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Maybe Someday. Chapter 11.
Well, I've been a very busy bee this week, and so have finished the next chapter already. To be honest it wasn't too hard, since this has been sat in my head for months, just waiting to be written down. And I'm finally getting to the good stuff which make writing a lot easier! :) I'm also sure you want to find out what happens next... only I'm afraid there's another cliffhanger (and it's much worse!). ::evil grin::
Many hugs and kisses to my lovely (and very fast!) beta![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kathyh.
Previous chapters here.
Feedback?
Chapter 11
Buffy stared at the black jewellery box, suddenly recalling another vampire, another present. Many, many years ago... and how typical had it been of Angel to give her something that could be used as a weapon against him? Spike was unlikely to have bought her a cross - wasn’t he?
Tentatively taking the box from his hand, she shot him a smile. He had never given her presents... certainly not jewellery. Except of course from that time with Willow’s spell. For the tiniest moment she had a flash of fear - what was his taste like? Apart from skull-rings and the necklace he’d worn back when they’d been sleeping together, she didn’t have a clue. What would she say if she didn’t like it? Then she pulled herself together, opened the box... and gasped.
It was a gold necklace with a round, flat pendant the size of a walnut. She supposed that it must be an opal, only she’d never seen an opal like it - in her mind they were sort of sparkly whitish and dull. This opal was like fire - red and orange twining together, thousands of tiny facets catching the light as she stared at it mesmerised. It looked as though it was alive - moving, changing, burning up from inside. She had no idea how long she looked at it, it might have been days for all she knew. Slowly she tore her eyes from it and met Spike’s gaze.
“Do you like it?” he asked, and she could only nod as her eyes were drawn back to her new treasure. She had never owned anything like it. The Immortal had bought her jewellery from time to time - always something stunning and faultless, like diamond earrings - but this was different. After another eternity of losing herself in the glittery, shimmery depths of the stone, she lifted her head again. “It’s like it’s on fire...” she said, knowing that it sounded stupid and obvious, but she didn’t have the vocabulary for describing it. He smiled then, and she knew that somehow she’d said exactly the right thing. “That’s why I bought it,” he replied, “It reminded me of you.”
“Of me?”
He had her attention now and started explaining properly: “You’re like fire - you were always like fire to me. Dangerous. Alive. I knew you’d burn me, but I couldn’t help myself. I saw this last night and...”
He stopped and then started again, obviously trying to sort out his thoughts. “People don’t like opals much - they prefer ‘proper’ gemstones like diamonds. They’re looking for perfection, but what they don’t realise is that perfection is bloody boring. Perfection never changes. But opals...” He stopped, eyes shining like a cool blue counterpart to the gemstone. “Opals are alive - the imperfections make them move and shine like nothing else. That’s why it reminds me of you. If you were perfect I’d never have fallen in love with you - it would be like loving a statue. And I’ve been there, it’s no fun. William the Bloody Git was always trying to find something more refined, worshipping ideals with no roots in reality and thinking that unless a woman was as pure and good as an angel, she couldn’t be worthy of love.” He shook his head in contempt for his former self. “No, it’s all those different parts of you, all the good and the bad and the sometimes stupid that makes you so fascinating... that make you sparkle and burn. That make you Buffy.”
She felt her eyes sting from what must be tears - how did he do that? Take her flaws and turn them on their head? But if she was fire, then so was he! There had always been fire with Spike. She had known that if she gave in, she’d be on fire forever and she’d been right. When she had finally told him that she loved him there had been actual fire, only it had been nothing like the burning she had felt inside - that she had seen in his eyes. And it had always been there - that strength of feeling. Whether hate or love, she’d never been indifferent to him. Looking at him now, she suddenly realised that of course he was a poet. That constant, vulnerable heart beneath the Big Bad exterior... she sighed deeply and happily, and he smiled: “Can I...”
He stopped and the strangest look came over his face before he smiled again. “Can I put it on you?”
