Life Serial Revisited

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Title: Life Serial Revisited

Author: Tiana

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Disclaimer: I don’t own the rights to Spike, Buffy or any other BTVS characters. Damn it.

Distribution: Just ask at tianabelle@hotmail.com.

Summary: Set Season 6, during the episode Life Serial. Picks up when Buffy leaves the Magic Box after her failed afternoon as a sales clerk. What really happens with Spike and Buffy before and after they start drinking together?

Rating: R (For now) for nudity and drinking and stuff.

Note: The first parts of this fic are set in the episode Life Serial, so lines will be quoted directly from that episode.


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Chapter 1: Escape
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I slam my way out of the Magic Box, smiling in grim satisfaction as the door rattles on its hinges. Slayer strength comes in handy when you are storming out on a job as well as with the more common demon-killing tasks. Truth be told, I would have liked to rip the door off its hinges and smash it to bits in frustration, but then I would never hear the end of it from Anya and Giles. All sorts of lectures on responsibility and payment plans. I grin while imagining the shocked looks on their faces though, and it puts a slight bounce in my step. The grin fades quickly as I remember the special circle of retail hell I just escaped. Could a few more weird things happen to me today? I am not meant to sell things with a fake smile and wave. Oh no. I was chosen to kick demon ass, not try to sell demon…ass. Or other demon parts. Speaking of demons, I realize that I have automatically directed my huffy departure from the Magic Box directly toward his cemetery. And his crypt. And by him, I only mean one particular me of of the undead. Spike.

Whoa, nelly. What’s that all about? My face scrunches up as I pull myself to a stop just across the street from the cemetery. Rather than head home, I was really heading for Spike’s dusty musty crypt. Well, that doesn’t make sense. I cock my head and look up at the late afternoon sun. Why would I head there now - he’s not even awake yet. I better wait a bit before I storm in on the annoying undead. I spin on my heel and head towards home, that bounce returning to my step at the thought.

An hour later, I walk down the street, periodically almost breaking into a run. I changed into jeans for comfort and to distance myself from my anoonnoon – or several afternoons as it seemed to me – at the Magic Box. Squinting at the sun low in the sky, my thoughts turn to him. He could be up by now… The thought of waiting any longer does not even occur. I had already spent the last hour pacing through the house, thankful that Dawn was participating in a sleepover at Janice’s. Better to avoid the inevitable “Are you okay?” and “How are you feeling?”, which were fast becoming my least favorite questions in the world. No, I am not okay. I died, I went to heaven and now I’m back, doing laundry and paying bills and generally feeling like curling up in a ball to cry for a good long while. Not that I can tell anyone that. Well, except Spike. Why Spike is something I do not consider. That way leads to confusion. The most comfortable reason is that he doesn’t really count. Just a vampire, not a friend. And yet, I’m heading his way after my terrible daountounting on him to cheer me up. Spike. To cheer me up. I shake my head with a rueful laugh. My return to life has truly been a weird weird trip.

I find myself suddenly in front of Spike’s crypt. I raise my fist to knock, but catch myself. Please. Like I knock. I do decide not to kick the creaky metal door open for some reason. Growing respect for his home? Nah. It’s just that…well, these shoes are new. And that door is very dirty. Instead, I gently push on the door, opening it just enough to let myself slip in. Closing the door behind me, I find myself in near darkness, though really it is just that it takes my eyes a few seconds to start adjusting. The crypt is lit with a soft orange glow from the dropping sun. As I start to be able to see a bit more, I look around the upstairs of the crypt. Empty chair, television off. Hmm. No Spike. I take a few steps toward the ladder and the heels of my snazzy new shoes click clack, the sound bouncing off the cold concrete walls. I freeze, amazed at how loud the sound seems. I lean down, slipping them off and putting them aside by the door. As my hands release them, I hesitate. What the hell am I doing? All the times I’ve barged in, loud as you please, run through my minnd Snd Spike’s reactto tto those times also plays. Right pissed. And for my own reasons, I would really like him to be in a good mood when he sees me tonight. I want…well, I just want that. Won’t be in much of a mood to make me feel better if I piss him off just coming in.

