Spike was sitting on his cot in the basement, staring idly at the amulet dangling from the chain in his hand. He had no idea what he was supposed to do with it, other than wear it in the coming battle. Despite the trust and confidence Buffy had in him, he was no champion. He was still coming to terms with his new soul, still troubled by the madness and guilt his new soul had struck in him. This he managed to keep in check; day by day it became a little easier. But he fought because he loved the Slayer, and he would do anything to help her. He had no real notions of redemption the way sodding Angel did; Angel was the one with the reputation of being a champion. Yet Buffy took the amulet from her former love and sent him back to LA, giving it to the least likely champion of all.
Maybe that’s what would make the difference, when it came right down to it. He was not your typical champion, but maybe the fact that he fought for the love of the Slayer (as well as the fact he enjoyed a good tussle) would be what turned the tide. And then again maybe his newly gained soul was sending him on flights of fancy. It mattered not.
Hearing a familiar step on the stair, and recognising a scent as familiar as his own, Spike stood as Buffy came into view. For the longest moment they just stood there, staring across the basement at one another. Neither made a move to come closer. Finally the vampire spoke. “All the good soldiers snug in their beds ready for tomorrow’s thrashing?”
Buffy gave him a dirty look. “Spike…”
“What? I meant the thrashing they’re gonna give.”
“Sure you did.” Wearily she crossed the basement and sank down onto his cot. “I was sitting out on the porch for a while, thinking, trying to get to a restful place in my mind where I can actually sleep. Wasn’t working.”
“I’m not surprised, on the porch. As uncomfortable as it is down here, it’s more comfortable than the porch.”
She ignored the quip. “I don’t think anyone can sleep tonight… except Anya. We’re all too tense. Andrew’s got Xander, Amanda, and Giles in a game of Dungeons and Dragons or some such,” she laughed. “Giles is not amused.”
Spike sat next to her. “You should get some sleep, pet.”
She rolled her eyes. “Like that’s gonna happen.”
“You just need to relax. I’ll give you a nice massage if you like.” He shrugged. “Of course, I don’t really know what I’m doing, so you may be taking your life in your hands.”
Buffy laughed. “It wouldn’t be the first time. Besides, you’ve probably eaten a masseuse in your time…” She broke off suddenly, belatedly realising that joking about former victims was in bad taste (so to speak); especially to a man who had quite recently been mad with guilt over past crimes.
But Spike smiled, not easily but enough to show that he knew what she meant. “You game?”
In response, she slowly took her shirt off, standing before her one-time enemy, one-time lover in her tank top. “Massage away.”
The vampire was touched by the trust that the Slayer continued to show in him, especially as she lay on his cot while he sat over her rubbing her back. He may not have known what he was doing, but judging from her soft moans, he was doing something right. “You like that, love?”
“Mmm,” Buffy mumbled. “Are you sure you haven’t eaten a masseuse?”
“Anything’s possible. But I think I just know what you like.”
“Mmm. Keep that up and I can almost forget about tomorrow.”
“Yeah, almost.” Spike abruptly stopped massaging and sat back, thoughts about the coming battle and his part in it suddenly resurfacing.
Confused, Buffy turned to look at him (as much as she could with him sitting on her legs). “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” the vampire was quick to reply. Too quick… and unconvincing. “You want me to continue the massage?” he grew defensive at her continued look. “It’s nothing.”
She didn’t believe it for a minute. “Spike…”
He sighed. “Never could get anything past you, could I?”
“I can tell when something’s bothering you. Spill.”
Spike sighed again and stood, wanting to get away from the question. Buffy had shown an incredible amount of trust in him; he didn’t want to appear unworthy of it. But by getting up he gave Buffy the ability to sit and really look at him, and he found that he could not avoid her merciless stare. “It’s the same thing that’s on everyone’s minds—fightin’ the Big Bad tomorrow.”
Buffy frowned. “I thought Principal Wood disabled the trigger. The First can’t make you do anything anymore.”
“We don’t really know that. Besides, that isn’t the problem.” Spike began pacing. “Now you know that I like a good rough and rumble as much as the next guy. It really gets the blood up. I’m even looking forward to tussling with the über vamps when you girls set them free.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“It’s not a problem… exactly. I just don’t know what to do with the amulet thingy. I have no problem with fighting every last one of the über vamp things, but I’m no champion, Buffy.”
