Dirty Back Road Sequel, Part 2
Oct. 15th, 2004 05:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thedeadlyhookYou know, it occurred to me, in working on this, that Buffy's story isn't so much one of a superhero who happens to be "just a girl" as the story of a girl who just happens to be a superhero. That strikes me completely as a "Fool For Love"-style "ask the right questions" situation. There's a big difference there, oh yes, there is. Previous chapter here.
__________
Sprawled out on the couch, a bowl of sliced bananas and yogurt balanced on one knee, Buffy flipped channels on the TV. She settled on one of the three music video channels and turned the sound up, wolfed her fruit to the sound of Eurobeats, and made a mental note of the outfit of one of the dancers in a hip-hop sort of video. Capri pants. Hm. Maybe.
The sound of a key in the front door lock drew her attention away from the TV. She could just see over the back of the couch to the entryway from where she sat. "Hey, Dawn!" she waved.
Dawn paused in the doorway, scanned the room. It was her day for drawing class; she had a large pad of paper and portfolio tucked under her arm. "Is he here?" she said.
"Who here?" Buffy mumbled. Her mouth was full of banana.
Dawn made no attempt to step into the room. "Spike."
Buffy crinkled her forehead, swallowed. "Uh, no," she said, sitting up straighter, oblivious to the way her silk robe draped open, revealing her cleavage and bare skin to the waist. "In fact, I'm probably not even gonna see him tonight. He's busy. It's just you and me."
Dawn sighed as if relieved, and closed the door.
Buffy dug into the yogurt again with her spoon, head down, surveyed her sister through her lowered eyelashes. She continued to eat quietly as Dawn bustled around the apartment, rattled dishes in the kitchen. Music blared cheerfully on the TV.
It wasn't until Dawn finally took up a position on the other end of the couch with her own minimalist dinner of cold pasta noodles that Buffy spoke.
"You're really not looking forward to seeing him again, are you?"
Dawn didn't answer right away. She looked thoughtful, spun noodles with a fork.
"Not really," she said finally.
Buffy pulled in a breath, let it out. "You still hate him, huh."
Dawn smiled, shook her head. "No. I don't hate him. I mean, I only ever really did because of what he did to you, and well... it'd be pretty stupid of me to still keep hating him if you don't."
Buffy smiled back, the all-knowing big sister. "That's not really how it works."
"I know that." Dawn settled back into the couch cushions, stirred her noodles. "I mean, you just... feel what you feel, right?"
"Kinda, yeah."
"So I'm okay with it, Buffy. Really. Or... I will be. I'm adjusting." Dawn's gaze floated over toward the TV screen, and she spoke as if to the energetic dancers. "It's just... kinda weird, you know? Having him back."
"Don't I know it," Buffy said. She settled back into the couch cushions herself, realizing with some surprise that she'd been more worried about Dawn's opinion than she'd realized. "I mean, the way it usually goes with me? Guys just drop by for a quick visit and then get right back to running for the hills."
"Uh, that's not what I meant." Dawn shot her sister a look. "Was kinda thinking more of the 'look he's dead' and 'now he's not' sorta thing."
Caught in the middle of scraping the last of the yogurt from her bowl, Buffy looked up. "Oh."
"Yeah, you'd think I'd be used to people coming back from the dead by now." Dawn teased, and swatted her sister with a pillow.
Buffy laughed, her tension evaporating. Thank god. "So you're really okay with--"
"Yes, I'm okay with you and him."
"Well... good. Because you know that your opinion is really important to me, and--"
"Sure. Super important." Dawn gave Buffy another hit with a pillow. "Just don't not tell me before you've made up your mind this time, okay?"
"Um, okay, huh?" Buffy fended off the pillow swat.
"Well, you are going to bring him by sometime, aren't you? For dinner or couch smoochies or whatever." Dawn flicked a finger at Buffy's open robe.
"Dawn!" Buffy laughed, but colored slightly and tugged her kimono closed, tied the belt a little tighter. "Yeah, I guess so. When he's done with his job or whatever. So far there just hasn't been time."
"See? That's what I mean. Just make sure to not surprise me, okay?"
"I already told you I wouldn't."
