Essence Of The Heart
Restive Nature
Rated NC-17
Chapter Eighteen
Strength Of The Soul
"It’s all right," she murmured, pulling him close again. "Whatever the problem, we can work through it. It doesn’t matter to me if you can’t have children. We’ll figure this out. You know, they’ve made incredible advancements…" She trailed off as he jerked back from her in surprise. She winced inwardly at the astonishment on his face. Had she made a mistake, bringing this up so quickly? He was probably still reeling from the news himself.
"Buffy," he said it so quietly that she had to strain to hear him. "It’s not me."
*****
She stared at him, not comprehending him. She could see his mouth forming words, but there was no sound. There was no air, nothing in the room, but for the movement of his lips. He approached her slowly but she skittered backwards, away from him. Her eyes narrowed as he paused, his hand held out to her. She shook her head slowly, her ears starting to ring. Softly, his voice started to break through her momentary deafness.
"…an appointment for you day after tomorrow," he was saying.
Her eyes closed briefly. She tilted her head to the side. "W-what?" she managed to croak. Spike sighed heavily, running a distracted hand through his short locks.
"I said, I went ahead and made an appointment for you," he repeated himself. Her eyes flashed once at him and he realized immediately, as he’d done so earlier that taking such a step without her knowledge was a risky thing. "If you want it, that is."
"Why would I want it?" Buffy rasped out. "It’s not you, so obviously it’s me." Spike let his eyes drift shut. She was taking this about as well as he’d expected. "Why would I need some doctor to tell me that I’m fucked up?"
"Don’t say that," Spike warned softly. "We don’t know exactly what’s wrong."
"We?" Buffy scoffed. "Don’t say ‘we’ Spike. You already know you’re fine! I’m the one who’s messed up here. So don’t talk to me about what’s wrong!" She shouted the last and spun away from him, trying to get a grip on herself. She knew rationally that this wasn’t his fault. He was just the one to tell her the truth. She laughed to herself. She’d been so determined to get the truth laid out before them. To address what she had assumed to be his fears and let him know that she shared them. But that had all changed with that one important piece of knowledge.
Buffy felt herself begin to crumble as those damning words echoed in her head. It wasn’t Spike. All her assumptions had been just that. Not fact. Not truth. It was her fault. She was to blame for their childlessness. A small keening cry escaped the lips tightly pressed together. Strong arms encircled her as her knees began to shake and she felt herself sliding to the floor.
Spike went down with her, trying to gentle the impact, succeeding mostly because her limp body refused to co-operate into a full-blown faint. She landed on her knees, hunched over as her arms grasped tightly at her own waist. Spike knelt beside her, his arms wrapped about her waist, his cheek resting against the softness of her hair. He simply held her, let her absorb this news. He knew it was a certainty he felt with every fiber of his being that the storm was just about to start. And he was right.
It started with small motion. She was rocking forward slightly. He knew she wasn’t trying to escape him, but the pain. Just when the stillness began to be too much for her and her body needed movement before it went crazy. Trying to escape the pain in the mind, the emotions, it used physicality to escape. And then the whimpering. It tore his heart up to hear it. And between that, the mumbling. Softly at first, until he could make out the words. But he needn’t have expended thought to deciphering it. He knew the litany passing from her mouth before she even spoke it. How it was her fault. She was wrong. She had come back wrong. But the last caught him by surprise. How he must hate her.
With careful motion, he swept one hand under her crumpled knees and moved the other to her back. He swept her up and took a few steps until he reached the bed. The absurd notion that Buffy’d kill him if he wore his boots to bed was swiftly dismissed. He arranged them; sitting up against the headboard, his fiancée curled up in his lap like a tired child who stubbornly refused to go to bed. Spike moved his hands securely around her and rocked her gently against him. It took long minutes for her to pull away from the motion. To be able to speak coherently again.
"Why?" she moaned softly, biting back the tears that wanted to fall.
"Why what luv?" Spike watched her, moving his hand to push the hair back out of her face.
"Why is this happening?" Buffy sighed. "Why did I have to come back wrong? Why can’t I have a child?" her voice broke as she said this and the floodgates were opened. Spike simply tucked her face into his shoulder, letting her cry. God knew how many times over the past few weeks that he’d felt the urge to do similar. When the tide didn’t seem to slow, he began murmuring softly to her.
"We don’t know that for sure luv," he whispered in her ear, not knowing if she was even able to hear him through the raging thunder of her mind. But it didn’t matter. He’d say it over and over until she understood. Until he had her convinced that this could be helped, fixed, corrected. They had no proof that this problem was a result of her death years ago. When Willow brought her back, so little had physically changed about her that it was impossible that her death had destroyed her chances at a family. So little had changed. And yet at the same time it had been so profound that no one, least of all Spike, could wrap his or her head around the enormity of her pain.
