The last thing he remembered was the smell of forget-me-nots, like the ones he used to pick for his mother as a small child.
Ironic that he should think of these when he thought of Buffy and their meaning of true love.
But then everything went black, as if he was so deeply asleep that he couldn’t remember ever being awake, while believing life was literally just one long, drawn-out dream. No pain, no voices, no harsh reality that mocked him when he dared to reach too high.
Just empty silence.
Until her soft whispers started filtering into his ears.
“Spike? Just hang in there, we’ll get you back to your annoying self.”
It was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard, her voice, encouraging him to remain in the realm of Limbo until he could resurface hale and whole. Her words smoothed the pain that surged throughout his body as he felt his veins fill with the borrowed blood of his grandsire, hers and some of the Scoobies as well. When he regained full use of his mind and body, he’d really have to ask how they conned Peaches into ponying up, and why he had an uncontrollable urge to call Giles ‘G-Man’ was beyond him.
If only he could respond to her, let her know he heard her and that he was hovering there, just beyond her reach. But, even though the blood brought awareness, it didn’t enable him to speak to her, touch her, see her smile. It frustrated him and he began pacing in his mind, desperately trying to communicate with whomever was in the room at the time, be it Willow, Giles, or Buffy.
His body lacked the strength it once had, knowing his muscles had atrophied due to the dehydration forced upon him, leaving him limp as a wet noodle. Many a time he’d prepare himself to answer a question or an observation Buffy had made, only to have the words die in his throat because his tongue and mouth wouldn’t move.
She never left his side except once or twice during a day, and knew she ate very little. He chastised her in his head for her neglect, but longed to actually voice his disapproval, to shake some sense into her. Trying to lift his hand to massage his throat into working, the tendons in his fingers never twitched to help him with the task, instead, lying motionless under the blanket. Apparently, they’d dressed him at one point, for he felt his usual t-shirt and jeans on his extremely thin body, the down-comforter pulled up to his chest.
By the eighth day, Spike was scared shitless.
Her tears always soaked his shirt, though he didn’t mind. But the tears were particularly harsh this day when he heard her Watcher enter the room. He listened to their conversation, interspersing his own dialogue even though he couldn’t voice it.
“Buffy, may I speak with you?”
“Sure.”
Christ, her voice sounds like sandpaper!
“It’s been eight days, Buffy…”
Yeah, eight fuckin’ days… least we know you can count, Rupes.
“He just needs more time.”
That’s my girl! Need a bit more time to get sussed out is all.
“What if he doesn’t need more time? What if he is beyond us, already gone?”
Oi! Bugger off, Watcher! I haven’t left the building yet – just locked in some damn room!
“He’s there, I know it - he’s got…”
Oh, Buffy… baby don’t cry. Damn it! I just wanna hold her.
“He’s got what, Buffy?”
Spike listened very carefully; curious himself as to what she thought he had.
“A soul.”
Well, shag me silly! Chit finally figured it out!
“How do you know?”
Back off, you berk! Slayer just figured out something you still can’t wrap your skull around!
“I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it, and he would never leave me… never.”
Never, Buffy… I promise with my unbeating heart… never gonna let you go. Fuck! Why can’t I move?
“Buffy, I think you’re still going through one of the stages of grief – denial. I honestly believe Spike is no longer with us.”
Grief my arse. I’m still here. Don’t believe him, pet… please!
“NO! He’s here, in this body… he’s just sleeping.”
That’s right, love, you give him the what’s what.
“If he’s in there, then he’s a raving madman, Buffy. I love you dearly, but I will not endure your inability to put an end to a feral and mindless creature’s rampage just because you have feelings for it!”
Oh bugger. Nice one, Rupes… play the Angelus card so she’ll feel guilty for not dusting my arse.
“Get out!”
Send him arse over tit, love! Poncey… ooh, wait a tic… I moved my pinky! Fuckin’ A!