"So great. By then, I'm sure I'll be able to deal. After all--" Dawn closed her eyes, recited in a Buffy-imitation voice. "--he-has-a-soul-now."
Buffy swatted Dawn with a pillow this time. "It's not just that," she sighed, exasperated.
"I know, I know." Dawn dodged a pillow hit, tried to protect her bowl of noodles.
"He was changing before."
"I know. And with the whole world-saving, got it." Dawn rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Spike's a good guy now."
"No he's not," Buffy insisted, and she was still smiling, but her eyes were bright, like she really understood something and desperately wanted to explain it. "Or rather... not just that. Good is just part of what he is. I mean, he used to be bad, Dawn. Really bad. Like the kind of bad they came up with the name 'bad guy' for. But then he changed. Into something better." She stopped herself, bit her lip, watched TV for a minute.
"Don't you find that kind of encouraging?" she eventually added, when the video switched to a shampoo commercial.
Eating now, eyes on the TV, Dawn glanced back at Buffy. "Encouraging?" she mumbled around a mouthful.
"Yeah. That you could just... change like that. No matter what kind of life you've led, or mistakes you've made, you can still... make a choice about what you want to be. And then just... be it."
Dawn's head fell back then, and she groaned. "Oh, god, Buffy. This isn't going to turn into one of your big Slayer things, is it?"
"What big Slayer things?" Buffy protested. "Hey, it's not like I brag about it. Like, 'ooh, check out my battle scars. I got this one from fighting vampires.' What are you talking about?"
"You. The way you talk about being the Slayer lately. You get all spiritual." Dawn made a "spirit fingers" gesture. "It's like, now that it's all over you're trying to figure out what it means."
"Well, maybe I am." Buffy protested, after a short pause. She nudged her sister with her foot. "I was a Slayer for more than seven years, Dawn. You don't just wake up one morning and forget about that. Daily world-saving was kind of a big deal."
"Uh-huh," Dawn said. "You always used to complain about it."
"Well, don't get me wrong--I didn't say I wanted to be the Slayer anymore, just that it meant something."
"Right." Dawn rolled her eyes. "The Chosen One no more. Just one of the Chosen Many. I suppose I can see how you might be up for a new self-definition."
Buffy swatted her sister with a couch pillow again. "Ow!" Dawn protested.
"Life is mysterious," Buffy intoned. "It's a surprise a minute. I learned that from my long years of being a Slayer, Little Miss Know-It-All."
"Yeah, yeah. You never know what's gonna happen next. That's almost good enough for the back of a cereal box, Buffy."
Another pillow swat. Thwack. "Well, I think the idea that we have some kind of control over our destinies is kind of inspiring."
"Oh, sure, and now we're back to talking about Spike again, huh? I'm sure that's the only thing about him you find inspiring." Dawn made gagging sounds. "Oooh, Spike, you inspire me to shop for trashy outfits just for youuu!"
Buffy laughed then, and the two of them began pillow fighting in earnest.
__________
About nine o'clock, slow hours of TV watching sliding by, Buffy finally decided she was bored. Dawn had been talking on the phone in rapid-fire Italian to one of her school chums for what seemed like ages, she'd seen every music video at least a few times over, and she felt itchy and restless.
The night air was calling to her.
And hey, one of the plusses of having a cell phone was that she didn't have to be stuck waiting around at home. Even if Spike did decide to eventually call.
"I'm going out," she announced to her sister, who merely waved and nodded, and went back to laughing and chattering in Fellini-movie language on the phone.
Satisfied she'd fulfilled her sister-informing duties, Buffy headed for her bedroom and fretted over outfits. The new leather skirt was definitely out. She wasn't about to wear something that cool on just an off chance that she might get to show it off. His loss. She pulled a worn pair of jeans on instead, low-rise and skin tight, and topped them off with a finishing flourish of a fluffy scarf belt. Tight tank top, pointy black boots, red leather jacket. She was set to go.
She grabbed her house key, waved to Dawn, and took off into the night.