A small sigh escaping me, I slip across the room on bare feet without a sound. I reach the ladder and look down, listening for…what? He doesn’t breathe, Buffy. Wondering once again at how just how out of sorts I am from my day, I put one foot on the top step of the ladder, and then the next. With quick, quiet movements, I find myself on the floor of his new bedroom space. While I have not admitted it to Spike, I really like the space he has created down here. It’s…cozy. Oh god, if he heard me say that...I’d never hear the end of it. Truth be told, it fits him and somehow, it fits me, too. Not that I plan on telling that truth anytime soon. I pull myself out of my thoughts, somewhere I have been spending an awful lot of time lately, to find Spike. It doesn’t take long. My sharp intake of breath is fully audible in the dim space.

Spike.

Sleg. g.

Naked.

Now, that I not not expecting. I put my hand to my mouth, trying too late to stifle the gasp I let slip. The thoughts that fly through my mind bring a pink flush to my cheeks, I’m sure of it. Most of them are thoughts I don’t usually allow myself to have around the blond vamp, but they come blazing into my conscious mind at the sight of this much skin. I’m completely frozen. If he wakes up now, I will be mortified. But if I try to get back up the ladder, I can just imagine him waking up and again, mortification. While my brain peels from one thought to another at breakneck speed, my eyes get themselves busy cataloging the scene laid out in front of me.

First off, I can’t be sure he’s completely naked. But it sure as hell seems likely. Sprawled out in a deathlike (very deathlike, in fact) slumber, Spike is uncovered from head to low, low on his hips. The sheet just catches on his suddenly tempting left hipbone, prevng fng full disclosure to my wide eyes. But there is much too much skin showing for me to think he is wearing anything below that sheet. Spike has never struck me as the kind who bothers with undergarments and now I have confirmation. My eyes travel up from the line of the sheet, focusing on the incredible washboard abs I suspected were hidden under that black t-shirt all these years. Hard, ripped and mesmerizing. All those times I punched, kicked or tossed him across a dark cemetery, I felt these muscles, but seeing his taut pale skin stretched across them gives me a straflutflutter lower down my own body than I am altogether comfortable with. His chest, his arms are equally impressive. Smooth and making my fingers twitch , wondering what it would be like to just feel that skin. Run over it with light fingertips. Without him knowing, of course.

Not that I would. Of course.

I finally close my gaping mouth, trying to rein in my suddenly very alert body. It’s just Spike. Evil, snarky Spike who is nothing more than a pain in my ass. Only that’s not all he is anymore. That’s just the convenient definition I’ve been clinging to with both hands ever since I found out the rest. The way he looked after Dawnie for months with no end in sight, with me buried six feet under, the way he kept the promise he made to me in the only form he could after the battle. And now, the way he listens quietly when I come and spill forth with random chatter, using the words to mask the pain that is eating away at me. He never presses for more, he just listens, nods. Every once in awhile, when he thinks I won’t notice, in moments of distraction, he ge pat pats my back or my arm, brushes his hand over my hair. So that I know he understands, that I am not alone. And I do notice, no matter how distracted. My skin tingles for an hour afterwards where he touched me.

When I get around to the real topic, when I mention the peace I felt in heaven, his eyes go incredibly soft and blue like…well, I haven’t figured out what that blue is, but it makes me feel like sliding into his arms and holding on for dear life. Only I don’t. Because he’s Spike. Spike, who never asks “Are you okay?” because he knows full well I am not. No, he just waves me inside when I appear, okay, crash through his door with no explanation. Sits quietly while I talk. And even more so, he sits with me while I’t t’t talk. When I escape into his home and just perch silently, he lets me. Doesn’t bother me, doesn’t demand conversation or anything else. He lets me fight for that sense of peace that I never find during dayldaylight hours. While I cannot admit it, I find it near him in the nighttime. I don’t know quite why, but he brings me peace. He brings my swirling thoughts to a gentle calm.

I find myself looking on his relaxed form with new eyes. Not borderline lust, but something else. Tenderness? Part of me wishes I could sleep like that. Dead to the world. In his case, literally. Another part of me, a part that is really freaking me out, wants to crawl in the bed and try it. See if I can sleep with him there, see if his effect on me could work this way, satisfy my craving for a good night’s sleep. One not filled with nightmares of digging out of the ground or aching reminders of what I’ve lost. Another tiny quiet part of me I am studiously ignoring wants to get in the bed for reasons not at all wholesome and pure.