Spike felt her sit back down on the side of the bed, waiting for who knows what, listening to her Watcher trying to break down the door. He registered her movement and then her hands were on his shoulders, shaking him.
“Spike, c’mon, you have to wake up!”
I’m tryin’, pet… I really am. Ow! What the fuck? You slapped me!
“Wake up, you stupid vampire! You can’t leave me here like this… you can’t leave me here…”
Don’t wanna leave, Buffy. I’m try- oooo, I can move all my fingers now!
He tried to make a fist, but that took too much energy so instead, he continued wiggling them. He stopped the moment she ghosted her own fingers over his face and lips, wanting to draw the digits into his mouth for a good suck, her tears plopping softly on his chin.
She shifted higher on the bed and placed a tender kiss on his cool forehead and whispered, “I love you.”
His mind froze. She just said she loves you, mate… you’d better make your lazy arse move instead of lyin’ here like a gob-smacked weakling!
Her weight was gone from the bed and he wondered if she’d left the room, but then he heard the nightstand drawer slide open and something metallic being removed from within. Her form returned and straddled his waist, pulling down the cover and touching his chest gently.
“Keep your eyes closed, baby.”
Bloody hell! Say somethin’, you git! She thinks you’re never coming back!
Pushing with everything that was in him, Spike concentrated on opening his eyes, only to see Buffy plunging an enormous knife towards his heart. It frightened the words right out of him.
“Buffy?”
She hadn’t registered his eyes opening until she heard his voice say her name. The edge of the blade stopped an inch from his shirt as she stared at his beloved blue eyes, gasping for breath.
“Spike?” she whispered.
He blinked his eyes slowly in response.
She smiled… and promptly fainted, falling to the floor.
~*~
Giles ceased his banging when he heard a loud thump and then a guttural moan issued from inside the room. Not caring that he’d have to replace his door, he rammed the wood panel with his left shoulder and proceeded to barge his way into the spare bedroom, nearly crashing into the closet from the force of his entry.
Spinning around, he took in the scene with great astonishment. Buffy lay crumpled on the floor, her arm outstretched and holding a wicked looking knife, and Spike, eyes open and staring at him intently as he tried to get his mouth to work.
“W-watcher,” Spike rasped, pointing a shaky finger at Buffy as he tried to sit up.
Making his way quickly over to her prone form, Giles bent down, picked the girl up and gently sat her in the chair then took the knife away and shoved it in the bottom drawer of the nightstand. He was confused, to say the least, wondering what led up to his Slayer laying on the floor unconscious while Spike was awake. Unfortunately, he reverted to his old pattern of thinking as he questioned the feeble vamp.
“Did you do this?” he ground out, pointing to her dozing form.
Had he possessed any expendable strength, Spike would have growled. Instead, he tried for a semi-harsh glare. “Really… think…” He paused to gather enough energy to force the rest out. “… I… could?”
A frown creased his forehead as he looked the vampire over. “No, I don’t suppose you have the capacity to even lift your arm above your head, let alone the capability to push Buffy to the floor.”
Spike grimaced. “Thanks… for confidence… mate,” he bit out. His body then fell back to the bed, eyes closed in exhaustion.
Pressing his fingers to his eyes, Giles growled in frustration. “Look, I-I apologize for my seeming distrust in you, but we’ve all been under a tremendous amount of strain for an extended period of time, and I’m bloody tired!”
The blond breathed with difficulty, eyebrows raised. “You… apologized?”
He sent Spike a fierce look. “Shut your gob.”
“You… woke me,” the vamp reminded the Watcher.
“Remind me why we kept you alive all this time,” he muttered.
“Don’t know-”
“Make the birdies stop twittering,” Buffy moaned from her spot, throwing an arm over her face to keep out the light that glared from the ceiling.
Giles moved her arm so that he could peer into her eyes. “It’s evening, Buffy, so there are no birds… ah, twittering. Maybe you should eat something.”
