Cheekbones {a btvs Spike story Buffy}

Chapter 8 - Cheekbones

Amber studies him from the kitchen sink. The warm yellow light from the ceiling accentuates his cheekbones. She feels confused.
She watches his blue-green eyes dart between the characters on screen and wonders what he's thinking right now. If only being a vampire granted her mind reading powers...
Then she remembers.
The memory is foggy, but it's there nonetheless. A quick spell Willow had taught her to reveal somebody's true emotions. She'd noted it down in her diary. Luckily, Amber had taken it from her old room earlier today. She tiptoes over to the bag, and finds the diary sandwiched between some jumpers.

'Yes!' she thinks victoriously, flicking through the pages. The diary is thick, filled with movie ticket stubs, interesting news articles and pressed flowers. She opens to a section marked 'Spells'. Willow had taught her a few simple ones in the past - one for good luck, one to help with public speaking, little things like that. This 'true emotions' one was somewhat more complex. Amber had pestered Willow into giving it to her. She scans the page. It requires to be chanted with good intentions for it to work.

Amber closes her eyes tightly and turns her back to Spike. If successful, a colourful aura should appear around the subject, each colour symbolising a different emotion. She tunes out the television and focuses. She whispers the incantation:

"Hoc carmen patefaciat omnes passiones dormientes in corde tuo."

Praying her rusty Latin won't interfere with the efficiency of the spell, she opens her eyes.

Spike is still sitting in the armchair, his whole body hidden from her view. She approaches him silently, fingers crossed, and peers over the back of the chair. A faded pink aura illuminates his blond head. Barely able to contain her excitement, Amber skids over to the diary and consults the meaning of a rosy aura.

'Blue is parallel to sadness, the darker, the sadder.' No. 'Red parallels anger' No again. Right at the bottom of the page, lies her answer.

Did she do the spell correctly?

She looks back at the smudgy ink, re-reading the line of writing that baffles her so much.

'Light pink = pure contentment.'

Amber was expecting maybe pink to mean resentment... or agitation. Hell, at least 'love' would have given her a straight answer.

Why on earth was Spike so happy? It was creepy, to say the least.

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When Spike's in bed, he tries not to dream. It's debatable if it is even possible to control your sleeping mind this way, but that doesn't stop him.

He lays awake now in the armchair, head back, counting the marks on the ceiling. 78, 79, 80. 81, 82...

Spike's usual dreams involve dramatizations of all the evil things from his past. Whether it's manipulating Drusilla, or literally killing an innocent person, he cringes - and cries - like any human would.

The stupid chip in his head is relentless.

Moulding his emotions to be more human-like each day. It revolts him, but he can't stop it.

A few weeks back, Spike had been having one particular re-occurring dream; incapable of dreaming of anything else, or nothing at all. It starts with him kissing Drusilla. Then Dru's hair starts shrinking back into her skull until it is at her shoulders. Her face morphs into Amber's but it doesn't stop the kissing. They hold each other until he wakes up.

Each time doing so in a cold sweat.

Spike in love with Amber? No. Impossible.

The crypt is freezing and he shifts to watch Amber sleeping peacefully. He didn't mind napping in the chair at first, but it was getting uncomfortable now. He woke up with a cramping neck each day, and he always felt stiff and tired.

He debates sneaking into the more-than-big-enough bed with Amber, but decides against it. He imagines slipping under the duvet, feeling the comfort of her body near his and...

He shakes his head and carries on counting. 82, 83, 84...