The front door scraped softly closed, and Buffy and Spike were alone. He held her eyes for a long moment, not sure what he was looking for in the green depths, before dropping to his knees in front of her with a sigh. "How bad is it?" he asked trying desperately to keep an even tone, trying to keep the emotion from leaking out.
She gave a shuddering breath before answering in the same manner. "Not as bad as it probably looks. My ankle and wrist might be sprained, or just twisted, but I don't think they're broken. I can move them. Other places hurt," she winced, trying to take internal stock of the sore spots littering her body. "But I think it's just bruises." Being here with him, with the stillness of early afternoon all around them, it was hard to think straight. She just had no idea what was going to happen, or even what she wanted to happen. Thus the almost clinical detachment toward her injuries.
"Can I-" he stopped, trying to control himself. "I need to see," he said gently. He needed to see for himself just what had been done to her, just what he should have done something to prevent. What he wasn't sure, but somehow he just knew he could have, if he hadn't left, if he had refused to let her leave the last time...If he had done just one thing differently, he might not have ended up where he was now, staring up into her beautiful, marred face and trying to figure out just how they were going to find a way through this.
Lowering her eyes, she nodded and carefully raised herself to stand before him, favoring her injured ankle as she turned away to face the wall. Without looking up, she slowly raised the hem of her shirt over the smooth expanse of her back, and then gathering it under her arms so it wouldn't fall, she unbuttoned her pants, shrugging them down her hips, stopping as they hit the bottom of her spine.
Spike caught his breath. She had obviously landed hard on her right side, because a bruise darkened her soft skin nearly from her hip to her chest. Various other, smaller injuries dotted the landscape of her body. Still on his knees in front of her, he gently placed his hands on her hips and turned her back to face him. Trying not to hurt her, but desperately needing the contact, he hugged her around the waist and placed his cheek against her bare stomach. Tears were fast pooling in his eyes and he struggled not to let them fall as he breathed in her sweet Buffy smell and thanked god that hurt though she was, she was still standing here with him.
Dazedly, Buffy linked her arms around his neck, absently playing with the unruly curls at the nape of his neck. They could have stayed like that for hours, each taking comfort from the other's physical presence, had her legs not suddenly given out in protest. Spike felt the small tremor milliseconds before her knees buckled and before she could fall he again swept her up in his arms. "Luv, I'm sorry," he shook his head, trying to clear the emotions out of the way to find the thread of logic he needed to take care of her. "Just got caught up for a moment," he smiled down at her gently. "I'm not going to make you go to the hospital, but we need to do something to help you feel better." As he spoke he began to move, carrying her up the stairs and through the master bedroom to the bathroom where he deposited her gently on the floor. She swayed on her feet, but stayed upright. "I think a bubble bath is definitely in order. What do you think, kitten?"
She smiled up at him shyly. "Yeah," she agreed. "That sounds nice."
"Right." He busied himself with starting the taps and dumping bath crystals into the steaming water. This would be good for Buffy, but he definitely felt awkward. He wanted more from her, wanted to touch her and convince himself that she was truly going to heal. But he was not going to initiate anything, not under these circumstances. "Nice hot soak will definitely help those sore spots. Now," he gestured to the water. "You just take as long as you need, and I'll be uh..."
"Spike," she stopped him, her cheeks blushing red and her eyes on the floor. "I, uh, can't..." she gestured to her injured wrist, awkwardly trying to manuever her sweater with the other hand. "Help me, please?"
His heart in his throat, he gently took the corners of the shirt and begin to lift them slowly over her head. It wasn't easy, trying to draw her sprained wrist out of the sleeve without hurting her, and he concentrated on that instead of the golden skin that appeared inch by inch in front of his eyes. He couldn't help an indrawn breath when the shirt finally pulled free and he could see the tips of her rosy nipples peeking from behind a demure white lace bra. Quickly he averted his eyes and made to leave the bathroom.
Buffy huffed a little in annoyance. Okay, she knew she wasn't looking her best at the moment, but it wasn't as if he hadn't seen it all before, and she couldn't exactly finish undressing one-handed. "Um, I'm going to need a little more help."
"How much help?" His voice was strangled. He knew it was wrong, but even injured as she was, god help him but he wanted her. Wanted to make it all better with his hands and mouth until she was signing in pleasure instead of pain. Needed to touch her and replace every memory of her bastard husband....But this was so not the time. He was barely hanging onto himself; he just hoped he could control his emotions long enough to give her what she needed.
