“Hi!” said Perky Voice, “I’m Sirra. I’ll be your physical therapist! How do you like the new digs? Sure beats a hospital. Man, I hate hospitals, they're so sterile and unfriendly, you know? And I really think people do their best work at home where they're comfortable.”
“Are you always this perky?” Spike interrupted grimly. Jesus, this bint could give Harmony a run for her money when it came to senseless prattle. Sirra let out a throaty chuckle that was completely at odds with the bright, grating voice she’d used earlier.
“Actually, no. That was purely for my benefit. Woke you right up, didn’t it?” With voice pitched to a less mind numbing tone and her ruby lips stretched into a genuine smile, Spike grudgingly concluded she was bearable. Maybe. But damnation, what was WITH this place and the shiny happy people who were ridiculously nice to him? Was there something in the water? Spike studied her as she walked around like she owned the place, setting towels, lotions, and other items around him. “So today is just a testing day. I'm going to test your muscle strength and build up, see about your stamina, and then we'll come up with a schedule. Any questions?”
“So you're gonna put your hands all over my tight, hot bod Lips?” Spike pressed his tongue against the back of his teeth and gave her his best leer, trying for bravado he didn't really feel.
Sirra just laughed at the smirking vamp--this one had fire. That was good. He had a lot of work ahead of him, and was going to need every scrap of defiance and will he could find. Leaning towards him, she whispered in his ear, “You know it baby. And when I’m done massaging you, you’ll be screaming my name. I guarantee it.”
*** *** ****** *** ****** *** ***
“You bloody bitch! I’ll wear your guts for garters! Stop touching me!” Spike growled. So much for do no bloody harm; this was cruel, unusual, got-nothin’-on-Angelus torture. He raised his head and growled at Sirra when he felt her hands move to another sensitive part of his anatomy. “Goddamit! That bloody well *hurts* you daft bint!”
Sirra clucked her tongue at him disapprovingly. “Really, Spike. You’ve survived worse than this!” Something tugged at Spike’s consciousness, something that he should—fuck! “Come ON. It's just a little massage.” What the bloody hell kind of massage was this?
“A MASSAGE? This is not a massage. This is...this is worse than having my innards ripped out by a hell god, worse than the French winning the world cup! Angelus in a bloody tutu is better than this! Arguh! Seriously, who do you massage? Satan?” Spike whimpered and moaned his way through the rest of Sirra’s 'therapy'. “I hope whoever you’re shaggin’ knows what he’s getting’ into with you. OW!” Sirra smirked at her patient and got one last dig in before calling it quits.
“There, all done!” Sirra said in that perky voice that she knew drove him batty. Spike decided his future was not looking bright. “Oh, stop playing the martyr. It’s not that bad.”
Spike glared at her and swore under his breath. It’s never ‘that bad’ for the torturer.
“Alright, I’m going to put you through some strength-building exercises. You can do some of these on your own, but don’t over do it, and don’t try to improvise. You’ll end up doing more harm than good if you do.”
The next half hour passed in a blur, and by the end of it Spike was well and truly exhausted. He could barely lift his legs, and the few inches he managed left him shaking and drained. Sirra assured him he was in better shape than he thought, but Spike wasn't fooled. People who were in good shape could walk and sit up in bed, and didn’t need physical therapy. Despite her words of encouragement, he couldn’t help but think she was just trying to make him feel better. It would fit with the ‘Help the Spike’ game these people were playing. Sirra gave him a quick, professional rub down that left Spike feeling even more morose. He couldn’t make it to the shower without help, couldn’t undress, couldn’t get back out...his thoughts grew darker with every passing moment.
Sirra left him brooding and dark, closing the door with a long sigh.
“Well?” Sirra rolled her eyes at the eager slayer lurking in the hall.
“Hi, Lena, how are you? How’s your day been? Mine's been fabulous, massaging surly vampires all afternoon, but it’s good to see you too,” she dead paned.
“Right, right, whatever. Hi. How is he?”
“He’s not taking it well. He wants too much too fast. He thinks I’m lying when I tell him he’s in a very good place physically. He wants to walk now, but that’s not going to happen. He’s getting depressed, and it’s going to get worse before it gets better.”
“Is there anyth--“
“No. He’s got to hit bottom and drag himself up. All you can do is be there when it happens and hope it’s enough.” Sirra met the troubled brown eyes, sympathizing with Alanna. She was, at her core, a healer. The Powers were playing some kind of cruel joke when they'd Called her. But that was in the past, and there was someone she could help now.
“Look, you should give him some time. If he’s still down when you go back, then there's a good chance he’ll hit sooner than later,” Sirra suggested. The pain in her friend’s eyes tore at her heart, but there was really nothing any of them could do...but wait.
