Chapter 6
Spike entered the kitchen and felt a smile pulling on his lips at what he
saw. Buffy stood over the kitchen sink, apparently finishing the dishes.
Her long golden hair had been taken down from its ponytail and now fell in
a silky curtain to the middle of her back. She had pulled on a thick,
hooded black sweater that fell down to her calves but still followed the
curves of her body. His smile was quickly replaced by a frown when he heard
a sniffle.
“Luv…” He pushed off from the doorway and made his way to the sink.
“Spike!” She didn’t turn to look at him. “I’m sorry, I was just on my way
upstairs, but I wanted to get these finished.”
“’S’alright, luv. Is somethin’ wrong?”
“Nope,” she replied vigorously, shaking her head. “What would be wrong?”
“Look at me, pet.”
“I-I have to go tuck Caitlyn in,” she said, taking off for the opposite
doorway.
“Buffy!”
“Spike, please,” she whispered, pausing in the doorway. “I’ll be right
back, just…just wait for me in the living room, okay?”
Before he could respond, she was gone.
* * * * *
Buffy smiled softly at her daughter as she tucked her in.
“Was it him, mommy?” she asked quietly.
“Yes, baby, it was, but there is nothing to be scared of. Mommy pinkie
swore nobody would hurt you, remember?”
Caitlyn smiled before hugging her mother’s stuffed pig Mr. Gordo to her
chest and closing her eyes. Buffy stood up and made her way to the door.
“Mommy?”
“Yes, sweetheart.”
“I like Spike. He’s fun, and he calls me silly names.”
Buffy smiled. “I’m glad, Punkin. Good night.”
Buffy walked into the hall bathroom to survey her reflection. Her left
cheekbone was swelling and tinged a purple shade, and the right side of her
bottom lip was split open. She gingerly touched her cheek and winced at the
immediate pain that flared up. Sighing, Buffy ran a brush through her hair
and headed downstairs.
* * * * *
Buffy slowly walked into the living room with her eyes downcast. She had
seen Spike from the stairs, sitting on the couch, and she knew she wasn’t
ready for this, but she bit the bullet and walked over to sit down next to
him.
“God, Buffy! What happened to you?” Spike practically yelled as he pulled
her hair back from her face to get a look at her.
“Spike, there’s some things we need to talk about.”
“Yeah, like what the hell happened to your face!”
“Look,” she said jumping up, her nerves frazzled . “If you're just going to
run a commentary on my appearance, then we’re wasting our time, and you can
just leave!”
“Buffy, I’m sorry,” he said, grabbing her arm before she could reach the
door. He froze when he heard the soft cry of pain at his touch.
Tentatively, he took a step closer and carefully shed the sweater off one
arm. His expression darkened at the handprint that remained. Turning his
attention to her other arm, he repeated the action, his expression turning to
one of pure rage.
“Who did this to you?” he ground out between clenched teeth.
“It’s not important right now…”
“The hell it isn’t!” he yelled. “Did this just happen?”
“Spike, I-“
“Tell me.”
“Yes, but-“
“Bloody hell, why didn’t you come get me?!” he demanded as he began pacing
around the living room. “Buffy, I was in the house. I wouldn’t have let this happen. Why didn’t you-“
“Spike! First of all, I can take care of myself. Secondly,” she continued,
ignoring the scoff he sent her way. “Please, just sit down and let me
explain.”
“Oh yeah, pet, you can clearly take care of yourself,” he said, his voice
edged in sarcasm.
“Spike…”
“Alright, I’m listening.”
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