I cock my head, studying his face in sleep. Angelic really, which is highly ironic. And not like Angel, but like angels. His cheekbones are still pronounced and sharp, giving him a predatory look. But his mouth, soft and full, makes me want to reach my fingers out again and just see if it is really as soft as it looks. I run my eyes over the features I know very well, but never really study. It strikes me in one sharp thunderclap that he is absolutely fucking gorgeous. For years, his smart mouth, his evil nature and oh, his attempts at killing me, made it hard to look at him that way. But now. Now he is my…friend? The word sounds weird bouncing around in my head. Is he? I shake my head, almost imperceptibly. Decide that later. Look now, while I still can. Even that shocking white blond hair looks delicious. All rumpled and curly, a look he usually erases before I see him. Slicked back and straightened, it suits his attitude more. But this look is positively adorable.

I freeze. Did I just refer to Spike as adorable? I have to get out of here. The day has obviously fried my brain. I look around, wondering how I am going to get out of this one.

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I lie very very still. Pretty easy for a guy who doesn’t breathe. I’ve known she was there since she entered the crypt. Between the fact that italmoalmost time for me to wake up and the delicious jasmine lotion she wears, she had no chance of sneaking up on me. For whatever reason, I decided to see what she would do, figuring she would just yell at me to get my ‘undead ass’ upstairs. Only she didn’t. She didn’t even slam the door open like usual. Made me really bloody curious. Heard her take off her shoes and pad barefoot across the upper floor. Trying to sneak up on me? But why? Then her scent washed over me as she descended the ladder. If she had looked right then, she would have seen my entire body tense up for just a moment. I know she is standing no more than ten feet away and…what? Not moving an inch. All I can figure is that she is watching me. Waiting for me to wake up, maybe? But why not just yell for me to wake up like she usually would? I can wait the Slayer out. I stay still as full minutes pass. Right when I decide it may be easier to start pretending to wake up, she moves. I can hear it, both her feet moving and her heart racing at a furious pace.

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I take one step back toward the ladder, thinking I could maybe be quiet enough to get up a few steps and then yell to wake Spike up. Then, he would think I just arrived and not know I had been ogling him for the last few minutes. I put one hand to my cheek and realize how hot it is. I nearly moan as I realize I must be blushing bright red. Maybe he won’t notice in the dim light down here. I glance over my shoulder as I put one step on the ladder and notice he still hasn’t moved. Talk about sleeping like the dead! I could have staked himee tee times by now! I really could have. In fact, anyone could have. Maybe something is wrong with him. That thought had not occurred to me until just now. Of course, he’s a vampire, so the list of ailments is pretty short. Still, I should check.

I congratulate myself for the logical explanation I have deduced for moving closer to Spike’s sleeping form. It’s not that I want to see him up close and maybe touch him. I’m merely concerned for his well-being. At the side of the bed, I frown. Still nothing, not a twitch. But, if possible, he is more perfect to look at up close than he was from across the room. Expanses of skin begging for hands. Speaking of hands, one is thrown across his stomach, the other lying open on the bed. Eyes darting from his face to that hand, I start to inch my hand towards it. It’s research. Yeah, vampire research. I want to see if…if he gets colder while he’s sleeping. That would be good to know. Um, for some very good reason I will come up with later… I notice that my fingers are trembling just a little as they get closer to his. It’ s not like I’ve never touched him before. Just not when there was quite so much skin available for the touching. And not when I wasn’t trying to kick his undead butt. Steeling myself, glancing one more time at his face, I let my fingers graze the skin on the inside of his hand. His hand twitches and I nearly jump out of my skin. Oh god, oh god, I am going to get so caught. Like the kid who has just broken into the cookie jar, I can’t help but go back for seconds. I drag one finger across and up his index finger. Smooth and cool, like I expected. Not being able to stop touching him, not something I expected. And then...suddenly, my hand is caught in a tight grip. His. Eyes threatening to bug out of my head, I look up to meet a sparkling blue gaze, wide awake and clearly amused.

I am so busted.


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Author’s Note: This fic is already in progress but I had not yet posted it here. Hope you like it! -Tiana