The Hunger On My Bones

Author: enigmaticblue

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: The characters belong to Joss Whedon and Co., which is really too bad, because I'm a much nicer person.

Archive: If you already have my stuff. Otherwise, ask and ye shall receive.

Summary: Spike gets that job as a roving agent so Angel can get him out of Wolfram & Hart. Buffy's living the high life in Italy. And neither of them are expecting to see the other.

A/N: Part of my annual attempt to ward off the Valentine's Day blues by making the characters happy. The title comes from the lyrics to Over the Rhine's song, "Drunkard's Prayer." Lyrics are at the end. Oh, and you should know that none of that Illyria stuff ever happened.

Spike kept thinking that he should go to Italy. Not that he would see Buffy while he was there, just that it might be a nice stop. It had been a long time since he'd visited Rome, not since he'd been with Drusilla, back in the 1950's. Of course, if he wanted to go, he'd have to do it without giving Angel notice. The other vampire didn't want him within a mile of his dearest Buffy, as evidenced by the fact that Angel had gone to Rome to take care of the Capo's head, even though Spike had been in Europe at the time.

Granted, he'd been in Germany, tracking down a dangerous demon who trafficked in human remains, but he would have taken a break to deal with the Immortal.

Spike had heard that Buffy had kicked Angel's ass for that little debacle—reamed him good for putting a spy on her. Fred had given him the few details she'd been able to pry out of the head of Wolfram & Hart.

In all, Spike rather liked the traveling consultant gig. He got a chance to see the world on someone else's dime, do a good deed or two here and there, and he even got to fly back to L.A. every so often just to annoy Angel. Spike was having a good time. About the only thing that would have made it better was if Buffy had been there to share it with him.

She was on his mind. Couldn’t get her out of it, really. He missed her—the pain was a dull ache, softened by time. It always hit him at the oddest moments, usually when he saw something he knew Buffy would enjoy. Spike would wonder what she would say, or if she'd already seen it with someone else.

Sometimes he would allow himself to wonder what she would say if she saw him again. Would she greet him with open arms, or would she turn her back? It was the uncertainty that had kept him away. Spike had never thought of himself as a coward, but he didn't think he could take another rejection from her, not again. If he went to her, and she'd moved on-or worse, had never really loved him-he thought it might destroy him.

Spike wasn't ready for that.

So he stayed away, telling himself that it was best for both of them. Buffy deserved to live a life free of demons and vampires, and that included him. He deserved his own unlife to live, and he was doing good work and enjoying it for the most part. What did it matter that he still loved the Slayer? Spike still loved Drusilla, too, deep in a corner of his heart.

Spike's phone rang, and he answered it with a casual, "H'lo?"

Fred's voice answered. "How's it going, Spike?"

"Well enough. I'm nearly done with this little project. I've got one more loose end to wrap up, and then I'll be on my way." Spike smiled reflexively. Fred was the one who kept in contact with him on a regular basis. She'd always been the one to reach out, to keep him grounded. It helped to know that there was someone out there who knew where he was and worried about him a bit.

"That's great," she responded. "I just called to let you know that Angel really doesn't have anything for you right now. He said to take a break, and he'd get back to you when he needed your help with a project."

Spike rolled his eyes, even though he knew Fred couldn't see the gesture. "The wanker couldn't call me himself?"

"Well, it is Angel," Fred replied. "You know how he can be. He's testy because Nina's been gone."

Spike snorted, but didn't reply. One thing he'd have to say about the wolf-girl was that she did a good job of keeping Angel in line. A look from her was better than a thousand lectures from anyone else, and Angel was almost ridiculously intent on keeping her happy.

Of course, the fact that she could eat him for breakfast three nights out of each month probably helped. Angel wanted to be sure that she was content the rest of the time.

"What are you up to, pet?" Spike asked, not wanting to let her go just yet. Not that he'd ever been one for idle chit-chat, but it was a pleasure to talk to someone who knew him, who could fill him in on what was going on back home.

That's how Spike thought of it sometimes—as home. It wasn't as though there were any more reasonable alternatives, not since Sunnydale had been blown off the map.

"Oh, getting ready to go out," Fred said. Spike could hear the excitement in her voice. "I think Wesley's going to propose for Valentine's Day."

"He'd better," Spike teased. "It's about time he made an honest woman out of you."

She laughed nervously. "Well, I'm not a hundred percent sure, but I've been getting these vibes from him, so maybe. Tonight's the big date, and he said he had a surprise for me, so—”

"If he doesn't propose, you let me know, and I'll be happy to kick him into gear," Spike offered.

She laughed, as he'd known she would, and then they said their good-byes. Spike had a job to finish, and Fred had a date to get ready for. Spike put the phone away, glancing around the café, knowing that his target hadn't yet arrived. At least Lyon wasn't a bad town for a stakeout.

Spike waved the waitress over to ask for another cup of coffee, adding a generous tip. He'd learned a long time ago that if you kept the staff happy, you were more likely to be happy, too.