Once begun, the words seemed to pour from Spike’s mouth. “It’s one thing to demand the trinket from you; after all, if it’s good enough for sodding Angel to wear it… But the truth is he is the champion. He is the one looking for the big redemption. I’m just a vampire trying to adjust to his new soul who likes a good fight. I don’t deserve this.”
Buffy was surprised at this burst of honesty from the vampire, though she knew she should not have been. Spike had never been one for a higher cause, or so he said; but in his own way he had been there for her for over two years now—before he got his soul. Even when he had been a soulless monster he had been willing to protect Dawn, doing whatever it took. In her mind, this made him a champion worthy of the amulet. And that was without the fact that Spike had gone to Africa and fought for his soul; Angel’s soul was the result of a Gypsy curse. That was the difference between them—Angel had his soul thrust upon him, and had gone to town when it was taken away. Spike had sought his soul.
Looking into the vampire’s eyes, she could see the vulnerability he did his best to hide and pretend did not exist. She could also see that the truly did not think he was worthy of the amulet. It made her believe she had made the right choice. “You are my champion, Spike.”
“What?!” Spike stopped, right in front of her. “Don’t patronise me, Buffy. Not now.”
“I’m not.” Buffy reached out to take his hand to prevent him from walking away. He tried not to look at her, but she just took his other hand. “Spike, you’ve been protecting me and Dawn for a few years now. You’re always saying you’re the Big Bad., but you’ve always been there for me, soul or no soul. In my mind, that makes you a champion.”
Touched, Spike looked down at his love. Part of him could not believe the trust she showed in him, and continued to show in him, after everything that he had done to her. He had noticed that she had been rather twitchy around him after he had attempted to rape her; and now that was gone. He did not dare hope that meant she could love him, and somehow it did not matter. It was enough that she trusted him. Letting go of her right hand, he reached down and gently brushed a stray hair off her face.
Buffy stood so that she was toe to toe with the vampire. Without touching him (apart from the hand she still held), she leaned in to give him a kiss. It was meant to be a simple, light kiss; but instinct and passion took over. She reached up to cup the back of his head, holding him to her as his arms snaked around her waist. It felt as though they were trying to devour each other whole, and in some deep part of her mind that could actually still think, it reminded her of the first kiss they shared (not counting the ones that were part of Willow’s spell). It was getting to the point that she was in serious need of oxygen.
As if sensing this, Spike broke the kiss. He did not need to breathe as such, but he did need a moment to collect himself. He also wanted to make sure that he was not pushing her. He watched her catch her breath, looking for recrimination in her eyes, but he saw no sign of any. He was not sure just what he was seeing. But he could not mistake what he was feeling, especially when she ground her hips into his. No mistaking that. “Are you sure?” he asked, needing to be certain.
Her reply was to unbuckle his belt. “Yeah.”
Hardly believing it, he started to pull up her top, then stopped. “This is ‘cos you think we’re gonna die tomorrow, isn’t it?”
“No!” Buffy pulled down his zipper, but stopped. She wanted, needed, to be honest with him. “Well, yeah, kinda.” She grabbed his shirt when he went to turn away. “Spike, while I believe we can win tomorrow, I know that not all of us are gonna make it. That this may be our last night.”
“Buffy…”
“But I’m not using you,” she cut him off. “It’s important for you to know that. I wanna be with you, without anything else coming into it. If we live through tomorrow, then great, we can see where it takes us; but I don’t want there to be any regrets.”
Unbelievably a tear welled in the corner of his eye. Rather than wipe it away, Spike leaned forward to give her a tender kiss, gently pulling her top up.
They made love for the remainder of the night, finally falling asleep around day break. A rather amused Dawn woke them four hours later.
Much to Spike’s surprise, Buffy was not embarrassed (at least more than usual). “Mornin’.”
She smiled, sitting up. “Morning.”
“Lovely day for it,” he looked at her closely. “No regrets?”
Buffy shook her head. “No regrets.”
Like it? Tell the author what you think!
Back to index
