Title: Inside the Light
Fandom: Buffy, Angel
Rating: PG
Pairing: Spike/Buffy
Written for: the "Missing Stories Un-Ficathon" hosted by Soundingsea on Live Journal. My assignment was for narnian_nymph: Spike goes to find Buffy in Rome instead of staying in LA; Buffy really does love Spike.
Notes: I know that according to the airdates of AtS, Spike showed up via amulet at W&H in the fall; let's say for the purposes of this story that he showed up earlier, in the summer, perhaps. Cool?
Inside the Light
Spike leaned against the parapet, smoking, feeling the rough sun-baked surface on his skin like a cat's tongue. Rome was changed. It was not the city it had been when he and Dru passed through, killing time after the war. He liked it better then. Less pollution, fewer tourists.
No, he had Tuscany in mind, definitely. That's where he'd show himself to Buffy and explain everything. But for a few more days, he'd watch. What were a few more days when he'd already spent a month here, waiting, watching, and visiting the Sistine Chapel sixteen times?
Buffy shopped incessantly. She dated The Immortal. She had a smolderingly sexy Italian tutor named Massimo. She and Dawn took in the sights by day, and Buffy went out slaying every other night like clockwork. That's when Spike really got to see her. He kept a careful distance, because she'd quickly clue in to his presence otherwise. And he burned with jealous fire every time she ended up climbing into The Immortal's limo in the wee hours of the morning.
His contacts at Wolfram & Hart, courtesy of Angel, had informed him that Buffy and Dawn, sans Immortal, were taking a trip to Siena for "Il Palio." The Palio was the famous horse race conducted through the city center, and it was a rich Italian tradition, a real spectacle, a celebration of pride and pompous pageantry. Spike once fed on a winning horse jockey back in the day, the exuberance of the win still thrumming through the man's veins. Paired with a Sangiovese, it was one of his more memorable meals.
Spike made his way north to the Tuscan countryside, taking pains to duck into farm houses, sheds and dark forests during the days that burned themselves into his retinas and washed out the landscape with unrelenting light. He ran through fields and along low hills, watching the moon rise up in indigo between the dark rocket-shaped trees that lined the paths. He smelled lilac and old brick.
Farmers with insomnia fueled tales of a giant bat skimming through their crops, crazed with the taste of the wine grape, drunk on night and scent.
August was hot and nights were sultry. The trouble with Siena, once he entered the town proper, was the tourists. He longed to simply eat them, but that was wrong, of course, even though they were tourists. He was able to frighten a super-sized family in plaid shorts and score their posh hotel room overlooking the town square. Children generally gave him the wide berth he needed, and the adults were put off by the strings of vulgarity he spewed at them. No one likes a thug, especially on their glam summer hols in Tuscany. And Manchester United hadn't done particularly well that year, so he was entitled to be a bit thuggish, he reckoned.
Dawn looked wide-eyed and sweet as she strolled next to her big sis, entering the echoing old buildings that tried to tell the modern world what they meant. The both of them wore strappy sandals and tottered on the cobblestones, lurching together, giggling, eating gelato. If Spike hadn't had the empty spot in his heart, he might have just left them alone to enjoy their lives. But he wasn't that altruistic.
Spike saw that bloody git Massimo bringing up the rear of their little tour group, and inwardly groaned. If it wasn't Angel or The Immortal muscling in at every turn, it was some regular Joe or Giovanni, with deep olive skin and blue eyes and attired in the latest Milano fashion.
The two were entranced by the fanfare of the Palio. Spike spied on them as best he could, twining his body around the corners of the medieval buildings and tiny alleyways, and looking down on them from his hotel vantage point. They squeezed into churches with the Sienese where the racing horses were blessed at the altar and the priest intoned, "Vai e torna vincitore." Go and return a winner.
He stayed in the hotel room during the race, and drifted off to sleep in the late afternoon as the pandemonium outside rose to a crescendo.