“Of course!” she replied, carefully taking the necklace out of the box. He must have used vampire speed, because the next second he was behind her, carefully fastening the clasp as she pulled her hair out of the way. As she lifted her head again, she heard a loud “Mamma Mia!” and saw Gilda by the kitchen door, a hand against her chest. As she came over to the table she continued with the longest continual stream of exclamations that Buffy had ever heard, and she was impressed by the sheer depth and breadth of the Italian language. Shaking her head as she took the plates away, Gilda then showed more tact that Buffy had thought possible, only muttering that Buffy’s new man had to be very wealthy as well as good-looking.
This was an aspect that hadn’t occurred to Buffy so far, but the necklace must have been very expensive... and Spike had never had any money. He said that he’d bought it - hadn’t he? But how?
“Sorry - I know this probably sounds really lame - but how did you afford this?”
He chuckled. “Oh, I’ve got money these days... well so far anyway. Bound to be cut off at some point, but until then - I can get pretty much anything!”
She shook her head in wonder. “How?”
He emptied his glass and refilled it, then shot her a glance. “I told you about Angel trying to get rid of me by making me a ‘Special Agent’, didn’t I?”
“Um, I think so...”
“Well, I didn’t take him up on the offer, but since I did start working with him, he got me a special agent card, since I didn’t want to be on the Wolfram & Hart payroll. It’s like a credit card that never runs out of credit - bloody brilliant! And I put a fake name on it, so it’s possible that they’ve not worked out that I’m the one using it... would explain why it still works anyway.”
She chuckled. “A fake name? Like Joe Doe or Mr. Smith?”
He looked at her, laughter in his eyes. “Well, you could say that... all I was concerned about was not signing anything. So I chose... no, let me show you!”
He pulled out his wallet and took out a plastic card with a silvery, shimmery shine. He handed it over without a word, and when she looked at it she suddenly understood the mirth on his face.
“Randy Giles???? You chose Randy Giles as your alias?” She laughed out loud and stared at him, recalling a certain spell with a fondness she’d once thought impossible.
“Well, I didn’t want something obviously made-up, and this one’s easy to remember. Also it drove Angel completely mad trying to work out why the hell I chose that name.” He chuckled and she felt her breath catch at the sparkle in his eyes.
“Never really realised how handy it was until today though. Mostly just been using it for blood, booze or fags. But when I called up that jewellers they practically bent over backwards to accommodate me. Would have delivered the necklace on a velvet cushion I’m sure, if I’d wanted. But what the hell would I have done with a cushion?”
She laughed and then suddenly felt some pieces fit together. “I thought I heard someone knocking on the door when I was in the shower!”
“Yeah, I told them to be quiet, but well, there is a limit to how quiet an Italian delivery boy can be!”
He emptied his glass and seeing that the bottle was empty he looked at her questioningly: “So, do we get more wine or what?”
She smiled. “Oh, no! Now - we go dancing!”
**********
It was around eleven when they finally walked home. As they strolled down the street, arms around each other, Buffy felt as though she was floating. Why had she never gone dancing with Spike before? Well, for a million different reasons, but all she could think of now was how much time she had wasted.
She’d done a lot of dancing since she moved to Rome, especially after she started seeing The Immortal, who of course had been an exquisite dancer. But Spike... she remembered that he’d once told her that dancing was all they’d ever done, but tonight she had finally really understood what he’d meant. He wasn’t technically as good a dancer as The Immortal of course... but he didn’t need to be. She found that she was so aware of him that she could second-guess his every move. All those years fighting - as adversaries or partners - had created an exceptional rapport. That he was a vampire probably helped - her Slayer-senses could always pinpoint him, but when dancing this became something more. She knew that she could have let herself fall at any moment and he would have caught her... she knew where his hands, his arms, his feet were at any given time, even if she closed her eyes. People had stopped and just watched them; but she hadn’t noticed until they finished, when suddenly there had been applause. Oh, she could have danced with him all night, except she had other activities planned...