If daytime Rome was wonderful, Buffy thought, then nighttime Rome was a revelation. She loved the city after dark--she'd actually explored far more of it by night than she ever had by day, a lot of it with Romeo. Taking her around to all the fashionable nightspots had been The Immortal's favorite pasttime--she'd probably seen every hot dance club and see-or-be-seen restaurant the city had to offer during their brief affair. But even more than that, she'd gotten him to take her to historical places, show her all the initmate ancient hideaways that only a hundreds-year-old alchemist would know about. He'd been pretty dismissive about most of them, complained about how all the really interesting spots she'd wanted to see were all overrun with tourists. Oh, no, cara mia, the catacombs, they are so tacky. That keyhole panorama was invented by Knights of Malta to impress the ignorant--it's a simple trick by a craftsman; he was bored. So silly. You don't want to go to the museo of pasta, be serious. I know of an amazing new nightclub, all the movie stars go there, let's go.
Romeo really had been something of a spotlight hog. In hindsight, she wasn't sure how she'd ever put up with him.
Buffy set a brisk pace, skipped her way up their quiet residental street to the main road and waited under a streetlamp for the bus. Rode the shivering old coach to the vicinity of the Trevi fountain. The heart of the old city was still her favorite area, always bustling with visitors going to and fro between the fountain and the forum and the Spanish Steps... she felt at home as a local and comfortable among the visitors both. A true citizen of the world.
Ignoring the usual loud traffic and blaring horns, she forged across the roadway. Found a cafe and ordered a double espresso and a pomegranate-flavored Italian soda. Drank them both standing at the bar, one foot on the rail. She always felt so cosmopolitan when she did that. European to the core.
Rejuvenated, she strolled back out onto the plaza for a little people-watching. Amused herself checking out the tourists for awhile, then wandered off on her own.
The back streets of Rome were a whole other realm of fascinating. So many eras of architecture crammed in close. Old, new, crowded, noisy, quiet. Cobblestone and brick and sleek new Maserati sports cars.
And no demons to speak of.
How could she not love this place?
She jumped up on a low wall, tiptoed along it as if it were a balance beam.
In all honesty, she knew exactly why she was so restless. Dawn's questions hadn't helped. Well, you are going to bring him by sometime, aren't you? For dinner or couch smoochies or whatever?
Sure, all but come right out and ask her when she and Spike were going to start having sex. Typical pushy little sister stuff.
They hadn't even kissed yet.
And the reason why wasn't what Dawn was thinking, either. They'd already gotten past that particular hurdle on the final night before the Hellmouth, laid the ghost of that horrible bathroom incident finally to rest. She'd made love to him in that damp basement, on that creaky old camp cot in a house that didn't exist anymore. And by noon the next day, he'd been dead.
It was hard for her to look back on that night and not feel like she'd done everything exactly wrong.
He'd been silent. Not a word had been spoken between them beyond the softest of instructions... and that had felt right at the time but oh-so-wrong now. The sex had been unremarkable too--it hadn't lasted long, and that had definitely been new for them. She hadn't given that a thought at the time either--after all, her mother's basement had hardly been the best atmosphere for it, what with the need to be quiet and the tension of the upcoming battle and the surrounding mildew and laundry smells. But all of that had seemed unimportant--it was like the sex itself was just a prerequisite, a necessary barrier to get past. It was the aftermath that she'd really wanted--to lie peacefully in his arms and sleep there, surrounded by the scent of their sex and combined warmth, feeling strengthened and loved and safe.
Looking back now, it looked exactly like a goodbye.
She'd been too caught up at the time with what it wasn't to even notice what it was.
Buffy leaped down from the wall, then back up again. Traversed the entire length of the wall like that, up and down and back and forth along the stone surface in a burst of giddy energy. To any curious onlooker, she probably would have looked like she was dancing. Gene Kelley in Singin' in the Rain.
The sex could wait. She could wait. And sure, it was hard sometimes--there were moments when all she could think of was burying her hands in his hair and kissing him breathless... or herself, rather, since he didn't breathe. She wanted that with him again, desperately--that feeling of trust and sharing and gentleness that they'd only ever felt together so rarely. She did want to bring him home, have smoochies on her couch like Dawn said, make love to him in her own bed. Sleep next to him and wake up together.