"You need to see the doctor," he continued, pushing away the secret deep fear that was burrowing through his soul. There was no way he could communicate that fear to her ever. If he let loose for one second, one moment, then any hope he tried to create in her would be forever lost. He had to stand strong to keep her strong. It was the only way she could persevere in this. She shuddered slightly in his arms. "There’s so many things it could be," he reasoned. The doctor had already gone over multiple scenarios with Spike. Just to give him an idea of what they might be facing. But Buffy didn’t know yet. Time, fate and her own weaknesses pushed her to focus on this one thing. This one deficiency that she was holding to. He had to make her see that it wasn’t the only answer. "We’ll go to the appointment and let the doctor figure this out," he offered. And knew immediately that pushed her to focus on this one thing. This one deficiency that she was holding to. He had to make her see that it might not be her whacked out life that had brought them to this point. Before this life, before she’d been called, she’d been a fifteen-year-old girl. Destiny may have taken a different path for her when she became a Slayer, but surely biology played an important factor before she ever reached that stage.
Facing these things was always difficult. But Spike had honestly begun to believe that there was nothing they couldn’t overcome. At times there was loss. But Buffy’s resurrection and his own, it all pushed him towards the belief that they were near invincible. And if they wanted a child, then they were going to have one. They just needed to figure out how. He just hated how hard the life had to be sometimes. Things had been made easier by the happiness in their hearts. But time was slowly whittling away at that initial joy. As personal life seemed destined to crash, so professional was drug down as well. Each day was becoming more a chore than something to be savored. Recently both Spike and Buffy had tried to keep reminding themselves that they only had to get through one day at a time, one moment. Make it to the next and don’t contemplate whatever else might be waiting in the wings to cave in on them. It had worked. For a while. Until now.
*****
The evening before her barrage of tests was to take place; Buffy was a frazzled bundle of nerves. She’d tried to remain calm. Daphne had understandingly given her the next day off, saying Buffy could make it up on Saturday, so she didn’t need to worry about work. And she didn’t. She had more worrisome things on her mind. She didn’t like hospitals. She never had. Losing her cousin Celia, killing der Kinderstod, Willow’s coma, her mother’s illness and death. All were valid reasons to fuel her discomfort and fear of the institutionalized buildings. Never mind that this was a clinic she’d be attending, it would carry the same antiseptic smells that pervaded the halls of healing. But for Buffy, every hall where healing was to occur had become a link to loss. Sometimes physical, sometimes emotional, but loss all the same.
*****
Buffy squared her shoulders, staring resolutely at her reflection in the cold mirror before her. It was the day of reckoning, in her mind. Her appointment was set for nine o’clock and would last most of the morning. Spike had told her the evening before what his tests had included. And some parts of it frightened Buffy more than the physical aspects. She was a Slayer. She could handle them sticking a needle in her arm, or the requisite private exam. But going back over her history of injuries. It preyed on her mind. Could one Vampire’s powerful kick to her abdomen be responsible for this? Could any of the poisons she’d been inadvertently exposed to render her infertile. And worst of all, how the hell did she explain to the doctor that she’d been technically dead for several months and came back changed on a molecular level.
With a sigh, she finished applying the last of her make-up. She eyed herself critically. Today it seemed more as if the light make-up she applied around her eyes and on her lips was war paint. Or perhaps one of those strange foreign art masks that her mother had once upon a time been so enamored with. Buffy smirked habitually as she recalled the number of problems those wacky artistic finds, not just her mothers, had caused in her life. There was so much magic wrapped up in those items, that it had been hard to contemplate the natural magic that imbued the world around them. And just when she wanted to be able to appreciate the most basic, yet the most awesome of them all, she was denied.
She rose from her perch, hearing Spike usher Dawn out the door and off to school. He had insisted on going with her. She’d made a token protest. After all, she hadn’t been there for his tests. But he understood how much more difficult, time consuming and emotionally wrenching it was going to be for her. And once upon a time, it might have irked her that Spike of all people had such a clear understanding of how her mind worked. Sometimes better than she herself did. But today it was a comfort. She could just react, let herself be. And not have to worry about explaining herself to those around her. Spike was her wall. Her impenetrable tower. The thing that would keep her safe until she was ready to come down and face the world again.
"You ready pet?" his soft voice interrupted her musings. Buffy bit her lip gently, holding back the sudden wave of love and tears when she looked up at him. There were just too many reasons to cry. And with all she was facing today, she didn’t want the resultant headache that would come if she let loose now. She simply nodded and rose from her seat at the vanity table.
*****
Buffy and Spike’s heads were whirling when they arrived home. It was the middle of the afternoon. As expected the tests took all morning. The doctor had been running behind, but the nurses were familiar enough with the practice to get her started on the paperwork. And Buffy had naturally deliberated over a lot of it. Spike had helped a little, coming up with creative explanations for some of the "accidents" that had befallen her. Some even at his own hands. A shudder had gone through him many times over when he realized again that it could very well be him that had unwittingly thrown them into this predicament. But Buffy’s tightly drawn face had always brought him back. Forced him to concentrate on keeping up appearances for her. It finally took his suggestion of asking Willow to look into certain aspects of her "illnesses" that allowed Buffy a margin of relaxation.
When the doctor finally did come in, Buffy silently asked Spike to stay. Which he did. He tried to joke around with her during her physical examination, and was able to distract her to a degree. But when the doctor started in on her history, she’d tensed up again. And the doctor had been slightly bewildered over her extraordinary healing ability. They’d managed to shrug it off as good genes, and the doctor accepted it.
