[Reviews - 132]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Microsoft Word Chapter or Story | ePub eBook Chapter or Story | Printer Chapter or Story

Has been viewed 3056 times

- Text Size +




Author's Chapter Notes:
Here we are my loves! xx. p.
“I’m afraid there’s no telling about how old he’ll be next time...or when he’ll grow again for that matter. It’s too early to detect any distinct pattern. It could be completely random!” Willow chewed thoughtfully on her toast. “It could be based on certain emotions? Or maybe he’s growing as he gradually gets his memories back.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s it. I haven’t seen any signs of that; seems completely random.” Buffy leant out of the kitchen door, looking up the stairs. “Spike!” she called. “Breakfast little guy!”

Buffy felt the doorframe shudder along with a sounding thump followed by a series of crashes. “Spike? You alright up there?” A muffled groan and scuffling trickled down the staircase as she made to go up and check on him. She had not yet reached the third step when a significantly taller and somewhat lanky, ruffled haired blonde jogged straight past her and into the kitchen.

“I am no little guy,” he called over his shoulder, heading straight for the fridge.

No. A ‘little guy’ he most certainly was not. Buffy could only look after him wide-eyed, and it was not until she heard Willow’s surprised exclamation that she ordered her rooted feet to take her back to the kitchen.

A packet of pig’s blood in hand, Spike looked questioningly at each girl. The manner in which he asked, “What?” a far cry from the soft-spoken and polite young boy Buffy had grown accustomed.

“Nothing! It’s nothing.” Buffy quickly replied. “I like calling you ‘little guy’.” She took some tentative steps towards him and reached out to touch his hair, which she noticed was starting to look a little more on the chemically induced side. “You were the cutest little guy,” she murmured then frowned as she watched him pour out a mug of blood and set the microwave. “What are you doing?”

Spike raised an eyebrow. “Getting breakfast? Pig’s blood sure tastes like shit, but you know I don’t...like asking you for—well, you know.” As if suddenly self-conscious, he turned away and busied himself by clearing up the messy plastics which had contained the blood.

Buffy didn’t know what to say, or think, for that matter. She had so many questions and she knew she wasn’t hiding her confusion well, so she wracked her brain for something to say which could cover any blunders she might have made in his eyes.

“Language, Spike,” she reprimanded quietly.

“Yeah, was wondering when you’d pick up on that. You’re usually a bit quicker, Buff. Anyway, I’m not six-years-old anymore.” He took a swig of the thick, dark liquid. “I’m twelve. You seem to keep forgetting.”

Twelve. Okay, well that answers at least one of her questions. But Spike had literally grown at least six years older right in front of her, and now he’d made it clear that there was some further form of history between them. It seemed as though the time in between six-year-old Spike and this twelve-year-old version had been filled with memories and events; that while she had just caught snippets, Spike was living a life. Another life! From her perspective, she was just skimming through various stages of his life like it was all some kind of virtual book.

“Buffy!”

She looked over at Willow as the red head telepathically shouted for her attention.

“The time has actually passed for him! Should we try to ask him to see if he can remember anything?”

“Yes, I know!” Buffy replied. “It’s as though this is life as he knows it! But no, I don’t think we should say anything. It might confuse him or it could be dangerous; wouldn’t it be better if we just let the memories resurface? If he’s twelve now, it’ll only be a few more transitions till he reaches the age when he was turned. It makes the most sense that that’s when he’d get his memories back.”

“But who knows how long that could take! I think what we should do—”

Buffy heaved a heavy sigh. “Don’t you think you’ve done enough? I know you were only trying to help him, but this was your spell!”

“I know, Buffy. And I’m so sorry—“

“It’s not me you need to apologise to, Will. It’s him.” She sent her friend a sad smile and looked over at Spike.
But to Buffy’s great alarm, the young vampire did not look at all well. His mug of blood lay discarded on its side on the kitchen counter, completely drained of any traces of the liquid. As for Spike, he was doubled over resting his hands on his knees. The two girls had been so caught up in their talk that they’d missed his rumbling growls and the repeated sound of grating bone as he shifted back and forth between his human fore and vampiric ridges.

