickly, he said, “I didn’t steal it. Dawn had a copy made for me – I...don’t take it, Slayer. Please?”

Without answering him, she walked over and picked it up, staring with blank eyes at the photo of the three Summers women all laughing in the sunshine. Giving herself a little shake, she set it down carefully and looked at the other photos stuck to the mirror. A photo machine series of Spike and Dawn – in one of which he was in game face while her sister laughed at him. A couple of small pictures of her that she recognized as also having come from Dawn’s collection, as well as one of her with Willow and Xander that she could remember being taken somewhere when they were in high school. Tucked high into one corner was a color photo of the whole Scooby gang taken outside the Magic Box. Just visible in the shadow of the door was a shock of white-blond hair and the glow of a cigarette. There was just enough definition for her to see that he was staring at her rather than at the camera and it served as a poignant reminder that his feelings hadn’t changed, only the ways in which he chose to express them.

That sudden reminder of the way those feelings had changed his life began to make her uncomfortable, and she turned away from the small collection of photographs. Somehow, this more acceptable method of keeping her in his thoughts affected her more than the shrine he had maintained the year before, and she tried to smother a small pang of sympathy for the vampire.

She turned around to see him staring at her intently, his wary expression saying all there was to say about what he thought her reaction might be. She bit her lip and stepped closer to him, putting one hand lightly against his cheek.

“Spike,” she began softly, sighing when he unconsciously leaned into her hand and closed his eyes. “Spike, I...I can’t be what you want. I can’t give you what you want from me...I’m not sure right now that I can...can love anybody. I don’t need a boyfriend. And I don’t want one.”

She felt him stiffen and hurried on before he could turn away, sliding her hand down to his chin and forcing him to look at her. “I want a friend... someone to be there for me, someone I can count on. The way I’ve come to count on you. Can you...I know what I’m asking isn’t fair, and if you want to say ‘no’, that’s...that’s okay...but I—“

“You’ve got friends, Slayer.”

“I don’t like them very much right now,” she said with a trace of a pout.

“You don’t like me either,” he reminded her, with a skeptical eyebrow.

She smiled back at him, then her expression softened. “I trust you. I...I need you. To talk to,” she added hastily. “And to help me fight and to keep me from getting drunk and making a fool of myself...and...and to teach me to drive!” she finished brightly in an attempt to lighten the mood. “You promised me you would.”

“I guess I did, didn’t I?” he admitted ruefully. “Well, I never break a promise to a lady, so I guess...I guess you’ve got yourself a friend, Slayer.”

She smiled happily, allowing her hand to drop to her side, but not moving away from the also-smiling vampire. In spite of her speech, she found herself noticing how full his lower lip was, how his lashes brushed his cheeks when he lowered his eyes, and how his face with its chiseled cheek bones and smooth, pale skin could almost be called beautiful. Something of what she was thinking must have shown on her face, because suddenly Spike was frowning and moving away, an expression of pain on his face.

Way to blow hot and cold, Buffy, she chastised herself. That’s all he needs- to think that you could lust after him, while you’re telling him he has to think of you as a friend..

“Can we start now?” He threw his head up at her comment and stared at her.

“Can we start what? Being friends? Already there, love.”

“No.” She blushed and shook her head. “I meant could you start teaching me to drive? Tonight?”

“Not in my car,” he responded with a suspicious narrowing of his eyes.

“Okay, fine! We’ll use my mom’s car. I think it works. Xander has been keeping it running for me.”

“Sure thing, pet. Jus’ let me get my things, alright?”

He bent over and picked up his socks and boots, sitting on the bed to put them on and drawing her eyes to it again.

“That...that bed looks really comfortable...” Her voice trailed off when he raised his head and gave her a hard look. Too late she realized how a remark like that would sound to a vampire who never left an innuendo to suffer alone.

To her surprise he just sighed and shook his head. “You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you, Buffy?”

“I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I was just trying to make conversation while I waited for you, and the bed was there and you were sitting on it, and....I’m just going to wait upstairs. ‘K?”

She almost ran to the ladder, bolting up with all the agility and speed of an embarrassed slayer. She went directly to the door and opened it, standing impatiently in the safety of the cool evening air and trying not to think about Spike’s bed or his willingness to do whatever she asked of him. When the vampire appeared beside her, boots and ubiquitous leather duster on, she immediately began walking towards Revello Drive without waiting to see if he was following.


 
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