Chapter Text
I want us to find each other among the forest of writhing and make a deal.
Okay, lover. It is just us now. The only way out is through
—Hanif Abdurraqib, On Marathons and Tunnels
Takes place after the events of AtS 5x22, Not Fade Away.
“I knew I’d find you out here.”
The smell of rain lingered in the courtyard garden, mixing with the scent of fire and fight and the blood he hadn’t managed to completely wash off yet. Ichor and blood and guts and other things he didn’t have the space to comprehend lingered on his boots but he could sort out those details once the ringing in his head finally stopped.
None of it mattered, though. It all faded to the background, smell and sounds of the city recovering from its demon siege, because they had won the fight (for now). There would be others, because there were always others (other demons, other battles, other casualties), but he was still standing and Angelus was sorta still standing and Charlie Boy was currently on his ass but he was still breathing and it was all thanks to her.
Buffy.
Righteous Valkyrie, Head Slayer in Command, swooping in with a cadre of baby slayers and Willow, beating back the demon horde and giving them a much needed helping hand. She was stunning, always stunning. Terrifying in battle and deadly with that damn scythe and while he knew she was relieved to see him she was also incredibly brassed off at him, because he was a bloody coward and he could accept such things because she was here and he was whole, and they had survived another impossible battle.
And he loved her.
It felt wholly ridiculous, thinking such thoughts while his coat was still covered in demon dreck, and when she was obviously still annoyed but his nose remained un-punched and he supposed that was a good sign.
“You know me well, pet” he replied, attempting a smile. The stretch of it only stung a little, thanks to the cut on his lip, giving him a roguish appearance and bringing out an eye-roll from Buffy.
“I know you’re stupid and reckless, sure.” And he supposed he deserved that. He was, and she was justified in the annoyance he could sense rolling off her in waves, mixed with the spicy and intoxicating scent of her blood and the fresh rain.
His eyes drifted, searching her for open wounds and finding the tiniest of cuts above her brow, fresh but barely bleeding, hidden behind a section of bangs that he couldn’t help but brush aside.
The gesture, full of gentle hesitation and tenderness, coupled with the surprise of his stealthy movements earned him a gasp, and Spike glanced down, noting the way Buffy glanced up at him, open irritation and something else, something gleaming in her eyes, leaving them wide and shining and he couldn’t help himself, pathetic prat that he was, fingers skating over the silk of her skin to gently cup at her cheek.
“So bloody stupid,” he whispered in agreement. He made to move away, to give her space if she wanted, but she caught him, fingers slipping between his own bruised ones. And he savored the sensation, the uniquely Buffy of it all; her warm skin and powerful little hands and the delicate bones beneath. Strength and softness, annoyance and hope, vulnerability and a dogged sense of discipline that had saved their asses in a rain-soaked alley.
Christ, he loved her so much, he ached with the want of it.
“Lamb…” he started, stopping just as quickly when she shook her head and interrupted him.
“I have some things I need to say.”
Spike nodded, bracing himself for whatever would come and replying with an ‘Alright then’.
“I spent so many nights talking to you.” Her voice was quiet, a little wavering, but no less firm, and Spike followed the trace of her tongue when she licked her lips and continued. “You were gone. I knew that. I told myself that so many times. We saw the crater in Sunnydale and waited for days for anything to come out of it. So, yeah I knew it. You were gone. But then I’d get this…feeling. Like a gut jumble. An ache, but nothing painful. More like a knowing. And I thought, maybe it was my own feelings. Like wanting something so badly you just manifest it, you know?”
Buffy arched a brow, the still unblemished one at Spike. “I didn’t want you gone. But I accepted it, as best as I could. And suddenly then you weren’t. I thought I’d like, I don’t know, manifested it or something. But then I found out that was all bullshit and completely out of my control. My love didn’t bring you back.”
“Buffy—”, Spike started, clearly more than thrown by her ramble but Buffy silenced his interruption with a shake of her head.
“And honestly? I don’t give a damn. I don’t care how long you’ve been back, how you got here, or why you didn’t call or write or come find me. I want to be. Maybe it’ll come later, some unexpected moment once the adrenaline wears off and we’ll talk it out then, because that’s what we do. You annoy me and I piss you off but we talk and maybe that’s what I’ve missed so much. Having that with you. Fighting and talking and not-talking in all the ways that makes me want you around…even when I don’t. You know how to bother me better than anyone else I know. But god, I don’t care, Spike. I don’t. I just missed you. And I love you. I meant it then, and I meant it now, and I’ll mean it again if you want to hear it again because I’ve always kinda struggled with saying it, but I’ve said it so many times to myself at night when I thought you were gone but I could still feel you and just…yeah.”
“Buffy…” His voice eked out, fainter than he wanted, and full of an emotion that tightened his throat and he clutched harder at her hand, still entwined with his own. “For the record, love…I am sorry. So bloody sorry you had to find out this way.” The battle with Wolfram and Hart could’ve gone a number of different ways, each far grimmer and wilder than the last, but it was the most impossible scenario that had come to pass. The one he hadn’t dared himself to consider.
He was still standing, and pressed close to a still-breathing Buffy, with eyes full of annoyance and a heartful of love. For him.
Spike grinned almost at the same time she did, and they came closer, gently resting his forehead against hers with a long sigh. “Love you too, Buffy. Never stopped.”
Buffy smiled, her free hand cupping his cheek, breaking apart the contact long enough for their eyes to meet.
“That’s all I need to hear.”
The lips followed after, achingly soft and she felt him breath into it, a trembling exhale. And so she indulged their mutual want, deepening the press of her mouth to his, languishing in rediscovering the cool line of his lips and the way he kissed her in return. Fervish and only just a little shy and it was endearing, that, and she smiled against his mouth and he caught her laugh and returned it with a happiness she could taste that the remnants of fight and fire and blood faded away, leaving nothing but the happy peace of nighttime.
THE END.