The appointment had ended with a very candid interview about the myriad possibilities the couples still faced. And Buffy had been ready to deal with it. What had nearly broken her was when the doctor pulled out brochures about unnatural child conception and adoption. Invasive procedures she could handle for some reason. But seeing the bold type print of the adoption brochure had hit her hard. She didn’t want somebody else’s child. Though she had the utmost respect for people who did adopt, it was not something she felt she was ready for yet. Not did Spike seem to be. They presented to the doctor a united front that silently spoke of their determination to exhaust every avenue of possibility before looking at alternate ways.
What the doctor didn’t realize was that thanks to their belief in the esoteric world that lay beyond the physical, they were very determined to know exactly what was wrong with Buffy. So the doctor had ended their appointment, trying to be upbeat and promising test results within the week. With that behind them, Spike immediately gave in to Buffy’s request to call in the big guns, Willow.
She arrived at the house not long after the couple did. Spike answered the door and gifted her with a rare, appreciative smile and even a little hug. Willow could read the emotion rolling off both of them without even lifting a little pinky of magic. Of course, part of that came from years of knowing both of them. And as empathetic as she could be, knew that her best friend needed nothing more than a good sob session. She signaled unobtrusively to Spike who immediately left the vicinity. Willow had the brief impression that Spike needed this as much as Buffy did. She almost called him back, but something in the stiffness of his posture prevented her.
‘Stupid macho gene kicking in,’ she thought to herself. Dismissing the thought with a sigh, she turned to her friend. "So on a scale of one to ten, how bad was it?" she asked gently, rubbing Buffy’s shoulder soothingly.
"Oh God Wills," Buffy moaned, resting her forehead in one hand. "I’d have to say that was a fifty billion, at least."
"That bad?"
"It would have been worse if Spike hadn’t been there," she sniffled. Willow gave her a tentative smile and reached for a tissue from her purse. Buffy took it and dabbed ineffectually at her eyes.
"I’m glad he was," was all the witch offered.
"Me too," Buffy nodded.
"How long until you get the results?" she inquired hesitantly. It was an important thing to know. With the Slayer, the longer something took, the more time the petite blonde had to get herself worked up about it. The woman was not known for her patience.
"A week," Buffy grunted.
"Well, that’s not so long," Willow murmured. Buffy fixed her with an unamused glare. "I’m just saying," Willow defended herself, her hands held up pleadingly. "Compared to how things used to be, that’s actually fast."
"I guess." There was a long silent moment. Then Buffy reached for her own bag, filled with the literature the doctor had asked them to look over. "Actually Willow, I was wondering if you could do us a favor?"
"Anything," the redhead chirped, glad to be of use instead of just sitting on the sideline of a battle that wasn’t hers. She tilted her head to the side. "Just as long as it doesn’t include me cursing the meanie doctor. So can’t do that…anymore." Her objective was achieved when Buffy let out a small gurgle of laughter.
"Can we save that for if we don’t like the test results?" she asked, semi-serious.
"I’ll think about it," Willow teased. She took the folded slips of paper her friend held out to her, barely glancing at them.
"Dr. Ferguson said that there were… lots of reasons," Buffy began hesitantly. She glanced away, to look out the window on the other side of the living room. "A-and I was thinking, maybe it’s not physical. I mean, not earthly, you know?"
"Not earthly as in magical sorta stuff?" Willow clarified. Her friend nodded slowly.
"So much has happened to me," Buffy mused. "And beyond the immediate effect of things, did we ever look into any other side effects of the magical stuff we did?"
"Oh, wow," Willow breathed, understanding immediately. "Some stuff we did, I know. But sure, I can check out the rest. Side effects of spells, poisons, everything."
"Thanks Will," Buffy breathed out softly. The redhead halted and tried to smile encouragingly. But the problem, when taken from all sides now, it was getting a little larger than Willow liked problems to be. Nervously, she shuffled through the medical literature her friend had handed her. She paused at one and sighed heavily. She slid it out and set it on the coffee table.
"I don’t think I’ll need that one," she grimaced. Buffy glanced at it as well. Quickly the blonde snatched it up, crumpling the slick material in her hands.
"Nope," Buffy agreed testily. "Adoption won’t be an issue."
"Right," Willow agreed hastily. "That’s a good attitude Buff. We’ll find out what’s wrong and before you know it, you’ll have a baby all your own." Buffy swallowed once, trying to keep the tears back again.
"Yeah, I will," she intoned. She dropped the balled up material on the floor beside her, nudging it with her foot out of sight. She turned back to her friend, desperate for a distraction. "So tell me, how are you doing?"
Willow read her intention and went along with it. She sighed again, knowing the perfect painful topic to keep her friend’s mind from wandering too drastically. "Well, it’s been tough since Kennedy left. But I’m hanging in there."
*****
All through the rest of the evening, even after she’d thrown the crumpled up paper away, adoption had been on Buffy’s mind. It wasn’t so much thought of as something she could do, but more why the doctor had presented them with that information. He hadn’t even included anything about in vitro fertilization or anything like that. Just what could be wrong with her and viable options if they couldn’t fix her. Hence the adoption pamphlet. She worried over and over again that perhaps the doctor knew more than he was letting on. Was he perhaps trying to tell them that their situation was hopeless? That she shouldn’t even be bothering with tests? That adoption was the only way to ever have a child? That he was only going through the tests as a formality? She tried to reassure herself that the doctor just wanted them to be prepared in case that was the final verdict. But Buffy thought it callous of him to do so at this point. Which again led to the belief that the doctor knew far more than he was telling. Which made sense to her. What the hell was the point of going to school all those extra years if he didn’t learn something beyond what a high school education could provide?