“Yeah. Alright,” a subdued, distracted Alanna responded.
******************* **** *******************
Spike flung a mug across the room, satisfied with the sharp sound of shattering ceramic and the dulled thuds of the shards hitting the carpet. His anger spun wild and hot, and he wanted nothing more than to hunt something down and tear its throat out. Revel in its pain. A plate, the lamp, and a pillow followed in short order, their destruction not assuaging Spike's anger in the least. A constant, deep growling had filled the room as Spike rampaged in his limited space.
The sharp scent of blood drew him out of his stupor. He looked down and was distatnly surprised to see deep furrows scratched into his arm.
***
It was a moody Spike that greeted Alanna that evening, his jaw tight, anger and frustration simmering behind blue eyes. Alanna took in the destruction, the white feathers strewn about the room, her nose flairing as she scented blood. She saw the deep gouges on Spike's arm and frowned, but decided that the last thing she neded to do was call attention to it.
“What’s with the long face, White Fang?” Spike looked up at the smirking slayer, his incredulity over taking everything else.
“White Fang? Elmo. Seriously.” Alanna just shrugged unapologetically.
“I figure I’ll stumble across a truly inspired nickname someday. Not all of us are as gifted as you, Spikey McSpikerson.” She managed to draw a painfully thin smile out of the preoccupied vampire. “How’d therapy go?” she asked settling into a chair by the bed. She watched Spike retreat inward at her question. If this was how he responded to the first day, she was worried about the future.
“I brought you a present!” she exclaimed brightly, abruptly changing the subject. Reaching into her bottomless messenger bag, she pulled out her gift and set it on the bedside table. Despite himself, Spike had to look. A loud guffaw forced itself through his chest.
“Tell me that is NOT what I think it is!” There, on his bedside table, was a Dracula bobble head doll. Not those silly fake things they sold in souvenir shops, but a true likeness of the real Drac in bobble head form.
“Yeah. Dracula passed through here a while ago, thought he would set up shop in our nice little town and sow a few seeds of chaos and mayhem. He bailed pretty quickly when Dracula memorabilia started showing up. I think my favorites were the “W.W.D.D.” paraphernalia and the “Whack-a-Drac” game at the fair.”
“That’s...really kind of brilliant,” Spike said, enjoying the images of a Drac-themed county fair. Spike suspiciously though that Alanna was becoming a friend. She'd been by every day since he'd woken up and came bearing some pretty spectacular presents. And she seemed to genuinely enjoy his company...all of which made Spike suspicious. “Ready to rock and roll?”
“No sure about the rockin’...but I can roll,” Spike returned. Not suspicous enough to forgo her company. Especially considering she was his only
Alanna took Spike on a tour of the Main House where the Seek lived. He kept trying to guess if the demons who passed him were members of the Seek or not, sulking at her when she refused to verify his selections.
“I don’t think you even know them, Elmo. You’re just making the whole mess up.”
“Then why do you keep asking me?” she asked mildly, giggling at his frustrated growl.
“I’m hurt. Least you could do is give a bloke a straight answer,” he said, turning on his charm and looking at her with his wide blue eyes. She just laughed in his face, steering him towards the elevator.
“Eh, well since I run this entire operation, you don’t really need to know anyone but me. I mean, since I’m Top Dog everyone else is just the Little People.” Spike craned his neck around, giving her a “Don’t mess with the cripple” look. She maturely stuck her tongue out at him, the melodic laughter that accompanied the action music to his ears.
Spike was amazed at the entire operation; the Council could learn a thing or two from these blokes. There was a library in the basement that Giles could happily spend the rest of his life looking through and barely even make a dent. There was a giant vault filled with magickal items, some of them so powerful the literally made the hairs on Spike’s head stand up. Alanna even told him about some of the current operations they were investigating, including a hellmouth in Cleveland. Sirra popped up at the end of their tour and invited them to dinner in the building’s cafeteria.
“You know Alanna, while you’re hanging out with Spike, maybe you could, I dunno, toughen him up? He cried like a little baby during his entire session,” Sirra said. The mischievous sparkle in her eye took away any reproach Spike may have read into it, though it stung a little. He hid his reaction with a smirk and a shrug.
“Yeah, well, if Satan had retracted her claws, I may have enjoyed myself a little more,” he fired back, pleased when he elicited a strangled snort from Alanna.
“Wha...excuse me! I do not have claws!” Sierra spluttered.
“But you’re not denying you’re Satan,” Spike stated smugly.
“No, I didn’t...I never...Alanna! Control your vampire!” The red headed slayer just laughed and help up her hands as if to say ‘Don’t ask me.’ Spike took a moment to wonder at how easily he fell into banter with these people...and just how much he trusted them. Granted, some of that was manufactured trust. He was in a wheelchair and pretty much incapable of helping himself in any way. But a lot of the time, he forgot that; they didn’t make a big deal about it. Which was weird, considering his life revolved around physical therapy and Alanna's free time.
