A/N: The songs they're listening to are "Nocturne" and "Got to Begin Again" by Billy Joel.

Chapter 8: Got to Begin Again

Buffy followed Spike down to the lower cavern, the music getting louder as she descended. “You have a tape player?” she asked, surprised.

“Nicked it from someone’s trash. Been fiddling with it, finally got it to play.” He stood and admired his handiwork for a moment.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just break into a store and steal a CD player?”

Spike looked put out. “Well, yeah, but fixing that bugger up gave me something to do in my spare time. ’Sides, thought you didn’t like me stealing things.”

Buffy was about to make a wisecrack about him never listening to what she said but decided to bite her tongue. “What’s this song?” she asked, as the piano crescendoed to its climax.

“’S called Nocturne.”

“Fitting, for a vampire. It’s pretty.”

Spike led her over to the sofa as the song ended and the next one began, again a piano, but in a lilting rock ballad that was a decidedly different style from the instrumental.

“Spike –”

He put a finger to her lips to silence her. “Just listen.”

Well so here I am at the end of the road
Where do I go from here?
I always figured it would be like this
Still nothing seems to be quite clear

Spike rested his arm across the back of the couch, and Buffy surprised him by leaning into him. He wrapped his arm around her, snuggling her close to his chest. She could banter like everything was fine, but he’d caught the haunted look in her eyes when she walked in. Another close call, he suspected. She didn’t mention them, not since that first time when he’d caught her pinned by a fledgling, about to eat her own stake. He’d dusted the bastard and railed on her about the idiocy of suicide by vampire until she was near crying and then he’d screamed at her, I can’t watch you die again! in a voice so hoarse with love and rage and pain and fear it hardly sounded like his own. And then she did start to cry, and he was too upset to be of any comfort and after she left he’d smashed up nearly every piece of movable furniture in his crypt in a blind panic.

She never said anything when she came back to find his place completely refurnished, and he never again asked about the near misses on patrol.

All the words have been spoken and the prophecy fulfilled
But I just can't decide where to go
Yes, it's been quite a day and I should go to sleep
But tomorrow I will wake up and I'll know

That I've got to begin again
Though I don't know how to start
Yes, I've got to begin again
And it's hard

Buffy smiled idly as she felt Spike’s fingers running through her hair. It was comforting – his touch soothed her more than she would have expected, and the painful emotions of the evening’s patrol diminished slightly. They didn’t need to talk for him to understand. She could feel it in the weight of his arm around her shoulders, the curve of his body against hers, the lightness of his fingers combing her tangled curls. He knew without asking, and he pleaded with her without speaking.

Hell, maybe it worked. Maybe he was the reason she always dusted them at the last minute, instead of giving in and giving up. The memory of his wild eyes and his shaking hands as he’d pulled that vamp off of her, the fury of his reaction, the utter brokenness as he’d told her he couldn’t lose her, not again.

She rested her cheek against his chest, not at all perturbed by his lack of breathing or a heartbeat. Years of dating a vampire had made the absence seem normal. Her fingers traced loopy circles on his tight black t-shirt, and she could feel his muscles tense beneath her fingertips. He was strength incarnate, tightly coiled power, energy flowing like a life force in that which did not live.

He was her strength tonight.

Well it's been quite a while since I lifted my head
And I'm sure the light will hurt my eyes
I see the way that I been spendin' my days
And reality has caught me by surprise

I was dreamin' of tomorrow so I sacrificed today
And it sure was a grand waste of time
And despite all the truth that's been thrown in my face
I just can't get you out of my mind

Spike gazed at Buffy lying on his chest. She looked calm and serene, more peaceful than she’d been when she walked in. More peaceful than he’d seen her in a long time. Yet she managed to stir up a tempest inside him. His skin tingled under his shirt everywhere her fingers touched, his stomach churned with longing for her, and his head spun as her scent engulfed him. It was exquisite torture, to be so near to her, to want nothing from her except her continued existence, and yet to want everything at the same time.

And I've got to begin again
Though I don't know how to start
Yes, I've got to begin again
And it's hard

When the song ended, Buffy glanced up at Spike and smiled. “You trying to tell me something?”

“Thought it was fitting.” He tried to keep his emotions under control as her proximity slowly drove him mad with desire. He wanted to stay frozen in this moment, with her cradled in his arms forever, but the loud click of the tape reaching its end startled Buffy, and she sat up quickly. Spike felt suddenly cold from the loss of her body heat.

“I can’t believe you listen to Billy Joel,” she said. “My mom used to listen to Billy Joel.”

“What’re you trying to say?”

“Just doesn’t seem like your style.”

He made a face at her. “Lived through a hundred and twenty bloody years, pet. You think I only listened to punk rock?”

“It’s the hair. And the leather.” She cocked her head to the side and studied him. “You ever think about changing your look?”

“Changed it plenty of times. Probably will again, someday. Whenever I feel like making myself into something new.”

“Isn’t that hard? Adopting a persona that’s not really you? Making people believe you’re something that you’re not?”

He got the distinct impression she was talking about herself now. He tried to think of a response that would help her to cope with the double life her friends were forcing her to lead, but she spoke up again before he could put it into words.

“Spike?”

“Yes, pet?” Spike leaned forward.

“You got anything to drink?” The gleam in her eye and the tone of her voice suggested that she meant alcohol, and Spike slumped back disappointed. Third time this week. He should have known, but he’d gotten lost in the sweetness of this rare moment. He wanted desperately to take away her pain, but he wished she’d let him do it another way.

He sighed and shoved himself off the sofa to get out his stash of liquor. “The usual, then?”