It was the scariest thing she’d seen in a long, long time.
Considering the Turok-han, the First Evil, and the various demons flocking to Sunnydale in anticipation of an all-out bloodbath, that was saying something.
Not that she could say anything, at the moment. The sight of the thing had rendered her temporarily speechless.
How was she supposed to deal with this?
“Slayer?” came a voice from behind her.
She started but was unable to tear her eyes away from the object of her attention. “Spike,” she stammered, “what is this?”
The vampire moved around her, chuckling. “It’s a hot tub, Buffy.”
*
He approached the steaming tub, sending an approving glance around the deck. Place looks a lot better than when I found it. Smells better, too. Abandoned when the homeowners had departed, the hot tub had been in woeful condition just two weeks prior; in fact, it was the odor of algae and stagnant water that had alerted him to the tub’s presence in the first place.
At first he’d thought it was a dead water imp, rotting behind the eight-foot wooden fence surrounding a recently vacated home. Grimacing at the stench, knowing the smell would only intensify and linger for weeks if the body wasn’t buried, he’d leaped over the fence to dispose of it.
Once he realized it was only a hot tub, he’d snorted and turned to leave. Then the idea had struck him and he’d turned to face the tub again, chewing his lip thoughtfully.
Sentimental fool that he was, he’d wanted to do something for Buffy, for Valentine’s Day, though he knew full well he’d be overstepping his bounds, and straining their tenuous friendship, or whatever it was, maybe to the breaking point. He couldn’t take her out to a nice restaurant as Wood had; the Scoobies would go postal and Buffy would probably refuse anyway.
But he could do this for her, he reasoned. Pamper her a bit, provide some respite from the relentless grind of working days and Slaying nights that characterized her existence.
Since then, he’d spent as much time here as he could without raising suspicion, fixing it up for her. The local home improvement store had yielded the appropriate chemicals for cleaning the tub and maintenance instructions. Once the tub was filled with clean water and the heater started, he’d turned his attention to tidying up the deck; he’d swept away the fallen leaves and reset the lopsided tiki torches, filling them with the citronella oil he’d found in the dressing room adjacent to the deck.
He lit the torches and as he did so, his eyes lighted on a large duffle near the tub and he smiled. Dawn had come through, then. She’d been understandably wary of his motives at first, but once past that, had quickly embraced the idea, grinning as she agreed to obtain the items Spike requested. There'd been an affectionate sparkle in her blue eyes that Spike hadn't seen in a very long time, and that he dared to hope was not for Buffy alone.
He lifted the duffle and carried it to Buffy, who still hadn’t moved a muscle. Her green eyes were wide, fixed on the tub as if it was filled with poison, and he felt the first stirrings of unease.
“Here, Slayer.” He handed her the duffle; her fingers closed convulsively around the handle and finally, finally she looked at him. The uncertain fear and accusation in her eyes struck him like a blow.
“Don’t you – ’’ like it? he wanted to whine, but stopped himself. Try not to be pathetic, Spike. Still, he couldn’t help the nervous babble that sprang to his lips as he gently clasped her elbow and drew her toward the tub.
“C’mon love, give it a try. Water’s clean and it’s been heating for a couple days now, should be good and warm. Over here’s the control for all the jets and bubblies – ’’
*
What had he done? And, more importantly, why?
As if she didn’t know.
She just couldn’t believe it. After everything that had happened between them, did he really expect her to – with him – and – in a tub?
He was speaking but she heard only random words and phrases, too hurt and angry and sad to pay closer attention.
“ – you can put your swimsuit on in there – I mean, if you want –’’
Swimsuit? That penetrated the fog and she unzipped the duffle; sure enough, there was her swimsuit. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn it. When she and Riley had played catch on the beach, maybe. So long ago. A lifetime ago. The thought made her sad even as she felt a glimmer of relief: at least Spike hadn't expected her to bathe naked.
Not that she was going to go along with this. She couldn’t. A whole world of badness would open up if she did. She steeled herself to tell him so and focused on his increasingly rapid speech, waiting for an opening.
“ – so give a shout when you’re done and we’ll go home.” His voice was light, conversational, though she could hear the tension, the fear of rejection trembling beneath the surface, and her heart ached at the pleading expression in his blue eyes.