So granted, when she finally took herself off to bed, she wasn’t in the best of moods. Spike remained behind downstairs to say goodnight to Dawn, before locking up and coming to bed himself. He puttered about the room until he was ready to lie down. Mostly it was mentally preparing himself to break through the walls she had resurrected around her emotions. More than anything, he needed to be let in. Just to slip in and let her know that he was there for her.
He lifted up the cover and slid into the warm bed. He adjusted the cover over himself, leaving plenty for Buffy, smiling sadly at what a hog cover she could be at times. Before, he hadn’t minded. When your body is always room temperature, blankets didn’t matter so much. But these days, things fluctuated. Spike snapped off the bedside lamp and rolled over to wrap his arms around her lovingly, as he always did. It was on of their favorite positions to sleep in. Her wrapped in his embrace where he knew that she was willingly. For Buffy, to have Spike physically and metaphorically at her back, protecting her.
But tonight, he was met with a cold shoulder. As soon as he arms slipped under the cover to wrap protectively around her waist, she tensed up and rolled slightly away from him. Unperturbed, he scooted a little closer. And again she moved away. He grinned wryly at her little game until she was nearly at the edge of the bed.
"Keep that up pet and you’re going to fall right off," he teased.
"Don’t Spike," she warned softly.
"Don’t what, luv?" he asked softly. Don’t tease? Don’t hug her? Don’t push her off the bed? Her mood had been increasingly more difficult to deal with as the evening wore on. But Spike was determined to try.
"Just don’t."
He sighed heavily, moving to lie on his back; one arm still stretched towards her. "Do I at least get a good night kiss?" he asked hopefully. Rare were the times that she refused him that. But she did tonight.
"Why bother?" she asked softly, regretfully. Spike caught the tone and immediately sat up. He grasped her elbow and gently forced her to roll over and face him. There were no tears present on her face, but he could see the telltale track where she hadn’t quite washed them all away.
"Why bother with what?" he demanded, a little more harshly than he meant to. Buffy sighed and looked away. He repeated his question.
"Why bother with any of it?" she shrugged, unsure as to what she was feeling, definitely unable to explain.
"Any of what?" he demanded, still trying to figure out what she was referring to.
"This!" Buffy gestured wildly, taking in the bed, them, the whole room at large. It finally dawned on Spike what exactly she was referring to. Sex.
"Luv," he began soothingly, "I just want to give you a hug. If you don’t want to do anythin’ else, we don’t have to."
"Right," she huffed out. "What would be the point?"
Spike had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. "The point, Buffy, would be that we love each other. We don’t need any other reason." He was met with silence. A shiver of dread ran through him. "We do love each other, don’t we?" He couldn’t keep the hopeful note out of his voice. This moment was every nightmare for the past year seeming to come true. Buffy denying her love for him.
She stared at him for a while, thinking how to frame her answer. She finally gave up. "I do love you Spike. I’m… I’m just not sure it’s worth it anymore."
"What?" he was devastated when her words finally coalesced in his mind. Doubts. She was having doubts. "Of course it’s worth it," he assured her hastily. "We love each other…" he was almost whining in his assertion to convince her.
"Love isn’t everything Spike," she told him softly. She turned away, unable to watch the cracking of his heart, so heartbreakingly real in his eyes. But Spike wasn’t one to give up in defeat so easily. He rose to his knees, facing her. He grabbed her arms and yanked her around.
"Don’t do this Buffy!" he warned gruffly. "Don’t shut me out. We’ll get through this."
"What if we don’t?" she demanded hotly. "What if when all is said and done, I can’t have kids? Where will that leave us?"
"We’ll deal with it," he ground out through clenched teeth.
"I don’t know that I want to," Buffy shook her head, cringing back a little as fury began to whip through her lover. He threw her back, away from him, more to keep from inadvertently hurting her in his anger than any other reason.
"Don’t!" he yelled. He shook his head, bewildered. "I can’t! I can’t fuckin’ do this now."
"Spike," Buffy murmured softly from where she landed against the pillows. She sat up. "We have to talk about this."
"No!" he yelled even more forcefully. "We don’t! I can’t! I’m sorry pet, but in case you haven’t noticed, I have just as many doubts as you do. Do you think that I’m not scared we’ll never have kids? Do you think I’m not worried about what this means for us? You were the one that bloody well wanted kids. And now that we can’t, you just fuckin’ well toss me aside? Like god damned garbage!"
"I’m not tossing you aside Spike," Buffy cried out.
"That’s what it bloody well feels like," he growled. She moved a little closer and he leapt from the bed. "Don’t!"
"Spike please," Buffy implored, one hand stretched out to him. "I’m sorry. I said this all wrong." She stopped abruptly as she watched him stalk to the dresser and yank out some clothes. "What are you doing?"
"I’m leavin’," he snarled as he yanked on a pair of jeans. "I can’t be around you right now."