"Pretty much all of it," she replied, an amused smile quirking at the corner of her mouth. This was so not a funny situation, but here was Spike, who usually couldn't keep his hands away from her, trying to get out of taking off her clothes. Irony sucked.
Okay, just do this quickly and get her in the tub. He reached around, carefully avoiding her bruises, finding the clasp of her bra and undoing it with his nimble fingers. He half expected her to reach up and catch it, shielding herself, but she didn't and it fell to the floor. She was naked from the waist up now and he could hardly breathe. Without looking up, he moved his hands to her hips to help her shrug her pants the rest of the way off. Feeling his hesitancy, she caught his chin in her hand, forcing him to meet her eyes.
"Hey," she said softly. "It's okay. You're not doing anything wrong."
"I can't-" Ceasing his attempts to remove her pants, he pulled away from her and looked at the ground, the tight rein on his emotions slipping right through his hands. "You're hurt, and I...I know I shouldn't, but Buffy, luv, I just want to - to touch you. I'm so angry and so," he choked a little and ran his fingers through his hair. He shouldn't be burdening her with this, not now, but it felt so good to try and express this tangle of emotions that the words just kept pouring out of him. "So scared. That you're not going to be okay. That something worse is going to happen. I don't want to push you into anything, but I just need to feel you, to make sure - "
"Spike," her voice was a little shaky. She was so used to him being the strong one that his breakdown surprised her. "It's okay. I'm not ready for anything....like that." As usual, her natural shyness made it impossible for her to say the words. "But you can touch me, if you need to." She lifted his hand, drew it up and placed it gently over her heart. "See? I'm okay. Yeah, I'm hurting, and probably not too attractive at the moment," again her lips quirked into a smile, cutting him off as his head came up swiftly in protest. "But I'm okay."
Her skin burned underneath his fingers as he gently traced patterns on her chest. Softly, barely making contact, he ghosted over the soft skin of her breast and finally met her eyes. His other hand came up, fingertips caressing her cheek and trailing over her lips. Dipping his head slowly toward her, he silently asked permission and when she nodded slightly, he gave in and brought his mouth to hers. At first the kiss was almost chaste in its gentleness, but the electricity that sparked down Buffy's spine made her lean in to deepen it, wanting more. She swayed again on her feet, but this time it was from the sensations evoked from Spike lips and tongue, from the small caresses he continued to trail along her breasts, her back and stomach, from the fingers that tangled in her hair. He lifted her up, setting her on the counter, moving between her legs to keep up the contact, to keep touching her. Slowly, the knots in his stomach began to unravel. She was relaxing into him, whimpering into his mouth. Finally he could make himself believe she was going to be alright. With a small sigh, he broke away, resting his forhead on hers for a moment, trying to control his breathing.
"Okay," he said quietly with a hint of finality in his tone. "Okay. It's better now."
She smiled at him, trying to control her own body. His touch made her want more, but this was not the time. "How about that bath now?"
"Right," he returned her smile. He turned his attention back to the task at hand, feeling much easier about the idea of undressing her now that some of the tension had been released. "Lift up a little, luv," he instructed.
She did her best and between the two of them, they managed to slide her pants and underwear off without causing her too much pain. Buffy still sat on the sink, now completely nude, feet swinging gently inches from the floor. Easily now, he let his hands smooth over her calves and knees, up to her thighs, where he placed a small, wistful kiss before lifting her up and helping her step into the tub.
A contented sigh pulled from her lips as she sank down into the hot water. Already, she could feel some of the aches begin to ease. Bending over her, Spike pressed one last kiss to her forehead. "Just relax, kitten. I'll be right out here if you need me." She nodded and he turned to leave, not quite pulling the door shut so he could hear her if she called.
Out of Buffy's sight for the first time since coming home, Spike ran a suddenly tired hand over his eyes and tried to think of what to do next. It was only afternoon, but he felt like he had lived days since Dru had woken him up this morning. Dru. He should probably call her, in case she was worried. Although, he though ruefully, with her uncanny sixth sense, she probably already knew what was going on. Still, it was only right that he let her know for sure.
He moved into the kitchen, listening for any sounds from the bathroom, while he picked up the phone and dialed. Drusilla picked up on the first ring.
"Spike?"
"Why am I not surprised that you knew it was me?" He replied half in amusement, half in exasperation.
"It's called caller id," she countered sarcastically. "Is Buffy okay?" she asked, seriousness creeping into her voice.