“Spi – what?” What did he say?
Give a shout when you’re done.
Oh.
He didn’t…he wasn’t…
He wasn't asking anything of her. Nothing but her acceptance of his gift. He just wanted to do this for her. Tears blurred her vision for a moment.
Oh, Spike.
She blinked up at him, biting her lip. He saw the apology in her eyes, and with that trick he had of catching her thoughts, instantly realized what had worried her. She nodded acceptance and offered him a tremulous smile, felt her heart swell as his face lit up with happiness. Yet he didn’t gloat or preen as he once might have done; he merely smiled graciously and waved at the gate.
“I’ll be outside, close by. Make sure no nasties bother you.” He gave her one last smile and headed toward the gate. “Have a nice soak, Buffy.”
*
This was Heaven.
Well, maybe not so much, Buffy reflected with a faint smile. But it was warm and relaxing and felt almost as good.
She floated in the softly churning water, head pillowed on a folded towel on the side of the tub, enjoying the simple pleasure of the water massaging her neck and shoulders, easing away the tension. Her hair was pinned atop her head with a clip she’d found in the duffle. Also within the bag was a set of clean underwear and her favorite pale pink sweatsuit, soft from frequent washings.
Though she knew Spike hadn’t been above such things in the past, Buffy was certain he hadn’t been the one to raid her panty drawer and closet. She did have a good idea who had, though.
She' d practically caught them at it the other day, Spike and Dawn whispering together. Under normal circumstances she would have demanded to know what they were up to, but had been so pleased to see them actually speaking to one another again that she hadn’t questioned their half-guilty expressions or Dawn’s sly smile. Guess I know what that was about, now.
She swished her hand through the bubbling water, sighing happily. Dawn’s gotta enjoy this, too, one of these days. Maybe we can come here together, a bit of sisterly-bonding time…And maybe Spike, too…
Yes, definitely Spike.
In fact, he should be in here right now, with her.
The thought of Nummy!Wet!Spike made her breath catch in her throat.
Who I'm pretty sure, doesn't own a swimsuit.
Not that I mind, she grinned.
It felt so good to finally admit that, even to herself.
She shook her head a little at her own obtuseness, still smiling. She’d been so stupid to be afraid of him, of what he might want.
Stupid, and hypocritical…because she wanted it too.
Wanted it now.
She called to him and suddenly he was there, gloriously bare, standing on the bottom step with the water roiling and foaming around his hips, blue eyes dark with desire. Utterly, lickably gorgeous, and utterly hers.
No one would take him away from her, ever again. Not the First, not her friends, not Giles. No one.
She reached for him and he sank into her embrace, warm and wet and hard, hands so gentle and firm, slip-sliding over rosy, pliant skin…
Ah, his touch, his wonderful mouth, so good. Kisses, mmm…yes. Oh, right there, again…
That honey-and-whiskey purr tickling her ear: Slayer… Slayer…
“…C’mon, Slayer, wake up now.”
Buffy jerked out of her reverie and looked up, straight into Spike’s teasing eyes. “Wanted you to relax, luv, not drown yourself!” he jibed and she forced a smile, hoping he’d ascribe her high color to the water’s warmth and not her naughty thoughts.
“I must’ve dozed off,” she murmured, sitting up and moving reluctantly toward the steps. He chuckled, rose to his feet and drew a bath sheet out of the duffle; as she exited the tub he shook it out and then wrapped it around her, briskly rubbing her arms a few times before recalling himself and backing away.
No. Stay.
“Spike –’’ She leaned toward him and his gaze fixed on hers with a near-audible snap. Perfect fit, just like always. His head tilted questioningly and all the air seemed to vacate her lungs at once.
“Slayer?”
Her eyes focused on his lips and she could see herself, feel herself doing it, stepping to him and raking her fingers through his hair, pulling his head down for kisses and more kisses. Laving that silky lower lip with her tongue, touching him all over, loving him with her hands and mouth until he knew, until he believed.
She was trembling, though not with cold, as she looked up at him and –
{A/N: Did she or didn't she? I leave it to your imagination!}
Author's Chapter Notes:
Spoilers for First Date. A little plot bunny that just wouldn't go away until I wrote it.