Later that evening after sunset, he took a stroll, but it was a single-minded one. He'd carefully combed his unruly curls -- now brown with blond at the tips -- into a semblance of riotous order. He'd put on a black t-shirt and left his leather duster lying limply across a chair. Now or never, he'd said to himself. If he waited any longer, he'd lose respect for himself.
He stumbled through the drunken revelers, tripping over the detritus of the day. Flushed with excitement and waving the colored flag of the victors, Dawn spotted him first. Spike cringed at the way her face fell from relaxed joy to absolute confusion and distress. He reminded her of her friend, the one who died in the Hellmouth, saving the world. Yet he was the very living memory. Seated in the café, speaking to Massimo, Buffy wasn't facing the street, but at Dawn's reaction, her gelato spoon clattered into its glass dish and she was on her feet. She spun around, up out of the chair, poised to strike out at the threat, eyes darting everywhere at once.
Her eyes landed on Spike as he strode through the crowd straight toward her.
She inhaled sharply, then exhaled: ohmygodspike.
Spike was near enough now to make his decision; grab her like a conquest or shuffle around with explanations and uncertainty. But it seemed that Buffy understood everything, or perhaps didn't care as her arms were ready when he chose the former and pulled her into his arms, just hugging her tightly.
"Not dead." Buffy breathed, asking again with her eyes.
"Not any deader than before," he answered, staring at her. "The amulet whisked me over to Wolfram & Hart. Probably meant for Angel after all."
"Did Wolfram & HartÉ what did they want?"
"No idea. Angel runs the place now, so their use for me is naturally, limited."
"Right." Buffy's mouth had hovered between a smile and a sob but now formed into a frown.
"He sends his best, Buffy. He's alright. It's okay."
"His best," Buffy repeated. She was disappointed. But Spike knew there would be obstacles and he held his temper in check. She was still staring at him, taking him in with her gaze.
"He gave me his blessing. And a Wolfram & Hart credit card. And a jet. But anyway, he's not coming to win you back. Not now, anyway." Spike had been more than a little surprised when Angel had been so encouraging. He told Spike to do what he had to do, and if things didn't work out with Buffy, he always had a place at Angel's side, on Angel's team. Right pompous of him, really. Right generous, too.
"But you're here. Not dead. Not even remotely dusty," Buffy said, still staring as if she'd suddenly gone blind.
"I'm here," he assured her. Now where's the Nibblet?"
Dawn leapt up upon hearing her nickname and came bounding up to crush Spike in a hug, plant kisses on his face and squeal herself hoarse.
"Bloody hell, Nibblet, you look grown up, but you've still got kid written all over."
"I knew you weren't dead," she gushed. "I knew there was something about that amulet. Willow said that those magical things worked some weird mojo and there might be something else going on."
There was a shout and a shuffle and several bodies flew past them, bumping into Buffy and knocking Dawn's purse out of her hands. "Stupid Italians, don't know when to call it a day," Spike grumbled, bending down to retrieve Dawn's little designer bag. "Care to retire to my hotel where we can have a proper chat?"
Buffy turned to Dawn and whispered something to her. Dawn nodded and turned away, taking the arm of Massimo, who didn't seem at all upset about missing the introduction to Spike, and they sauntered off. "We need to talk," Buffy said solemnly. "Lead the way."
Once they were up in his hotel room, Spike began to pace like a cat during a thunderstorm, until he hit upon the idea of sitting out on the balcony. He didn't want Buffy feeling the presence of the bed, not to mention how he felt about her seeing his sheets twisted and disheveled from the afternoon's sleep.
They pulled up a pair of wicker chairs and Spike opened a bottle of Chianti he'd ordered from room service. He lit up a cigarette and watched as Buffy stared openly at it moving from hand to mouth. "'S'okay, Buffy, I'm real. Bad habit and all."
"Yeah, but it's just so hard to believe," she said. "You'll have to forgive me my gawking, but you know, dead," she waved her hands at him. "Dead!"
