Fumbling Towards Ecstasy
Lovesbitch91

Summary: Spuffy. Up to NC-17. A new take on Season Six, in which Buffy's not so mean and there's a new Slayer coming to town....
Disclaimer: Joss owns all. Also, all lyrics and chapter titles come from Sarah McLachlan.
A/N: Did you like it? Not like it? Leave me a review- they’re always welcome
Chapter Three: Building a Mystery

“You come out at night; that’s when the energy comes
And the Dark Side’s light, and the vampires roam
You strut your rasta wear, and your suicide pose
And a cross from a faith that died before Jesus came
You’re building a mystery”


Twice in a day was starting to become a habit, but once again she found herself pushing open the door to Spike’s crypt. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the hundreds of lit candles, all flickering in the semi-darkness.

“Spike?” she called his name softly, looking around the crypt. Aside from the candles, the place was nearly empty. A plain stone sarcophagus served as a bar, where half empty tumblers of blood clotted, and empty bottles of Jack glowed amber in the candlelight. To the right there was a mini fridge humming softly, a tiny black and white television and a tattered recliner. All the creature comforts a vampire could wish for.

The first floor was deserted, that was plain in the glowing light. She shuffled along the floor, searching for the little trap door and lowering herself down once she’d hefted it open.

Downstairs glowed brighter, with candelabras and torches along the walls. The bed was empty, a mass of satin sheets all in disarray. Looking around, it was obvious that Spike wasn’t present, though he must’ve come by sometime during the night to light the thousands of flickering votives.

Supposing he must’ve gone on a cigarette run, she lay across the bed, curled into a ball and let her eyes drift shut.

******

It had begun to sprinkle as he reached the last cemetery, and to pour by the time he’d left, making his way back towards his crypt in the neighboring graveyard. The rain felt refreshing against his face, washing away the dust and grime from the night’s patrol. After Buffy had been brought back, Spike had automatically taken sole responsibility for making the rounds every night, sweeping the five major cemeteries and stalking the alleyways.

Since Buffy’s return he’d been astounded by the change that had overcome her. She no longer looked at him as if he were less than her, but as an equal. Fuck, she’d cried in his arms the other night, held onto him with her warm little hands, her feverish body pressed close to him- he’d nearly lost himself right then and there. And she’d shared with him what she couldn’t bear to tell her dearest friends, that she’d been to Heaven and was in Hell here.

Heaven. He’d not wondered about it since he’d been a boy, attending church on Sundays with his mother and praying for his immortal soul. Which, granted, was lost now, since the night in the alleyway with Drusilla. But still, he wondered. Did she see Joyce? He remembered her fondly even now, how she’d invited him in, without fear. She was the first one to defend him to Buffy – the only one, really. She’d made him cocoa with the little marshmallows and sat and chatted with him in her own kitchen.

But Buffy - that golden, magical girl - had seen Heaven. He entertained ideas of her floating on clouds, wings sprouting from her shoulders, all majestic wonder and pure goodness. And her stupid bloody friends had torn her from it, ripped her out and left her six feet under in her own coffin.

He was close now, enough to smell her, hear her heart thumping slowly in sleep. He pushed the door open silently, greeted by the winking candles he’d lit earlier. Most had burned out, leaving long shadows across the walls. He could feel her, down below, and as he made his way across the floor, he blew out the candles one by one.

******

She opened her eyes to find a pair of crystal blue eyes inches from her own, his finger brushing along her cheek. He had a quiet, contemplative look on his face, and he smiled softly when he met her eyes.

“S’pose it’s no good asking how you’re doin’.”

She smiled at this, even laughed a bit on the inside. Pulling away slowly, she sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

“I dunno; feeling pretty okay for being twice dead.” She rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “Isn’t there something about the third time being the charm? Something to look forward to, I suppose.”

At once Spike’s brow furrowed and he shook his head. “Don’t say that.” His voice was soft, and Buffy heard the pleading undertones of his request. She shook her head, and in an instance she was up and at the far side of the room. Spike straightened up, turning to face her. Her arms were crossed in that habitual gesture he’d come to recognize as guarded, and she was half turned away from him.

“Not sure why I came by. Except Giles came back, with the new Slayer, and there was a huge Scooby confab going on, and…” Spike stopped her midsentence, turning to look at her with a quizzical expression.

“New Slayer? Since when?”

“I would guess since I died. Again.”

“So that makes three.” Spike held up three fingers, ticking them off, “You, Faith, and the new girl. Huh.”

“Adia. Seems eager, but she’s young. And I can’t help but to see death when I look at her. I mean, Slayers aren’t known for their long lifetimes.” She’d come to stand across from him, leaning against the bed casually.

“You’ve made it six, seven years,” he pointed out, lighting a cigarette.

“I also should’ve died five years ago. The Master? Xander saved me then, sans magical reincarnation.” She grew somber then, shuffling her feet and looking at the ground. “It makes me sad, regretful. I’ve always wished I could be normal. Y’know, normal life, normal friends. Maybe a normal husband in a normal city with normal kids. I’m starting to think it’s just wishful thinking. How can I be normal, and the Slayer, too?”

“Then again, there’s two other Slayers now. Don’t see why you can’t retire. You’ve made it this far; don’t they have a pension plan? Y’know, a retirement home in sunny Florida or some bollocks?”

Buffy smiled at this, even uncrossed her arms. They had ended up side by side on the bed somehow, and she was looking at him as if she were happy, like she enjoyed his company, and enjoyed being here with him. Overcome, he grabbed her head in his hands, forced her eyes to his.

“Buffy, nothing will happen to you, ever again. You’re back now; and no, it’s not all sunshine and puppies but it will get better.” He stroked her cheek, moved a stray hair from her eyes. They were wide and moist, but she kept her watery gaze fixed on him. “You are going to grow old and die happy, I promise you.”

Her hands were around his neck now, and she was leaning closer until all he saw were her hazel green eyes, and then she was kissing him. Really, really kissing him. This wasn’t her pretending to be the Bot, there was no spell. She was kissing him because she wanted it, and his whole body hummed as he pulled her closer. Her hands were in his hair, and they were tumbling back across the bed, just kissing, holding each other close and pressing even closer. Buffy-smell, Buffy-taste, Buffy Buffy Buffy.

“God, Buffy…” he drew her forward, kissed her full on the mouth. She moaned softly into his mouth, peppering his mouth with quick, fervent kisses. And a moment later she was gone. Spike took only a moment to recover from her absence, sat up to see her worrying her lip with her upper teeth.

His mouth parted, preparing to pose some question or statement – he wasn’t sure what he would be able to say in this moment – but she had pressed a finger to his lips, and her eyes, at once clear and yet hazed, searched his.

“Don’t say anything Spike. I- I need this. Everything else right now is too hard and cruel. But you… you don’t expect anything of me, do you? Not to be happy, or sad, or responsible, or anything like that.” Spike watched her think, grasping at the feelings she tried to set to words. Her brow was furrowed, and there were fresh tears standing in her eyes. “And I can’t promise anything beyond tonight, whether it’s me, or you, or us. But right now? Right this second? I just need you not to be snarky or… or sarcastic. Or anything else but what you’ve been to me these last few days.”

“Buffy, love, if we do this now… there’s no coming back, yeh?” If he had a heart, it would have burst by now, he was sure. She was here, all golden lightness in his arms, his bed. And she wanted him, just him. He met her eyes again, and she leaned forward to kiss him gently.

“I know.”

******