Tears sprang forth as she looked away from her Watcher. “I had this wonderful dream, that Spike was alive and he wasn’t some zombie monster from outer-space.”
“Pet,” the vampire on the bed managed to whisper.
She froze and slowly turned her gaze towards the other side of the room, staring at the man lying there amongst fluffy pillows, looking the worse for wear. He smiled softly, but it fell when she didn’t return it. She couldn’t. She was in a state of shock.
Sitting up straighter, she gripped the armrests of the chair hard, nearly shattering them. “You’re awake?”
He nodded slightly, a smirk playing about his mouth.
She bit her lip to keep from completely breaking down. “And you can see?”
“Crystal,” he murmured. His eyes softened as he stared longingly at her. “Thank… you.”
The tears that were pooling in her eyes dripped over her lashes as she smiled. “You’re not a mindless, raving madman hell-bent on destruction are you?”
He would have laughed if his chest weren’t so sore. Instead, he raised an eyebrow and tried to leer. “Drain you… when I… can.”
“After all we did, you ungrateful-”
Buffy never moved so fast in her life as she intercepted her Watcher’s advancement on the defenseless vampire. Sprinting to stand in front of Spike’s prone form, she crossed her arms and practically growled at him. “Don’t touch him. He was kidding, Giles. Have you forgotten who you’re talking to?”
“Mister MENSA of idiotic proportions?”
“Oi!” Spike tried to sound angry, but it came out a feeble yelp.
She refused to budge. “Just back off, Giles. He’s weak and needs lots of – of… well, he needs lots of something to get him back on his feet.”
“How about a swift kick to his back end?” her Watcher snarked. He backed away with his hands held up in surrender when she glowered at him. “Yes, yes… you’re right. I’ll just, uhm… leave you two alone for a time. I’m sure you both have things you need to discuss.”
He moved to leave the room, but her hand on his arm stopped him. “Thank you,” she said softly, looking at him in appreciation. “For everything that you’ve done and… for helping me when I couldn’t do it by myself.” She leaned up and lightly kissed him on the cheek.
Giles blushed a thousand shades of red and spluttered an apology. “I-I’m sorry I lost faith in you… at-at the end.”
“It’s okay, really. I was losing faith in myself, too, so we would’ve been one big pile of faithlessness.” She scrunched her nose up in distaste at her own words.
Chuckling lightly, he patted her hand. “Go on then, Florence bloody Nightingale, and tend to your patient.”
She grinned and watched him stumble through the debris of the bedroom door, muttering under his breath about shoddy workmanship while making his way down the stairs. Hearing him pick up the phone, she assumed he would be calling the rest of the gang to inform them Spike was awake.
Awake, and looking at her intently as she turned back to him and sat on the edge of the bed. He was still pale, but his face no longer held that hollow look of starvation, his eyes almost twinkling with that missing spark she’d seen so long ago.
Taking the hand that rested above the covers, she inspected his fingers to see that they’d puffed out to their original long and strong shape, the earlier erosion of his tissue completely repaired. She closed her eyes and sent a prayer of thanks to whoever was listening that Spike was unharmed.
“Verdict?” he rasped, trying to clench her hand, but only managed a little squeeze.
Opening her eyes, she glanced at him and smiled. “You’ll un-live.”
He returned her grin as he watched her idly play with his hand and fingers, detecting a hint of insecurity that made her hold back from expressing her true feelings. Wondering at her shy hesitancy, he wished his voice allowed him to tell her how grateful he was that she cared enough to watch over and defend him, very much like an overprotective mother hen.
Squeezing her hand, he stopped her nervous fluttering until she looked at him again. “Too thin,” he whispered.
She looked down at herself and frowned. She was too thin, never having realized just how much weight she’d lost in a week’s time, being so focused on Spike and his ordeal. But how could she, really? The thought of eating while he was lying there unconscious did horrible things to her stomach, the slightest bit of food wanting to make its way out once she’d swallowed it. So, she stopped eating anything solid and stuck with soups and orange juice until she could handle something a little more substantial.