He sipped at his cup, a smile curving his lips as the demon he was looking for came in. It looked like his research was going to pay off. One night of work, and then he was on vacation. After months of traveling, he was ready for a bit of a break. Maybe he'd find a poker game somewhere. Or catch up on his daytime TV.

Or maybe he'd work up the courage to go see Buffy.

~~~~~

The knock on his door woke Spike out of a deep sleep. He'd spent the night following Reglar around, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. It had been an interesting job all around. Wolfram & Hart had wanted the demon dead because he'd double crossed the company. Angel thought killing him was a good idea because of his hobby of killing kids. It was a win-win for everybody except Reglar.

Reglar wasn't an easy kill, though. Spike had dragged himself to his hotel just minutes before the sun rose, only to strip off his grungy clothing and collapse on the bed.

He had no idea who would be waking him up in the middle of the day. He'd told the desk clerk not to disturb him on pain of death.

"What?" he demanded as he flung the door open.

The girl from the front desk flinched. "Excuse me, sir, I know you didn't want to be disturbed, but there has been a woman asking after you. She insists that you are here and that she must talk to you."

Spike frowned. He had asked the staff to alert him if someone asked after him. With the job he had, Spike knew he couldn't afford to get careless. "Where is she now?"

"She is still in the lobby," she replied. "She says she will wait for you to come down."

Spike sighed. "Did you tell her I was in?"

"No, sir!" She was insulted that he would even suggest such a breach of protocol. "She simply sits and waits. You told us to tell you, and so I tell you now. If you would like us to call the authorities, we will be happy to do so."

Spike shook his head. "No, I'll see what she wants. It's probably just one of my many admirers, who can't live without me."

She gave him a smile. "Of course."

Spike considered his options. He could march right down to the lobby and confront whoever was down there. On the other hand, it might be better to see if he couldn't get a look at her first, see who was coming to find him.

Oh, who was he kidding? Spike always faced things head-on.

He dug around in his duffel bag for clean clothing, grunting when he came up empty handed. "Bloody hell," Spike muttered. He sifted through the dirty pile, looking for clothing that didn't look as though he'd been dragged through the mud. At least black didn't show the dirt too badly.

Spike shrugged into his duster, and thus fully armored, headed down to the lobby.

He nearly turned right back around when he saw who it was that was waiting for him. In all his wildest fantasies, Spike hadn't imagined this.

What he wanted to do was to swagger up to her, acting as though no time at all had passed since the last time they'd seen each other. He wanted to act as though it didn't matter to him that she was here, looking for him. Spike wanted to pretend that when she told him she hadn't meant what she said, it didn't matter because he'd already moved on.

What he actually did was stuff his hands in his pockets and walk up to stand in front of her. "H'lo, Buffy."

She had been flipping through a magazine, and now she stood quickly, almost stumbling into him in her haste. "Spike. Hi."

It was probably the most awkward meeting in the history of the world. Spike had no idea what to say. What did you say when the last words spoken between you had been words of love? And when you'd denied them, knowing that it was too late for you, but not for her?

"So, uh, what brings you to Lyon?" he asked.

Buffy shrugged. "You know, the usual business."

"Right," Spike replied, hoping that his disappointment wouldn't show. "Any success?"

"Some." Buffy was quiet for a moment. "So are you staying long?"

Spike shook his head. "No, not long. Thought I'd probably leave tonight since I've finished up."

"Oh, right." She looked away from him, and Spike thought he'd never seen anything more beautiful. Her hair was long and golden, and it appeared as though Buffy had put on some much-needed weight. He wanted to kiss her, wanted to say all the things he'd thought about saying for the last year.

Nothing came out.

“I just thought maybe, if you didn’t have anywhere else to be, we could talk,” Buffy suggested. “Catch up.”

“I don’t have to leave tonight,” Spike allowed. “I could wait a day or two.”

Buffy nodded. “Tonight, then?”

“Yeah, fine.”

“So, uh, I’ll see you around seven?”

“Sounds good.”

They stood, staring at one another, the unease almost palpable. “Think I’m going to get some more sleep,” Spike offered.

“Oh, yeah, I probably woke you up, huh?” Buffy asked, sounding apologetic.

“It’s fine.” Spike shuffled his feet. “So I’ll see you later?”

“Absolutely.”

When it didn’t look like anything more was going to be said, Spike headed back up to his room, feeling a little stunned. What the hell had that been? Had Buffy been looking for him? Was this a pit stop for her? Did she really want to see him?

Spike shut the door firmly, allowing his duster to slide off his shoulders and onto the floor. He didn’t think he was going to be able to sleep anymore. “Shit,” he muttered, looking at the pile of dirty laundry on the floor. He was going to have to do something about that, too. There was no way he was going out with Buffy when he didn’t have anything to wear.

