Whispers

Buffy had been lying in bed for an hour when she felt the familiar tingling sensation down her spine. A vampire was close. Not just any vampire. Her vampire. Her Sire. Her love. She couldn’t help but feel relieved that he was back. Not that she had doubted he would be; she wondered if anything at all could ever be enough to drive him away from her completely. But she had been worried. He had gone out angry, and was quite capable of picking a fight for the sheer pleasure of violence. Moreover, Steven was with him, and she liked the kid too much to want anything to happen to him either. And Spike seemed to forget at times that he was a human teenager, not a vamp.

The doorknob made a little sound and she sat up in the bed, waiting for Spike to enter. But the door did not open. The latch clicked again. Faint footfalls. Going away. Not far, just to the room next door it seemed. But the simple fact that he hadn’t joined her was as painful as a knife sinking into her unbeating heart.

She waited for a few minutes, hoping that he would change his mind and come back to her. Yet she knew him enough to realize he wouldn’t. She frowned slightly to herself. She recognized this message. The previous night she had asked him to sleep elsewhere because she was upset with his actions. He had now chosen another bed, because he was upset with hers. And it was her turn to go to him and apologize.

She now understood what she had done wrong. The relations between Spike and his Sire had been mostly friendly for the last few years, but Angel was more than his Sire. He was also the ex of Spike’s girlfriend. Buffy was aware of that slight sense of insecurity the blonde vampire had. It was what made him parade his relationship with Buffy in front of Angel every time he could. It was obvious where that attitude came from. Drusilla choosing Angelus over him had wounded Spike more deeply than he would ever admit. And Buffy confiding to Angel things that should have remained between her and Spike had undoubtedly reopened old wounds.

She could admit that talking – to anyone – about what she had wanted to forget had been a bad idea. She also understood now that discussing claims and Mates with her ex-boyfriend hadn’t been the smartest move either, but she hadn’t known, couldn’t have known that at the time. She should have asked Anya as soon as she mentioned it. The ex-demon had assumed they were Mates, and from Angel’s explanations, Buffy now understood why. He had also told her about claiming her, when the poison had made him too delirious to realize what he was doing, told her the claim had been broken when she had died. What he hadn’t voiced but that she was guessing was that he still saw her as his Mate. It explained all too well his reactions for everything that concerned her relationship with Spike.

Mates. Something like spouses, Angel had said. The promise of love, monogamy, respect, help. Except that where humans could divorce and forget their vows, only the final death of a vampire could break that claim. She would have loved hearing Spike explain all this with his own words. She wished she had found the nerve to ask him in the car on their way to LA. But she had been a little anxious, wondering what other thing he had been hiding from her. Asking Angel had seemed a good idea. Retrospectively, he was probably the worst person to answer.

Her only excuse was that the confusion of discovering his lie had just been amplified by the confusion at being expected by the Council to kill Faith. She still didn’t know what she was going to do about that, and she would need to make a decision soon. But first things first. She had some serious groveling to do, and the less time she let Spike brood over it, the better for both of them.

Buffy rose from her bed, wearing only one of Spike’s shirts, and wrapped herself in a blanket before tiptoeing out of the room. She hesitated a little about knocking, and finally just entered, as quietly as she could. Light was filtering through the thin curtains from the street, and she could discern him on the bed. He didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge in any way that he knew she was there, but he was not asleep, she could see that his eyes were open.

Still silent, she approached the bed and slipped in next to him, covering them both with the blanket she had brought. He shifted a little then, moving so that her head was cradled against his shoulder, his hand lying at her waist. Snuggling against him, she recognized at last the scent that was mixed with his. Alcohol. If she could smell it this strongly on him, he had either drunk a lot or spilled a whole bottle on himself. And he was far from being that clumsy. A bad habit of his, the worst actually, to drink too much when he didn't want to think about something.

“Are you drunk?” she asked in a whisper.

“Not any more.”

By the tone of his voice, he sounded like he wished he still were.