She sent him an apologetic look and shrugged her shoulders. “I’ll eat later.”
Shaking his head, he tugged on her hand again. “Now.”
Rolling her eyes, she moved to stand then pouted at him. “You’re awake five minutes and already you’re bossing me around.”
“Not… sorry,” he wheezed, trying once more to sit up.
“You wouldn’t be,” she groused good-naturedly, helping him to an upright position.
Beginning to move away, he suddenly clasped hold of her, kept her close to him in a light hug and laid his head on her shoulder. “Thank you… for… saving me.”
Leaning her cheek against the back of his head, she ran her fingers through his frizzy curls, musing he’d need a bath at some point. “I think you would’ve done the same for me,” she murmured, placing a lingering kiss near his hairline.
He gripped her tighter, to keep the tears in his eyes from falling. “Yes.”
“That settles it then. You’d save me, I’d save you… just all part and parcel of the Slayer – Vampire existence,” she teased lightly. “Just doing my duty.”
His body tensed and he withdrew, not looking her in the eye. “Duty… to dust… not save.”
Frowning, she lifted his chin until he finally looked at her. “I will not dust you, Spike. Please believe me. I didn’t go through all that trouble to get you out of there and bring you back to the land of the unpulsed living just so I could dust you. I’m not a big fan of masochism, contrary to popular belief.”
“I do… trust… you,” he whispered, slowly lifting his arm until his fingers rested against her cheek.
He cupped her face, his thumb rubbing lazy circles over her angles, dipping to caress her bottom lip as he stared at her in wonder. She’d saved him. She didn’t have to, had even put herself and others in danger to do so, going so far as to defend him against his grandsire.
Why?
Tracing her brows, he realized she hadn’t said anything about love once he was awake. His fingers ceased their movement when understanding dawned on him. She thought he couldn’t hear her, thought he’d never wake up when she said she loved him. He let his hand drop and gave her a small smile, knowing he wouldn’t bring up her admission and her penchant for emotional backtracking wouldn’t allow her to do the same.
Limbo, stalemate, fence sitter… it was all the same, with the same conclusion – none.
“Knock-knock!”
Spike’s gaze shifted from Buffy’s flushed face to her mother’s presence in the doorway. “Joyce,” he said quietly with a nod.
Buffy whipped around to see her mother step over the broken door and further into the room, a large, red thermos in her hands. She’d kept in touch with her mother via phone calls, updating her on Spike’s condition and telling her of her worries that he wouldn’t make it through. And she was always there to listen, her uplifting spirit the only thing that kept Buffy from completely losing hope.
“I brought you some hot chocolate, Spike. Rupert called to tell me you were awake and I knew just the thing to perk you up,” Joyce said warmly, placing the thermos on the nightstand and sitting in the overstuffed chair.
If vampires could blush, he was sure he would have been maroon. “Thanks… ducks.” He pointed to his stomach, breathing heavily. “Hit… the spot.”
“It’s hard to move, isn’t it?” she said with sympathy, reaching over to pat his hand.
“How did you know, mom?” Buffy was curious how her mother so quickly figured out Spike’s problem.
Unscrewing the thermos lid, Joyce poured some of the hot liquid into the makeshift cup and took Spike’s hand to help him hold it, bringing it to his lips. “Remember Aunt Nora, the one that had a stroke?”
“Cranky Aunt Nora? Yeah, I remember.”
Her mother sent her a look. “When you have a stroke, sometimes the muscles become paralyzed and it’s quite difficult to use them. The therapy can be painful and lengthy, trying to rebuild muscle tissue. Even with his accelerated healing, it’ll be a while before Spike can get back to his gentlemanly self.”
The chocolate tingled in his mouth as he tried to make his throat swallow the liquid, nearly spluttering the stuff all over the older woman. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly.
She brushed his sagging curls off his forehead. “It’s okay, sweetie.” She turned to an astonished Buffy and chuckled. “What?”