Acceptance and trust were not things the Master vampire was used too. He puzzled over his inclusion in this tight knit group and the alien feeling of acceptance as Sirra and Alanna bantered, tossing inside jokes back and forth with lightening speed. Spike sipped his blood, lost in his thoughts.
“Well, I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Spike,” Sirra said with a malicious grin. Spike merely leaned back and smiled serenely
“Ta, Lips. Save a special spot in hell for me, yeah?” Sirra turned on her heel and left in a huff.
“Anyone tell you it was a bad idea to piss off your therapist?” Alanna asked. Spike just grinned and took a long gulp of his dinner.
“Oh, you’ve got an eyelash, hold on!” Spike froze as Alanna leaned over the table and brushed a finger across his cheek, the atmosphere suddenly becoming much more intimate. He thought back to their short but powerful relationship. Ever since he’d woken up, she had been there, worrying and making sure he was comfortable. Sometimes, he caught her watching him when she thought he wasn’t looking...could she...?
Mixed feelings were coursing through him, feelings Spike wasn’t ready to face. The slayer was nice, gorgeous really, great personality and a cute little ass, but... He wondered awkwardly how he could let the slayer down gently. She was really the only thing keeping him sane at the moment, the only person he knew here, but...
“Blow.” Spike’s eyes snapped to Alanna’s, his eyes trailing down to the proffered finger. There, on the tip, sat one dark eyelash. Her dark brown eyes were looking into his, a small smile gracing her lips. She was so close he could feel the heat of her body. Spike suddenly felt panicked, emotions warring with in him. A part of him was screaming at him to go for it, to move closer and let his breath caress her skin and move the tiny eyelash, take what was being offered. But a more powerful part of him was telling him this wasn’t right, that this slayer wasn’t for him. The ever-present darkness that had bubbled beneath the surface since his entrapment scoffed at the very idea of anyone being interested in an injured, impotent vamp. Spike forced the darkness back, covered it ruthlessly, and went with his instinct. He had learned a long time ago to trust his gut.
“Pet...” he faltered. If this turned out badly, he could end up alone, looking forward to torture sessions with Sirra if only for some sentient contact. In the short week he’d been here, Alanna had become fairly indispensable to him, his link to this world. To lose that now would be crushing. “I...I don’t want to, ah, that is...I don’t like you. Like...that...” He trailed off miserably.
Alanna looked from Spike, to the eyelash sitting on her finger, and back at Spike.
“What?” Spike felt like a right git. She looked so confused. Had he been leading her on? Had his--he winced at the thought--dependence on her sent the wrong message?
“God, luv--” he winced. Wrong word to use in this situation. Way to bugger it up, Spike. Just like everything else. “Look, I like you, being around you, but I can’t...date...you.” Spike watched her processing it.
“Oh.” Alanna blinked, her brain trying to catch up with the weird turn this conversation had taken. She stared at the eyelash on her finger tip, glanced at the really uncomfortable vampire before her and...oh. OH. He...Spike thought...
“OH!”
Spike wasn’t prepared for the peals of laughter that followed. He crossed his arms, a decidedly annoyed look on his face. Who laughed at being rejected?
“S-s-sorry, I--“ She looked at Spike’s annoyed expression and cracked up. Again. “You...I...you thought!” Spike was fairly certain that he’d have stormed out by now or sunk silently into a deep dark hole had he been able to. Besides, he was a good looking guy, it wasn't that far out to think someone might find him attractive. (Monster aside.)
“I’m sorry. You just...I’m...hold on.” A more collected Alanna pulled out a sleek cell phone and pressed a speed dial button.
“Hey, got a few? I’m in the caf. Sweet.” She tossed the phone carelessly on the table top. “Sorry. It’s just...been awhile. Since anyone hasn’t known. Kinda took me by surprise.”
“Known what?” Spike asked, his dark mood still firmly in place. Before Alanna could respond, a pair of slender dark hands drew her chin up. Alanna’s red hair and pale complexion contrasted with the dark stranger behind her, and Spike’s inner poet couldn’t help but admire it, the juxtaposition between light skin and dark. The stranger bent over and placed a kiss on Alanna’s smiling lips before settling on the bench beside her. The man in him couldn’t help but notice they were stunning together.
Spike was momentarily startled by the glittering green eyes that reminded him of...a face flashed through his mind, someone he could quite place; and there was a disturbing sensation that he’d met this man before. But that was impossible. He was fairly certain he’d remember a rather attractive black man with piercing green eyes.
“Spike, this is Leto. He’s my mate.”