“Was Steven with you? Did he get drunk, too?”

“Yes. Both questions.”

“Are you deliberately trying to make his father so mad that he’ll stake you?”

He stiffened at her slightly irritated question and didn’t answer immediately. Then she realized her mistake and cursed herself silently. Mentioning Angel probably wasn’t the best way to make up with Spike.

“No, I’m not trying to make him mad,” he hissed at last. “Are you trying to make me mad? ‘Cause if you are, keep talking about the Poof, it’s working very well so far.”

There was bitterness in his voice, and Buffy instinctively rolled to her side to hold him closer to her body, her head resting on his chest.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I was just confused and I wasn’t sure whether I could talk to you about it.”

His hand moved from her waist to her back, stroking lightly and playing with strands of her hair in a familiar manner.

“Why not, pet? You can talk to me about anything.”

“So can you. And yet you didn’t tell me about hunting. And you didn’t tell me about claims.”

To soften the implied accusation, Buffy ran her fingers against his chest, unbuttoning his shirt as she did so, until her hand could slide on him in a gentle caress.

“I had my reasons,” he said softly, slightly hesitant.

“I understand.”

She raised her head from him, just long enough to push the fabric of his shirt aside and rest her cheek against bare skin.

“You thought I was already claimed,” Buffy continued softly, her fingers never ceasing their exploration of the well-known territory that was his body. “So you didn’t want to tell me about something we couldn’t share. But I am not claimed. And I want us to be Mates.”

The last words were even less than a whisper. Is she had understood Angel’s explanations correctly, what she had just said was about the same as asking Spike to marry her. She had never expected to be the one to propose, but that was the best apology she could ever come up with. His hand stilled on her back.

“I would like that very much, luv,” he said very quietly.

Smiling, she pressed her lips to his skin, kissing her way up toward his face.

“But it’s not possible.”

She froze at his words, her mouth hovering over his, her hand immobile on the waistband of his jeans. Despite the darkness, he seemed to guess in her eyes the question she couldn’t voice, and answered it slowly, as if the words were painful.

“I already have a Mate, Buffy. I can’t claim you, even if there’s nothing in the world I want more.”

She was about to ask who when she realized it was a stupid question. Who had Spike loved enough to want as a Mate? Who had he lived with for almost a century? Who had he taken care of all that time?

She tucked her head under his chin, fighting with all her might the tears that were brimming in her eyes.

“But she left you,” she pleaded quietly.

“It doesn’t matter, luv. A claim is only broken by death. And as long as it stands, no other claim can be made. That’s just the way it works.”

His hand had resumed its soothing stroking, but Buffy could tell from his voice that he needed comforting as much as she did, so she returned the soft caresses, touching his perfect skin with a touch as light as a butterfly’s wing.

“When did you see her last?” she asked, still whispering. “Maybe…maybe she’s dead.”

“She’s not dead, luv. I would know it if she was. And you were there when I saw her last.”

It took a second to Buffy to remember when that was. Then she saw him in her mind, heard his declaration, and heard the hateful words she had given him as a reply. He had proposed to stake Dru for her, and then had threatened to feed her to the insane vampiress, but in the end they had all walked out of the crypt alive, or undead as the case may be. A question rose in her mind. Would he be willing to stake Dru if that was the only way for them to be Mates? She was about to ask, then changed her mind. Dru wasn’t there, so it wasn’t an option anyway. And if it came to that, she was the Slayer and it was her responsibility to turn the lunatic to ashes. Not because of Spike, but because she owed it to Kendra.

In the meantime, she didn’t need to be his Mate to love him with all her body and soul.

Rolling on top of him, she pressed her lips to his, just a simple, chaste kiss, before declaring fiercely:

“You are mine. Claim or no claim. Mine and no one else’s.”

His arms tightened around her.

“Yours,” he agreed. “As you are mine.”

Her mouth came back to his and this time the kiss was anything but chaste.