Chapter 2
In the end he had agreed to investigate whether there might have been another girl. He still wasn’t sure but Buffy had attacked his conscience with the grace of a cobra leaving him no choice. The thought that they might have missed something that had cost the life of a young girl tugged at him constantly.
It also might cost him his job. Captain Rochester, his immediate superior, had been adamant in his refusal to let Spike do it on the clock. It was a closed case and there were too many other cases that were open that needed work. Spike said he would use his vacation time and had spent thirty minutes getting his ass chewed out for being stupid.
In the end he had a week. A week to prove to Buffy there hadn’t been anyone else. A week to help her get her life back so that she could go to college and do all the things normal girls did. Was it really too much to ask?
“Hey, Spike, line four,” Harry hollered at him. “A Mrs. Summers.”
It was the last person he wanted to speak with. He was trying to finish up the last of his reports so he could start on his time off and didn’t want to deal with the Summers’ family until he had to. He hadn’t even spoken to Buffy since he had left her outside the restaurant two days ago. However, before he left her, he made Buffy call her mother to let her know what was going on. Apparently the plan of being left alone had backfired somewhere. He hit the print button before grabbing the phone.
“Nagle, here.”
“Detective Nagle?”
“Yes,” Spike said, pulling the report off the printer.
“This is Mrs. Summers. I’m sorry to bother you but I was wondering if you had spoken to Buffy today?”
“Nope, sure haven’t,” Spike said, hoping he sounded sufficiently bothered by the call that she would leave him alone. “I haven’t seen her since we called you the other night.”
“We can’t get a hold of her.”
Why was it his problem? He sighed as he slipped the report over the prongs in the file. It had become his problem the moment he had agreed to help. He knew that. He just didn’t want to deal with it yet.
“Maybe she went shopping or something.”
It was too much to hope for.
“Sir, up until she left to find you, my daughter hasn’t been anywhere alone in four years,” Mrs. Summers said, icily. “Why would she suddenly go gaily off to a mall filled with people that would send her into a panic attack? She can’t stand to be touched, new things frighten her and she’s off her meds.”
Fuck.
“What’s her room number again?” Spike asked. Buffy had given it to him on a little piece of paper that he had immediately slipped into his wallet. He didn’t want to have to take the time to search for it and figured this was quicker.
“Eighteen ten.”
“I’ll give you a call back as soon as I’ve found her.”
“Thank you.”
The line disconnected and he stared at the phone for a second. It seemed he was now responsible for an eighteen-year-old former kidnapping and rape victim whether he wanted to be or not. His stomach clenched again and he slammed the receiver down. He hated this weakness when it came to Buffy. Most of the time even the worst cases didn’t bother him and he could handle any kind of gore there was. But somehow every time he got around Buffy his stomach rebelled against him.
He grabbed his jacket, yelled a vague message that he’d be back in an hour to his captain and high tailed it out of there. The Hilton wasn’t that far but he took his car anyway. She might not be there and he would only have to backtrack to get it. Thankfully, traffic was on his side and he was able to reach there in only a few minutes. He got a few looks as he practically ran across the lobby.
The closer he got the more worried he became. He should have known better than to leave her to her own devices. Ignoring her hadn’t helped. The car of the elevator opened on the eighteenth floor and he took off at a run toward her room. There was no answer to his knock. No answer to his pounding. A ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign was hanging on the knob.
“Buffy, if you’re in there open up.”
“Sir, she hasn’t let us in there, yesterday or today.”
Spike turned toward the maid that had come out of the room next door.
“Have you seen her?”
“No sir,” the maid said shaking her head. “Not since day before yesterday.”
“Can you let me in?” Spike asked, displaying his badge. “I just got a call from her mother and they haven’t heard from her either.”
“I’ll call the manager,” the maid said scurrying off.
Spike waited impatiently, pacing the hall until the manager came toward him. He quickly explained the situation and said the girl’s life might be in danger. The manager opened the door, shaking his head, as Spike pushed him aside to go inside. The place was neat. The bedclothes weren’t disturbed. All the lights were off. The television wasn’t on.
“Do I need to call the police?” The manager asked.
“I am the police,” Spike said impatiently. “I’ll handle it from here.”
Thankfully, the manager took off, closing the door behind him. Spike shook his head. Some people just didn’t like to be involved. He sighed there was only one other place for Buffy to be if she was in here.
“Buffy, I’m coming in, okay?”
Spike pushed the bathroom door open. The lights were off so he left them off hoping she hadn’t gone completely wacko and try to kill him. He crouched down to look underneath the vanity. She wasn’t under there. He leaned back so there would be some light reaching into the bathroom and glanced in the mirror. The shower curtain was drawn and he held his breath. He could hear her. She was in the bathtub. Her breath was coming evenly and steady.