"She's pretty banged up, Dru," he admitted. "But yeah, she will be."
"Good. I thought so, but.." On the other end of the phone, Dru paused briefly, trying to clear her head. "I just wanted to make sure. Thanks for calling me, Spike."
"Sure. Thanks for calling me, earlier. I'm not even going to ask how you knew..."
"Well, I could tell something was wrong by the way Buffy left the gallery, but for the rest," she smiled. "Probably better left unmentioned."
"Right."
"Call me later and let me know how it goes?" Dru asked.
"I will. Dru..." he hesitated.
She cut him off before he could ask. "I can't give you any answers, Spike. Only Buffy knows what she will do. Take care of her."
With a sigh, Spike hung up the phone. It would have been nice to get some advance warning from the all-knowing Drusilla, but it seemed he was on his own.
********************************************************************************************************************
When the water began to cool, Buffy reluctantly sat up and slowly started to pull herself out of the tub. She thought she could manage to do it herself, despite the stinging of her left ankle when she tried to put weight on it. She didn't want to have to bother Spike again. With a grimace, she forced herself upright, clinging to the shower wall for support and stepped out on the cold tile. Looking at her discarded clothes with disdain, she wrapped a towel around herself as best she could and limped through the bedroom and out into the hallway.
"Spike?" she called softly.
"Luv? Are you okay?" He bounded up the stairs and stopped, startled to see her standing in the hall wrapped in a towel.
"I"m fine," she assured him. "But do you maybe have something I could borrow to wear?" she bit her bottom lip pensively. "I just don't want to put those other clothes back on. They're on the floor and they got all wet..." Her nose wrinkled and he had to smile at her utter adorableness.
"Sure, kitten. Come on." He moved past her and she followed him back into the bedroom. He stopped and thought a minute before opening a dresser drawer and taking out a pair of sweat pants and a tshirt. Handing them over, he asked "Do you need help getting dressed?"
"Probably a little," she blushed again.
"It's okay, sweetheart," he soothed her with a smile and a wink. "Not exactly complaining, here."
Getting the tshirt on was the hardest part; threading her sprained wrist through the sleeve took some manuevering. She kept the towel held up until the soft cotton was in place, falling nearly to her knees. The pants were equally big, nearly falling off her slim hips, but at least they were dry and even more importantly, the clothes belonged to Spike, and she could thought she could detect a whiff of something that smelled like him clinging to the shirt.
When she was dressed, his hands lingered on her arms. Swimming in his clothes, the smell of his soap clinging to her skin, she seemed more than ever like she belonged here, with him. Like she really was his girl. Pesimissim warred with hope, and the hope was rapidly winning as a familiar feeling of possessiveness stirred in his heart. Suddenly the room seemed small and the bed seemed very big. She glanced up into his dark blue eyes, feeling the pull of his emotions, and desire surged through her. Blinking, she looked away quickly, and of one acord they both turned to leave the bedroom and go back downstairs. The couch was at least marginally safer.
Spike settled down on one end and was blissfully happy when she didn't hesitate but snuggled rignt into him. He lifted his arm and brought it around to hold her, gently caressing her damp hair. Buffy signed happily, content to just sit with him, silently basking in his attention. Spike, however, knew there was a conversation to be had, one he dreaded. Better to get it over with and banish the ghost in the room. Or rather, the Angel.
"Buffy," he began hesitantly. "What are you going to do now?"
She automatially stiffened. It didn't look like he was going to let her play the avoidance game any longer, but really, she didn't think talking about it was going to help anything. "I don't know," she answered honestly. "I have to go back, tomorrow."
"I know," he soothed, gently rubbing her shoulder, trying to ease away the sudden tension. "Willow will be there, and she'll help you get your things, and whatever you can't take, we'll go back for, or I don't know, maybe we can even hire someone to do it for you..." he broke off, considering the logistics of moving her out of the house she shared with her husband.
"Spike," she stopped him, hand fisting in his shirt even as she pulled her head back to look into his face. "I don't know that I'm leaving."
"Well," he considered. "I suppose you could always make him leave, but I thought..."
Again, she cut him off. "You don't understand. I don't know what I'm doing yet."
He stared at her aghast, face pale with shock. "How can you even consider..." his voice gained in volume, unable to comprehend what she was saying. "You're not seriously considering going back to him?" All of his fear and pain came out in a strangle, cutting the last word off with venom. She dropped her eyes, refusing to look at him. Horror and realization flooded his mind, catching him completely by surprise. "You are, aren't you. Just like last time. Oh, fuck," he groaned aloud. "Buffy, tell me you're not going to do this." He shook her gently, alarm making him careless for the first time of her injuries. Wincing, she moved away from him, scooting toward the other end of the couch.
