An Englishman in New York
folder
BtVS AU/AR › Het - Male/Female › Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
34
Views:
6,102
Reviews:
76
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
BtVS AU/AR › Het - Male/Female › Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
34
Views:
6,102
Reviews:
76
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Silent Night
A/N: The song Spike sings is Damien Rice's version of Silent Night. It breaks my heart everytime I hear it.
Silent Night
Christmas Day was a blur for Spike, and as he sat alone on the back porch strumming his guitar, he tried to make sense of the day. The whirlwind had begun after Joyce opened his gift to her when he had caught Buffy staring at his hands. His pulse had quickened, and he’d spent the rest of the day watching the myriad of emotions playing out in her green eyes.
His parents had stopped by for Christmas dinner bearing gifts – a book on vampires for Buffy (he’d told his parents of her shared fascination), a cashmere sweater for Dawn, a Le Cruse pot for Joyce, and a new guitar case for him to replace his well-worn model, which was still in New York.
Then there had been caroling, and he’d watched with amusement as the Summers were taken aback by his father’s voice. Joyce had commented that vocal talent must run in the family, and his mother had laughed uproariously – she had all the talent of a wailing cat in heat. After the singing and playing, there had been food, and after the food, more singing.
After the festivities had winded down, they had all loaded into a rental van and driven his parents to the airport with his father stammering protests left and right. It was unfair, Buffy had said, that they should have to fly out on Christmas day, but his father had business to attend to in London, and had chosen to come early for his birthday rather than stay after Christmas.
It was after eleven when Joyce and Dawn went to bed, leaving Spike and Buffy alone. Unsure of what to say when she insisted on looking over her gifts and cards from those still in New York, he’d retreated to the porch to sit in silence. Did she regret what had happened between them, and if so, why hadn’t she merely said so. Anything, even dismissal, would have been better than not knowing.
Desperate to purge himself of some of the loneliness in his heart, he finally settled on a tune, one which originally had no music, so he composed his own. He was completely oblivious to the fact that Buffy had silently crept out onto the porch and was standing behind him.
Silent night, broken night
All is fallen when you take your flight
I found some hate for you
Just for show
You found some love for me
Thinking I'd go
Don't keep me from crying to sleep
Sleep in heavenly peace
Silent night, moonlit night
Nothing's changed
Nothing is right
I should be stronger than weeping alone
You should be weaker than sending me home
I can't stop you fighting to sleep
Sleep in heavenly peace
“That was…” Buffy began, taking a seat beside him after the song was over. It was possibly the most gut-wrenching thing she had ever heard in her life, and she wondered if that was really how he felt. Did he think she had done what she did thinking he would leave?
“Didn’t see you there, pet,” he said nonchalantly as he lit a cigarette.
“Sorry.” Her tone was hushed and she sneaked a glance at him to judge his emotions. His eyes were unreadable, and it made her feel ill at ease.
“‘S’okay.”
One word. She knew in that moment that something was dreadfully wrong, perhaps so wrong that their friendship was irreparable. “Are you mad at me?” she asked in an almost childlike voice.
“Should I be?” He answered her question with one of his own, turning to pin her with an inscrutable stare. Cecily Adams’ words returned to his thoughts unbidden, and he instinctively resurrected the walls he had carefully constructed what seemed like centuries ago, walls only Drusilla and Buffy had ever been able to penetrate.
“No,” she said carefully. “I’ve just been thinking about what happened… that night, and –”
Here it comes, he thought. The soft goodbye, the slow let-down.
“What happened doesn’t even constitute sex according to Bill Clinton,” he said coldly. “Forget about it.” Even as he spoke the words, he felt as though he’d stabbed himself in the heart.
Buffy’s eyes widened momentarily, tears brimming in their emerald depths, and she took in a deep breath, fearing that her voice would break if she spoke now. Finally, she questioned shakily, “Was it me? Was I… bad?” It was Angel all over again, and the pain was every bit as fresh.
You have a lot to learn about men, kiddo. The words danced through his brain, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak them aloud. It was far better that he let her destroy him utterly than see that anguished look in her eyes a second longer.
“You were amazin’, pet,” he muttered, cursing himself for his weakness where she was concerned.
