REPLAY




Chapter 4- Hold Me

His crypt stood amongst the shadows, only standing out by a few stray moonbeams. She stood before it for a moment, admiring the structure. This was a place of death, and yet she had found life within its walls. It was a contradiction, same as its occupant.

Buffy paused at the door. Her first instinct was to kick her way in, but stopped herself. She had to start anew, and knocking would be the best footing. She lifted her right hand and brought it down on the stone entrance. She repeated the act three times without an answer. Growing frustrated, she let out a huff.

That was it, she was barging in. She slammed her foot against the door. It burst open instantly.

The tomb was dark. Thanks to slayer vision, she managed to make her way through it. She ran her hand over Spike’s green chair.

“Spike!?” she called.

There was no reply.

She found the ladder that led to the lower level. She climbed down. The familiar musty scent that could only belong to a cellar filtered into her nose. I’m going to have to get him some scented candles or air freshener, she thought.

She surveyed Spike’s ‘bedroom’. For a vampire it was rather ‘posh’. She grinned at the Oriental rug that lay next to the bed. She removed her athletic shoes and played her toes over the woven carpeting.

Buffy’s green eyes roamed to the bed. The sight was alluring. Oh, how large it is. She had never realized how big it was. She had always been preoccupied with other things. But now that she thought about it, they had never fallen off. And believe me; they had some wild times that needed tremendous space.

I’ll take good care of you this time, Buffy vowed. I won’t let any flame touch you.

Buffy found herself stepping over to the unmade bed. She couldn’t help herself from plopping down on the mattress. Mmm, cozy. She rolled onto her stomach, pressing her face into the cool pillow. Spike, she thought dreamily. Geez, girl, Buffy thought, you have it bad.

Buffy’s eyes fluttered closed. I’ll just rest until he returns, she decided. He won’t be long. He’s probably only at Willy’s bar getting drunk.




Which was exactly where he was. But afterwards, Spike let his rage explode. He snapped demon neck after demon neck. Fights usually gave him comfort, but not tonight. Nothing seemed to numb the pain.

Tipsy, Spike made it to his crypt. He opened the door and stumbled inside. Manic laughter spilled from his throat.

The world was some screwed up place. It didn’t follow the rules anymore. Vampire = evil. Slayer = good. Vampire + slayer = enemies. Death = gone.

Spike tossed his duster to the raggedy chair before his television. Then he found the ladder. Funny, he was sure he had left the trapdoor closed before leaving. He missed his footing once while going down. He hadn’t been this smashed in a long while.

He fumbled in the dark over to the bed. He threw himself down upon it.

“Eeep!”

Spike jumped up. He studied the spot he had landed on.

“B-Buffy? Is that you?” he questioned.

She brought the silk sheet to her chin. She stared up at him. “I like your bed,” she said.

He blinked, confused. “Is that so?”

“Yeah. The rugs and chairs are a nice touch as well. Homey.”

The vampire reached over and turned on a light. Television, fridge, lights, furniture, rugs . . . he’s practically domestic. The slayer and her friends had ruined him.

Spike stared her down. She hugged the sheet to her, clearly uncomfortable.

“Are you naked under there?” Spike found himself asking.

Her eyes widened. “What!?”

He smirked. “Just curious.”

Buffy threw the black sheets off her form. She lay there fully clothed to his disappointment.

“Buffy, what are you doing here?”

“I uh. . . “She sat up. “I wanted to see you.”

“Uh huh.” His mind was clearing now, and he felt the familiar throb of soberness coming on. Sometimes it sucked being a vampire. Alcohol didn’t have as much effect on them as the regular Joe down the street.

Buffy fumbled with her hands. Spike eyed them, realizing they were still unattended. He left her side to retrieve the first aid kit. There wasn’t really a good reason for a vampire to own such a thing. He had stolen it a year ago, when his infatuation had started. He didn’t want to be empty handed if his slayer turned up bleeding to death.

He removed the gauze. He knelt, took her hands gently, and began to wrap them.

Taking in a breath, Buffy said, “How long was I gone?”

Spike looked up from his ministrations. “Hundred forty-seven days yesterday. Uh ... hundred forty-eight today.” He smiled slightly. “ 'Cept today doesn't count, does it?”

He could have sworn Buffy was about to cry.

“How long was it for you ... where you were?”

“Longer.” Her voice came out small and with great emotion.

So long. Forever really, Buffy thought. I’ve been forever without you. I’ve never really even had you. What would it be like to have you?

Buffy’s hands twitched. She longed to reach up and touch him, to smash his mouth down upon hers. She remembered the way he tasted. The taste of bourbon and blood should have been vile, but mixed together with the sweetness of Spike it turned into honey.

Spike finished the task of wrapping her scrapes. He stood up and shut the first aid kit.

“Willow's getting pretty strong, isn't she? Bringing you back. It's hard to get a good night's death around here,” he said.

Buffy didn’t quite know how to respond to that.

Spike began to pace.

“I do remember what I said. The promise. To protect her. . . If I had done that ... even if I didn't make it ... you wouldn't have had to jump.”

Oh God. Buffy’s eyes burned. This time around his words hit closer to her heart.

“But I want you to know I did save you. Not when it counted, of course, but ... after that. Every night after that. I'd see it all again ... do something different. Faster or more clever, you know? Dozens of times, lots of different ways ... Every night I save you.”

Buffy couldn’t help it. A trickle of water escaped her eye. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, could only gaze up at the blond vampire as the tears fell.

Spike ran a hand through his hair. “Every night,” he whispered.

Spike abruptly stopped. Stricken, by the sight of her tears, he came over and wiped them away. “Don’t cry.”

She buried her face in his chest. “Just hold me,” she murmured.

Awkwardly, he placed his arms around her small frame. She cried for Spike’s guilt, his pain from her dying, her loss of heaven, his death in the future . . . and also from happiness. Happiness that he was there now, that she was there now, that they were there together.

When Buffy left she had made a decision. This time would be different. She would make things right. She’d take things slow, and Spike and she would end up all right. Not only them, though, but also Xander and Anya, and Willow and Tara. Everything would be as it should be.


Yeah, I know, she didn’t kiss him and confess to her smoldering love. Maybe later. But right now she wants to take it slow and do things right. And hey, he did hold her. That’s something.