She'd dreamt of that, sometimes. After he'd been gone. There'd been moments in those first few weeks on the road that she'd wake up in some unfamiliar house or hotel, convinced he'd be there with her, as if in those last three nights she'd spent with him by her side had somehow been accepted by her mind as the norm. Like all she had to do was turn around and he'd be there, sleeping.
She couldn't have that again until he knew. How much that meant to her. And it certainly wasn't time for that yet. Right now, there was no way that throwing herself in his arms would look like anything but her just being demanding with him the way she'd always been. Service me, William.
She'd buy herself a vibrator before she'd let him entertain any idea that she'd given him a pity sendoff again.
She jumped down from the wall, resumed walking up the quiet road.
No, the all-clear signal would have to come from him this time--the way he'd come back to her had been enough to tell her that. Spike was different now, self-contained and confident and strong in a way he hadn't been since... well, since he'd first stepped into that alley behind the Bronze and threatened to kill her. And honestly? There was more than a little thrill in it for her to see him that way, almost as if they were resuming their dance where they'd originally left it off, so, so long ago... only now instead of death threats it was a dance to see who would give in first, who would be the one to admit to wanting and needing. He wasn't yearning up at her with that hopeful look on his face anymore, all lost and submissive and surrendered to her. Even if Buffy had, honestly, found that kind of sexy too, the whole helpless-in-chains look, she didn't really miss it. It was better that he be like this. Much better that he could stand on his own two feet without her.
It would mean that much more to him when she gave in. Yes, Spike, yes, I love you. I want you. If you want me, then yes.
She understood that much, she thought, about the way his mind worked.
And they had time now. All the time in the world.
The phone in her pocket gave a little trill. She fished it out, smiled at the picture that flashed up at her, caller I.D.
"Hey there," she said softly, putting the phone to her ear.
"Know it's late, pet, but if you still want to meet up...?"
"Late?" She checked her watch. Three a.m.? How did that happen? "Hey, I'm wide awake. Just point me in the right direction."
As usual, he wouldn't tell her where he was. Just named a spot where they could meet. It was kind of far out, unfortunately--she consulted her pocket map, estimated at least an hour for her to get there by bus. Not a lot of time before sunrise by then, she thought to herself, and then wondered if this might be the night when he'd finally give in and let her see where he was staying during the daylight hours.
"I'll be there," she told him, and hung up the phone.
__________
Sprawled out on the couch, a bowl of sliced bananas and yogurt balanced on one knee, Buffy flipped channels on the TV. She settled on one of the three music video channels and turned the sound up, wolfed her fruit to the sound of Eurobeats, and made a mental note of the outfit of one of the dancers in a hip-hop sort of video. Capri pants. Hm. Maybe.
The sound of a key in the front door lock drew her attention away from the TV. She could just see over the back of the couch to the entryway from where she sat. "Hey, Dawn!" she waved.
Dawn paused in the doorway, scanned the room. It was her day for drawing class; she had a large pad of paper and portfolio tucked under her arm. "Is he here?" she said.
"Who here?" Buffy mumbled. Her mouth was full of banana.
Dawn made no attempt to step into the room. "Spike."
Buffy crinkled her forehead, swallowed. "Uh, no," she said, sitting up straighter, oblivious to the way her silk robe draped open, revealing her cleavage and bare skin to the waist. "In fact, I'm probably not even gonna see him tonight. He's busy. It's just you and me."
Dawn sighed as if relieved, and closed the door.
Buffy dug into the yogurt again with her spoon, head down, surveyed her sister through her lowered eyelashes. She continued to eat quietly as Dawn bustled around the apartment, rattled dishes in the kitchen. Music blared cheerfully on the TV.
It wasn't until Dawn finally took up a position on the other end of the couch with her own minimalist dinner of cold pasta noodles that Buffy spoke.
"You're really not looking forward to seeing him again, are you?"
Dawn didn't answer right away. She looked thoughtful, spun noodles with a fork.
"Not really," she said finally.
Buffy pulled in a breath, let it out. "You still hate him, huh."
Dawn smiled, shook her head. "No. I don't hate him. I mean, I only ever really did because of what he did to you, and well... it'd be pretty stupid of me to still keep hating him if you don't."