"I just don't know, Spike," she said helplessly, confusion twisting in her mind. "What would I do?" She twisted her hands around , still not wanting to look at him. "I can't make him leave the house; it's in his name and anyway there's no way I could make the mortgage payments. If I left, where would I go?"
"Here!" he said vehemently. "You would be here, with me!"
"For how long, Spike? You won't be in New York forever, and I can't trail around after you, letting you take care of everything. When my Mom died," her voice hitched slightly as it almost always did at the thought of her mother, "The insurance was barely enough to cover the medical bills. And I have student loans...my job at the gallery doesn't even cover those." She dropped her head into her hands, tears leaking out at the hoplessness of her situation.
"You can't possibly be saying you would stay with him just for that, for money!" he exploded. "I have money, Buffy. Lots of it. You don't have to worry about that," he softened his voice, reaching out to gently pet her curls. "Let me take care of you."
She shook off his hand, refusing the comfort and easy solution. "I can't. I just can't. Why, Spike, why would you even want to do that?" she cried. Her breath was coming faster now, hitching in her throat and she could hardly control her tears.
"I'm in love with you! You know that!" He couldn't keep the emotion from tumbling out, he could not let this happen.
"But why? Really, you barely know me. Spike - " Abruptly, she cut off, hysterical laughter bubbling from her lips even as the tears continued to run down her cheeks.
"Buffy?" Spike was suddenly alarmed as she bent over, unable to stop the frenzied laughter that interspersed with sobs and racking indrawn gasps as she tried to catch her breath. Frightened, he reached out to her, rubbing her back gently, trying to sooth her. "Just breathe, luv," he whispered softly. "It's okay. It's going to be okay. Just breathe, in and out," he murmured as gradually, she calmed.
Buffy buried her face in her hands, desperately trying to control her breathing as black spots hovered at the edges of her vision. Finally, Spike's gentle touches and murmured encouragement began to reach her and she was able to get a grip on her emotions, to mute the hollow laughter and restrain the sobs until only small hiccuping gasps broke the silence.
Very slowly, Spike reached out and pulled her against him. The steady thump of his hearbeat under her ear calmed her further until at last she was completely quiet. "Kitten," he whispered quietly, not wanting to disturb her but needing to know. "What brought that on?"
She hesitated for a moment before asking in a very small voice. "What's your name?"
His head came up sharply. Whatever he had been expecting, that was not it. "What do you mean, sweetheart?"
"Your name. It can't really be Spike."
His head fell back to the couch, overcome by the implications. He was totally, madly in love with the woman and somehow it never occurred to him to tell her his given name. How the bloody hell could he expect her to trust him to take care of her? "It's William,luv," he answered quietly. "But it's been years and years since anyone has really called me that."
"William," she tested it on her tongue, and hearing it in her voice, her felt another jolt of love shudder through him. "William?" she used it now to recapture his attention, to see how it would feel.
"Yeah, luv?" He took her hand in his as he felt her settle more comfortably in his loose embrace.
"Can we just, let it go, just for now?" she pleaded softly. "I'm really, really tired."
He melted. She was bound to be exhausted, after the morning she had. "Of course, sweetheart. Do you want to go upstairs, or - "
She nestled closer into him, drawing her feet up on the couch. "Can I just stay here? Feels so good..." Already, her eyes were drifting shut, her breathing evening out.
"You can stay, luv. As long as you want," he whispered, heart clenching, hoping she would take him up on it.
All the rest of the day he watched her. When she finally awoke from her nap, stretching and tentatively cheerful, he had been reluctant to reopen the subject. They talked about inconsequential matters, traded childhood stories, gently teased one another. When day bled into evening, they ordered Chinese and watched a cheesy movie, gleefully flicking rice at each other, stopping just short of a full-fledged food fight. When tiredness crept up on her again, they snuggled together under a blanket on the couch as a matter of course. And as she chastely fell asleep in his arms, he finally dared to hope.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
I have no excuse, except that real life can be a bitch and this chapter was really complicated to write. I know exactly where I'm going, it's just getting more difficult to get there. But I am really sorry it's taken so long to get this out. I swear I'll do better! I know I probably don't deserve it, but please, please leave me feedback!