Carefully To Tread

Part Nine

The sun is low in the sky as Buffy approaches the crypt. The lighter has long left an imprint on her sweaty palm as she’s made the 15 minute journey from her home to his.

To Spike.

She stops fifty yards shy of her future, replaying the rehearsed speech in her head.

I’m afraid to love you, Spike, I’m afraid of hurting you and of being hurt. But I am willing to try, if you still want to give me the chance.

Sounds good, in theory, but in practice...it could be a disaster waiting to happen.

What if she’s wrong about him? What if...

What if it’s all a big joke?

She takes a steadying breath as she studies the door, knowing that on the other side is...everything. She stands in the last gasp of afternoon’s sunlight staring at the shadowed entrance to her salvation. The irony isn’t lost on her.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she fists the lighter and brings it to her forehead.

Think, Buffy, think! Think of what you’re doing. If you’re wrong, if...if you let him in...

“Who am I kidding?” She whispers. “He’s already in.”

“Yeah, I am. And you should be too.” His voice draws her out of her inner chaos. She gasps, refusing to open her eyes to him. Her feet don’t move and she knows that he cannot come any further than where he is, trapped by the light she hides in.

Where is my backbone? She asks herself.  I know what I want, I know...

“Slayer, why are you lurking outside?” Spike eyes her closely, noting the signs of the battle that rages within her tiny frame. He curses his demon nature that he cannot go to her, fold her in his arms and make her forget the things that disconnect their worlds. “Buffy.” He intones. She drops her fist from her forehead and raises her eyes to him.

A marble beauty in an envelope of black.

Spike stands there shirtless and shoeless, which makes him appear vulnerable and soft. The black of the room behind him looks like living velvet. One arm outstretched to the open door, the other hanging languidly at his side, he watches her. His head is tilted sideways as he waits. Patient. As ever.

Buffy’s eyes drop lazily over his form and back up until she meets his gaze again. She takes a step forward and can see the hope spring into his face. It swims in twin azure pools of fear.

“You left this.” She stops an arm’s length from him and reaches out. He doesn’t stir. She takes another step until she stands on the precipice; one more leap of faith and she’ll be in his arms. And possibly forever.

Her hand breaks the plane of the shadow and he seizes it, drawing her inside. She loses her balance as he circles her around to the wall next to the door, pressing her into it with his entire length. The lighter drops from her fingers as she flattens her hands behind her for support. Her eyes are downcast, afraid to look into the depths he’s offering her.

“Buffy.” Spike rubs his nose into her silken locks, inhaling the scent he’d come to miss in the last hour or so. He places his hands lightly on her hips and lowers his head to her collarbone, planting delicate kisses there. He hears her sharp inhale.

“Spike, I...” He releases her and steps back, closing the door and plunging the room into darkness. It takes a few moments for Buffy’s eyes to acclimate themselves and by the time they do, she’s lost track of his whereabouts. The sound of a striking match spins her around towards him as he lights a pillar candle.