“I guess… I never thought, I mean-”
“You were too young to understand what was happening to her, Buffy. Don’t worry about it,” she assured.
After watching her mother lend a hand in helping Spike drink a little more, she grew a new appreciation for her and the nurturing that came natural to her. Determined to prove she could do the same thing, she asked something she rarely asked anybody unless she was desperate.
“Teach me?”
Both Spike and Joyce looked over at her, wide-eyed. One looked at her with pride and affection, tears nearly welling up in her throat. The other was flabbergasted that she’d take on the task of getting him up to par, knowing it would be a long, drawn out process. Guess she was serious about this ‘not dusting’ business.
“He’ll need to be moved to the house. There’s the spare bedroom down the hall from yours,” her mother thought aloud.
Spike watched the Slayer, dying to know what was running through her pretty head as she chewed the end of her thumbnail. He could tell she was concentrating on her mother’s words, listening to all the wisdom she was imparting, but he could care less. He’d be in Buffy’s house for the duration of his therapy and that was enough for him to be a happy vamp.
“… got the Jeep here, if you think it’s safe to move him tonight,” Joyce finished, stirring him from his thoughts.
Buffy turned her attention to him and silently asked with her eyes if he wanted to go. She didn’t know how he felt about staying at her house because hadn’t said much at all once her mother entered the room, and she desperately wanted to prove herself worthy of such a task.
“Up… to you,” he answered, his words a little clearer since the liquid soothed his parched throat.
A worried frown creased her brow. “Mom, can you excuse us for a minute? I want to make sure Spike’s okay with this and I know Giles could use some company of the adult variety.”
“Excuse me?”
“Oh God! That came out wrong! I mean he’s only had me and a comatose Spike around, and I know I was no fun to talk to in the past week… and yeah, Spike was all with the non-verbal, and Xander wouldn’t stop egging Cordy on so he sent her and Angel back to L.A., and-”
“Buffy?” Spike laid his hand on her arm to stop her blathering.
Her mother snickered over how flustered her daughter looked. “I’ll go and speak with Giles about… Spike’s diet. Is that adult enough for you?”
Hiding her flaming face behind her fingers, she groaned. “Yes… just go, so I can wallow in mortification.”
“Wallow, dear… wallow,” Joyce advised, stepping over the door and making her way downstairs.
Once she’d left, Buffy returned to her usual position on the bed beside Spike. “What do you really think about staying with us?”
She’d taken up playing with his hand again and Spike wondered why she was so concerned with it that she rarely ever let him have it back. “Pet?”
“Hmm?”
“What’s… wrong?”
“I just… I want you to-” but then she stopped as tears misted her eyes. She was so tired of crying.
Gently tugging her closer, Spike rubbed soothing circles on her back as she began sobbing in earnest the moment she laid her cheek against his shoulder, clutching at him as if he’d disappear. “Tell me.”
“I tried, I really did,” she wept, burying her face into the crux of his neck.
He kissed the top of her head, breathing in her scent. God, how he’d missed the smell of her skin, her hair… everything about her. “Love… tell me,” he whispered.
Sniffling, with the occasional hiccup, she sat back a little and looked at him with red-rimmed eyes. “I tried to get to you before… before they – they… oh God.” She sobbed anew, remembering how she’d found him, not wanting him to know the horrors she’d seen.
“Here… now,” he assured her, tears filling his own eyes. He’d hoped that she’d come for him, but he hated how he must have appeared to her after the bloody mad scientists were done with their butchering.
“Barely,” she said in a soft voice. “I don’t know how much you remember.”
“R-remember… flowers,” he said with great difficulty, trying to wrap his tongue around the words.
She closed her eyes and inhaled sharply, tears coursing steadily down her cheeks. “You said something about flowers before you-”
“Left,” he finished. He remembered now, why he thought of forget-me-nots as he was dying, or fading… or whatever it is that vampires do when they’re drained.
