“You know, it’s probably none of my business, but I just gotta ask” The vampire swings for her and she ducks his blow effectively. “Did you smell this bad when you were alive?”
She spins and kicks him in the head; causing him to stagger backward into a headstone.
“Cos if it’s a post-mortem thing then boy- is my face red. But just so you know...” He throws another blow at her but she blocks it; then punches him so hard that he flips back over a headstone, landing hard in the dirt. “The fast-growing field of personal grooming’s come a long way since you became a vampire.”
She slams her stake down toward him but he side-steps; clearly more advanced in this field than he was letting on. He grabs her arm and twists it, then suddenly, before she can even contemplate it, he stabs her own stake straight down into her stomach.
Shocked for a moment Buffy stands in an excruciating hold; then she looks down to see the stake is impaled deep in her side below her ribs.
After a moment she manages to push the vampire away from her then slowly she wrenches the stake out of her side, letting out a small cry of pain.
The vampire is back on her in a moment and she can think of nothing better to do than run. It’s not easy. She looks behind her and the vampire is gone; she doesn’t have to turn her eyes back to know that he’s right in front of her.
“You going?” he mocks; the intent deadly in his eyes as Buffy backs up a few steps; still clutching her side. “But you were having so much fun a minute ago.”
Buffy whimpers as her back hits the cold tomb wall. There’s nowhere left for her to go. The vampire leans in toward her; his objective plainly written on his face. Buffy closes her fist around the bloodstained stake stilled gripped in her hand. Gotta do it; gotta find the strength to slay.
Instead a whispered plead leaves her lips; “Please...”
The chuckling that erupts from him is too much for her; he stalls his attack as he leans his head back to chortle at her; she’s no longer even seen as a threat.
With the last of her energy, Buffy pushes the stake up; into his torso. For a moment he goes on laughing, then he feels wood bite into his heart and he looks down at the stake protruding his chest. “You bitch!” he exclaims as his body collapses into dust that covers Buffy who slides down the wall until she’s a slumped and bloody mess on the floor. She’s still clutching the stake tight in her hands.
“Oh God...” she whispers, her eyes darting down to the blood slowly soaking through her sweater. “I need... Help...”
Her energy’s fast fading and she knows it. If another vampire should come along now there’s no way she’d be able to win. She needs help and she needs it now.
Slowly she turns her body until she’s propped on hands and knees; one bloody hand still pressed to her weeping side. She lets out a small cry as she begins to crawl. There’s only one place she can go; the nearest place. He’ll help her. Well, he won’t help her but he’ll call her friends. Get them to help her. He won’t hurt her anyway; she knows that much. Not that he could even if he wanted to. Which he probably does.
Buffy collapses on the cold, grey doorstep to his crypt and the pain that wracks her body forces a faint sob from her.
“Sp...” she tries; her voice coming out as a raspy whisper, “Spi... Sp... Spi...”
She raises her hand and knocks weakly, then slumps against the door and weeps softly.
A few moments silence then- Suddenly the door is wrenched open and she falls sideways into the crypt and onto his boot clad feet. Finally safe she closes her eyes.
“Slayer?” he asks, attempting to make his tone bored as he gazes down at the crown of her blond head of hair. “What you doing here?”
She gives no response so he bends down to turn her over; a familiar hard look in his eyes.
“I don’t appreciate you not...” his voice trails off, then shudders to a stop as he catches sight of the deep wound to her side.
“Slayer?” he asks.
She looks up at him with eyes that are obscured with tears.
“Please...” she begs, “Please help me...” her eyes are so open and pain-filled as she stares up at him, “I know you don’t want to... I know you’d rather see me dead but... Please... This is me begging like I said I never would... Please; just call my friends...”
His face hardens for a moment as he stares at her, thinking through his options with a cold expression on his face. An expression that softens like it always does when it comes to the Slayer these days.
He kneels down beside her; immediately inspecting the wound. He stares at the splinters of wood left behind.
“What did this?” he asks quietly.
“Vamp.” she replies in a small voice. “Staked me.”
“So I see.”
He braces his arms beneath her, then slowly lifts her from the ground.
“What’re you doing?” she asks; suddenly panicked by his actions.
“Relax Slayer, I’ve got you.” he replies. “Not gonna hurt you pet- just wanna get this wound cleaned up.”
He holds her unnaturally close to his body and her head collapses against his chest in a gesture more unwilling than any other.