"No Spike," she pleaded. "Don’t go. We can talk about this."
"Apparently there’s nothin’ to talk about anymore," he grunted, pulling on a shirt. Without another word, he spun about and almost ran from the room. Buffy watched in stunned silence until her body finally reacted to her racing mind. She scrambled from the bed and ran down the stairs after him, calling his name. But it was too late and he was already out the door. He never looked back to see his fiancée collapsed inside the doorframe, sobbing as if the world had come to an end.
*****
It took Spike over three hours of aimless driving before he was able to calm down enough to return home. He’d been able to think semi-rationally about what their fight truly meant. Not the words hastily thrown out at one another. But the underlying cause of it. Fear. Buffy was afraid of the future. And so was he. But being the pragmatic being he was, he knew they had no choice but to live it. And that meant going back. Letting her know these things. Actually, he’d figured that out within the first fifteen minutes after he’d left the house. The rest of the time was spent shoring himself up for the possibility of another fight. He’d sworn to himself that he would be there for Buffy, no matter what happened. It was time to keep that promise. But before that, he had to make sure that he was ready to face the onslaught of whatever defenses she might build up.
As soon as he swung the door open, he could hear her crying. He let the door drift shut, locking it again absentmindedly. He took the stairs two at a time, eager to calm her and soothe her. Reassure her that he wasn’t going anywhere, despite what monkey wrenches she threw at him. He paused in the door of their bedroom and softly cleared his throat. She looked miserable, lying on their bed, her arms wrapped around his pillow, crying an endless river of tears.
"Buffy," he spoke softly, belatedly wondering how much of their earlier fight Dawn had heard. And now what the teen must be trying to block out. His lover’s head lifted up and her eyes widened in surprise. She launched herself from the bed and into his arms in the blink of an eye. She was grasping at his arms as if he were the only life preserver left on earth and the second flood had come. "Hey now," he whispered into her hair, breathing in her unique scent. He needed soothing just as much as she did.
"You left me," she cried, her voice muffled by his chest as she burrowed in. "You promised you wouldn’t. But you left me."
"I didn’t leave you," he hastened to assure her. "I just needed time to think."
"You left me!" she asserted. She pulled back from him, the tears still streaming haphazardly down her face. "God Spike! You can yell, scream, throw things, beat me, break things. I don’t care! Just don’t ever leave me!" He stiffened at her words. Of all the things he had imagined, never once had her feelings about this occurred to him. He grabbed her arms and set her away from him so he could look her straight in the eyes.
"No Buffy!" he growled, thoroughly pained by this admission of hers. "We’re not goin’ back there." She stared up at him, confused. "We did that once. Beat the livin’ shit outta each other. We’re not ever gonna do that again." Slowly she nodded her head. "You understand me?" he demanded. Needing to know that they weren’t going to backslide into the abusive maelstrom that had once been theirs. He watched her carefully, as she seemed to calm somewhat.
"You’re right," she gulped. "But I need you right now. Please?" Spike swallowed heavily and nodded, knowing that she needed affirmation that things hadn’t been screwed up royally. That she was still alive, despite the weight of all the burdens recently dumped on her. So he let her take control.
Buffy pushed his coat off his arms, not caring where it dropped. She pulled the T-shirt from him, letting it fall as well. Her nimble fingers yanked open the fastening of his jeans. In her haste, she never noticed the strange look of resignation on his face. Never realized that he didn’t really want this. That he was just going along with her for her needs her comfort. He stepped out of the pants and kicked them aside as Buffy pulled off her nightshirt and threw it on the small pile of clothes.
Urgently, she framed his face with her hands, pulling his lips down to meet hers. He wasn’t resisting her, but she barely noticed that his entire heart wasn’t in it. She continued to nip at his lips as she guided his arms around her. She shivered as his hands did trail up and down her back, trying to soothe her. But she didn’t want that right now. Her own hands returned to his shoulders, desperate to drag him into her. Her nails dug into his flesh, as her kisses became more aggressive. She caught his lower lip between her teeth and bit hard enough to draw blood. He winced slightly but made no protest.
Buffy let her hand drift down, fluttering over his chest then abdomen until it came to rest above his semi-erect penis. She let loose his lip as he continued to stroke her back. Her hand curled around him, his body reacting as it normally did to hers. He groaned as she roughly yanked at him, forcing him to full attention. She continued to stroke, up and down, twisting a little to allow some extra friction to excite him. She ignored his wince. All that mattered was the feeling she needed to attain. To feel alive again. Her mind regressed to the point of memories that he had done this for her before, he could do it again.
Spike sighed in relief as she let him go, only to immediately drag him towards the bed. She pushed him down and he obediently scooted up to where he was comfortable, reclining against the still wet pillow. But he didn’t allow himself to be aware of his discomfort. He couldn’t afford to right now. He was slightly on edge, tense about what she wanted from him. He knew she was recoiling from the tenderness they shared and was slightly at a loss how to deal with this development.