Buffy smiled back, the all-knowing big sister. "That's not really how it works."
"I know that." Dawn settled back into the couch cushions, stirred her noodles. "I mean, you just... feel what you feel, right?"
"Kinda, yeah."
"So I'm okay with it, Buffy. Really. Or... I will be. I'm adjusting." Dawn's gaze floated over toward the TV screen, and she spoke as if to the energetic dancers. "It's just... kinda weird, you know? Having him back."
"Don't I know it," Buffy said. She settled back into the couch cushions herself, realizing with some surprise that she'd been more worried about Dawn's opinion than she'd realized. "I mean, the way it usually goes with me? Guys just drop by for a quick visit and then get right back to running for the hills."
"Uh, that's not what I meant." Dawn shot her sister a look. "Was kinda thinking more of the 'look he's dead' and 'now he's not' sorta thing."
Caught in the middle of scraping the last of the yogurt from her bowl, Buffy looked up. "Oh."
"Yeah, you'd think I'd be used to people coming back from the dead by now." Dawn teased, and swatted her sister with a pillow.
Buffy laughed, her tension evaporating. Thank god. "So you're really okay with--"
"Yes, I'm okay with you and him."
"Well... good. Because you know that your opinion is really important to me, and--"
"Sure. Super important." Dawn gave Buffy another hit with a pillow. "Just don't not tell me before you've made up your mind this time, okay?"
"Um, okay, huh?" Buffy fended off the pillow swat.
"Well, you are going to bring him by sometime, aren't you? For dinner or couch smoochies or whatever." Dawn flicked a finger at Buffy's open robe.
"Dawn!" Buffy laughed, but colored slightly and tugged her kimono closed, tied the belt a little tighter. "Yeah, I guess so. When he's done with his job or whatever. So far there just hasn't been time."
"See? That's what I mean. Just make sure to not surprise me, okay?"
"I already told you I wouldn't."
"So great. By then, I'm sure I'll be able to deal. After all--" Dawn closed her eyes, recited in a Buffy-imitation voice. "--he-has-a-soul-now."
Buffy swatted Dawn with a pillow this time. "It's not just that," she sighed, exasperated.
"I know, I know." Dawn dodged a pillow hit, tried to protect her bowl of noodles.
"He was changing before."
"I know. And with the whole world-saving, got it." Dawn rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Spike's a good guy now."
"No he's not," Buffy insisted, and she was still smiling, but her eyes were bright, like she really understood something and desperately wanted to explain it. "Or rather... not just that. Good is just part of what he is. I mean, he used to be bad, Dawn. Really bad. Like the kind of bad they came up with the name 'bad guy' for. But then he changed. Into something better." She stopped herself, bit her lip, watched TV for a minute.
"Don't you find that kind of encouraging?" she eventually added, when the video switched to a shampoo commercial.
Eating now, eyes on the TV, Dawn glanced back at Buffy. "Encouraging?" she mumbled around a mouthful.
"Yeah. That you could just... change like that. No matter what kind of life you've led, or mistakes you've made, you can still... make a choice about what you want to be. And then just... be it."
Dawn's head fell back then, and she groaned. "Oh, god, Buffy. This isn't going to turn into one of your big Slayer things, is it?"
"What big Slayer things?" Buffy protested. "Hey, it's not like I brag about it. Like, 'ooh, check out my battle scars. I got this one from fighting vampires.' What are you talking about?"
"You. The way you talk about being the Slayer lately. You get all spiritual." Dawn made a "spirit fingers" gesture. "It's like, now that it's all over you're trying to figure out what it means."
"Well, maybe I am." Buffy protested, after a short pause. She nudged her sister with her foot. "I was a Slayer for more than seven years, Dawn. You don't just wake up one morning and forget about that. Daily world-saving was kind of a big deal."
"Uh-huh," Dawn said. "You always used to complain about it."
"Well, don't get me wrong--I didn't say I wanted to be the Slayer anymore, just that it meant something."
"Right." Dawn rolled her eyes. "The Chosen One no more. Just one of the Chosen Many. I suppose I can see how you might be up for a new self-definition."
Buffy swatted her sister with a couch pillow again. "Ow!" Dawn protested.