“Buffy, talk to me,” Spike said, sitting on the toilet lid. “There’s no one else in here besides me.”
“Promise?”
“Yeah, why didn’t you open the door?”
“Safe in here,” Buffy whispered.
“No, it’s not,” Spike said, speaking logically. “There’s no exit. You’re trapped.” He reached over, flicked the light on and pulled the curtain back. “Shit, don’t.” Spike yelped looking down just in time to see the steak knife she held stop half an inch from his stomach.
“Surprise,” Buffy said, pulling the knife back. “You would have been dead. Right through the heart, upward angle, one thrust.”
“And where did you learn that little piece of information?”
“Court TV.”
Buffy wrapped her arms around her legs and started rocking. Like she had been when he first saw her.
“Why are you in here?” Spike asked, his tone a little gentler. Not as sarcastic as before. The girl had surprises in her that he didn’t want to learn the hard way.
“Waiting for you,” Buffy said as if it was the most logical answer.
“Why in here?”
“I told you because it’s safer.”
Spike sighed and clasped his hands together. The urge to shake or throttle her had returned. Everything had to be dragged out of her. He needed to find some patience or maybe learn to ask the right questions.
“Why wait in here?” Spike shook his head because that would only lead to the safer issue again. “Did someone bother you? Or hurt you?”
Buffy shook her head. “The room reminded me of … the hospital and I was too afraid to leave.”
“Have you eaten?”
“No.”
“Why didn’t you call me or your parents?”
She gave him an incredulous look. “My parents would have dragged me home and you didn’t want to be bothered with me. I’m fine.”
“Bloody hell, woman,” Spike snapped. The damn girl was going to end up sending him to the psych hospital. He stood up and started grabbing her stuff off the vanity. Once he had the few supplies in his hands he marched out to the main room, and dumped them on the bed before turning to the closet. He grabbed her bag and the few clothes that were hanging neatly there.
“What are you doing?” Buffy asked. Her look was frantic as she tried to grab her clothes away from him. “You promised you’d help me.” She started crying. “I’m not going home. Please, don’t do this.”
“I’m sending you home,” Spike said, remaining calm and prying her fingers off her clothes. Buffy grabbed for them again and he blocked her with his arm. “This is insane. Stop it.” Spike turned so that she was reaching around him, trying to get her clothes away. He shoved them in the bag.
“No, I can’t,” Buffy pleaded again. This time she reached for the bag.
Tired of trying to communicate with her, Spike turned so that he was blocking her, “You are going to go home where it is nice and safe.”
“Not safe,” Buffy said. She surprised him when she turned and headed for the door.
“Where the hell are you going?” Spike shouted, grabbing her around the waist. She elbowed him in the side and he wrapped his arms over her arms and around her body. The struggle continued for a few seconds with her wiggling against him. He smirked, somehow feeling superior that she couldn’t get away, until she made this sound. It wasn’t quite a whimper, or a cry, more the moan of a dying animal. It was then that he realized who he was holding, why she had come into his life, and that urge to vomit came over him again. He released her. Horrified, he watched her fall to the floor, crawling away from the monster he suddenly was, to huddle against the door. He crouched down to try and apologize but she turned away. Her hand petting the door, like she wanted to get through it but couldn’t figure out how while her tiny body shook. “I’m sorry, Buffy, oh god, I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”
“Hurts.”
“I know, I know,” Spike said, sighing. “You can’t stay here. This isn’t safe for you, out there definitely isn’t safe, where else is there for you to go?”
There was one place. He pushed the thought away though. It wasn’t safe for him as his body remembered the feel of hers.
“I can’t,” Buffy whimpered. “Face sixty years…of nothing.”
It took him a moment to figure out what she was talking about. But somehow he was learning to speak her language. It was pretty simple. Just take out all the bullshit and voila you had Buffy speak. If she was eighteen with a life expectancy of eighty then if she didn’t resolve this question, if she didn’t find her freedom and the courage to live her life then she would spend six decades too frightened to walk out her front door.
“Please, help me,” Buffy pleaded, turning tear filled eyes to him. Her lips were trembling as she stared at him and a few tears broke free to slide down her cheeks. He gave up and sighed.
“Pack your stuff.”
“Where?”
“The most unsafe place of all,” Spike answered, “My place.”
Those eyes widened, glanced away then returned to his. He wasn’t sure but he almost could swear she had given a quick perusal to his crotch before looking up at him again. It had to be out of fear, especially in light of his previous actions.
“I promise you’ll be safe there.”
