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Because He Needs Me by DreamsofSpike
 
Tentative Advances
 
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When he first laid down his list of rules for her, Buffy was certain that the “no touching” rule was going to drive her completely out of her mind before all was said and done. The other rules were all right -- perfectly fair, she had to admit -- but he had been back for less than thirty minutes, most of which had been spent in “serious talk” mode.

And all she could think about was how much she wanted to touch him.

She couldn’t believe how badly her body still seemed to yearn for him, even after so long apart.

*It’s not fair,* she thought, unaware of the petulant pout that had formed on her lips as she gathered bedding and other items to make the basement more comfortable for Spike.

*Yes it is,* that Joyce-like voice in her head returned firmly. *It is *completely* fair, so stop acting like a spoiled, selfish brat! He went months -- *years* -- without getting what he needed and deserved from you, while you got all the touching you wanted! Now it’s his turn to get what he wants and needs -- and the little nympho-Slayer will just have to wait her turn until he’s ready!*

As it turned out -- she didn’t have as long to wait as she had originally feared.

She and Dawn and Spike fell into a comfortable routine of sorts, as the days passed into weeks. Willow was still spending much of her time at the side of her comatose friend in the hospital, while Giles and Anya began to keep later and later hours at the Magic Box, despite the fact that the store wasn’t any busier than it had ever been.

Eventually, once they realized that everyone already knew what they had been up to, what they had been trying to hide for the past few weeks, they made their relationship public -- and were even less accessible to the others than before, now that they had a legitimate reason to be.

Mostly -- the Summers clan was on their own.

And these days, the Summers clan included Spike.

Gradually, without the complications of their former sexual relationship, Spike and Buffy began to develop an ease, a certain comfort with each other, that had never characterized their interactions before. Dawn’s presence actually proved helpful in speeding the process along, as both adults did their best to get along well for her sake, and her closeness with each of them automatically seemed to help to draw them together.

Also, Angel was still serving as a reluctant mediator and relationship counselor between them. Most days one or the other of them would be on the phone to L.A., at least briefly -- though it was more often Spike than Buffy making the call.

At first, Buffy was a little bit jealous -- until she began to notice that Spike’s conversations with Angel seemed to result in much better communication between the two of them, as Spike gradually began to find the courage to open up to her again, to talk to her about increasingly personal matters -- matters she had never had any interest in hearing about before.

That was when it hit Buffy, with startling, thrilling clarity.

They were becoming friends.

No, Spike had not really opened up to her about his ordeal, the things he had been through following the shooting; and they had not discussed much of their own personal issues yet -- but it had only been a few short weeks, and they were still getting used to each other again. Buffy knew better than to expect too much too soon. When Spike was ready to talk to her about those things, she reminded herself, he would.

She nearly cried with relief when she realized the progress they had already made, the trust that he was gradually placing in her again -- and she resolved again to respect the rules he had put in place, to not to anything to violate that fragile, cautious trust. She did not push him to share more with her than he was ready to at the moment.

And she did not break the rules.

Until she had no other choice.

On that particular afternoon, Dawn was off at a “study session” -- translated, “gossip fest” -- at her friend Janice’s house; and Buffy got home from her shift at the Doublemeat around four.

She experienced a momentary sensation of panic, as she walked in the door and saw Spike sitting on the sofa watching television -- and realized that they were alone. They had steadily become more and more comfortable with each other, but had rarely been alone together, without the comfortable, buffering presence of her little sister.

She almost tried to just slip past him upstairs -- but then he turned and smiled at her, and his smile was so warm, so open and reassuring, that all her fears seemed to melt away, and she found herself smiling back and heading toward the couch to sit down beside him.

*It’s just Spike,* she reminded herself firmly. *It’s okay to be alone with him. He’s your friend…you can handle this…*

And she was amazed and relieved to find that she could.

A comedy program was just finishing up, and she found herself laughing at Spike’s antics as he dramatically mocked the predictable actions and lines of the characters, rolling his eyes and making lighthearted sarcastic remarks that had her forgetting her initial discomfort completely.