Buffy followed, crawling up his body slowly. She stopped every few movements, to lick at his exposed skin, to nip at his taut muscles. Still he spoke no words. She dragged herself up to position herself, knees on either side of his chest. She reached behind herself to grasp his dick, moving it to her pleasure. Closing her eyes, she sank down onto him, gasping at the slight pain of the movement. Her eyes flew open as skin rasped against skin. Spike was watching her benignly, knowing already what she was suddenly, physically made aware of. She wasn’t ready for this. She swallowed heavily. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy the feel of his heaviness filling her. She’d just forgotten that the violence was no longer a factor in their relationship.
Spike could see her silent capitulation to him. She knew now physically and emotionally that no matter how painful things were, this was no longer the answer. He opened his arms to her and she collapsed onto his chest. He wrapped his arms around her tightly as she shuddered, slightly repulsed at herself.
"I’m sorry," she whispered into his skin, unable to meet his eyes.
"It’s okay luv," he soothed, one hand moving up to run through her silky hair.
"Do you hate me?"
Spike grinned crookedly at the little girl voice she used, desperately needing reassurance. He flexed his hips slightly, causing her to gasp in surprise. "Never," he murmured. Buffy glanced up at him. She tilted her head up, stretching her neck. He pursed his lips, waiting for her kiss. She brushed her lips against his softly, shivering at the warm breath caressing her skin. Her tongue darted out, lingering over his until he too opened his mouth and allowed her entry. Their tongues dueled with one another a moment before he retreated, allowing her to take control. To take what she wanted from him.
Buffy brought her hands up to his shoulders, pushing up off him until she was straddling him again, still joined. She smiled down at him, determined now not to hide from him. His hands were resting lightly on her knees. She laid her hands over his and tugged slightly at them. With ease, he rubbed his callused hands over the smooth expanse of her thighs, steadily creeping higher. He was going so slowly, that Buffy felt a shiver of excitement, wonderment about where those hands could end up.
Spike strained forward as his hands drifted over her hips and continued upward along her ribs. Buffy chuckled at the tickling motion and tried to clamp her arms down to stop his teasing. But Spike pulled free and moved his hands to her back as he sat up. Buffy tilted back, almost losing her balance at his sudden movement, but he caught her. His eyes were shining brightly at her mirth, determined to keep her in the moment. He drew closer, keeping her eyes on him with the hint of pleasure to come. Her lips parted as she anticipated his kiss, but at the last second, he ducked his head to drag his mouth over the pulse point at her neck. Buffy tensed as he nipped at her collarbone and relaxed as he darted his tongue out to soothe the bite. His hands continued to stroke her back as he sucked at the skin covering her petite bones, coming ever closer to her full and heavy breasts. She let her arms rest lightly on his biceps, granting him permission to let his hands wander where they would. And he didn’t disappoint.
One hand slid down her spine until he could cup her thigh, the other hand slid around her ribcage, to rest tauntingly beneath her breast. Buffy relaxed her rigid posture to let her breasts sway temptingly against his chest. Spike swallowed a groan and leaned back a little. He watched as he drew an abstract pattern on her abdomen. He glanced up quickly to see that Buffy was watching as well. He continued to draw invisible things over her skin, moving upwards until his finger was resting on her chest. He paused and grinned up at her. She was straining slightly towards him, waiting for him to continue. She returned his grin with one of her own as her hand fluttered towards his. She grasped his finger and pulled it up to her mouth. Her lips separated and drew it in, her tongue swirling around, coating it with moisture. Her teeth nipped at his fingertip quickly before she pulled it back out and returned it to her breast.
Spike continued to slowly tease, dragging out the sweet torment as she waited for him to reach her nipple. He finally did, stopping and whirling the finger around the tightened bud, barely touching, making her arch her back again in frustration. He lifted his other hand to her mouth and she repeated her ministrations. Finally, he had her attention completely and fully on them, their bodies. He wasn’t about to rush through it. Spike teased her, with light touch, warm breath, wet fingers until her hips began to move of their own accord. Buffy groaned when he broke off and stilled her hips with strong hands. "Not yet," he whispered. She nodded, unable to trust her voice. He kept her body locked against his, unable to move, unable to pull away.
Spike glanced up at her eyes, loving the emotion contained within, the desire flashing through her. He peppered kisses along her jaw, moving towards her shell-like ear. His breath was heavy as he exhaled. Buffy turned her head, trying to contain the urge to push him down and stop this torment. But Spike wanted to make love to her, not just satisfy the urges. And she wanted to be made love to, protected and cherished. Slowly, his tongue traced the edge of her sensitized skin.
Buffy could barely restrain herself, but figured she was a willing participant and erotic torture could be a two way street. She started slowly, bring one hand up to caress the slight curls that met the nape of his neck. Her fingers massaged gently before moving upward, tangling in his platinum locks. She drew her nails lightly around his scalp as her other hand stole up his chest. She quickly found his erect nipple, flicked it once, and then mimicked his teasing circles around the turgid flesh. Spike groaned but made no move to stop her. She pulled away from his tongue at her ear, caressing the stretched skin of his neck with moistened lips, down to his shoulder. She sucked at the juncture of his throat and shoulder, raising enough blood to leave a small bruise. Spike groaned and flexed his hips again. Buffy giggled and clamped her thighs against his hips, restricting movement.
"Nuh uh," she whispered.
"Cor, have pity," he mumbled, trying to move his hips again.