~~~~~~~~
The door shut behind Spike leaving Buffy alone in his apartment. He hadn’t said a word from the time they had checked her out of the hotel until he had unlocked the door here. Even then he hadn’t said much, ‘make yourself at home. There’s food in the fridge. I’ll be back around seven’. Her bag was dropped on the floor beside her and he was gone.
Buffy turned to lock the door. Grateful that there were two deadbolts, a lock on the doorknob and a chain lock. She turned, leaning against the door, and looked around. It was just another apartment, nothing special, and without a lot of furniture. She noted the sliding glass door and the various windows.
“Move, girl,” Buffy told herself because the quicker she was sure that she was secure the sooner she could relax. Maybe. She approached the window over the sink in the kitchen, double checked it was locked before she moved to the sliding glass door leading out onto the balcony. Everything was locked and she drew the blinds shut so no one could watch her. It took her only a few minutes to finish the rounds of the apartment. Once it was done she breathed a sigh of relief as she headed back to the living room.
Unsure of what to do, Buffy stood in the living room for a moment and looked around her. The kitchen was to her left, the bedroom behind her and the bathroom which had an opening to the living room and the bedroom was to her right. A computer was on a desk in the corner of the main room to her left, books piled on a shelf, and there was a game system on top of the television. It was Spike’s place with Spike’s stuff in it and he had invited her to stay. She decided that maybe it wouldn’t too bad to be here.
It was a lot better than the hotel room. It had been cold and sterile resembling the room she had lived in for two years at the fancy mental facility. She had hated it and no matter what personal touches she had tried to add it wasn’t home. It wasn’t safe. She was never alone there and always watched. Going home had held such promise to have a life again but her parents fears had rendered that impossible.
They were so afraid to lose her again that the watches had continued until she had given up. Her life had been bound in their house, hidden behind curtains until her own fears returned and consumed any desire she had to rebel against them. Her hopes had been transferred to her eighteenth birthday and the plans she had been carefully constructing.
For the first time in years she felt almost free and her lips curved into a smile. There were so many possibilities in this small apartment that she felt like a kid in a candy store. For a whole five hours there was no one to watch her, to ask her how she was doing and if she had eaten. The circumstances that had brought her here were almost forgotten in the excitement of being alone somewhere she felt safe.
Her mind turned over several possibilities as to what to do first but the icky feeling of her body won out. She’d been too afraid to bathe at the hotel. It would have made her vulnerable but here it was something that she felt courageous enough to do. Buffy grabbed her bag and made her way into the bathroom. Her nose wrinkled as she looked at the vanity. There was toothpaste in the sink and his razor lay on a crumpled washcloth to the side. A quick inspection of the bathtub made her turn around. With a sigh, she put her bag on the couch this time and searched the apartment for cleaning supplies. She told herself he was so busy saving people that he just didn’t have time to do it. The least she could do was help him out.
Two hours later the small apartment shone from her efforts. Everything from the bathroom to the kitchen had been scrubbed. A look inside the refrigerator had elicited a shudder and that too had been cleaned. The garbage bag filled with leftover pizzas and other take out food containers was by the front door. A peek outside had let her know where the dumpster was but she had nibbled her lip and decided it could wait to go out.
It had been three days since she had been off her medication and she could feel every nerve in her body screaming at her. The schedule the pills had kept her on was gone leaving her emotions and body off kilter. It had been so long since she had really felt anything real, she didn’t want to take any chances and push her fragile emotions.
A quick glance at the clock revealed it was only a little bit past four so she would still have time to take a bath before Spike returned. Buffy took a few minutes to unpack. Her clothes were precisely hung in his closet after pushing his to the side. She inhaled the scent that was purely him. A scent that he had four years ago when she had curled into this body for protection. Her fingers drifted along the sleeve of his dress uniform and she fantasized how he would look in it.
“Stop it,” Buffy told herself as she shut the closet door. It wouldn’t do to romanticize him anymore than she did. There was a purpose for her being here and she couldn’t let herself forget it. The afternoon had already taken her attention away from her purpose. She had to put the past to rest, find out what had happened to the other girl, and move on to make herself a life. It would be a life that couldn’t include Spike in it no matter how much she wanted it.
Buffy put her things out on the vanity after moving all of his things to the left. The bottles arranged as they always were. The larger ones were arranged in a row in the back and continuing to her small nail polishes in the front. She grabbed a couple of clean towels and drew herself a bath. A hot bubble bath was one of the few times when she felt she could relax. Settling back in the tub she closed her eyes and forced herself to be in her happy place. A place where monsters didn’t exist and little girls didn’t get hurt.
to be continued…
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