Summary: What happened with Buffy in those last few minutes of Tabula Rasa.
Spoilers: Um. Tabula Rasa.
Disclaimer: Joss made them, not me.
Feedback: It's a lovely thing.
And yet he was the only person she wanted to be around.
It couldn't happen. She knew that, deep down, and knew all of the logical reasons why. She saw that his chip wasn't a soul, and that he was evil. She knew that he'd killed thousands of people and had taken pleasure in it and that if he were to kill someone today, he'd take pleasure in that too. But she also knew that he wouldn't. Somewhere inside of herself, she knew that if she asked him to, even if he was able, he wouldn't kill anyone.
That was another thing she hated about him.
How much he loved her.
And she just couldn't seem to escape it. Go out of town, come back and find that he's made a robot that looked like you to play house... and other things... with. Fly off a tower towards your death and when you wake up and dig your way out of your coffin, he's at your house, looking at you with such concern you want to cry. Touching you so lightly and tenderly that it doesn't hurt, like everything else in this goddamned world suddenly does.
She knew should kill him before it got out of control again, like it had the other night. A small piece of her brain reminded herself that she had initiated the kiss. She told her brain to shut up. Spike had had no right kissing her like that, even if she had started things. No right making her feel so... Making her feel. Not when no one else could.
And it was made worse by the fiasco that had taken place earlier.
Buffy wandered into the Bronze, chewing on her lower lip. She slid onto a stool at the bar and propped her elbows up, biting back the tears that threatened. The constant tears that always threatened.
When she hadn't known his name-- when she hadn't even known hers-- all she had felt were instincts. Emotions so deep inside of herself that her conscience rarely thought about them, rarely had the chance to. She had loved Dawn instantly. Trusted her friends unconditionally.
And had felt protective of Spike.
She had known that he was good. "But that's the thing," she bit out to herself angrily, "he's not good."
Listlessly she picked at the napkin beneath her hands. She didn't want these kinds of thoughts. She didn't want any kinds of thoughts, actually, because all of her thoughts caused some sort of pain. Her duty. Giles leaving.
She sat and listened to a woman croon about how she felt like she was starting all over and Buffy nodded her head, feeling it.
Then she heard the soft swish of leather and looked up.
Spike stared down at her with those dark eyes-- how was it possible for blue eyes to look so dark?-- and Buffy was caught for a moment, her throat closing around the words that threatened to escape.
And she turned her head away.
It was all that she could do.
He stood for another moment and the thoughts rattled around in her mind, urging her to say something, swallow her pride and throw her instincts out the window and talk to him. Ask him to stay.
But he was already turning, retreating through the crowd and Buffy stared into space miserably. She didn't want this, so it was okay that he was leaving. She didn't want to need him in a way that she couldn't need anyone else.
Her legs were moving, she suddenly realized, and told herself again how she didn't want him, didn't want anything he could offer.
She caught him by the sleeve and he spun around, his eyes widening imperceptibly as they settled on her face.
Her heart pounded and helplessly, she said, "I don't need you."
But the words came out softer than she'd intended, more of a plea than a statement of fact. Her mind struggled with that for a second and then she looked back up into his face.
He looked sad for some reason.
"Yes, you do," he finally whispered.
But the rest of her sentence of denial slipped away because suddenly he was kissing her and it was so good that she whimpered against his mouth. His tongue caressed hers teasingly, and then hungrily as the kiss intensified. She pulled at his arms, urging him closer with her touch. Her eyes drifted closed and his arms wound around her tightly, pressing her to himself. Needy, she thought, why am I so needy for him? Why does he need me back?
And her answer came to her as the world spun away from them: She lost herself in his arms. When he touched her, there was nothing else, no pain, no doubt and it was natural and he took care to make sure she wasn't hurting, wasn't wanting anything but him. His mouth, his hands, the slim length of his body pressing into hers, the intimacy of the touch and the pleasure.
In that moment, she forgot him in her ecstasy and memorized him with her heart. Mewling, she clawed and clutched and his hands slid through her hair, massaging her scalp lightly.
"You're mine, Buffy," he whispered and his voice was grainy. "Don't you see that you're mine?"
She tried for another denial, but it wouldn't push past her lips. She tried to pull out of his arms but her strength was lost to him, inside him, like she felt inside him at that moment. Mutely she started to nod but then caught herself and just looked at him, foolishly hoping that the look would work on him like it had in the past, that he would stop touching her and back away and maybe leave. And at the same time, praying that it wouldn't.
He didn't stop touching her. Didn't back away. Didn't leave.
He held her closer, claiming her, and kissed her again, finding the answer he wanted in her eyes. At that moment, she couldn't say no. But, she promised herself, sighing into his kiss, she would sometime. Hopefully soon, she would be away and gain reason again and be able to tell him how she wasn't his, and why. Why she never would be.
But she didn't feel those words in that moment, so she didn't say them.
She just kissed him back, and let herself get lost.