Title: Seeing Pink
Rating: PG-13 (I think)
Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy!
Summary: A spuffy fan's take on how to change Seeing Red to get a happy ending and a “new era”. This is pure wish fulfilment. Written for Seasonal Spuffy. I'm so excited!
Warnings and notes:
- Seeing Red upsets me so I decided to change the entire thing to fit my tastes.
- Contains reference to the episode 'Seeing Red' and so consequently to rape.
- I have changed things to meet my needs – and/or my muses demands.
- It is from Spike's POV
- Flashbacks are in italics – and taken directly from the show.
Spike let himself into the Summers' residence without preamble and locked the door behind him. He wasn't leaving that night. He took a deep breath and smiled, nibblet wasn't in the house. That would make things a little easier. He raised an eyebrow, and apparently Red and Tara were occupied too.
“Good for them!” He decided and climbed the stairs, two steps at a time. Nothing like a little loving to make the world a better place. That or violence.
He tracked Buffy into the bathroom and walked into the still slightly open door before closing that one behind him too. They didn't need an audience.
A smile touched his lips as he saw her. She was as gorgeous as ever. As much as he enjoyed her in short skirts and high heels with 'fuck me' painted lips, he also loved her with a clean scrubbed face. She looked so soft and pure. It made him what to hold her tenderly, before fucking her senseless.
“You hurt?” He demanded, his mission temporarily forgotten in his need to care for her. If someone had hurt her then they had better hope that they were already dead … Actually, if they were then he was getting Willow to bring them back, then he was torturing them, killing them and sending them to a hell dimension to be tortured for all of eternity. And that was just if they had broken one of her nails. If a hair on her head had been harmed ...
Buffy gasped and turned to stare at him, as he stood in the doorway.
“Get out,” she ordered him, in her habitual, imperious, tone.
“We need to talk,” he replied, rationally.
“I really don't,” she scoffed.
“This isn't just about you,” he informed his snooty cow, “as much you'd like it to be.” See, he accepted her just as she was. Not like some people.
“You spoke. I listened. You leave,” she informed him.
He swallowed. When she started using telegraphic speech, he knew that she was really hurt. As well as just being a valley girl brat who needed a kick in the pants.
“I'm sorry,” he apologised softly. He saw that, as angry as she was, she was effected by his sincerity. And, he reminded himself, she wouldn't be so mad in the first place, unless she cared. He pushed his advantage. “Not that it matters now. But I needed you to know that.”
He had been with a lunatic with mood swings for years. Plus, he had been watching soap operas since their inception. He knew that a relationship was never really over and that there were ways to force it back into life. It started with remorse and a pitiful little puppy dog face, accompanied by the lie that he accepted that it was over. Then there would be a little conversation, a touch of frisson, he would kiss her, she would protest, then she would melt into his arms. It had worked on Passions. It would work for him.
He blinked. Was it really possible that she didn't know? Or was she just testing him?
“Because I care about you,” he reminded her.
“Then you might want to try the not sleeping with my friends,” she responded in what was clearly supposed to be a breezy tone, but that held a touch too much bite.
He scoffed. He thought that it was a bit of a stretch to call Anya her friend. They two girls could barely stand each other. They spent time together only because they both adored Xander. Why he couldn't imagine.
“That's not ... I didn't go to Anya for that,” he tried to make her understand. “I was looking for a spell.”
“You were going to use a spell on me?” She demanded angrily.
Honestly, she always assumed the worst. “It wasn't for you. I wanted something ...”
She raised an eyebrow at him.
God, he was turning into such a pussy. Or her bitch. He had lost track of which analogy he was using. “Anything to make this feeling stop. I just wanted it to stop.” He waited a beat. “You should have let him kill me.”
Spike's heart soared, but he tried not to jump the gun. Attempting to remain calm, he asked, “Why?”
“You know why.”
“Because you love me.” He knew it. He had known it from the first time that she had kissed him. No one could be that passionate without loving the other person.
“No. I don't,” she answered softly, as if the words pained her.
“Why do you keep lying to yourself?” He asked, taking a step towards her.
“I'm not saying I don't have feelings for you. I do. But it's not love,” she denied, moving her shoulder and he stopped. “I could never trust you enough for it to become that.”