“Spike...” she tries, her voice muffled by his chest, “Please just get my friends.”
“Will do love,” he says; instantly cursing himself for calling her that, “But I don’t have a phone out here and we can’t be wasting time right now.”
He lowers her gently onto his stone sarcophagus; being careful not to jolt her wound.
“You okay?”
She’s out cold and he groans as he looks at the mess that is her abdomen.
He looks nervously at the blood-caked fabric sticking itself to her wound and he acknowledges the fact that he has to get it off of her.
His fingers fumble like a spotty faced teenage boy’s as he works the fabric of her top up and over her head; careful not to hurt her, or to let his eyes linger too long where they shouldn’t.
The Slayer lets out a small hiss and Spike’s chip sends him a sudden jolt of pain but her eyes remain closed.
Spike looks at the wound to her side with concern and he takes his own shirt off; ripping it into strips and using the leftovers to soak up the blood seeping over her with gentle strokes. He’s suddenly glad that she is unconscious and consequently unable to bear witness to his complete and utter nancy-boy act. Bitch’d never let it go.
The wound continues to seep and Spike looks at it with concern as he tries to stem the flow.
“Water.” he mumbles to himself as he pushes a hand under the Slayer, lifting her from the cold stone and stuffing the remains of his shirt beneath her body to keep her insulated. “Be right back pet.” he mutters; running toward his closest water supply.
She’s in the same position when he returns; her eyes closed; almost as if she were merely sleeping. And her abdomen looking like it’s suffered the effects of a shish kebab experiment gone horribly wrong.
“Pet?” he asks; making sure she’s still out.
No response.
“Good. This could sting a little.” he washes the wound with the clean water he’s salvaged; removing all the splinters as gently as he can and washing the blood away. Grazing the raw skin with worried finger tips. Then he grabs the bottle of antiseptic and glances at the unconscious Slayer apologetically.
Taking the sweater he’d ripped off of her; he tips a measured amount onto the fabric; letting it soak in; then returning to Buffy’s side and taking one of her limp hands into his own, before kneeling beside the wound and gently pressing his make-shift cloth into it. Buffy’s hand instantly tightens around his and she lets out a small yelp of pain as she shocks herself back to consciousness.
“Spike?” she demands, her voice weary but strong, “What the Hell are you doing?”
Spike smirks at her, pulling the cloth back. “Antiseptic pet.” he says, “Doing you a favour.”
Buffy looks down at herself then gives a grimace of dismay; quickly dropping Spike’s hand and pushing him away from her. She pulls Spike’s torn shirt out from beneath herself and wraps it around her chest to maintain her modesty as she pushes herself into an awkward sitting position, “What the Hell is this?” she demands.
Spike raises an eyebrow at her, “What is this?” he repeats; his voice incredulous. “What- no thanks? I just saved your life Slayer.”
“Please.” she snaps, turning away from him with disgust, “This was nothing.”
“You know what?” Spike asks, shooting back up to his feet and glaring at Buffy’s turned head, “I don’t need this from you Slayer. I don’t know why I even bothered in the first place. Sit tight; I’ll go and tell Red to come for you.”
“Don’t bother.” Buffy snaps; turning back to him with just as much fire, “I think I can take it from here.”
She throws her feet over the edge of the sarcophagus and pushes herself down to the ground. Before collapsing at Spike’s feet as he yells out with dismay.
“Slayer- no!” he says, running to her side, “I hadn’t finished. You’re not fixed yet pet.”
She stares at him helplessly as he lifts her and places her gently back onto the stone sarcophagus; pushing her back down and returning to the wound which has began to seep again.
“Just take it easy will ya?” he says as she struggles against him.
“No- Spike let me go. I don’t need your help.” she tries to push him away but he holds her still.
“You came to me Slayer.” he says; his eyes on the wound he’s cleaning even as he feels her chestnut eyes fixed on his face. “You can’t have second thoughts now.”
“Your place was the closest.” she replies indignantly.
“Figured.” he says, keeping emotion from his voice and still not meeting her eyes. “Hold still. I need to clean this before I can dress it Slayer.”
“Why are you doing this?” Buffy asks, grimacing with pain. “Why bother?”
“I figure having you in my debt can only be a good thing.” he replies. “This’ll sting love.”
He presses her antiseptic soaked sweater to her wound again and Buffy hisses with pain. Spike too flinches as a charge of electricity flashes through his already charred brain.