When the show ended, the promo for the next program showed an ad for a made-for-TV mystery thriller movie, and they decided it might be interesting to watch. When Buffy got up to go into the kitchen and pop some popcorn, Spike followed her, casually chatting with her as she waited for the popping sounds from the microwave to slow down, and then placing a mug of blood into the microwave as she took the popcorn out. Without really being able to put her finger on just exactly why, Buffy began to feel a warm, comfortable sensation of contentment beginning in the pit of her stomach, spreading throughout her entire body.

It was all just so casual and ordinary and *normal*.

*Spike’s my friend…he trusts me…he’s my friend…* echoed through her mind in quiet exultation.

And for the moment -- his friendship was enough for her.

The movie was no better than the comedy had been, and they soon found themselves laughing together again, this time at the cheesy supposed-to-be-scary music, the predictable plot twists, and the over-acting of the endangered female lead.

They weren’t listening very closely, having much more fun making each other laugh at their witty comments and such, but the story seemed to be about a woman who married a man who turned out to be a serial killer. Of course, the ignorant woman had not figured it out yet in the movie, though her young teenage son had.

“Oh, yeah,” Buffy snarked, rolling her eyes as she threw another handful of popcorn into her mouth and griped around it, “because women are so clueless when it comes to anything important. It’s not like she’d *notice* the fact that there’s freakin’ *bloodstains* in his…”

Her words suddenly broke off as she noticed Spike jump slightly beside her, and realized that he had not heard a word she was saying. All at once, his attention seemed riveted on the television screen, and he was not even aware that she had stopped mid-sentence.

Knowing that it could not possibly be the sub-par story that had so gripped his attention, Buffy turned to frown at the screen in confusion.

The killer had somehow found out that the boy knew his dark secret, and had managed to corner the teenager alone in the house when the clueless, hopelessly stupid heroine was out doing some kind of inane “detective” work. Now, the dark, frightening villain had the boy up against a wall, menacing him with a gun in his face, snarling at him about what he would do to him if he didn’t keep his mouth shut.

With exaggerated, poorly acted terror, the young actor on the screen flinched.

Much more convincingly and poignantly -- so did Spike.

Buffy’s heart lurched within her, and she felt tears spring to her eyes, as she thought of what horrific memories must be running through the vampire’s mind in that moment -- images called to remembrance by those he was viewing on the television screen, images of times when he had been terrorized in just such a way -- by one of her best friends.

Spike’s body was very still, rigid, and his eyes were wide and focused fully on the scene playing out on the television, yet at the same time distant, focused somewhere else entirely -- somewhere that Buffy herself could not see.

Her hand was gently, firmly, clasping his, before she realized that she had moved -- and she winced slightly as she realized that she had broken one of Spike’s rules. In a momentary seizing of panic, she nearly pulled her hand back, would have in fact -- if Spike’s hand had not suddenly turned in hers, gratefully clasping it in a tight, trembling grip.

Reassured by his reaction, Buffy went with her instincts, shifting in closer to the vampire and wrapping her free arm around his shoulders. The hand attached to that arm held the remote control, and she changed the channel, remarking casually, “Okay. I don’t think I can take the stupidity anymore. Let’s find something a little more intelligent -- you know, like, Teletubbies or something.”

He didn’t look at her, his expression still somber and taut with his painful memories -- but Spike did laugh, a bit shakily, at her comment, as he tried to put the traumatic thoughts out of his head for the moment. But Buffy noticed, though she wasn’t even sure whether or not he was aware he was doing it, that Spike had shifted closer into the casual embrace of her arm around him, subconsciously seeking the comfort she had instinctively offered him.

Buffy found a light-hearted, but slightly less inane, sitcom on the television, and before long they had both relaxed somewhat again, the painful past a vague, uncomfortable presence in the back of their minds, but no longer at the forefront for the moment.

At least, Buffy *thought* it wasn’t -- until the telephone rang, and Spike nearly jumped out of his skin, muttering an English curse word in a startled tone.

It was Dawn on the phone, calling to ask if it was all right for her to spend the night at Janice’s house.

“We still have *sooo* much studying to do,” she insisted earnestly -- a little *too* earnestly.

“Yeah, I wonder why,” Buffy dryly remarked, rolling her eyes. But she sighed and relented, “I guess that’s fine. Just try to actually study a *little* bit -- okay?”

“Okay! Thanks! You’re awesome!” Dawn exulted, and Buffy could almost hear her little sister bouncing excitedly as she hung up the phone.