"Fair’s fair," she chuckled. His head tipped back as he swallowed heavily. Buffy let her legs loosen, but before he could react, had clenched her inner muscles as she raised herself up, dragging slowly, making him feel every inch of delicious loss. He mumbled a strangled curse and returned his hands to her hips to stop her from slipping completely free. She stopped with just the tip still in her. She watched her lover, seeing the exquisite pain of her teasing flow through him. With gently hands, she pushed him back until he was reclining on the bed. He stared up at her, waiting for her to continue.
Buffy slid slowly back down, muscles still clenched, dragging another softly murmured curse from him. She leaned forward; bracing her hands on his chest as she rocked her hips forward, eyes’ closing briefly at the sheer pleasure that was shuddering through them both. Spike’s hands moved to her hips, encouraging her to keep moving, slowly, softly, letting it play out on it’s own. Buffy inhaled deeply, flicking her hips gently, back and forth, keeping him inside her, but still with enough motion to entice him. The pressure began to build gently on her clit as she continued. An orgasm began to build within her, tendrils of flame coiling in the pit of her stomach, but she slowed and stopped, bringing herself upright. She tensed again, wanting to draw it out. Spike watched her, understanding. But suddenly teasing, playing no longer mattered. She needed him to fulfill her, complete her. She plunged down, concentrating fully on his heaviness within her.
Spike gasped at the sensations sweeping over them, thrusting up to meet her time and again. They were both breathing heavily, somehow their hands intertwining as they moved towards a common goal. Spike pulled her down to his chest again, desperate to kiss her as he felt his orgasm sweeping through his body. He let loose her hands and moved to her hips, helping her. He was so tempted to just roll them over and go caveman on her, but knew she needed the control. He snarled softly in her ear and gasped once more as he felt her inner walls begin to shudder around him. His fingers tightened painfully into her hips as he felt the ferocity of the world bursting around them. He nearly blacked out as he thrust into her one final time, his seed flowing into her warm receptacle.
Buffy felt her orgasm upon her and rode the wave it brought, her entire body shuddering as it gave in to the moment. Spike tensed beneath her, whispering her name, over and over. She was incapable of speech as her body went boneless, melting into the burning inferno that she had become. It was forever, it was intense, and it was purity itself.
*****
"Tell me about him," Spike whispered in her ear, as they lay spooned together in the aftermath of their lovemaking. Buffy didn’t have to ask whom he meant.
"He’s beautiful," she smiled sadly. "He’s got these big eyes that are so trusting. He looks up at you and you just feel that he loves you already. That no matter what happens, he’ll believe in you and trust you. And you wanna do everything you can to never lose that look in his eyes."
"We will," he assured her gently, tightening his hold. Buffy ran a finger over the corded muscles holding her waist. She continued to run her fingers over him as they drifted off to slumber.
*****
She was dreaming again. But it was so wonderful to be back in that place that Buffy floated along with it. Knowing what was ahead, she fairly ran through the meadow, the trees, to that little room where her heart lay awaiting. The sun beat down warm on her skin, filling her with its reassuring presence. Her feet flew over the distance until the room came into sight. Buffy stopped, gasping slightly at her exertion. She laughingly composed herself, then muttered under her breath about how her baby wouldn’t care if her hair were mussed. She slid into the sanctuary, the grass carpeting beneath her giving way to the hardened floor. She heard no movement within and wondered if she finally caught her little guy off guard.
She crept towards the cradle, wanting him to keep sleeping if he was. She could wait to hold him again. Looking upon his little face was nearly as good. But just as she peered over the edge of the cradle, things went dark. She glanced up, confused. This had never happened before here. She glanced out the window, seeing that the sun had suddenly disappeared from the sky. A small breeze seemed to have picked up, blowing through the room, yet the woods were strangely undisturbed. Buffy looked up into the sky, noticing that a full moon was hanging in the sky, tinged orange. Its presence was enough to give light, but couldn’t keep the shadows from playing over the room.
Buffy turned her attention back to the cradle, wondering what her little guy thought of all this. But she could see nothing beyond the pile of blankets resting tauntingly among the bed. Her hand stole down without thought to push the blankets aside as panic began to rise in her chest. "Where is he?" she murmured. Her hand found nothing as her eyes continued to search. Finally, in terror, she yanked the blankets free. But there was only an empty cradle. A crack of thunder sounded overhead and Buffy trembled. The wind picked up and Buffy reactively braced herself against it. But all her senses were searching for him.
The light from the moon paled drastically as dark clouds swept before it, hiding it from her sight. Denying what her hands and eyes were telling her, Buffy continued to search. But she came up empty. It was then that she noticed the suddenness of light filling the room. It was coming from behind her. Buffy tensed and whirled around, ready to face whatever new threat this might be. The light blinded her momentarily, pulsing through her. An odd, familiar feeling. Her hands flew up to ward off the brilliance surrounding her, her mind fleetingly warning her that blinding light was never good.
‘Buffy,’ an ephemeral voice resounded in her head and she slowly lowered her hands. The brilliant, searing illumination seemed to dim slightly, until Buffy could finally make out what was behind the light.
