Beds of Pebbles

Summary: Chucky's dad on 'Rugrats' says that you're always safe in your own bed. However, a certain blonde begs to differ... Set in the middle of disaster that was Season 6. Angsty B/S (what else can it be?)
Disclaimer: 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' and all associated with it belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Fox etc. I own nothing.
A/N: Spontaneous fiction I couldn't stop from bursting out of me when I was watching 'Rugrats' with my nephews. The name in the brackets is just to indicate who I'm dealing with in what chapter. Very short, three chapters, indefinite ending. Still reading it? Then let me know what you think.

1. Envelopes to Open (Riley)

Buffy couldn't shake off the light prickling sensation at the base of her spine.

It was strange. Her body was tired from working all day at DoubleHell but her mind kept expecting more noise and activity as it approached her house on Revello Drive, knowing the house would be the hotspot for all the wedding plans, now that the Magic Box would be closed for the night.

It wasn't exactly a comforting thought.

But as she walked through the silent streets, Buffy focused, for the first time in weeks, on herself. Other evenings were spent patrolling or on... dates with Spike, after all. But today, Spike had said he'd cover patrol. She didn't know how he knew she was getting so tired lately that she thought she'd pass out, but he did.

Oh, wait. She probably could guess the reason. He'd hinted that her last 'performance' hadn't been so good. When it was Spike... he wasn't talking about her patrols.

Anyways, she thought as she dragged her feet down Main Street, it was the weekend and she had a break from work, and a break from her secret boyfriend, with who every second she spent charred her soul. She was tired, mentally, physically, emotionally. Buffy knew she needed a day or two off. From everything.

It wasn't meant to be.

From years of heading there after college and school when she was on Main, her feet drew her automatically to Espresso Pump. Before she knew it, she was standing there, looking into the café, wondering what, exactly, she should do now that she was there. Looking around, Buffy saw that her favourite red chair was untaken, a rare for a Friday night. She had just started moving towards it when a boy grabbed the chair and dragged it over to where another was. As Buffy watched, a young blonde collegiate smiled and lowered herself into Buffy's red chair.

Buffy felt it like a slap across her face. That was something Riley used to do for her. With the same chair. They'd headed over to the Pump so many times, the waiters knew them by face. She'd met him here during that Thanksgiving when she hadn't known he was a soldier. She'd met him on this road near the wedding shop when she was engaged to Spike. She had so many memories with Riley here...

Abruptly, Buffy turned around. Her hair, tight in a ponytail, whacked her in the face as she tightened her dark shawl around her slight frame. Suddenly, she felt cold...

When she reached home, Buffy was surprised to see everyone asleep.

Xander and Anya were tangled with each other – clothed, thankfully – on her couch. Willow snored on the carpet near the coffee table and Dawn had passed out in her armchair, English homework half done on her lap.

A smile spread across Buffy's face. It was late. Buffy Summers, queen of the undead, had stayed out late. Not surprising, but then again, it was. Because she hadn't staked anything – except a beef patty – today.

Rather, Buffy, after the emotional encounter at the Espresso Pump, had headed to the Bronze. She had picked out good clothes, thankfully, and her uniform was in her locker at work. Tight black jeans, white sleeveless top and a black silk shawl – not bad. She'd let her hair loose and worked a tiny bit upon her eyes. She'd spent her week's earnings on a couple of tequila shots and had danced with some boys that would be in her year if she were at college. One even recognised her. Mindless body grinding to bad music and alcohol – good times. Buffy had fun.

The world would end any second, now.

But that sensation hadn't gone away.

Hanging up her shawl at the coat hanger, Buffy approached Dawn and quietly, softly, picked up her sister. It was a tough job, because Dawn wasn't five feet tall anymore. A low 'oof' escaped the Slayer as she carried, slowly, her sister, up the stairs.

With her foot, Buffy pushed open the door to Dawn's purple room. Thanking whoever was responsible for putting the bed near the door, Buffy was lowering her sister onto the mattress when her strength gave out. Her eyes widened as her arms fell back and Dawn fell onto the mattress with a bounce.

"Ouch!" Dawn yelled and Buffy winced. As her sister woke up, her expression didn't change. A frowning Dawn opened her eyes and looked around through sleepy eyes, sitting up and rubbing her back. "What happened?" Her voice was drowsy with sleep and tinged with confusion.

"You fell asleep downstairs, Dawnie," Buffy told her sister, expression unchanging. "Just bringing you up here..."

