Chapter Seven

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Calloused hands ran over her skin, fingers trailing heat along her spine, palms following the curve of her ass and the taut line of her thighs.  Buffy tossed her head back, arms draped loosely around his shoulders as she lowered herself into Spike’s lap, taking him deep inside her.

Even after endless hours of lovemaking, each time felt like the first, and Buffy gasped at the feel of him, at how he stretched her, filled her up so completely she couldn’t possibly want anything else ever again.  He suckled on her neck, lips closing over the tiny punctures marking her as his, and she felt the tingling shock of it deep in her womb.  The sensation bloomed, burst free of its internal confines and radiated outward, warming her belly from within, deepening the growing burn slowly setting her ablaze.

She was close, so close.  Those questing fingers of his reached her most sensitive flesh, massaged her slowly, drawing her further and further toward the edge.

“Buffy,” he said, voice rippling through her body like a storm on the ocean.  “It’s time to go.”

“It’s time to go.”

Buffy snapped awake at the sound of the nurse’s voice and nearly slipped out of her chair in her haste to move upright.  She was acutely aware of the heat in her cheeks and between her legs, and felt her face growing hotter with embarrassment at having that kind of dream here.  The nurse wore an unreadable expression as she stepped fully into the room.  Buffy pretended to rub her eyes so she could hide behind her hands, fearful that the nurse’s sort-of smile meant she had caught Buffy moaning in her sleep.  

“Visiting hours were over some time ago,” the nurse said, looking up at the wall above Buffy’s head.

Buffy craned her neck to follow the nurse’s gaze, eyes settling on the clock that told her it was already past ten.

“She needs her rest, and I’d say she’s not the only one.”  The nurse gestured to Dawn, curled up in another chair, fast asleep.  “Go, take your sister home.  Your mother has enough to worry about without you two adding to it.”

Buffy wanted to be angry.   How dare this stranger barge in and tell her what was best for her mother?  But the spark of annoyance fizzled out faster than it came, because the nurse was right.  Waking to find her daughters sleeping in hospital chairs instead of home safe in their beds would only add to Joyce’s already unbearable stress. 

Every part of her wanted to stay and fight, destroy the shadow that was ruining their lives.  She wasn’t just Joyce Summers’ daughter, but her protector — except this thing wasn’t something she could fight.     She felt helpless, knowing she could do nothing more than stay and keep watch.

“Come on,” the nurse said, holding the door open.  “You can come back in the morning.”

Buffy’s bones protested the motion of standing, partly because of the uncomfortable chair, but mostly because getting up meant leaving her mother alone for the night.  She woke Dawn, who stumbled along in a daze until Buffy pushed open the exit door.  The stuffy, sickly smell inside vanished with the fresh burst of sweet and cool air from the outside, and it seemed to jar Dawn into instant wakefulness.

“Oh,” she said, yawning and glancing around.  “We’re leaving?  Why are we leaving?  Mom—”

“Said we should go and get a good night’s sleep.”  It was too easy to lie to Dawn, but Buffy figured the harmless fib would sit better with her sister than, “The nurse made us go.”  

“We’ll come back in the morning, okay?”

Dawn looked doubtful, but said nothing else as they started walking.

A silence settled over them, heavy and smothering, making Buffy feel as though she were struggling to walk and breathe beneath a wet wool blanket.  The remnants of her dream lingered in the corners of her mind, tempting her away from the other things swirling around in her head, words like tumour and biopsy and one out of three.  The stabbing pain from hearing the truth faded away sometime between the doctor’s questions she couldn’t answer and killing Glory’s snake monster.    A dull, throbbing ache settled in its place, the sort that took up residence inside her chest and tucked in for the long haul because there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.

It wasn’t a demon and it wasn’t a spell.  Her mother’s attacker was something organic, human, a part of her body gone wrong, and the void of knowledge in her brain about the workings of the real world never felt as huge as it did now. 

Lamplight from the living room greeted them as they stepped into their empty house.  Dawn trudged up the stairs and Buffy followed, lingering in her bedroom long enough for Dawn to finish in the bathroom and climb into bed.  Buffy turned on the shower, shedding her rumpled clothing slowly until steam filled the room.  The water was hot, nearly scalding, and reddened her skin almost instantly.

I won’t cry.  I won’t cry.   I won’t cry.  I won’t cry...

The growing lump in her throat threatened otherwise, and Buffy bit into her lip, hard, until she felt the flesh give and tasted blood.  But the pain did little more than encourage her eyes to blur with moisture, and as she brought her hand up to cover her throbbing lip, the first tears slipped over her cheeks, and something inside snapped, burst open like a broken dam and flooded her body with a roiling, drowning flood of emotion.  She dropped to her knees, the water running hot over her head and shoulders as she fought to catch her breath against shuddering sobs.

When the water grew cold, she struggled to sit.  There weren’t any more tears, but her head ached and she couldn’t stop the gasping, shaky breaths.  Reaching out with a trembling hand, Buffy turned the shower off and forced herself to get out of the tub despite her desperate desire to curl up into a ball and never move again.  She couldn’t remember a time when she had cried so hard.

There was a little less pressure in her chest as she dressed in sweats and a shapeless t-shirt.  She knew she should go to bed, but dreaded the thought of lying awake in the dark alone with her thoughts.  So she checked on Dawn, found her snoring softly, and slipped downstairs for a glass of water to soothe her raw throat.

A flicker of movement outside caught her eye.  Buffy paused, glass half way to her mouth, and let out her breath when the spark of a lighter and the flare of a cigarette revealed the identity of her backyard visitor.

Spike.

The warmth seeping into her belly reminded her of the other situation, the one she hadn’t let herself think about despite her subconscious’ best efforts.  With her mother’s illness at the forefront of her mind and the urgency of the monster situation, it was easy to face Riley, to pretend everything was fine and to ignore the implications of her night with Spike.  Just as easy, Buffy realized, as denying Riley his offer of comfort and forgetting to look to see if he had been waiting for her when she left the hospital.

Now Spike was here and Riley was not.  Despite her growing turmoil about this increasingly messy situation, Buffy allowed her feet to carry her through the door onto the darkened porch and out into the yard where her vampire waited.

He didn’t say anything as she approached, just snuffed out the cigarette beneath his boot and wrapped her in his arms when her feet refused to stop a reasonable distance away.  She hadn’t meant to, but the moment she tucked her head beneath his chin and leaned into his solid body, she stopped caring about the right and wrong of it.  This thing between them was just too powerful to ignore, and his quiet support was a much-needed drug for her aching soul.

Somewhere in the midst of fresh tears, they made it to the steps and Buffy told him in whispers, punctuated with sniffles, everything that happened during the day.

“Oh, love,” Spike said, combing his fingers through her hair.  “I’m sorry.”

She liked that he didn’t say that everything would be okay.  Right now nothing felt as if it would ever be okay again, and words to the contrary sounded like lies or offers of false hope.

“Thank you, Spike.”  She laid her head on his shoulder and sighed.  “I’m glad you came.”

The last part slipped out, a thought that zipped past her brain’s filter before she could bury it.  But that inner voice warning her not to encourage this frightening change in her relationship with Spike remained subdued tonight and she made no attempt to take back the words. 

Spike exhaled heavily and leaned his head on hers.  “Where’s Finn?”

He didn’t have to add that he clearly expected Riley to be here with her tonight, and it tugged a little on her heart that it hadn’t kept him away, despite the risks to him should Riley find him lurking outside her home.

“I don’t know.”

And why didn’t she?

Spike tensed with that, so subtly she barely felt the arm around her stiffen and then relax.  “You want me to stay?”

More than you know.

“I—yes,” she answered, lifting her head so she could look at him.  “But I don’t—I mean, he... He doesn’t know.”

Buffy hoped she looked as apologetic as she felt.

“Didn’t expect it’d make the morning news,” Spike said, looking out across the darkened yard, his tone of voice unreadable.  “It’s complicated, I get it.  Just knowing you want...”

Buffy waited, but he didn’t elaborate.

“I want you to stay,” she said, after a minute’s pause.  “But I don’t want you dusty.”

Spike turned to face her, his eyes wide and glinting softly in the dim light from the window.  “Yeah?”

She felt her cheeks growing warm as she slipped her hand into his and squeezed.  “I was there, Spike,” she said, hoping he would understand what she was trying to say, even if she herself wasn’t sure.

Spike tilted his head and smiled softly.  “I’m hardly the definition of patience,” he said, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb.  “But you’re worth every excruciating second of the wait.”

She knew he meant it.  Here alone with him the choice was easy, even though nothing could be so simple.  Not with her mother’s tumour, or Riley’s involvement, no matter how strained things felt with him at the moment.

But Spike was here, and Riley was not, and that made her wonder if things were really so complicated after all.

Buffy let out a heavy breath and climbed into Spike’s lap.  “I don’t wanna wait,” she whispered, as his hands settled in the small of her back, pulling her close.

“Yeah, you do,” he said, bringing one hand forward to tuck her hair behind her ear.

God, he was making her light-headed with that look, worshipful and lustful all at once.  Her heart beat loudly in her ears, pumping a sudden blaze of heat through her body that dulled the pain, the fear, the uncertainty over Spike and Riley and what her friends would do if they knew.

“Why do I feel this way?” she asked, resting her forehead against his.

His fingers touched her face, brushed her cheek in a gentle caress.  “Don’t matter why,” Spike replied. 

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.  “What if—what if it isn’t real?” 

What if I’m only feeling this because I don’t want to feel everything else?

Spike took her face in his hands, brought her head up, forcing her to look at him.  “I was there, too, Buffy.”

Soft lips brushed over hers, not a kiss but a whisper of a touch that left her trembling in response.  His fingertips touched the marks on her neck, his marks, marks so small she could barely see them in the mirror, yet they pulsed hot and deep with that invisible force surrounding them.  

Buffy closed her eyes and felt the world around them start to spin away.  “And you’re here now.”

“I’m here.”  He placed feathery kisses on her nose, her cheeks, all over her face, whisking tears from her eyelids as they fluttered shut. 

Right before he kissed her, she heard, floating in the air between them in a low, dreamlike voice, “I’m wherever you want me.”

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