"Life is mysterious," Buffy intoned. "It's a surprise a minute. I learned that from my long years of being a Slayer, Little Miss Know-It-All."
"Yeah, yeah. You never know what's gonna happen next. That's almost good enough for the back of a cereal box, Buffy."
Another pillow swat. Thwack. "Well, I think the idea that we have some kind of control over our destinies is kind of inspiring."
"Oh, sure, and now we're back to talking about Spike again, huh? I'm sure that's the only thing about him you find inspiring." Dawn made gagging sounds. "Oooh, Spike, you inspire me to shop for trashy outfits just for youuu!"
Buffy laughed then, and the two of them began pillow fighting in earnest.
__________
About nine o'clock, slow hours of TV watching sliding by, Buffy finally decided she was bored. Dawn had been talking on the phone in rapid-fire Italian to one of her school chums for what seemed like ages, she'd seen every music video at least a few times over, and she felt itchy and restless.
The night air was calling to her.
And hey, one of the plusses of having a cell phone was that she didn't have to be stuck waiting around at home. Even if Spike did decide to eventually call.
"I'm going out," she announced to her sister, who merely waved and nodded, and went back to laughing and chattering in Fellini-movie language on the phone.
Satisfied she'd fulfilled her sister-informing duties, Buffy headed for her bedroom and fretted over outfits. The new leather skirt was definitely out. She wasn't about to wear something that cool on just an off chance that she might get to show it off. His loss. She pulled a worn pair of jeans on instead, low-rise and skin tight, and topped them off with a finishing flourish of a fluffy scarf belt. Tight tank top, pointy black boots, red leather jacket. She was set to go.
She grabbed her house key, waved to Dawn, and took off into the night.
If daytime Rome was wonderful, Buffy thought, then nighttime Rome was a revelation. She loved the city after dark--she'd actually explored far more of it by night than she ever had by day, a lot of it with Romeo. Taking her around to all the fashionable nightspots had been The Immortal's favorite pasttime--she'd probably seen every hot dance club and see-or-be-seen restaurant the city had to offer during their brief affair. But even more than that, she'd gotten him to take her to historical places, show her all the initmate ancient hideaways that only a hundreds-year-old alchemist would know about. He'd been pretty dismissive about most of them, complained about how all the really interesting spots she'd wanted to see were all overrun with tourists. Oh, no, cara mia, the catacombs, they are so tacky. That keyhole panorama was invented by Knights of Malta to impress the ignorant--it's a simple trick by a craftsman; he was bored. So silly. You don't want to go to the museo of pasta, be serious. I know of an amazing new nightclub, all the movie stars go there, let's go.
Romeo really had been something of a spotlight hog. In hindsight, she wasn't sure how she'd ever put up with him.
Buffy set a brisk pace, skipped her way up their quiet residental street to the main road and waited under a streetlamp for the bus. Rode the shivering old coach to the vicinity of the Trevi fountain. The heart of the old city was still her favorite area, always bustling with visitors going to and fro between the fountain and the forum and the Spanish Steps... she felt at home as a local and comfortable among the visitors both. A true citizen of the world.
Ignoring the usual loud traffic and blaring horns, she forged across the roadway. Found a cafe and ordered a double espresso and a pomegranate-flavored Italian soda. Drank them both standing at the bar, one foot on the rail. She always felt so cosmopolitan when she did that. European to the core.
Rejuvenated, she strolled back out onto the plaza for a little people-watching. Amused herself checking out the tourists for awhile, then wandered off on her own.
The back streets of Rome were a whole other realm of fascinating. So many eras of architecture crammed in close. Old, new, crowded, noisy, quiet. Cobblestone and brick and sleek new Maserati sports cars.
And no demons to speak of.
How could she not love this place?
She jumped up on a low wall, tiptoed along it as if it were a balance beam.
In all honesty, she knew exactly why she was so restless. Dawn's questions hadn't helped. Well, you are going to bring him by sometime, aren't you? For dinner or couch smoochies or whatever?
Sure, all but come right out and ask her when she and Spike were going to start having sex. Typical pushy little sister stuff.
They hadn't even kissed yet.