"I know, it's been a wild ride. I'm sorry I didn't break the news to you sooner. I was in Rome, just couldn't bring myself to do it."
"You. Were in Rome."
"Yes. Try to understand, though, I wasn't sure how to go about approaching you."
"So walking up to me during the Palio, in the middle of a million emotional Italians was the best way." Buffy wasn't asking questions so much as making statements that demanded an answer.
"You have to admit, it has its merits. Dawn was there, so you wouldn't think you were seeing a ghost. Plus, I wanted you to be away from that Immortal wanker. He and I have history and that would have been a mite distracting."
Buffy sipped her wine and stayed silent. Spike wasn't sure what kind of sign this was. He had to admit that he wanted the best for her, but he wasn't ready to hear that she'd moved on yet. So he kept talking, explaining, telling her everything he could think of down to the color shirts Angel was wearing these days under his new leather coat and how wearing the amulet had really, really hurt. Her eyes grew soft when he told her again that he appreciated her saying that she loved him, really appreciated it, and finally she stopped him.
"Spike, I meant it." She didn't emphasize it.
"You don't have toÉ"
"Stop. Just stop, okay? I feel like a very lucky girl right now, because what I said, I meant, but then there wasn't any time. And now I'm getting the chance to make good on it." She looked at him with wonder in her eyes, serious and serene, the light from the square below pooling in her eyes, and Spike reckoned she just might.
"You mean it. For real?" Go and return a winner, he told himself, Vai e torna vincitore. That was him all over, now, wasn't it?
"Yeah. I loved you. Love."
Spike wouldn't be Spike if he didn't try to sabotage a good thing, so he couldn't help but add, "And The Immortal?"
"Gone, as soon as I can let him know," Buffy said with a shrug, maintaining her poise. "I'm in the mood for a boyfriend, a real relationship. But you know me, a normal guy doesn't quite fit my bill. He didn't either."
"Oh I know it. Don't I know it," Spike said with a grin. "God, Buffy it's good to see you, to hear your voice, to be with you. I'll be as not normal as you want, I'll be whatever you want. I do love you, have for so long." He dropped down to his knees and grabbed her hands from her lap.
She brought his hands up to her lips and kissed them. "Just be you, Spike. Just be you."
They talked until dawn. They finished off the bottle of Chianti. They had a few laughs. They told stories. And then the sun filtered onto the balcony and they slipped inside the room. Buffy waited while he packed his few personal items and then he was bundled up under a large blanket and enlisted to help cart the group's luggage to the train station. Buffy had booked a train back to Rome at an unfortunately early time in the morning, but both sisters were bright-eyed, even though Dawn later told Spike that she had been up all night too, making out with Massimo. ("Just making out," she assured him.) She was very happy to see him and didn't even question it when Buffy sent her to the window to buy Spike a ticket.
As the train pulled out of the station, Buffy and Spike smiled at each other as Dawn's head bobbed down on Massimo's shoulder and the two fell asleep. A ray of sunlight slipped into the carriage and caught Spike unawares; he flailed and thrashed and tried not to yelp. The young lovers kept on sleeping and Spike retreated to the furthest corner, wrapping the blanket tighter about him. Only a tuft of blond curls peeked out the top.
"You're like a Spike burrito," Buffy murmured. One blue eye glared out at her.
Spike took in the sight of her lit up in the window by the rising sun; dark trees and brick red rushing by behind her. The train settled into its rhythm, a clack-shh-shh-clack, clack-shh-shh-clack sound and for a moment, they watched the little Tuscan houses swim by, colored clothes hanging out to dry, happy women flapping them noiselessly. She felt a smile coming up. Spike smiled inside his blanket, turning his one revealed eye back to her across the compartment. And soon they were laughing silently to themselves, caught up in a fit of giggles. And they kept on laughing.
**end**
For some info about Il Palio go here: http://www.premier.net/~Italy/palio.htm
Gorgeous Tuscan photography in this book, where I found some inspiration and the title: