“Two fifths of Jack Daniels with acute head trauma,” Spike thought. “I’ve really got to remember this recipe because, fuck me, these are the best damn dreams of my unlife. I thought the Smell-o-rama was good when I dreamed I could smell her shampoo, conditioner, lip gloss, and the bubble gum she was chewing. But this, this is abso-fucking-lutely brilliant. I’m can smell her blood. I’m going to nominate my imagination for a fuckin’ Academy Award for Best Olfactory Effects.”
Although Buffy didn’t know it yet, the drop of Slayer blood she’d smeared on Spike’s mouth was beginning to have the desired effect. Still without regaining consciousness, Spike’s demon was becoming aware of the crimson elixir staining his lower lip. Frozen on her knees beside his still body, Buffy watched and waited. The first indication that her plan might work was a growl she felt more than heard as it rumbled in his chest. Only then did Buffy even consider the risk she was taking: alone with a nearly drained vampire -- a Master vampire at that -- and her only escape route up a ladder.
Despite the apparent peril, Buffy felt no fear. “He’s weak,” she thought. “Too weak to hurt me. But even if he could, I don’t think he would.” Giles’ likely expression, should he witness Buffy crouched over Spike waiting for his fangs to descend, flashed across her mind for a second. Starting to smile at the visual, she was abruptly brought back to the task at hand when she heard the unearthly sound of Spike’s features shifting into game face. Buffy watched transfixed as the skin of his forehead thickened into bumps and Spike’s fangs first appeared and then lengthened into jagged points. Within a heartbeat Buffy had the bag of O negative in one hand, while she slipped the other behind Spike’s neck to gently urge his head up from the floor.
Her plan, such as it was, called first for fangs and then getting Spike to bite the bag. Now that she’d managed step one, Buffy didn’t know exactly how she was going to accomplish step two. Fortunately, Spike’s demon had a clue. His body snapped forward like a mousetrap closing on its quarry. The bag, now coated with blood from Buffy’s hand, ended up pinned between their chests. Driving panic from her thoughts, and thanking the Powers That Be for her Slayer strength, Buffy pushed up to wedge the unit of blood between her collar bone and throat. Her face mere inches from his, Buffy watched Spike inhale deeply. For the duration of a heart beat he wore an expression of sheer rapture. Then, just as quickly, the demon fully asserted itself. But as Spike’s fangs came down toward Buffy’s jugular, they found the bagged blood instead. The razor-sharp points easily pierced the plastic and he began to draw the thick red fluid down his throat in gulps.
After a few swallows, Buffy felt Spike’s body stiffen slightly. His eyes were still closed, but Buffy thought she saw him register confusion for just a moment before his hunger took over again. He’d just emptied the bag when his weakened state became apparent once more and he slumped back to the floor. Buffy exhaled, only then realizing that she’d been holding her breath, as she too collapsed with relief.
Still not fully conscious, Spike continued to revel in what he thought was a dream. He experienced a brief moment of dissonance when the flavor of the blood didn’t match its aroma, but it wasn’t enough to ruin the moment. Even Academy Award winning special effects aren’t exactly like the real thing. Nor was he able to wonder how an imaginary meal could make him feel so full, and even a little warm. Before he had time to dwell on any of the contradictions contained in his dream, Spike’s demon -- now satisfied – retreated, leaving him far to drowsy to care.
Buffy rested on the floor for a few minutes while her heart rate returned to normal. “Well," she thought, "that could have gone a lot worse. For one thing, I’m still alive!” Pushing up from the floor, she looked down to find her front covered with blood.
“Ewww!” she said aloud. “For a guy who keeps such a tidy house, you sure are a slob when you eat.” Spike was also daubed with red, but she’d definitely gotten the worst of the spillage.
"Okay,” she thought, “Plan A was a complete, if slightly messy, success. Now what?” Spike’s color already looked better. His failure to regain consciousness had Buffy worried, but she noted with some satisfaction that the gash in his head was beginning to heal.
“So far, so good, but he’s still weak," she thought, frowning as she remembered her role in the events leading up to his drunken fall. “I can’t leave him until he can defend himself. It’s the least I can do.”
Buffy resolved to finish the clean-up she had begun earlier. Her goal this time was to remove all Spike’s blood soaked clothes and put him in bed where she hoped he would be more comfortable. Keeping herself busy was also a good way to avoid thinking too much. Right at this moment thinking about what a vampire Slayer was doing nursing a notorious Master vampire back to health was something she wasn’t prepared to dwell upon.
At first, Buffy tried to be as gentle as possible as she attempted to remove Spike’s over shirt from his arms. But as she worked, it became clear that all her tugging and pulling wasn’t going to disturb him in his current state. Once she’d realized this, the project went much faster. But when she’d peeled off first the over shirt and then his still damp tee shirt, Buffy had to face the problem of Spike’s jeans.
One whole leg was thoroughly caked with blood, so she couldn’t see putting him into bed with them on. But removing Spike’s trousers presented obvious difficulties. Buffy occupied her hands with loosening the laces on Spike’s boots as she thought through her options. Indulging in a little wishful thinking, Buffy took the liberty of peeking an inch or two inside his waistband just on the off chance that Spike wore underwear. She was not surprised to find nothing between Spike and his Levis.
“I guess it’s too much to expect,” she harrumphed, “for the surprisingly fastidious vampire to wear boxers.”
Still trying to come up with a solution, Buffy scanned around the room. That’s when she noticed a paisley afghan on the arm of the overstuffed chair next to the bed. Draping the throw over Spike’s lower body, she reached beneath it to loosen the buttons of his fly and then slipped his pants off after carefully tucking the corners of the blanket under his arms to keep it in place. Feeling quite proud of herself, Buffy turned down the bed and hoisted Spike’s inert form up by armpits, the afghan still strategically in place. But as she stepped forward to deposit him onto his bed, Buffy stepped on the trailing edge of the cloth. As it was held in place only by friction, the blanket fell instantly to the floor, leaving Buffy with her arms wrapped around Spike’s nude body.
There was nothing to be done about it. She’d outsmarted herself real good this time. Buffy smiled thinking how much mileage Spike would get out of this if he ever found out. That thought alone propelled her to get him out of her arms and under the covers as soon as possible. Moving to place the back of Spike’s legs against the edge of the mattress, Buffy leaned forward, slowly lowering him down onto the dark red stain sheets, her body still flush against his.
“Now,” she thought, “this is the moment of truth. I’ll just grab the sheet and pull it over as I stand up.” And that’s pretty much what she did. Except for a brief pause between grabbing, rising and pulling during which she took just a tiny peek that stopped her cold.
Tbc…