As they stopped, getting ready to cross a road, she noticed an alley across the street. It was dark, the streetlights barely illuminating the first few feet - then it disappeared in blackness. It was as though it was calling to her. When she closed her eyes she was assulted by vivid images, almost too real to handle... His hard, lean body pinning her against the wall; deep, hungry kisses burning her as his hands wandered over her body, her dress pulled up around her hips, her legs wrapped tightly around his middle as the gritty wall bit into her back... she flung her eyes open, suddenly out of breath, and saw that he was watching her. Noticing the direction of her gaze he shot her a look, eyebrow quirked, but she shook her head mutely and made sure that they crossed the road at an angle, avoiding the temptation. It wasn’t that it was bad - just that... tonight she wanted something different. Tonight she wanted to make love. She wanted him in her bed, she wanted him to know that she meant it - she wanted him to be a part of her life, if only for a little while. An actual, real part, not hidden in any way. Like that last night in her basement, but better - no death and destruction hanging over them like a black shadow, ready to snatch away their happiness in an instant.
Outside her flat door, as she was looking for the keys in her purse, Spike spoke: “So what now?”
She stopped and looked at him, all of him, just standing there - as usual taking her lead. He always looked particularly beautiful in half-light, the cheekbones accentuated, the eyes somehow more blue. His body, outlined against the darkness of the hallway, so lithe and graceful - more than she could ever have wished for. She realised that something had happened to her breathing, because when she tried to answer, she could barely form the words. “I just... I just want you.”
There was a flash of something on his face... love and lust and need and tenderness all fused together, and suddenly she found herself pushed up against the door, his hands gently cupping her face. But unlike her swift fantasy moment, his kiss was delicate and soft, his touch light. It made her forget everything and she found herself responding, her arms reaching up behind his head, her fingers caressing his neck. She hadn’t kissed him since Sunday night, had not trusted herself - or him - had wanted to save it up, to savour it more thoroughly. And now she found that it did the strangest things to her. All strength seemed to have left her legs and her heart was hammering so loudly that it must be as deafening to him as it was to her. She could feel him - his whole body touching her, every detail known and suddenly needed with great urgency. She knew that he felt the same as he started pressing against her harder, his caresses intensifying. This caused the door - that should have been locked - to suddenly spring open, and only Spike’s vampire reflexes stopped them from falling over as her support fell away; their kiss unbroken as they half stumbled through the door.
It took a few moments before they registered that something was wrong. It was possibly the bright lights that shouldn’t have been on, that broke the spell. Slowly they pulled apart and turned their heads in unison to see the most unlikely sight they could have imagined: Sitting on Buffy’s sofa were Giles, Willow and Xander - their faces a study in bafflement and shock.
Continue to Chapter 12.
Many hugs and kisses to my lovely (and very fast!) beta
kathyh.Previous chapters here.
Feedback?
Chapter 11
Buffy stared at the black jewellery box, suddenly recalling another vampire, another present. Many, many years ago... and how typical had it been of Angel to give her something that could be used as a weapon against him? Spike was unlikely to have bought her a cross - wasn’t he?
Tentatively taking the box from his hand, she shot him a smile. He had never given her presents... certainly not jewellery. Except of course from that time with Willow’s spell. For the tiniest moment she had a flash of fear - what was his taste like? Apart from skull-rings and the necklace he’d worn back when they’d been sleeping together, she didn’t have a clue. What would she say if she didn’t like it? Then she pulled herself together, opened the box... and gasped.
It was a gold necklace with a round, flat pendant the size of a walnut. She supposed that it must be an opal, only she’d never seen an opal like it - in her mind they were sort of sparkly whitish and dull. This opal was like fire - red and orange twining together, thousands of tiny facets catching the light as she stared at it mesmerised. It looked as though it was alive - moving, changing, burning up from inside. She had no idea how long she looked at it, it might have been days for all she knew. Slowly she tore her eyes from it and met Spike’s gaze.
“Do you like it?” he asked, and she could only nod as her eyes were drawn back to her new treasure. She had never owned anything like it. The Immortal had bought her jewellery from time to time - always something stunning and faultless, like diamond earrings - but this was different. After another eternity of losing herself in the glittery, shimmery depths of the stone, she lifted her head again. “It’s like it’s on fire...” she said, knowing that it sounded stupid and obvious, but she didn’t have the vocabulary for describing it. He smiled then, and she knew that somehow she’d said exactly the right thing. “That’s why I bought it,” he replied, “It reminded me of you.”
“Of me?”
He had her attention now and started explaining properly: “You’re like fire - you were always like fire to me. Dangerous. Alive. I knew you’d burn me, but I couldn’t help myself. I saw this last night and...”