"Oh." Dawn stopped rubbing her back. "Well, goodnight, then." And lay back down to go to sleep again.

Buffy stood where she was, pressed against the door, for a long time. Then, making sure Dawn was asleep, she moved to switch off the lamps when her eyes fell upon a stack of letters lying on Dawn's bedside table.

She frowned when she noticed that her name was written on the top envelope. Picking it up, Buffy wondered if she really entered Dawn's room that rarely, now. As she slipped the letter out of its envelope, she looked around the room, wondering why she hadn't noticed the changes. The many trinkets and knick-knacks Dawn hadn't had before, the pile of clothes that were too slutty to be given even to Goodwill... Buffy bit her lip as she realized, once again, that she needed to spend more time with her sister.

Just as she made that decision, Buffy noticed Dawn's tack board. A picture of Dawn, Spike and Joyce was stuck there. Buffy's throat tightened. She moved to the next one. Dawn and Spike, sitting together, with a separate picture of Buffy sitting tacked next to it. It looked like Dawn had tried to make it one picture. Buffy's heart twinged, and she directed her attention to the letter as means of distraction.

She frowned again when she saw what it was. A typed out letter. She skipped the formal beginning, but her eyes grabbed the main line straight away.

Riley Finn would like to express his deep condolences upon the demise of Miss 'Buffy' Elizabeth Summers.

Buffy dropped the letter like it was hot coal and took a stumbling step back. That's what she got for poking her nose where it wasn't required. Her eyes, wide and wild, looked at the piece of paper as though it was a formidable demon. And then she did something she'd never do if it was a demon.

She ran.

She ran, stumbling through the hallway to her own room. She shut the door with a bang and trembling hands when she entered it, uncaring that she might wake the entire house. Shaking, she sat down on the edge of her bed, elbows on knees, head in hands, and took deep, unsteady breaths.

She didn't know how long she sat like that. When she put her head back up, she looked into the mirror and saw a completely different person from the one who had just danced wildly at the Bronze.

This person looked dead.

Ignoring her image and her thoughts, Buffy walked to her closet and pulled out a pair of shorts and a jersey. Stripping off, she pulled on her night clothes, resolutely thinking of work instead of Riley. She was doing the same when she slipped between her sheets and shut her eyes.

But she woke up in half a minute.

Buffy had calmed down, mostly, when she realized she used to sleep in this bed with Riley. Her eyes snapped open and she jumped up, taking the silk sheets with her. Then she realized that the sheets, too, were a gift from Riley. She dropped the sheets. Then she realized that Riley had been in this room with her, alive, so many times. So many kisses, so many words. So much love, on both parts, different, but still love.

And when she'd died, he'd sent a typed out letter to her family.

She couldn't take it. She grabbed a stake from her dresser and snatched the first shoes she could find. Walking quickly but silently down the steps, Buffy entered the kitchen and scribbled a note about staying out for slayage. With a last look towards the living room and her friends, she slipped out the back door and put on the shoes.

Which turned out to be stilettos.

Moaning, Buffy started moving, legs bare till mid thigh where her black shorts began. She walked quickly, her feet hitting the pavement and ground in rhythm with her heart beating in her chest. She hoped he'd be home. She needed him badly, now.

She knew he was home the second she entered the cemetery. She could feel it – he'd been around, recently. Apart from the lingering smell of smoke in the air, a silver lighter lay beside a tombstone, and Buffy wondered why he'd dropped it. She bent and picked it up, holding it between her fingers to look at it before moving towards the crypt again.

Her feet slowed down, now, but her heart sped up. She swallowed down the thought that he'd poke fun at her. It was hard to do that, but she managed. She approached the crypt silently, her heels sinking into the damp mud.

The windows gave away the soft light that came with candles. Scented candles, she realized as she sniffed the air, the kind he lit only when she was around. The kind he'd lit right now.

The door squeaked slightly as she entered. Her eyes, accommodating to the glow of the candles that was dim when compared to the moonlight, blinked. She looked around for him, but realized he wasn't there. She waited a moment, wondering if he'd lumber over to her, then moved towards the ladder that led to the lower level.

As she slipped off the stairs, she noticed him straight away. He was sitting, shirtless, on his couch, wrapped up in a throw she'd got from the house, candles and lamps around him lit as he read. He looked up as she approached, a frown marring his brow.

"Slayer?" He asked, putting his book down. "'s wrong?"