He’d latched onto the best childhood memory he had, of the rain softly falling, the petals of the flowers glistening with drops of water as his mother kissed his forehead and thanked him for his thoughtfulness. In that moment, as he lay dying, he thought of Buffy and how he needed her as he’d needed his mother’s assurance that he was still the one she cared for. With his last lucid thought, he believed he was loved.
“When I found you,” she tried to continue, halting to gather her courage. “You were so mangled that… I-I…” She pressed her fingers to her eyes, hoping to wipe away the images. “I-I held your hand and it-it… started disintegrating.”
So that’s why she kept checking it over, once or twice a minute at times, always vigilant. With difficulty, he lifted the hand to look it over himself, not seeing any marks or difference that he could tell. He then softly laid the restored hand on top of her bowed head, giving her a type of blessing of thanks for bringing him back from the brink, running his fingers through her unkempt locks.
“Thank you.”
Her bowed head bobbed with the weight of her sobs as she emptied everything that was in her, her arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders, rocking back and forth. “I heard you leave… and I-I couldn’t stop it, couldn’t keep you here.”
Knowing she would say more, he remained silent as he continued tenderly stroking her hair.
“I tried to stop them… but I wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t quick enough.” She was constantly hiccupping now, her face blotched red, all composure lost. “When I found you, I wanted to kill them all… wanted them to suffer the way you suffered.”
She drew in a deep breath to ease the hiccups. “That’s when I realized what you were saying that night about monsters and demons… what they really are. These-these humans had taken defenseless demons and twisted them into some ghastly ‘thing’ of their own making. What kind of monsters or demons do that?”
“Not… sure, pet.”
“None, that I know of,” she told him. “Yeah, there are some really Big Bads out there, Spike… but you were never one of them, not even by half.”
He snorted. “I’m… evil.”
Reaching out to touch his sculpted face, she shook her head. “No, you’re not. Misguided sometimes, maybe… but not evil.” Her head tilted as a thought occurred to her. “You never lost your soul, did you?”
“Why… think that?” he asked quietly, eyes narrowed.
“I remember you telling me The Judge said you stunk of humanity, that you shared affection and jealousy with Dru,” she said, daring him to refute it. “Were you ever afraid of him touching you?”
He looked away to stare at a point beyond her shoulder. “Still… here.”
“Because he didn’t, right? If he’d touched you, the humanity would’ve burned right out of you. Only a true creature of evil can survive the process.”
“Point?”
“What is a soul?”
“Been… thinkin’… about… this?”
Pulling one knee up, she rested her chin on top and smiled softly. “Yeah, I had a lot of time to think while we were getting you all blooded up.”
“Do… tell.”
“I looked it up the other day… the word ‘soul’. The dictionary defined it as the emotional part of human nature, the seat of the feelings or sentiments. It also said it was the principle of life, feeling, thought, and action; the animating principle; the essential element or part of something,” she quoted. “You’re the most emotional being I know. What else could animate you?”
He smiled sadly. “Demon?”
“Pfft,” she muttered. “In your own words… ‘Demons are revenants of Hell’. Does your demon ever remembering seeing a fiery inferno lately… or ever?”
“I… erm… no.”
She laughed quietly. “I’m really seeing why Giles likes this research stuff.”
“Why?”
“It has this amazing ability to shut you up!”
A full tilt grin graced his face. “Minx!”
“Better believe it. Now,” she began tentatively. “Will you come home with us?”
Home. The word flitted through his mind, this time without the killing migraine that usually was associated with emotional things.
“Love… to.”
Her eyes closed in relief. “You won’t regret it, I promise.” She shifted off the bed and headed towards the door, turning to him before she left. “Just for the record, I liked you before I figured out you have a soul.”
Stunned, Spike watched her leave, reeling from her admission. He began threading his fingers through his hair only to stop near the back of his skull, feeling a protruding bumpy scar. It was also right where his cowlick whorled and it made several of his curls stick straight up no matter how many times he tried to smooth them down.