“Spike! Are you alright?” Hurriedly, Buffy knelt before him and cupped his head in both hands, her thumbs comfortingly stroking his hair.

“I don’t know,” he groaned. “I’m just—God, Buffy. I’m so hungry.”

His head shot up and she found herself eye-to-eye with the yellow orbs of a starving vampire, his fangs bared and growling without restraint. She gasped but remained calm as she watched his eyes flicker from her own to her pulse point.

“Willow? Will you heat up another packet of blood for him?”

“Oh, sure.” Buffy kept her eyes on Spike as she listened to the sound of her friend at the fridge. “There’s no more! He must have had the last one. I’ll get some more. I’ll be quick.” And with that, Willow flew from the kitchen and out the back door.

“Buffy,” he gasped. “I can’t—I can’t control it.”

“No one’s asking you to, sweetheart.”

“Do you—do you remember that time when...” He dropped to his knees with a growl before struggling on. “Do you remember when you told me that I—that I was—special?”

“Of course, I do,” she whispered. How could she have forgotten? After all, it had only been yesterday; for her anyway.

His human face returned for just a spilt-second as he rasped, “Do you still think so? I’m such a monster.”

“Shh, never say that. You’re not. I meant it, Spike. There’s no one else like you.” Gently, she traced the ridges along his brow. “We can’t wait, this is killing you.” Pulling up her sleeve, she touched the delicate skin of her inner wrist to his lips. “I know you told me you don’t like to ask. You never need to ask, Spike. Drink.”

She didn’t miss it when his eyes flashed with sudden hunger. “No. I don’t—please, Buffy. I can, I can wait.”

Tired of his stubbornness, she brushed her wrist just slightly across one fang to graze the skin. At the same time, she pressed a kiss to his temple and murmured, “Drink.”

His body shuddered as yet another growl rumbled through him and he took hold of her forearm with both hands, sinking his fangs into her flesh as though she were his last meal. Buffy winced as he took the first deep pull of blood but soon relaxed, wrapping her arm around his neck when he moved to cradle her body in his arms. Even as he relieved his hunger, he still touched her with such tenderness, still protested at doing her harm. How could it be that he still cared so much? His following sips were far gentler, but Buffy knew she should have spoken up when he didn’t seem to be stopping any time soon. She left it too late, and the spinning room soon blacked out entirely.

~

“Come to tap dance on the patient, Doc?”

Dawn looked in on him from her place perched on the coffee table. “That would depend on which patient you were talking about.”

“Right.” Sighing, Spike dropped his head back onto the couch. “So just with the guilt trip then.”

“That’s not what I came here for. “

“Then what did you come here for?”

“Just wanted to see you, I guess,” she shrugged. “And Buffy, she wanted to know how you were doing.”

He perked up. “She’s awake?”

The brunette sent him a tight smile. “Yeah, she’s been awake longer than you. But you know that you could have... killed her, right?”

“I know. I—I don’t know what I can say...I was just so hungry, I didn’t want to,” he explained, a hint of hysterics and desperation tinging his voice. “But it was too late, by the time I realised, she’d already passed out. Oh, Buffy. She must hate me. She said I wasn’t a monster, but how can she be right? I hurt her so bad.”

“She doesn’t hate you, Spike. She understands and she’s okay. You’re not a monster. Just, now you know, right? How careful you have to be,” Dawn said in her most comforting tone before offering, “And she wants to see you, if you think you’re feeling good enough to get upstairs.”

~

“Hey, little guy,” she whispered, managing a weak smile and beckoning him over to her side.

“Buffy, I—I ‘m so—“

“Shh, now. No apologies. There’s no need for that. You needed blood and I wanted to help you. I’m alright and you’re alright, it’s all that matters.” She reached up to touch his cheek. “Sit with me for a while?”

Spike crawled in beside her and let out a shaky sigh as she encouraged him to rest his head against her breast. In a few minutes Buffy found herself in a state of slumbered limbo, her bandaged wrist lying atop her stomach. And as she held onto the last vestiges of consciousness, she felt his hand gently cover the bandage and heard him whisper, “I’m sorry, Buffy.”

To be continued...





You must login (register) to review.