Author's Chapter Notes:
Thanks as always to Flibble for betaing and to Bree for sitting me down and forcing me to write. December was a bad month between the car accident, strep throat, and my mom having a heart attack...yeesh. Anyway, everything turned out fine, so thanks for sticking with me! Enjoy!
Chapter Ten




Pain is a private thing, and young though he was, Spike had been through enough to know that. So he had insisted on doing all of the morning chores himself to give Xander a break and an opportunity to focus on his friends for the day. He remembered all too well what it was like to lose someone very close to you.

In turn, he spoke to his Mum quite a lot as he went about his work on the farm that day. He wasn’t sure whether or not he believed she could hear him, but it was a comfort to talk to her nonetheless, so he’d done it almost every day since she’d passed. Spike wondered, at times, if he wasn’t slightly mad, blabbing in his head to his dead mother all the time. He realized, though, that it didn’t much matter. It felt like she was there, so he went with it.

It took almost the entire day to do everything that needed doing, finally coming into the house for a much deserved drink. His efforts had allowed Willow and Xander to get out of the house for a while to visit Riley’s grave. Spike was exhausted, but glad to have helped his friends in some small way. Buffy, on the other hand, was a different story.

As he poured a glass of lemonade himself for the first time that summer, he was eager to get back out of the house and stay out of Buffy’s way. She’d shut herself in her room the night before and never reemerged. He understood that she probably needed plenty of space, today of all days; a little room to breathe. But more than that, he didn’t know if he could handle seeing her in so much pain and being completely powerless to help her or make it better.

So he was quite surprised when he heard her soft footsteps coming toward the kitchen and stop in the doorway. Preparing himself to see a tear-stained Buffy, her hair glinting deep gold in the afternoon sunlight, he took a deep breath and turned to look at her. He was not prepared for what he saw. Her face was pallid and completely blank. But her eyes, her panicked, beautiful green eyes told him, at once, everything he needed to know: she was falling apart and needed someone to hold her together. In an instant, he was crushing her to him, thanking the Lord he’d found a way to help.

Great, shuddering sobs ripped through her as she clung to him as though he were some kind of lifeline. Collapsing onto the hard kitchen floor together, Spike wrapped his arms and legs around her, molding as much of his body to hers as possible. They sat like that forever, he rocking her back and forth on the linoleum, making gentle shushing sounds and stroking her hair. His body began to ache from the awkward position, but it felt so absolutely necessary. She was going to pieces and he was determined to help her keep her shape.

When her wails had finally quieted to soft whimpers, and her breathing had slowed to the occasional hiccup, he lifted her exhausted form into his arms and carried her to the living room, depositing her gently on the sofa, placing a pillow beneath her head to make her more comfortable. Spike stood and turned to move toward the kitchen, but felt a death grip on his wrist trying to stop him. He looked back at her, saw the alarm written on her face, and knelt beside the couch. With his free hand, he brushed some hair from her damp cheek and cupped her face, looking into her wide eyes, which were made a much more brilliant hue from her weeping. Smiling softly, he assured her with a look that he wasn’t about to leave her. She nodded and released him as he stood again.

Spike quickly went to the kitchen, trying not to think too much as he fetched her a glass of cold water. The relief on Buffy’s face was overwhelming when he returned with her drink, settling himself beside her as she took the cup gratefully. She set the glass down on the coffee table and immediately curled back into him, resting her head on his chest as fat, slow tears rolled down her face. Encasing her in his arms again, he laid his cheek against the top of her head and inhaled deeply. He knew she hadn’t even showered today, but Spike couldn’t get enough of the sweet, warm scent that was solely Buffy’s.

Eventually, her breathing became slow and she no longer made the occasional shuddering gasp, signaling Spike that she was finally asleep. It wasn’t until then that he let himself come undone a little, show some weakness while she couldn’t see. Silent tears fell from his tired eyes and into her tangled hair as he wept from the emotional overload of seeing Buffy hurting so much.

Next thing he knew, it was dark in the house, all traces of the too-bright day gone, and Buffy was still huddled against him, sleeping soundly. He carried her up the stairs to her bed, pulling the covers over her and placing a feather-light kiss on her brow before she turned away from him in her sleep.

Sleep. It was exactly what Spike needed. Everything is easier to get into perspective after a good night’s sleep. But sleep evaded him. As he lay there on his tiny bed in the dark basement, his mind wouldn’t stop replaying and analyzing the day’s events, no matter how hard he tried to clear his head. He didn’t want to remember the sinking feeling in his chest when he had first seen her that afternoon. Nor did he want to think about how easily their bodies had fit together when he held her, or the heavenly smell of her hair. He kept seeing her gorgeous eyes, even greener than usual from crying, then thinking that as beautiful as that sight was, he never wanted to see it again. Spike would do anything to keep her from ever being sad again. And that was bad.

All the little things Spike couldn’t let go of, couldn’t stop thinking about, they all added up to one big thing he’d been trying not to admit for weeks, now: he was utterly and inexorably in love with Buffy Summers-Finn.

“Bugger.”






A/N: You know that reviews are my brand of heroin. Feed my addiction?





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