"Mommy?" she whispered, shocked as Joyce’s form flowed towards her, one hand outstretched in loving gesture. She recoiled back from the hand and winced as Joyce’s face fell. Her mother’s hand dropped to her side. She studied her daughter, taking in the years of wear on her pale face. Buffy swallowed heavily, dropping her gaze guiltily to her feet. She wanted to believe that it was Joyce. But never before had her mother appeared before her in her dreams in this manner. She tried again. "Is it you Mom?"
‘It’s me Buffy,’ the figure informed her in a slightly amused tone. She knew exactly what her daughter was thinking. ‘Why have you returned here?’ What Buffy was not aware of was that Joyce didn’t have much time.
"T-the baby," Buffy stammered, gesturing behind her. "I’m here to see the baby." She looked up, flinching at the sadness in her mother’s eyes. "I want to see my baby Mom. Where is he?"
‘He’s not your baby Buffy,’ her mother sighed softly. ‘He never was.’
Buffy recoiled in shock, stunned that her mother would blurt out such a hurtful lie. "Yes he is. I remember him. From Heaven."
‘Do you really?’ her mother asked, her gaze penetrating right to the bottom of her soul. ‘I don’t think you do.’
"I do, I do!" Buffy yelled, hurt that her mother was trying to take this away from her. "I remember. I was in Heaven and he’s here, waiting for me. Spike and I are going to have a baby. Him. He’s just waiting for us to get pregnant and then he’ll be with us!" she yelled. "I remember!"
‘Yes,’ her mother agreed softly. ‘You were in Heaven. He was in Heaven. But he’s not your baby Buffy. Remember.’ Buffy stared at her mother as the older woman drew closer. Her hand lifted up to caress her daughter’s cheek. Buffy leaned into the caress, gasping suddenly as memory overtook her.
She had been so tired. But it, life was done. She drifted, happily in the void. But things were always shifting, changing around her. She floated along with it, content to just rest. But eventually as time passed and she wasn’t sure how she knew it, but she did, she came to the meadow. Her eyes grew thoughtful as she watched it take form before her. Curious, she moved herself forward; no longer needing whatever it was that had propelled her before. Time really had no meaning here, but she felt the need to hurry along. Events were in motion and all around her were readying for momentous occasions about to arise. She came, her first time to the little room in the glade. Light suffused her as she stole along to the cradle, gently rocking in the breeze. She peered inside; smiling in delight at the little soul that peered up at her.
‘Beautiful, is he not?’ a booming voice surrounded her, making her shiver deep inside.
‘He is,’ she agreed softly. All babies were beautiful in one form or another.
‘But yet he cannot be,’ the voice continued. Buffy glanced up, confused. But there was nothing to focus on. No body to attach the voice to. So she looked down at the child again, her voice unconsciously soothing him as he wriggled about in his confinement.
‘Why not?’ she asked absently, her fingers reaching to tickle his tummy. He cooed at her, blowing tiny spit bubbles up at her.
‘This little one lacks the most important of all things,’ the voice sighed, as if greatly disheartened by the news. Buffy waited strangely patient. After all, she had finally learned here that things would happen of their own accord, in their own time. ‘The soul is the essence of the heart. And this little one has no soul to call his own.’
‘Why not?’ Buffy asked, confused. It was unimaginable to her. How could such a perfect little being not be complete?
‘The soul is crafted from love. It grows as that love is spread among others. The first stirring of soul comes from the love of Heaven and the love a parent carries in his or her soul for the life that grows within. But this little one knows not the love of either parent yet. There is only so much love that Heaven can give him to sustain him where he is now.’ Buffy nodded. Some of it she instinctively understood. But the other made no sense at all.
‘What can we do?’ she demanded sweetly, her eyes still focused on the squirming bundle, kicking at the sheets covering him.
‘This child is important. His coming is necessary. But without a soul of his own, we will lose him and any others we hope to affect. What can we do?’
Buffy glanced up, her eyes unfocused. ‘Everything we can,’ she decided suddenly. ‘If he’s needed…’ she sighed heavily. She glanced around, wondering why the voice would ask her for her ideas. But it came to her suddenly, as if the voice were just waiting for her to realize what needed to be done. ‘He can have my soul.’ She was stunned as the voice began to laugh.
‘A noble sacrifice Slayer,’ it continued to chuckle, eventually dying down. ‘If you make it willingly, we will allow it. But be mindful, we could not take your entire soul. For what would that leave you? No, we may take a little of the Warrior Soul within you, craft it, and build it for his purpose. Will you allow this?’
Buffy didn’t need to be asked again. She’d already made the choice. It pained her heart to think that this little life would never know the pleasure one day of Heaven as she did. For if he had no soul, he would drift forever in the dark void. ‘Do it!’ she commanded of the voice.
‘It is done!’
Buffy’s eyes flew open, beholding her mother’s frowning countenance. She shook her head slowly, still denying the truth before her. Tears flowed, unchecked down her cheeks. "No! No, he’s my baby Mommy," she continued to deny, even as the truth overwhelmed him. "I know him. I know just what he’ll be like when he grows up. How he’ll look. How he’ll talk. The things he likes…"
‘Yes, you do, don’t you?’ Joyce pressed in on her. Buffy’s head shot up, her eyes wide as she realized that she had known all along.
"Oh my God!" she breathed. "Connor!"
The Memory Slides
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