“I’m a bad parental figure,” the Slayer sighed as she returned to the couch and sat down beside Spike.

“No, you’re not,” he insisted with a reassuring smile, though his eyes still seemed distant, as if his mind was not quite on the conversation at hand. “You’re a questionable excuse for a partying college-age girl -- but you’re not a bad mum-type to the Bit.”

Buffy laughed quietly, letting out another sigh, as she leaned back against the couch again -- and realized that she was now faced with a dilemma. She had reached out to Spike, completely on instinct, in an effort to comfort him -- but now that she had gotten up, relinquishing that contact by necessity…she missed it already.

And now, she had no excuse to reach out to him again, no legitimate reason to break the rules he had put in place.

So *he* broke them.

Buffy was startled when Spike’s hand slid around hers again, gently caressing his thumb over the back of it as he turned sideways on the couch to face her fully. His deep, piercing blue eyes searched hers, apprehensive, and yet so painfully vulnerable, as he studied her gaze for a long moment before bringing himself to speak.

“Thank you,” he said softly, his voice and expression very serious. “Thank you so much, love. You -- you didn’t have to…I mean -- I’m such a bloody ponce sometimes, but you…” His voice trailed off, and he shook his head slightly, a self-deprecating smile on his lips as he whispered again, “Thank you.”

Buffy felt her throat close up with a powerful mixture of emotions -- sorrow and regret at the suffering that Spike was still enduring in his heart and mind, though he rarely spoke of it; gratitude that he was finally allowing her to extend the comfort to him that she had wanted to ever since before he had come back to her; and relief, such a powerful sense of relief, that he was finally allowing her to touch him, even in such a small way.

Her fingertips gently caressed his hand, as she replied sincerely, “Spike -- you don’t have to thank me. It’s not like I could do anything else. You -- you deserve nothing less from me…”

Spike swallowed hard, obviously wrestling with his own emotions, not looking at her, but squeezing her hand slightly tighter as he whispered in a hushed, haunted tone, “You’d think -- you’d think it’d be bloody well over by now, wouldn’t you? Think I wouldn’t -- still think about it so much…”

Buffy felt fresh tears well in her eyes, tears of compassion and sorrow at what he was going through, as she moved in close to him again, putting her arm around him. “Spike -- you may always think about it,” she reminded him gently. “I mean -- at least a little.”

Spike nodded grimly. “I’m beginning to think that might be true.”

Buffy was quiet for a moment before she asked him softly, “Spike -- how are you doing…*really*? I mean -- if you don’t want to talk about it that’s okay, but -- but you *can* talk about it, you know?”

Spike nodded again. “I know,” he replied. “I just -- I’m not sure if I -- if I’m ready for that yet, love…”

“It might help…”

Abruptly, Spike pulled his hand back, his jaw working with emotion before he turned away from her, and she could no longer see it.

“I’m sorry,” she immediately spoke up, alarmed at his reaction.

*You’ve blown it already,* she chided herself. *Stupid, pushy Slayer…*

“No, you’ve nothing to be sorry for,” Spike reassured her, his voice low and husky with tears, as he rose to his feet -- but he still would not face her. “It’s not your fault. I just -- I’m just not ready yet, Buffy. But -- but thank you…”

He stood there for a moment awkwardly, his back to her, before trying for casual again, turning back toward her, smiling under tear-filled eyes, as he said calmly, “I-I’m bloody exhausted, love, I think I’ll turn in early, yeah?”

“Spike…”

“Buffy,” he cut her off gently, finally meeting her eyes fully, with a depth of emotion that nearly took her breath, “love, really. It’s all right. You’ve not upset me, it’s just -- I just -- I’m tired, all right?”

Buffy knew it was a lie -- knew that he would go down to the basement and lose himself in his pain, if she let him.

She also knew that she had to let him.

“All right,” she said softly to his retreating back, as he headed toward the kitchen, and the basement beyond. “Let me know if you need me…I…I love you…”

The words had spilled out before she could make any logical decision as to whether or not it was wise to say them -- and Spike froze in the doorway, only a small part of his face visible to her, as his back was mostly to her. Still, she could see him swallow hard, his eyes shut momentarily, as he tried to hold his emotions together.

Finally, all he could manage was a slight nod, as he disappeared through the kitchen doorway.
 
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