“Trust is for old marrieds, Buffy. Great love is wild and passionate and dangerous. It burns and consumes.” He had to make her see that what they had was something that few people ever got to experience. It was what fuelled great works of art and mediocre fanfiction. They would be stupid to throw it away. He wouldn't throw it away.
“Until there's nothing left. That kind of love doesn't last.”
He thought, or maybe only hoped, that he saw the shadow of a tear in her green eyes. He moved towards her, desperate for her. “I know you feel like I do. You don't have to hide it anymore.”
He moved in to kiss her. Sure that if he could just hold her he could make her see.
She put her hands up to stop him, gently. He ignored it. They had played this game before. She pretended that she didn't want him, but once he kissed her she would melt all over him like butter on a hot crumpet.
“Spike,” her voice was so soft that it sent a jolt through him. It was as if she were begging him to take all of her pain and troubles away.
“Let yourself feel it ...” He pleaded, trying to take her into his arms more forcefully.
“Stop it!” She protested, pushing him back.
“You love me!” He argued. He could feel the fire in her.
“Don't ...” She pulled away from him too sharply and stumbled backwards. She grabbed onto the shower curtain, but it gave away under her weight and she fell and cracked her back on the side of the tub.
“Buffy,” Spike exclaimed. Why wouldn't she just let him look after her? She wouldn't have got hurt if she had just let him take care of her. “Come here,” he demanded, trying to take hold of her once again.
“Stop it ... Please ... Stop ...” She squirmed away from him with tears in her eyes.
“Would you just stop wiggling around for one minute? You're going to make it worse,” he snapped her as he grabbed one of her shoulders and she winced. He swallowed on a pang of conscience.
He tried to remove her robe and she fought back madly, “Don't! Don't! Don't!”
“Slayer, calm down. You're going to hurt yourself,” he tried to wrestle for control of her hands but she was stronger and pushed him back.
“What the hell is wrong with you? How am I supposed to help you if you won't let me see?”
She stared up at him with large, frightened eyes. In that instant, he realised what she had thought. Spike sank back against the vanity, trying to resist the urge to throw up in the toilet. The last traces of alcohol vanished from his system.
She had thought that he was going to rape her.
He turned cold haunted eyes onto her. The stupid little chit. How on earth could she think something like that? Yes, he was an evil vampire. Yes, he ate people for fun. Or, at least, he had done in the past and quite fancied the idea now. Yes, he had done terrible things and his moral compass still hardly pointed north, but he had meant what he said. He didn't hurt her.
The bag of pig's blood, and several bottles of alcohol, rolled around in his stomach as he surveyed her with fury mingled with disgust.
Okay, so he had been angry with her. So he had come here looking to force her into admitting that she had feelings for him. So he had been planning on kissing her senseless until she submitted to him. So a lot of things. That didn't mean ...
She really thought that he could do something like that? To her? Had she not met Dru? Had she not seen what good care he had taken of her?
All he wanted to do was to love her. To take care of her. To fuck her senseless. And possibly bite her, just a little. It wasn't his fault that she was bloody delicious!
“I was just trying to see, pet,” he informed her. He straightened up. He wanted to go slinking off to his lair with his tail between his legs, but he had a Slayer to tend to. “Shall we try this again?”
“You just want to help?” She double checked, looking oddly small and deceptively vulnerable, huddled up at his feet as she was.
“Yes. Well, actually, I'd like quite a lot of other things. But I'll settle for just helping.” He informed her holding out his hand imperatively.
“Alright,” she agreed.
He helped her to her feet, and then onto the closed lid of the toilet. He placed a folded up towel down first to keep her bottom from getting cold.
Spike knelt down to one side of her and gently ran his hand along her back. “Tell me where it hurts, luv.”
Buffy stiffened at his touch and he had no idea whether it was from pain or …
“You are going to need to help me out here, pet. I'm not bloody clairvoyant,” he reminded her in a waspish tone, as his hands gently caressed her shoulders.
“That's not where the pain is. It's lower down,” she reached around to illustrate and hissed as his fingers brushed against hers. He chose to believe that it was from the pain.
“Well, the good news is that it can't be broken because you are walking,” he tried to cheer her up.
“Um … yes … I suppose so ...”
He ran his fingers along the tender spot. “I think that it's just badly bruised, kitten.”
“That's what I guess,” she admitted.
He moved around to face her and gently cupped her face. “I can be here for you without sex. If that's what you need.” Although he wouldn't say no to the latter option, obviously! “Besides,” he smirked, “it's no fun when you can't fight back.”
