Pulse 

by Kylia

As I sit here waiting for him to awaken, I wonder what I am doing. What has brought me here, and why I continue to stay. I told Angel I was simply returning a favor but I know that isn't completely accurate. I want to know why he's here, why he left, and why he got drunk. Not that he ever needed a reason to get wasted before, but somehow I know, this time, there is a reason. I wonder if he even knows what it is.

I turn to stare at him. He looks dead. I know, he is dead, but in this time of sleep, he looks more dead than usual. I notice how his chest doesn't rise in fall with each breath; his heart isn't beating in his chest. If I were to grab his wrist right now, there would be no pulse.

As I stare at him, I become aware that he is awake. I'm not really sure what tips me off. How I can tell the difference, because, visually, there isn't any. It's just something I *know*.

After sever long seconds, he opens his eyes. I stare intently into his blue eyes for a long time, daring him to break the silence. He does.

"You're still here." He tells me in a voice that clearly states that he thought I wouldn't be.

I continue to stare at him for a few moments more before turning away. I know he's hungry. I head in the direction of the kitchen when his voice stops me again. 

"You're leaving?" There is confusion in his voice and something else I've never associated with him. Fear.

I turn around. "No, that's your department." I say, not entirely sure what made me speak those words. They're true somehow, that much I know, but the accuracy of them doesn't explain why I felt the need to tell him that. Why would he care how I felt about his leaving? Why should I feel anything because he left?

I leave him alone while I go and get him some blood. As I'm waiting for it to heat, I again question why it is I am here. Why is he here? And why do I care? When I return with a mug of warm blood he takes it and drinks it. I find myself staring at him intently, watching him, trying to commit this image into memory, for I am certain once I leave here, I will not be back. And as disgusting as some may say it is, watching him feeding is anything but. I don't find the blood he's drinking repulsive. I understand his need for it. And unlike the one time I accidentally walked in on Angel feeding, Spike doesn't shy away from why curious glance. He isn't embarrassed or ashamed, he just is. And that is comforting somehow.

Once he is finished, I tear my eyes away and sit on the futon. Near to him, but not close enough to tough without meaning to. Now is the time for me to ask the question, which has been plaguing me for weeks.

"Why did you leave?" I ask, needing to know the answer, and fearing it at the same time.

"You wanted me to."

His answer surprises me, but I realize that was true, until it wasn't. I had wanted him to go, until I had come home and found that he had. That loss was made almost unbearable with the knowledge that he had not only left my basement, but Sunnydale as well.

"Why are you here?"

Again, he surprises me. I hadn't anticipated the question, and was unsure about the answer. I turn to him, a smirk gracing my lips. I decide my reasoning to Angel will work here as well. "I was just returning the favor."

I stand and make to leave, but then I feel it. I cool grip on my wrist. The point where my own pulse flows freely beneath my veins. His grip is firm, almost painful, but it's an exquisite kind of pain. One that speaks of things that I have never dreamt of. Need, and want, and possession. 

I turn towards him, and as I do, I loose my balance, causing me to fall into his lap. I try to stand up, get away before I do something more stupid than usual. But he won't let me go. His grip had become tighter, almost as if he's afraid to let me go. When I look up at him, our eyes are locked. Brown staring into blue, and I swear he could see into my soul at that very moment. 

We're very close now, almost touching. He's leaning closer to me and my breath catches in my throat. I know what is coming, but I can't bring myself to move away. I don't want to.

Then our lips meet and I am lost. Truly lost. The coolness burns itself into my memory, searing every part of my soul. All too soon its over and I try to stand once again. This time, he releases his grip. I turn and walk away. I need to go, get away from this man, this person who moves me, before I do something I may regret.

I leave the small studio and enter the elevator. It's only when I am alone that I release the breath I didn't know I was holding. It is silent now. The only sound is that of my pulse, pounding within my veins.

*****

TBC