“Then why –”
“I won’t do it again,” he whispered fiercely. “I won’t give my heart away when I can never get it back, and I could never get it back from you. I’m drowning in you, Summers. You’re in my gut, my throat…” His breath hitched, and he abruptly fell silent; he hadn’t meant to say that aloud.
She knew then what she needed to ask, and she forged ahead bravely. “Y-you said that you… loved me. Was that just a guy thing, or did you mean it? If it was just… if you just meant it at the time because you loved what I was doing, I’ll understand, but I want to know, Spike, I need to know.”
In that moment, if she had asked him to impale himself on a railroad spike, he wouldn’t have hesitated. “I meant it; I just didn’t mean to say it, not like that.”
“How did you mean to say it?” she asked before she could stop herself.
Blushing faintly, Spike took a long drag from his cigarette and feigned insouciance. “Well, I’d hoped we’d be… y’know, together when I said it.”
“We’re together now,” she pointed out before realizing what he meant. “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh. There’s a bit of a problem there.”
“Riley?”
“Riley,” he confirmed. “Look, I don’t expect you to leave ‘im for me. I know you don’t… you don’t love me, so…”
“I don’t love him, either, Spike,” she stated simply. “I really think that I could love you, though.”
Releasing a pent-up breath, he crushed out his cigarette, tossed the butt aside, and drew her against his chest before she could even blink. “That’s all I needed to hear, that there’s a chance.”
“There’s definitely a chance.” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders securely, still amazed that this was the same man who had a reputation for being zany yet exceedingly distant. He was an open book to her, and she loved that about him.
“Let’s go inside,” he said quietly. “Just… to sleep.” The incurable romantic in him, the poet, wanted to wait until she was certain that she loved him before they actually made love, but the more hardened part of him was simply too emotionally exhausted to take the next step, and every bit of him wanted to be perfect for her. He had a lot of reading to do.
Gah, I sound like Dad!
At length, Buffy released him, and as she pushed to her feet, he gathered his guitar and followed suit. The pair silently made their way back inside and downstairs to his basement room. She kicked off her shoes and watched him unlace his boots, and they climbed onto the small cot in unison, Buffy sprawled atop him, a human blanket of black leather, golden hair, and bronze skin. No words were spoken, and soon they slept.
Silent Night
Christmas Day was a blur for Spike, and as he sat alone on the back porch strumming his guitar, he tried to make sense of the day. The whirlwind had begun after Joyce opened his gift to her when he had caught Buffy staring at his hands. His pulse had quickened, and he’d spent the rest of the day watching the myriad of emotions playing out in her green eyes.
His parents had stopped by for Christmas dinner bearing gifts – a book on vampires for Buffy (he’d told his parents of her shared fascination), a cashmere sweater for Dawn, a Le Cruse pot for Joyce, and a new guitar case for him to replace his well-worn model, which was still in New York.
Then there had been caroling, and he’d watched with amusement as the Summers were taken aback by his father’s voice. Joyce had commented that vocal talent must run in the family, and his mother had laughed uproariously – she had all the talent of a wailing cat in heat. After the singing and playing, there had been food, and after the food, more singing.
After the festivities had winded down, they had all loaded into a rental van and driven his parents to the airport with his father stammering protests left and right. It was unfair, Buffy had said, that they should have to fly out on Christmas day, but his father had business to attend to in London, and had chosen to come early for his birthday rather than stay after Christmas.
It was after eleven when Joyce and Dawn went to bed, leaving Spike and Buffy alone. Unsure of what to say when she insisted on looking over her gifts and cards from those still in New York, he’d retreated to the porch to sit in silence. Did she regret what had happened between them, and if so, why hadn’t she merely said so. Anything, even dismissal, would have been better than not knowing.
Desperate to purge himself of some of the loneliness in his heart, he finally settled on a tune, one which originally had no music, so he composed his own. He was completely oblivious to the fact that Buffy had silently crept out onto the porch and was standing behind him.
Silent night, broken night
All is fallen when you take your flight
I found some hate for you
Just for show
You found some love for me
Thinking I'd go
Don't keep me from crying to sleep
Sleep in heavenly peace
Silent night, moonlit night
Nothing's changed
Nothing is right
I should be stronger than weeping alone
You should be weaker than sending me home
I can't stop you fighting to sleep
Sleep in heavenly peace
“That was…” Buffy began, taking a seat beside him after the song was over. It was possibly the most gut-wrenching thing she had ever heard in her life, and she wondered if that was really how he felt. Did he think she had done what she did thinking he would leave?
“Didn’t see you there, pet,” he said nonchalantly as he lit a cigarette.
“Sorry.” Her tone was hushed and she sneaked a glance at him to judge his emotions. His eyes were unreadable, and it made her feel ill at ease.
“‘S’okay.”
One word. She knew in that moment that something was dreadfully wrong, perhaps so wrong that their friendship was irreparable. “Are you mad at me?” she asked in an almost childlike voice.
“Should I be?” He answered her question with one of his own, turning to pin her with an inscrutable stare. Cecily Adams’ words returned to his thoughts unbidden, and he instinctively resurrected the walls he had carefully constructed what seemed like centuries ago, walls only Drusilla and Buffy had ever been able to penetrate.
“No,” she said carefully. “I’ve just been thinking about what happened… that night, and –”
Here it comes, he thought. The soft goodbye, the slow let-down.
“What happened doesn’t even constitute sex according to Bill Clinton,” he said coldly. “Forget about it.” Even as he spoke the words, he felt as though he’d stabbed himself in the heart.
Buffy’s eyes widened momentarily, tears brimming in their emerald depths, and she took in a deep breath, fearing that her voice would break if she spoke now. Finally, she questioned shakily, “Was it me? Was I… bad?” It was Angel all over again, and the pain was every bit as fresh.
You have a lot to learn about men, kiddo. The words danced through his brain, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak them aloud. It was far better that he let her destroy him utterly than see that anguished look in her eyes a second longer.
“You were amazin’, pet,” he muttered, cursing himself for his weakness where she was concerned.
“Then why –”
“I won’t do it again,” he whispered fiercely. “I won’t give my heart away when I can never get it back, and I could never get it back from you. I’m drowning in you, Summers. You’re in my gut, my throat…” His breath hitched, and he abruptly fell silent; he hadn’t meant to say that aloud.
She knew then what she needed to ask, and she forged ahead bravely. “Y-you said that you… loved me. Was that just a guy thing, or did you mean it? If it was just… if you just meant it at the time because you loved what I was doing, I’ll understand, but I want to know, Spike, I need to know.”
In that moment, if she had asked him to impale himself on a railroad spike, he wouldn’t have hesitated. “I meant it; I just didn’t mean to say it, not like that.”
“How did you mean to say it?” she asked before she could stop herself.
Blushing faintly, Spike took a long drag from his cigarette and feigned insouciance. “Well, I’d hoped we’d be… y’know, together when I said it.”
“We’re together now,” she pointed out before realizing what he meant. “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh. There’s a bit of a problem there.”
“Riley?”
“Riley,” he confirmed. “Look, I don’t expect you to leave ‘im for me. I know you don’t… you don’t love me, so…”
“I don’t love him, either, Spike,” she stated simply. “I really think that I could love you, though.”
Releasing a pent-up breath, he crushed out his cigarette, tossed the butt aside, and drew her against his chest before she could even blink. “That’s all I needed to hear, that there’s a chance.”
“There’s definitely a chance.” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders securely, still amazed that this was the same man who had a reputation for being zany yet exceedingly distant. He was an open book to her, and she loved that about him.
“Let’s go inside,” he said quietly. “Just… to sleep.” The incurable romantic in him, the poet, wanted to wait until she was certain that she loved him before they actually made love, but the more hardened part of him was simply too emotionally exhausted to take the next step, and every bit of him wanted to be perfect for her. He had a lot of reading to do.
Gah, I sound like Dad!
At length, Buffy released him, and as she pushed to her feet, he gathered his guitar and followed suit. The pair silently made their way back inside and downstairs to his basement room. She kicked off her shoes and watched him unlace his boots, and they climbed onto the small cot in unison, Buffy sprawled atop him, a human blanket of black leather, golden hair, and bronze skin. No words were spoken, and soon they slept.