Buffy swallowed, audibly, and then slowly nodded.
He averted his face from her gaze as he went to check the temperature of the bath water. He couldn't believe that she had thought that. He added some more hot water and then went over to the bathroom cabinet.
“What are you doing?” Buffy wondered.
“I'm looking for the secret to opening the Hellmouth and ending the world, what do you think? I'm looking for … Ah ha! Got it!” He turned around to face her holding a packet of Epsom salts. “You need to stop being so bloody suspicious, pet.”
“Yeah, well, when I'm not, it normally ends badly. For me,” she reminded him.
He rolled his eyes. “What? Because your dad buggered off? Then Angel? Then Parker? Then Riley. Damn goldilocks, you really do have bloody tragic taste in men.”
She shot him a withering glance.
“But, luv, you're barely legal. I didn't have my first shag until I was twenty-seven. I think that you've got time. And,” his eyes turned reproachful, “you aren't the only one in pain. ”
“I know,” she replied quietly.
He sighed as he dumped the salts into the water. He rolled his sleeve up and stirred them around with his arm. “Alright, pet, jump in,” he instructed her as he wiped his hand on his jeans and turned to offer it to her.
She regarded it dubiously.
“What? Do you think that it's going to bite?” He demanded, angrily. It was his hand not his dick. Not that his dick could bite, but it could poke her.
“No,” she answered with a shake of her head.
“Then what?” He demanded with irritation.
“I don't need your hand,” she muttered, petulantly.
“Oh, not this crap again!” He growled.
“Not what crap again?” She demanded.
“The whole 'Girl Power' thing. I liked the Spice Girls, especially the blonde one (Baby),” he licked his lips, “but I blame them for this!”
“There's nothing wrong with girl power,” Buffy responded, outraged. He liked to think, at least partially, because of his crush on Emma.
“I know,” she sighed. His only lovers had been a ridiculously strong (pre-illness) vampire, a Slayer who could beat him silly with one finger, and a former vengeance demon. Did she really think that he had a problem with strong women? “But the whole me Slayer, bit … I mean, come on!”
“I am the Slayer!”
“No?” He explained and placed his hands over his heart, his voice and stance dripped with sarcasm. “I hadn't worked that out!”
“And I'm not weak,” Buffy argued.
“I've got the scratches to prove that, luv,” he informed her with a smirk.
“Then what's your problem?” She demanded, angrily.
He stared at her. How long did she have? “Well, at the moment,” he ground out, “my problem is that I'm in love with a masochist.”
“I didn't choose to be the Slayer,” she informed him acidly.
“No, but you choose not to give into our love ...”
“Not this again, Spike,” she rolled her eyes and averted her gaze from him.
“Yes, this again,” he snapped. “You chose to work in a bloody fast food restaurant.” He deserved a bleeding medal for not burning the place down. That would have stopped her from wasting her life in that place! But he hadn't. Because his kitten wouldn't have approved of arson. Damn it! He really was a pussy.
“I need money,” she said wearily and the pain in her eyes cut him to the core. His poor, stressed, tired Slayer. She clearly needed him.
“I can get you money!” He told her for the umpteenth time.
“Without mugging people,” she added.
He rolled his eyes.
“People have to work for money, Spike. It is what those of us with souls do.”
“Really?” He demanded. He slammed his hands onto the wall behind her and lowered his face until it was only inches away from hers. He wished that he had breath, just so that she could feel it. He didn't care that she shrunk back. “I thought that what people with souls did was shove it down everyone else's throat. I thought that they walked around thinking that they were entitled to treat everyone else like dirt because they have a superiority complex. I thought that them (the en-souled) being in pain meant that they could do anything that they wanted and to hell with everyone else.
She froze and he groaned. Why could things never go right between them? Why could he never say the right thing?
“I'm sorry, pet,” he caressed her cheek and crouched down.
“You've worked at least a 60 hour week since you were fourteen. The only couple of months you had off you were dead,” words stuck in his throat. “For a snotty entitled bitch, you have no idea what you are worth.
“Slaying isn't a great earner,” Buffy admitted, deliberately missing his point.