Buffy notices his flinch and it makes her pause.
“Spike...” she asks, “Is this... Is this hurting you?”
“Not much.” he replies. “Bloody Hell- I said hold still!” he yells as she struggles again, “Do you want to stop bleeding or not Slayer?”
Buffy sighs; collapsing back against the cold stone and letting Spike carry on with his clean up.
She doesn’t speak as he takes his tattered shirt back off of her and ties it tightly around the wound.
Then he lets go of her as if the contact between their skin is burning him. He heads silently off into another part of his crypt, and returns moments later with two shirts.
“Here.” he says, throwing a red button down shirt to the Slayer who catches it as she cautiously sits up. She watches him wordlessly as he pulls his own shirt on; fastening it quickly, then turning back to her. “What?” he asks, “You need help or something?”
“Oh... No.” she says; pulling Spike’s red shirt on over her bra and delicately pushing each button through. It smells like him. It feels like him. “Did you have to wreck my top?” she asks, “It was new.”
“So was mine.” he says; nodding to the blood soaked leftovers lying on the floor. “So I guess we’re even.”
“Even.” Buffy agrees. “And thank-”
“Better not tell your Scoobies about all this.” Spike interrupts; looking away. “Don’t want them getting’ their knickers in a twist. Just tell them someone called an ambulance and the docs sorted you out.”
Buffy nods. “Sure.” she says in a small voice. “You’ve done enough. You don’t need trouble from the others.”
“Glad we’re in agreement.” he says. Then he sighs. “Come on; I’ll walk you home.”
He helps her back to her feet; holding her arm gently and guiding her through the first unsteady steps.
“How’s the dressing?” he asks, “Too tight? Is the wound hurting? Do you need-”
“Spike.” Buffy interrupts. “I’m fine. Honestly.”
He stares at her a moment, then nods. “’Course.” he says. “Come on. Lets get you home.”
.............................................................................
She didn’t comment about the fact that he held her arm all the way back home. She wanted to be mad at him for implying that she was too weak to walk alone, but somehow she was merely touched by his evident and uncalled for concern.
His shirt felt big and warm around her body and she could barely feel the stab wound as they walked on in silence now.
“How’d it happen anyway?” Spike asks eventually. “Not everyday someone stakes the Slayer.”
“I don’t wanna talk about it.” she replies.
“Right.” says Spike. “Not exactly the vamp to confide in huh?”
Buffy looks at him for a moment; her eyes wondering. “A vampire.” she says.
“One?”
“Just one. Nothing special about him at all. Big eighties hair, but other than that.” Spike chuckles but she senses that he isn’t laughing at her. “I can’t believe I was nearly-”
“Hey.” Spike interrupts. “Nearly nothing Slayer. You’ve got a few years in you yet love.”
“But it was just one vamp Spike- and I’ve killed a thousand. Maybe more.” she looks down, “One vamp and he nearly got the better of me. Have I gotten sloppy? Is this what happens to Slayer’s when they get older?”
“You’re reading to far into it.” Spike says; his tone irritated. “That’s not how it goes. It’s not about who you are or where you’ve come from. In the end it’s all down to the fight; every one could be your last. Every fight ends with someone losing; someone dying.” Spike grunts, “You’ve just gotta be sure that it’s not you. That you always win.”
“But I won’t always win.” she says. “One of these days-”
“Bloody ‘one of these days’ be damned!” Spike shouts, “Thinking like that only leads to one thing. I don’t wanna see you go out that way Buffy; you’re different to the other Slayers.”
Buffy drops his arm a little, looking up at the house they’ve reached.
“I should go.” she says. “Thanks for... You know.”
“Walking you home from the hospital?” he prompts.
She smiles. “Yeah; that.”
..................................................................
Spike watches her light switch on and sees Captain Cardboard stand up and embrace the exhausted looking Slayer. Spike sees her flinch but Riley doesn’t seem to notice.
He watches Finn lead her toward the bed and then he turns away; shaking his head; unable to watch.
God; if he hadn’t loved her with all his being before.
Spike silently curses himself as he begins his journey back to his cold crypt.
Buffy watches the dark figure move on as she hovers by the window, a deep red sleeve pulled up to her nose as she inhales almost wistfully.
“You closing those curtains Buffy?” Riley asks.
..................................................................
A/N: Just a little snippet of my fantasy ‘Fool for love’. A sequel could be written... :]
Please review,