He stopped and then started again, obviously trying to sort out his thoughts. “People don’t like opals much - they prefer ‘proper’ gemstones like diamonds. They’re looking for perfection, but what they don’t realise is that perfection is bloody boring. Perfection never changes. But opals...” He stopped, eyes shining like a cool blue counterpart to the gemstone. “Opals are alive - the imperfections make them move and shine like nothing else. That’s why it reminds me of you. If you were perfect I’d never have fallen in love with you - it would be like loving a statue. And I’ve been there, it’s no fun. William the Bloody Git was always trying to find something more refined, worshipping ideals with no roots in reality and thinking that unless a woman was as pure and good as an angel, she couldn’t be worthy of love.” He shook his head in contempt for his former self. “No, it’s all those different parts of you, all the good and the bad and the sometimes stupid that makes you so fascinating... that make you sparkle and burn. That make you Buffy.”
She felt her eyes sting from what must be tears - how did he do that? Take her flaws and turn them on their head? But if she was fire, then so was he! There had always been fire with Spike. She had known that if she gave in, she’d be on fire forever and she’d been right. When she had finally told him that she loved him there had been actual fire, only it had been nothing like the burning she had felt inside - that she had seen in his eyes. And it had always been there - that strength of feeling. Whether hate or love, she’d never been indifferent to him. Looking at him now, she suddenly realised that of course he was a poet. That constant, vulnerable heart beneath the Big Bad exterior... she sighed deeply and happily, and he smiled: “Can I...”
He stopped and the strangest look came over his face before he smiled again. “Can I put it on you?”
“Of course!” she replied, carefully taking the necklace out of the box. He must have used vampire speed, because the next second he was behind her, carefully fastening the clasp as she pulled her hair out of the way. As she lifted her head again, she heard a loud “Mamma Mia!” and saw Gilda by the kitchen door, a hand against her chest. As she came over to the table she continued with the longest continual stream of exclamations that Buffy had ever heard, and she was impressed by the sheer depth and breadth of the Italian language. Shaking her head as she took the plates away, Gilda then showed more tact that Buffy had thought possible, only muttering that Buffy’s new man had to be very wealthy as well as good-looking.
This was an aspect that hadn’t occurred to Buffy so far, but the necklace must have been very expensive... and Spike had never had any money. He said that he’d bought it - hadn’t he? But how?
“Sorry - I know this probably sounds really lame - but how did you afford this?”
He chuckled. “Oh, I’ve got money these days... well so far anyway. Bound to be cut off at some point, but until then - I can get pretty much anything!”
She shook her head in wonder. “How?”
He emptied his glass and refilled it, then shot her a glance. “I told you about Angel trying to get rid of me by making me a ‘Special Agent’, didn’t I?”
“Um, I think so...”
“Well, I didn’t take him up on the offer, but since I did start working with him, he got me a special agent card, since I didn’t want to be on the Wolfram & Hart payroll. It’s like a credit card that never runs out of credit - bloody brilliant! And I put a fake name on it, so it’s possible that they’ve not worked out that I’m the one using it... would explain why it still works anyway.”
She chuckled. “A fake name? Like Joe Doe or Mr. Smith?”
He looked at her, laughter in his eyes. “Well, you could say that... all I was concerned about was not signing anything. So I chose... no, let me show you!”
He pulled out his wallet and took out a plastic card with a silvery, shimmery shine. He handed it over without a word, and when she looked at it she suddenly understood the mirth on his face.
“Randy Giles???? You chose Randy Giles as your alias?” She laughed out loud and stared at him, recalling a certain spell with a fondness she’d once thought impossible.
“Well, I didn’t want something obviously made-up, and this one’s easy to remember. Also it drove Angel completely mad trying to work out why the hell I chose that name.” He chuckled and she felt her breath catch at the sparkle in his eyes.
“Never really realised how handy it was until today though. Mostly just been using it for blood, booze or fags. But when I called up that jewellers they practically bent over backwards to accommodate me. Would have delivered the necklace on a velvet cushion I’m sure, if I’d wanted. But what the hell would I have done with a cushion?”
She laughed and then suddenly felt some pieces fit together. “I thought I heard someone knocking on the door when I was in the shower!”