Furious knocking began on his door, and Spike muttered a few imprecations under his breath, wondering what was next. “What?” he snapped, as he opened the door.

Buffy stood there, her face flushed and eyes blazing. “What the hell was that down there?” she demanded.

“You tell me,” Spike shot back. “You were the one who showed up on my doorstep.”

She shoved him back into the room, slamming the door behind her. “I wouldn’t have had to show up on your doorstep if you had had the decency to call me! What? You couldn’t pick up the phone and let me know you were back from the dead?”

“Still dead,” Spike said snidely. “Besides, you knew. What was stopping you from finding me? How come I have to do all the work here? It’s always about you, Buffy! Always about what you want! Maybe you should start by asking what I want for a change.”

“What do you want?”

The question startled him, even though Spike had suggested she ask it. “I don’t bloody well know,” he admitted.

The anger seemed to have left Buffy as quickly as it came. “Do you want me?”

“I—Buffy,” Spike began, not knowing what to say. “That’s not an easy question to answer.”

“It’s yes or no, Spike,” Buffy replied. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you let me know you were back? I thought we had something. I thought we were friends at least, if nothing else.”

“We were,” he said softly, unable to sustain his own anger when he saw the hurt evident in her eyes. “Buffy, I died. I was finished, and then I came back. I didn’t know where to begin.”

“‘I’m back’ works really well,” Buffy replied, although her voice held no heat. “I thought…” She met his eyes, making a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “You didn’t believe me.”

“I didn’t know what to believe,” Spike admitted. “And I didn’t want to risk it.”

There—it was out now. She would know that he was a coward, afraid to face the woman he loved for fear of another rejection.

“Oh, Spike,” Buffy sighed, turning away.

He closed his eyes. Apparently he now had his answer. Maybe if he hadn’t waited, Spike might have gotten the girl, but she’d moved on. This was closure. “How are you?” he asked hoarsely.

“Not great,” Buffy admitted.

Spike took a step closer. “Anything I can do?”

“So now you offer?” Buffy asked. “You couldn’t have shown up a year ago?”

“I was a ghost a year ago,” Spike replied. Then, he corrected himself. “Well, a little over a year ago, but that’s not the point.”

Spike couldn’t read her. He had no idea what was going on in Buffy’s head, and he didn’t know what to say, how to respond to her distress.

“What’s wrong, Buffy?” Spike asked when she didn’t speak.

She turned to look at him, and he was horrified to see tears in her eyes. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong is that I fall in love with a guy, and he dies, and when he comes back, he doesn’t even have the decency to let me know. I waited for you, Spike! I kept thinking that you would just show up one day, and then you didn’t, so I figured you’d moved on. God knows you had every right.”

Spike took a deep, unnecessary breath. “So you moved on?”

“I tried,” she admitted. “I went out with a few guys, but… It was pure luck I found you. I was out with one of the recruits for the Watcher’s Council last night, and I saw you. I wasn’t going to do anything, but I got to thinking about it, and—I called Angel and made him tell me where you were.”

It was Spike’s turn to look away, unsure of how to respond. “What now?”

“I don’t know,” Buffy admitted. “It depends on what you want.”

He hesitated only for a moment, and then he stepped forward and did what he’d wanted to do for—years at this point.

Spike kept the kiss light, tentative, waiting to see how Buffy would respond. He didn’t want to force anything, but her arms came up to twine around his neck and she deepened the kiss.

He was desperate for her—hungry. This was what he had wanted, waited for, and she was here, apparently because she wanted him right back. She had waited for him.

Buffy pulled herself out of his grip suddenly, pushing him back on the bed, standing with her hands on her hips. “I love you,” she declared belligerently. “Don’t you ever tell me that I don’t again.”

“Okay,” he agreed easily. Spike felt his love for her spring up and overflow. He’d pushed it down, tried to forget, but it had been there the entire time, just waiting for the catalyst.

“And don’t you dare die again,” Buffy added. “I’m serious, Spike. I don’t think I could handle losing you again.”

“Okay,” he repeated, softer, more serious. “What happens after tonight, Buffy? Where are we supposed to go from here?”

“Do you have to be somewhere?” Buffy asked. “Because we’ve got room for one more in Rome.”

“I’ve got a job,” he said. “But I have some vacation coming to me.”

“Then let’s figure it out tomorrow.” Her voice was hopeful. “Just as long as there’s an us, we can make up the rest as we go along.”

Spike smiled. “There’s always been an us.”

Then she was in his arms, and Spike felt as though he were drowning all over again, but he didn’t mind so much this time. This time it felt like they were drowning in each other.

You're my water

You're my wine

You're my whiskey

From time to time

You're the hunger

On my bones

All the nights

I sleep alone

Sweet intoxication

When your words

Wash over me

Whether or not

Your lips move

You speak to me

Like an ocean

Without waves

You're the movement

That I crave

And in that motion

I long to drown

And be lost not to be found

You're my water

You're my wine

You're my whiskey

From time to time

“Drunkard’s Prayer,” ~Over the Rhine