The Story of B

Part 7
Ascent

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Oh, God, what had she done?

It had been four days. *Four* days!

What had happened to that super Vampire healing? Go on vacation or something? Four days and he looked like *that*?

The first things that she'd noticed were kind of a blur. Spike wasn't alone. He'd brought along that floppy-skinned guy and Mr. Six Pack for company - just like any other guy who wasn't sure what kind of reception he was gonna get.

Then she'd really looked, cause something wasn't right. Usually his eyes jumped out at you, all bright blue and sharp, whether you were standing in a lighted room or sitting on top of him in the dark.

Oh, God.

She'd put on a poker face - had learned that from him - and tried to act like she always did when Spike was around her friends. Make a quip. Try not to think about - that other stuff. Like the way he looked when she was coming, or the way his hands traced the arteries in her neck.

*So* not a problem. Not tonight!

Buffy had been thrilled to take Richard outside to park his car. Spike might be letting her know that he'd forgiven her by coming to this little shindig, all uninvited (despite what she'd said to Tara, inviting him would have been the last act of her current life: she would have staked herself), but he was far from forgetting about it. There was wariness there.
'd m'd missed her. Of course. Only *Spike* could miss someone as crazy as she was right now. Hello! Drusilla! And dammit, she knew she was crazy, cause all at once, she'd realized that she missed him, too. How much more complicated cothisthis get? She'd beaten him to a pulp, left him lying in an alley, couldn't even get together the stones to check on him, and now -

So glad he couldn't see his reflection in the mirror. That he couldn't see what she'd done to him. She didn't know how she'd get through the night looking at him. And what she'd done to him inside was worse - more than enough for one stupid, romantic, infuriating, short-fused vampire to take. And the idiot just kept coming back for more.

She'd better just suck it up. Not get all melty every time she saw his prizefighter-battered eyes. She'd hurt him all right. In more ways than one. And she'd pay for it sooner or later. But not tonight. This was her twenty-first birthday and if he couldn't let it go (for tonight anyway), he could take his friend and Mr. Probably-Now-Four-Pack and leave. This was so not a topic for conversation tonight in this house.

Later, they'd talk about it later. In some neutral location somewhere. Like New Zealand.

Thank God Tara had come. At least somebody knew what the real deal was. That this was no casual drop-by for a party. Except - Tara really didn't know that, did she? Because Buffy hadn't told her what she'd done.

And really, how lame was this Richard guy? Nice, but hardly Slayer stuff, she thought idly.

Just what *was* Slayer stuff?

Buffy suspected that Slayer 'stuff' was standing in her kitchen right now looking at his Docs and trying to fit in.

Well, she owed him that rescue - and several others. But this was probably the one that really counted. Spike and Xander in the same house for the evening. She hurried Richard up and took a deep breath. Talk about nightmares!

++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Well, somehow this was going very well. Surprisingly well.

Xander hadn't tried to stake Spike yet.

Buffy had managed not to go all gooey and end up having SpikeSex in the hallway under the stairs (thanks, Tara!).

Tara and Will had moved out of 'circling' mode and were actually chumming up here and there, that is until Tara had started scalping the pokerettes.

Dawn seemed to be having fun.

Sophie? Well, what couou sou say about Sophie, except she'd managed to avoid allergic reactions to anything in the house (so far)?

Richard seemed to be good for one thing, as far as she could tell: courting the green-eyed jealousy demon.

Spike had caught her alone in the hall and had come on all Mr. I've-Got-A-Line-I've-Been-Saving-Just-For-You-Baby.

"I'll let you blow out my candles."

So that was a chip shot. Slam dunk, Spike straight into the basket. Three points. No mercy.

You just didn't throw a line like that out there and think she was gonna let it lie. But she got it. Spike had definitely not liked the idea of Buffy's having a 'date' for her birthday. Buffy had eased right out of his manufactured pick-up line by calling him on it and watching him sputter.

"You think he'll take you out on his ten-speed, pet?"

God, Spike was cute when he was jealous! She'd wanted to laugh in his face. Never seen him off-balance like this. Who'd have thunk it? He'd been playing the bad secret Boyfriend guy - Mr. Motorcycle in Docs and leather.

Jealous? Richard? Please!

It had probably been the very first regular-style flirting she and Spike had ever done. She had to admit she liked it. Liked it a lot. It was almost like -

Don't go there. Nope. Not there. Back to the guest list.

Clem. Now Clem was just about the cutest excuse for a demon she'd ever seen. Clem was the ice cream on a slice of cherry pie. Demon a la mode. Somehow he'd even made his 'skin condition' work for him.

Which brought her back to Spike, who'd brought Clem. Of course these days, just about everything brought her back to Spike. Richard had caught her alone in the hallway (got to stay with crowds!) and tried to talk to her. Buffy had let him down easy but quick. Gee, she didn't want to hurt his feelings, but she'd seen Spike hovering in the background and -

As Richard headed for the living room, Spike moved in.

He never should have started with the Richard-mocking. She had him there. Wham! But she'd let her guard down. Stuck around a second too long. In that moment, he'd backed her against the wall. And she didn't even notice his blackened eyes anymore. She'd gulped, started to melt - had been wavering. Almost falling, matter of fact. Then he took her hand and was propelling it exactly where it wanted to go. In the neighborhood of his crotch. She was trying to fight it - determined to stop using him, but - jeez!

Suddenly and just in time, the Cavalry had arrived. Tara. Giving her just the right amount of breathing (gasping) space to reconnect with Resolve Girl and get out while the getting was good.

The last thing she heard was Spike making a truly lame excuse to Tara.

"I had a - muscle cramp. Buffy was, uh, helping."

Okay, so it *wasn't* the last thing she heard. Because she'd stood on the other side of the door and used her finely tuned slayer sense and the open doorway to hear the whole thing.

Muscle cramp? In your - pants? At Tara's reply, she clamped her hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking with laughter. She'd have spewed if she'd had anything to drink.

Saved - by the saintly Tara's timely arrival and her wit.

Now they were all together in the living room, making a night of it.

The camps were divided into the Monopoly faction (headed by Anya the Capitalist) and the Poker crew (with the Xanman and Spikey vying for leadership - Spike and Clem seemingly handicapped by the lack of kittens). Somehow Tara had ended up over there and seemed to have won enough hands to have both demon and human males on the run.

Girl power, yay!

Frankly, Buffy would have preferred to sit behind Spike and make pointed remarks about his poker hand. That is, if Buffy had known anything about poker. Instead, she was stuck with sappy, sweet Richard. And Monopoly. With a crazed money-hungry ex-demon. She sighed and covertly watched the poker game.

What was that Tara had just said to Spike? About ice?

Oh, this was just too good! She thought she might be kinda gay for Tara...

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Somewhen, during the last few weeks, they'd crossed a line. Or rather, she had.

It had happened sometime after Buffy had beaten him so badly. Was it after Tara had told her she hadn't come back wrong after all - that she was still the same Buffy? After he had come bearing beer and Clem to her birthday party? After they'd had their private spat by the front door with a room full of her friends on the other side of the wall?

Pick one. The end result was the same.

"What are you gonna do, beat me up again?"

That had been the sum total of their conversation about that night. But he'd made his point. The demon she thought she'd been fighting that night wasn't him.

So she'd stopped fighting it. And him. She was resentful, yes. Confused? Double on the yeses. Conflict Wel Well, not so much with the conflict right now, cause she'd kinda stopped thinking about it. Just started letting Spike lead; he was a lot better at it than she had been.

She had stopped reminding herself that he was an evil undead thing. That she was only using him. Hadn't done any good. She'd just kept turning up at his place anyway.
metimetimes he was waiting for her under the tree when she got home from work and she would tell him 'no.' She liked telling him no. Liked watching his eyes go soft as he tried to persuade her. The way he touched her hair or invader ser space. They had a secret. He knew she liked it that way - knew that she liked it when he pushed exposure into the danger zone. Dangerous, stolen kisses in her front yard.

Some nights he came into the Doublemeat to see her at work. He'd order and then sit back and watch her. Other nights, she would take her breaks and he would be waiting for her out back. They'd indulge in some kissage and set the stage for later that night. There were days she left for work early, making a detour to try and catch him still in bed. Sometimes she did.

The craziness and violence and darkness had been exorcised by events of the night in the alley by the police station. All the fight had gone out of her after she'd done what she did.

They'd settled into some kind of mutual acceptance of the situation. He had refrained from bitching about her job, bitching about the secrecy. He'd stopped bitching completely. She'd stopped calling him a thing, trashing his crypt. Stopped screwing with his head. And they'd eased into this series of moments to try and gouge every bit of time they could from her everyday life. Moments that could easily turn into hours, if she let them.

He never remarked on the grease smell that clung to her hair. Never told her she was getting too thin. Never shrieked at her (Get out, get out, get out!). Never encouraged her to miss work or shirk her responsibilities (Well, not often anyway). And his face always lit up when he saw her.

He was consistent. Solid. For Spike, anyway. A smirking, flirting monster who loved her completely and unconditionally.

Envied him that. She wished she could love someone. Even him.

Even him.

She did love kissing him though. Loved the sharp planes of his face and those eyes that could go from hard to soft and back to hard in a blink. She loved drowning in them or skating across them depending on his mood. Having him inside her and feeling the low growls that crawled into her from the back of his throat, well, she loved that. She loved the way he made her feel and the way she *could* feel for that endless moment in time.

Never had to look for him. When she wanted him, he was always there. Always eager to see her, and to put his mouth on her to take away the deadness and the darkness that lingered inside.

They still didn't talk much, but that was okay, right? Because there wasn't much to tell. Her life outside of his crypt pretty much sucked. And he had no life outside the crypt at all anymore, so.... She knew it; he knew it, so why rehash it?

Buffy did her slaying alone most of the time now. If she needed help, he was somehow always there, but for the most part he must be hanging back, watching. It was okay if he watched - as long as he didn't try to impress her by horning in on her fights. She needed the fighting as much as she needed him.

Why not grab onto the little things that postponed the pain? And the dirty dishes and the laundry and the burgers and the endless temper tantrums from Dawn.

"I want you. You want me. I can't go inside - so maybe the time is right for you to come outside."

Tonight they'd done it in her front yard. She hadn't cared about the neighbors, hadn't cared about anything - except the hard comfort of him rocking away inside her.

Thinking was for the self-absorbed.

She was the numbed.

++++++++++++++++++++++++

Rakish.

Was that the word? Rakish? Somehow good old, solid, corn-fed Riley Finn had looked pretty exotic standing there with his new scar, all in black.

And the new wifey, Sam, had looked pretty good, too. She had to admit it to herself. Buffy was a little jealous of their relaxed banter - the cute couple in Kevlar sharing their work, their life, their bed.

Look how her friends had reacted. Xander's tongue was pretty well dragging the ground over Riley and his bride. Dawn was in general bitch mode, but Buffy didn't put much stock in it, because she remembered how Riley had been there for her when their mom was sick. And even though Willow had been fully prepared to hate Sam, Buffy thought it might only be because of their long-term friendship. Under other circumstances, Willow might have fallen at Sam's perfectly-shod commando-style feet.

Bottom line was simple math - Riley plus Sam equaled okay. Riley plus Buffy had equaled okay. Her friends, then and now, had accepted Riley - even with a new wife. A relationship between her and Spike was not even in the equation. Not in a million alternate realities.

She told herself she didn't care. It wasn't like she was gonna marry Spike or anything.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

It had just been too much. She couldn't discuss she and Riley's relationship with Sam. Hell, she couldn't even stay in the same cemetery with Superwife. She muttered some excuses about seeing a source and headed off to regroup. By the time she looked up from her feet and away from her thoughts, she was parked at the door of Regroup Central, with desperate questions that needed decisive answers.

"I love you. You know I do."

Decisive. No hesitation at all. The one thing that she had been able to count on as her life fell apart around her on a daily basis.

Spike loved her. Loved her when she was sweet, loved her when she was cruel, loved her when she smelled like burgers - or sex. He loved every twisted part of her. And in that moment, she loved him, too, in her own warped way. She wanted to show him and she wanted him to show her.

Right now.

Silencing him roughly, she pushed him over to the old sarcophagus in the corner - the one place they'd never been together. He had the softest look in his eyes, like he was being given a gift that he'd wanted all his life. It broke her heart to see him like that and it broke her heart to feel the way she did: guilty.

She reached down and started to undo his belt as he began to slowly and carefully push her clothes off of her. Wanting to memorize the look in his eyes, so that she would always have it, she tried not to look away, even to undress him.

Buffy didn't kiss him. That would mean not seeing his eyes. And he seemed to understand - his gaze accompanied every touch of his hand.

They made love for the first time. It was tender and poignant and everything she'd ever wanted. All that she bled for, he gave her. And she gave it back.

Finally, she did kiss him and it was like no other kiss they'd ever shared - all comfort and completion. Everything she'd never had, from him or anyone else.

There was music and they were dancing. It was a waltz, and this time they were creating the dance together, making it with their hands and lips and bodies.

It was fragile in its birth, trembling with new life. It cried out in sighs and whispers, murmurs and gasps. He told her he loved her, told her he needed her, told her he couldn't be in a world without her in it ever again. And she believed him, because she knew it was true. He'd never lie to her.

She didn't say any of the things *she* felt out loud. Because that would make them real, wouldn't it? And this was a dream - the dream where the stalwart lover finally breaches the castle walls and arrives victorious to rescue the maiden from the demon inside.

Oh, God. The demon inside.

As she climaxed, tears began to roll down her face. Locked in his own orgasm, he couldn't react. And if he could have, he wouldn't have known what to do anyway.

She was so afraid. The tension of months had been drawn away like pus from a half-healed wound. The pain had been her constant companion since she had returned - and now it was gone, leaving her empty inside.

As he stilled and buried his face in her shoulder, she looked up at the ceiling of the crypt, lit by the many candles that still burned, always burned, in his world.

But her borrowed candle had gone out.

He slipped out of her and she turned away. He didn't question the sudden distance between them. Best to let her 'suss' it out? Give her space? Sounded right. He never pushed anymore.

She fell into an exhausted half-sleep, rooted in twilight. This was slowly killing her - and if it was killing her, it had to be killing him. When she woke, if she did, this would be over.

It was time.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++


Buffy walked away from Spike and out into the harsh sunlight. She'd done it. The look on his face had hurt her deeply - she knew she had hurt him deeply - but it had had to end. Ultimately, she thought he understood that this was not about Riley or anything Spike had done. It was about her. About who she was, who she wasn't anymore, and who she might be again some day.

She knew she had finally done the 'right' thing. And she could be strong. She just hoped it wasn't too late - that she hadn't waited too long - to learn how to love.

The End