“That's not what I meant, and you know it,” he placed his finger under her chin. “But if we stick to a purely financial discussion, then you are owed almost 85,000 dollars at a conservative estimate, and that's on minimum wage, without overtime, bonus etc. I don't know, what's averting the apocalypse worth? Time and a half? You really should get onto the Watcher's Council about that. Stingy buggers. Although if you get it in a lump sum, then you really need a good accountant otherwise you'll lose over half of it to the IRS. Thieving bastards.”
She chuckled at him and shook her head. “Shall I tell them that or will you?”
He's bloody well tell them. Actually, he had a half a mind to anyway.
“And I'd only have taken the money from insurance companies,” he promised. “You save them millions a year. You deserve it. Plus, they are crooks. You'd be doing the world a favour!”
Buffy shook her head. “I can't rely on you. It would be too easy.”
“Can't have that, can we?” He huffed. Masochistic.
“I can't become weak. Giles left because …”
“You couldn't be weak if you tried,” he promised her. “I've been around a bit longer than you. And dead a hell of a lot longer than that.”
She smiled. She actually smiled. He had made her smile! He was a fucking genius!
“I've travelled all over the world. Seen things that you can't imagine. And done things that I'd prefer you didn't,” he confided in her, only to be met with an odd expression. “You are, without a shadow of a doubt, the most exceptional person that I have ever seen. And this is coming from a mummy's boy!”
She laughed. As she always did when he referred to his geeky past. He knew how to make her feel better.
He stroked her ear. “I'm not telling you that I love you because I expect you to fall into my arms – although I wouldn't mind –,” he flashed her a wicked smile, “I'm telling you because it's the truth. And if nothing else, I'm straight. Downright tactless at times.”
The corners of her lips turned up fully.
“You are a pain in the ass!” He continued.
“I told you,” he grinned, “I'm straight. You, pet, are a pain in the ass! And most of my body actually. You are a stuck up. Self-entitled. You cut yourself off from everyone. You are so busy thinking about evil that you miss things that are going on around you. And you treat me like a vibrator without the batteries.” He watched guilt creeping into her eyes, but he headed it off. “But, you are utterly amazing! And it pisses me off to see you getting hurt. Actually, it physically hurts and not in the good kinky way, so, being the selfish bastard that I am, I'm going to take care of you. Whether you like it or not.”
With that, slipped the gown off her shoulders. He felt her shiver and forced his eyes not to stray from her face.
“Come on, luv. It's going to be alright.” He gathered her into his arms tenderly and carried her into her bath. He settled her down in the warm water, and swallowed as she sighed.
Her back hurts! He had to remind himself and his crotch. It has nothing to do with you.
Still, he sat down on the side of the tub. Unable to leave her, although he knew that he should. He watched her as she allowed her eyes to fluttered closed and sank down further into the steaming hot water.
Maybe, if he were quiet enough then he could stay for the whole of her bath time and then convince her to accept a back rub afterwards. It was a good plan. Unfortunately, his mouth was not on board. “Did you really think that there was a chance that I wouldn't stop if you told me to?” It asked, without Spike's leave. He didn’t want to hear the answer to that.
He knew that she had heard, and yet she did not answer immediately.
The seconds passed like decades before she finally spoke, “No.”
A smile touched his lips. “I want you Buffy, I've made no bones about that.”
“I'd noticed,” she cracked one eye open to study him.
“But,” he pointedly ignored her comment. “I'm always going to be here. In whatever role you allow me.”
She opened both eyes and stared at him. “You have no idea how much I would love to be able to just give into you,” she breathed.
“Nowhere near as much as me.”
She lifted her foot out of the water to nudge him. “But, it's not fair on me. It's not fair on you. It's just bad ...”
“I thought that it was quite good ...” He answered smugly. In spite of himself.
“It was amazing, but that's not the point. We can't keep doing this. I … I can't keep doing it without love. It's killing me,” she explained, thickly turning her head away to hide the tear.
“Hey,” he reached forwards and tipped her face back to him. His thumb sought out the moisture. “How about this. A new start between us. A new era in the Buffy Spike saga.”
“We have a saga?”
“A saga? Luv, we are a fully fledged telenovela, turned book, with summer movie coming out and numerous fanfic wanks and fan art!” He scoffed, “And, we can be friends.”
She studied and seemed won over by the sincerity in his eyes.
“Friends,” she agreed.
“Good. We'll chat about the benefits that I intend upon accruing later!”
“You're a pig, Spike!”