And the reason why wasn't what Dawn was thinking, either. They'd already gotten past that particular hurdle on the final night before the Hellmouth, laid the ghost of that horrible bathroom incident finally to rest. She'd made love to him in that damp basement, on that creaky old camp cot in a house that didn't exist anymore. And by noon the next day, he'd been dead.
It was hard for her to look back on that night and not feel like she'd done everything exactly wrong.
He'd been silent. Not a word had been spoken between them beyond the softest of instructions... and that had felt right at the time but oh-so-wrong now. The sex had been unremarkable too--it hadn't lasted long, and that had definitely been new for them. She hadn't given that a thought at the time either--after all, her mother's basement had hardly been the best atmosphere for it, what with the need to be quiet and the tension of the upcoming battle and the surrounding mildew and laundry smells. But all of that had seemed unimportant--it was like the sex itself was just a prerequisite, a necessary barrier to get past. It was the aftermath that she'd really wanted--to lie peacefully in his arms and sleep there, surrounded by the scent of their sex and combined warmth, feeling strengthened and loved and safe.
Looking back now, it looked exactly like a goodbye.
She'd been too caught up at the time with what it wasn't to even notice what it was.
Buffy leaped down from the wall, then back up again. Traversed the entire length of the wall like that, up and down and back and forth along the stone surface in a burst of giddy energy. To any curious onlooker, she probably would have looked like she was dancing. Gene Kelley in Singin' in the Rain.
The sex could wait. She could wait. And sure, it was hard sometimes--there were moments when all she could think of was burying her hands in his hair and kissing him breathless... or herself, rather, since he didn't breathe. She wanted that with him again, desperately--that feeling of trust and sharing and gentleness that they'd only ever felt together so rarely. She did want to bring him home, have smoochies on her couch like Dawn said, make love to him in her own bed. Sleep next to him and wake up together.
She'd dreamt of that, sometimes. After he'd been gone. There'd been moments in those first few weeks on the road that she'd wake up in some unfamiliar house or hotel, convinced he'd be there with her, as if in those last three nights she'd spent with him by her side had somehow been accepted by her mind as the norm. Like all she had to do was turn around and he'd be there, sleeping.
She couldn't have that again until he knew. How much that meant to her. And it certainly wasn't time for that yet. Right now, there was no way that throwing herself in his arms would look like anything but her just being demanding with him the way she'd always been. Service me, William.
She'd buy herself a vibrator before she'd let him entertain any idea that she'd given him a pity sendoff again.
She jumped down from the wall, resumed walking up the quiet road.
No, the all-clear signal would have to come from him this time--the way he'd come back to her had been enough to tell her that. Spike was different now, self-contained and confident and strong in a way he hadn't been since... well, since he'd first stepped into that alley behind the Bronze and threatened to kill her. And honestly? There was more than a little thrill in it for her to see him that way, almost as if they were resuming their dance where they'd originally left it off, so, so long ago... only now instead of death threats it was a dance to see who would give in first, who would be the one to admit to wanting and needing. He wasn't yearning up at her with that hopeful look on his face anymore, all lost and submissive and surrendered to her. Even if Buffy had, honestly, found that kind of sexy too, the whole helpless-in-chains look, she didn't really miss it. It was better that he be like this. Much better that he could stand on his own two feet without her.
It would mean that much more to him when she gave in. Yes, Spike, yes, I love you. I want you. If you want me, then yes.
She understood that much, she thought, about the way his mind worked.
And they had time now. All the time in the world.
The phone in her pocket gave a little trill. She fished it out, smiled at the picture that flashed up at her, caller I.D.
"Hey there," she said softly, putting the phone to her ear.
"Know it's late, pet, but if you still want to meet up...?"
"Late?" She checked her watch. Three a.m.? How did that happen? "Hey, I'm wide awake. Just point me in the right direction."
As usual, he wouldn't tell her where he was. Just named a spot where they could meet. It was kind of far out, unfortunately--she consulted her pocket map, estimated at least an hour for her to get there by bus. Not a lot of time before sunrise by then, she thought to herself, and then wondered if this might be the night when he'd finally give in and let her see where he was staying during the daylight hours.
"I'll be there," she told him, and hung up the phone.