"Nothing, really." She stood beside the couch, hands in her pockets, hair all around her shoulders.

"Then what're you doin' here at this hour, pet? You know it's two thirty?" His eyes swept her scrappily clothed figure and he smirked. "Ohhh," He drawled, his worried gaze turning lascivious. "Couldn't sleep without a round, eh? Didn' even put a bra on?"

Buffy suddenly felt foolish. What had she thought? That she'd come here, looking for tender comfort, and he'd give it to her? She swallowed. He didn't care for her. He thought he did but all he wanted, in the end, was her body. Wasn't he the one who'd said that the only thing better than killing a Slayer was fucking one?

She turned red under his gaze. "No, I'm sorry," She mumbled, not meeting his eyes as she tried to back away. "S-sorry to disturb you, Spike... my bad. Be going, now..."

She turned and reached for the ladder. Suddenly, Spike grabbed her arm from behind and pulled her around to face him. Buffy, though she refused to look into his eyes, could see his confusion. "Buffy," He demanded, voice firm, "What's the matter? You're never one to back away -- what's goin' on?"

Buffy didn't say anything, just resolutely looked at the floor.

Spike reached up and held her jaw, forcing her to look into his eyes. "I told you to take the night off, Slayer. And you show up here?" He didn't break eye contact as he asked, his tone much gentler, "Luv... is something wrong?"

The love and worry finally crept through his cold exterior. Buffy felt the wall she was trying to hold up shatter and tears rushed to her eyes. Looking away from Spike so he wouldn't notice, she said unsteadily, "I-I just wanted to see if y-you were okay..."

Spike laughed. It was a humourless laugh, but it wasn't cruel, just matter-of-fact, like his voice when he said, "Buffy, pet, this entire relationship is to make you okay. We were both clear on that till yesterday." He softly caressed her cheek, letting go of her jaw. "Where do I come in?"

Buffy didn't have a reply to that.

Spike sighed. "Tell me what you need, luv." One of his hands held hers and brought it up to his lips. "Let me make it better." He mumbled across her knuckles.

Buffy looked up at him through pleading eyes, then. He saw her eyes sparkling in the candlelight and his eyes widened when he saw she was crying. "Spike," She pleaded, "Please... I just want to stay here with you, tonight."

He hadn't dropped her hand till then. Now, as his eyes widened and his mouth dropped, her hand fell from his.

Her eyes stung at his reaction. "Alright," She told him, "I understand..." She started backing away and only when she reached the ladder did he recover his senses.

"Buffy!" She turned to look at him from where she stood on the third rung. He walked over, face blank, hands crossed over his chest. He regarded her expressionlessly and said, in an equally flat tone, "Are you sayin' you want to stay the night without having sex or anything?"

Buffy wondered why he seemed so guarded. Carefully watching his expression, she nodded.

He said nothing, but his eyes seemed doubtful.

Sighing, Buffy said, "Spike, I couldn't sleep. You're right. I need it for me. But this time... I just want to be with you."

The look of pure joy that blossomed on Spike's face was unrivalled. She'd never seen him so happy... heck, she'd never seen anyone so happy. He grabbed her around the legs and said, "Well, why're you standing over there, then! Come on, must be tired!"

He carried her to the bed and gently set her down. Buffy laughed when he poked her in a ticklish spot and then lay down next to her. He pulled her close to him and she pillowed her head on his bare chest. He played with her hair and, whenever she looked up, he wore a tender smile that equalled the one he had on when he'd seen her that day she'd come back.

A part inside her was glad that she had made him smile that smile of joy and content without dying and coming back. In his arms, the idea was a joke because she was safe in his arms. Riley and his letter were a joke in Spike's arms because Spike wasn't going away. A wave of peace she hadn't felt after the night she'd jumped off the tower washed over her, and she was amazed that heaven was possible in Spike's arms.

He whispered things into her hair, things he whispered to her at night after their coupling when he thought she was asleep. She listened to them, now, counted all the nicknames he had for her, and just when she was drifting into la-la-land, she realized that the feeling she'd had all day was gone.

"Spike," She asked suddenly, "Did you follow me today?"

She could feel his frown. "No, Buffy, 'course not. Told you 'was givin' you a day off, didn' I."

She smiled as her suspicion was confirmed. She said 'okay' to him and had been quiet for a long time, making him think she was asleep, when she said, "Spike, I missed you today."

And the prickling sensation was gone, in its place a blossom of warmth as she watched Spike smile at the truth of her words.