“Yeah, I told them to be quiet, but well, there is a limit to how quiet an Italian delivery boy can be!”
He emptied his glass and seeing that the bottle was empty he looked at her questioningly: “So, do we get more wine or what?”
She smiled. “Oh, no! Now - we go dancing!”
**********
It was around eleven when they finally walked home. As they strolled down the street, arms around each other, Buffy felt as though she was floating. Why had she never gone dancing with Spike before? Well, for a million different reasons, but all she could think of now was how much time she had wasted.
She’d done a lot of dancing since she moved to Rome, especially after she started seeing The Immortal, who of course had been an exquisite dancer. But Spike... she remembered that he’d once told her that dancing was all they’d ever done, but tonight she had finally really understood what he’d meant. He wasn’t technically as good a dancer as The Immortal of course... but he didn’t need to be. She found that she was so aware of him that she could second-guess his every move. All those years fighting - as adversaries or partners - had created an exceptional rapport. That he was a vampire probably helped - her Slayer-senses could always pinpoint him, but when dancing this became something more. She knew that she could have let herself fall at any moment and he would have caught her... she knew where his hands, his arms, his feet were at any given time, even if she closed her eyes. People had stopped and just watched them; but she hadn’t noticed until they finished, when suddenly there had been applause. Oh, she could have danced with him all night, except she had other activities planned...
As they stopped, getting ready to cross a road, she noticed an alley across the street. It was dark, the streetlights barely illuminating the first few feet - then it disappeared in blackness. It was as though it was calling to her. When she closed her eyes she was assulted by vivid images, almost too real to handle... His hard, lean body pinning her against the wall; deep, hungry kisses burning her as his hands wandered over her body, her dress pulled up around her hips, her legs wrapped tightly around his middle as the gritty wall bit into her back... she flung her eyes open, suddenly out of breath, and saw that he was watching her. Noticing the direction of her gaze he shot her a look, eyebrow quirked, but she shook her head mutely and made sure that they crossed the road at an angle, avoiding the temptation. It wasn’t that it was bad - just that... tonight she wanted something different. Tonight she wanted to make love. She wanted him in her bed, she wanted him to know that she meant it - she wanted him to be a part of her life, if only for a little while. An actual, real part, not hidden in any way. Like that last night in her basement, but better - no death and destruction hanging over them like a black shadow, ready to snatch away their happiness in an instant.
Outside her flat door, as she was looking for the keys in her purse, Spike spoke: “So what now?”
She stopped and looked at him, all of him, just standing there - as usual taking her lead. He always looked particularly beautiful in half-light, the cheekbones accentuated, the eyes somehow more blue. His body, outlined against the darkness of the hallway, so lithe and graceful - more than she could ever have wished for. She realised that something had happened to her breathing, because when she tried to answer, she could barely form the words. “I just... I just want you.”
There was a flash of something on his face... love and lust and need and tenderness all fused together, and suddenly she found herself pushed up against the door, his hands gently cupping her face. But unlike her swift fantasy moment, his kiss was delicate and soft, his touch light. It made her forget everything and she found herself responding, her arms reaching up behind his head, her fingers caressing his neck. She hadn’t kissed him since Sunday night, had not trusted herself - or him - had wanted to save it up, to savour it more thoroughly. And now she found that it did the strangest things to her. All strength seemed to have left her legs and her heart was hammering so loudly that it must be as deafening to him as it was to her. She could feel him - his whole body touching her, every detail known and suddenly needed with great urgency. She knew that he felt the same as he started pressing against her harder, his caresses intensifying. This caused the door - that should have been locked - to suddenly spring open, and only Spike’s vampire reflexes stopped them from falling over as her support fell away; their kiss unbroken as they half stumbled through the door.
It took a few moments before they registered that something was wrong. It was possibly the bright lights that shouldn’t have been on, that broke the spell. Slowly they pulled apart and turned their heads in unison to see the most unlikely sight they could have imagined: Sitting on Buffy’s sofa were Giles, Willow and Xander - their faces a study in bafflement and shock.
Continue to Chapter 12.
no subject
It seemed to fitter better, the more I thought about it. :)
Probably ought to have returned Giles' call...
Too late now!