Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Challenge/Prompt: nekid_spike Song/Fic Prompt: Pillowtalk
Word Count: 1,190
Date Written: 24 July 2018
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to Whedon, not the author, and are used without permission.
“You’re not sleeping.” It was a statement of observation far more than a question.
“No,” she murmured in response, turning slowly onto her side to face him. Her green eyes were full of trouble. “I can’t,” she admitted. “I keep thinking about tomorrow.”
He reached out and stroked her long, blonde hair. “It won’t do any good to brood on it, Slayer, like you’re always telling me. You’re gonna beat them. But you need to rest if you’re going to be at the top of your game.”
She smirked up at him. “And you say I’m not good at pillow talk.”
He turned his hand, touched her cheek with the back of his fingers, and let himself linger there. Still gazing into her eyes, he told her simply, “I could tell you again I love you, but I know you don’t want to hear it. And that’s not going to help you rest. You’ve got to rest if you’re going to beat them, luv.”
“But what if I don’t beat them, Spike?” she asked simply the question that had been lingering on her mind every night for weeks. “What if I lose? What if I fail Dawnie?”
“We’re not going to lose her,” he vowed softly.
“We have no guarantee of that. I know . . . I know she’s not really my sister,” Buffy said, dropping her voice to a hushed whisper just to make absolutely certain her words didn’t carry behind her closed door, “but she still feels like my sister, you know? I still love her like she’s my sister.”
“Slayer, if it’s one thing you’ve taught me, it’s that family isn’t made of blood.”
“Really?” she asked in surprise.
“Yup.” He nodded. “Look around you, pet. Your Watcher, your friends, you’re closer to humanity than any Slayer’s ever been before you and, I’m willing to bet, any other ever will be after you. Not,” he added hurriedly, “that I like to think about who will come after. I don’t.”
She almost asked him who would come after her in his life. She almost posed the question as if she actually cared that he loved her, as though she would miss his love if he were to move on to someone else. She would, but she wasn’t about to let him know that. This was wrong. She still knew that; she just didn’t care too much any longer that it was.
After all, he brought her joy and reassurance, the only pleasure she really knew these nights, and whose right was it to deny her those simple things when she spent every night fighting to save others and coming so close time and again to sacrificing her own life to save the world? She had already died once. There was no guarantee she wouldn’t deny tomorrow night while trying to save Dawn, or the next night, or the next . . .
There were no guarantees at all in life, but the one thing she was guaranteed was that Spike, of all the people, was the only person who not only understood her but could actually make her chatterbox of a brain shut the Hell up when she most needed him to. She felt like asking him to do that now, but she knew that when she came back down from the euphoria she only reached with him, her thoughts would still be waiting for her. Tomorrow night’s battle would still be on her mind. Her quest to save Dawnie, and the very real possibility that she might fail, would still be reigning over her heart, mind, and soul.
“You’re a family,” Spike added, his calm, reassuring voice breaking through her solemn thoughts. “More than any other I’ve ever known. I only ever had my Mum when I was human, and when I turned and tried to turn her so we could stay together forever . . . “ Something dark flitted through his eyes. She knew that expression and knew it meant that this chapter of his life was difficult for him to talk about, or even remember, but he was doing so to try to help her.
She reached out, took his hand in hers, and threaded their fingers together without saying another word. She squeezed him gently, and he continued. “Let’s just say it didn’t work out well. At all. Angel’s family . . . Hell, it’s no wonder he killed his own Dad.
“Really?” she asked. “It was that bad?”
“Worse,” he answered, “in some ways.”
“Her whole family was close. They were good people, and watching Angelus kill them all was part of what destroyed her. But you lot are still closer.”
“What about Darla’s?”
“You don’t want to know,” he said solemnly. Releasing her hand, he gathered her closer into his arms. Gazing steadfastly into her face, he told her, “But your family here, Slayer, is the closest I’ve ever known. It doesn’t matter that the same blood doesn’t run through your veins. Every one of you would die for the other and never think twice about it.”
He combed his pale fingers through her silky hair; she pressed her cheek into his palm. “You really believe that?” she asked.
“I know it,” he replied without hesitation. “And that’s why I know you’re going to find a way to save Dawnie.”
“But what if I don’t? What if I fail her?”
“You’ll die trying,” he said, and his words scared them both though neither admitted it. “And if that happens, the others will still keep fighting. So will I. We won’t let Dawn go.”
“Do you promise me?” she asked, surprising him.
His eyes searched hers for a moment. Then he leaned up and kissed her forehead. “Just like I promise you I’ll love you forever,” he vowed softly, “even if you don’t love me.”
She almost said the words then. She almost told him she loved him. But she swallowed them down inside of her instead. If she did die tomorrow, if she died saving Dawnie, her life would be worth it, but she didn’t want to leave him thinking she had loved him and he had to stay true to her forever because of that. If he did keep his vow, if he did love her forever, it wouldn’t be because she had forced him. She wanted him to be free.
She leaned down as he moved away and kissed his lips briefly but passionately. She swung a leg over his side and straddled him. His eyebrows arched up at her. “Love me,” she whispered against his lips, lifting her head slightly. Love me, and stop these thoughts, was what ran between them unsaid this time.
He smiled up at her, and she didn’t mind, for the first time, that she could see his fangs in the dim moonlight filtering in pass her curtains. “One last time, pet,” he told her, and they both tried to overlook the possibility solemness of his words’ potential double meaning. “One last time,” he said, stroking her hair again, “and then you sleep. Deal?”
“Only if you hold me here.”
He grinned. “My pleasure,” he said and proceeded to stop her thoughts again.