“Bloody… woman’s… a menace,” he grumbled, wondering how much gel he’d have to slick through his hair to get it tamed.
It kept him from thinking too long on what he was going to do once he was done healing.
~*~
“Are you sure this is the formula, you little red-headed meddler? I seem to remember a lot more vamp blood involved in this.”
Willow grit her teeth. “Look, you wanted the procedure to restore Angel. I’m giving it to you, against my better judgment let me just add, and only because Giles told me to call you. If you don’t want it, I’ll just get rid of it.”
“Don’t you dare, Maleficent!”
“Oops!” She giggled wickedly. “I accidentally stuck my lighter to the corner of the pages… clumsy me!”
“HA! You don’t smoke, so why would you have a lighter?”
Damn. She gave up hope of ever being an evil genius if she was that transparent. “Do you want the rest or not, Cordy?” she sighed heavily.
“I swear, Rosenberg, if Angel ends up a toad because of you, I will personally sic my ghost on you.”
This piqued her curiosity. “You have a ghost?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes… his name is Dennis. He and I get along great, except when he tries to peek while I’m in the shower.”
“Uh, no… thanks,” she said with a shudder. She thought about the information she was giving Cordy… and re-thought about it… and then about all those times she was shoved into the lockers by her or one of her groupies. An evil smirk spread across her face. Oh yeah, she was giving her the right stuff.
“Okay, so you want three pints of vamp blood, six pints of canine blood, and…”
~*~
“Undead invalid, coming through,” Xander grunted to the Summers women as he hefted Spike in his arms and entered the house.
“Lackbrain… monkey… boy,” Spike growled, moving his head in time before the whelp knocked it against the wall as he started up the steps.
Xander chuckled. “Can’t even throw insults properly. Ooh, I’m gonna love this.”
The vamp in his arms tried to snarl, but it sounded more like a teen-aged boy’s voice cracking on the verge of puberty. Xander had to stop at the top of the stairs and lean against the wall from laughing so hard. “Do that again, Scrappy-Doo!”
“I… loathe… you.”
“Xander, stop poking fun at him,” Buffy admonished from behind the pair.
“Aww, Buff…” He pouted. “I was just messing with Willie-wanna-bite.”
Another squeaky growl issued from the vamp, who was currently sitting on the bed in the spare room, trying his hardest to stay upright. “Sod… off!”
“You’re evil, Xan… I love you, but you’re evil,” she scolded, shooing him out of the room.
An aching pang settled in Spike’s chest at her words, how easily they flowed for her friends, even when she was reprimanding them. But he’d be damned if he’d beg for her crumbs, though he desperately wanted and needed them.
Closing the door after her mother and Xander left, Buffy turned on a dim light in the dark room and squat in front of Spike, removing his boots and socks. “I’m sorry about that, but he wanted to see how you were doing… which is of the strange and odd.”
When Giles had contacted all the Scoobies about Spike being awake, Willow and Tara were greatly relieved and said they would be by tomorrow to see him.
Anya expressed her relief in only a way she could. “I’m glad he’s awake, it would be a shame to let all that sexual prowess go to waste. I hope Buffy uses him well.”
Xander said he’d been around Willow for too long, that the science fair nerd in her had rubbed off on him and he wanted to see if the procedure worked as Riley said it would. He showed up at Giles’ apartment just as they were getting ready to leave, so he offered to carry Spike to the car and into the house once they got there.
Figuring stranger things had happened, especially on the Hellmouth, she agreed to his help. Spike wasn’t so convinced. He grumbled and complained as much as his muscles would allow, both males trading barbs with each other like it was secondhand nature to them. And oddly enough, it was comforting to her. She knew Xander was never one to actually come out and say ‘I’m sorry’ for his behavior. Instead, he’d always scurry around and try to obtain forgiveness by doing little things for the person he’d wronged. Therefore, in her mind, Xander helping Spike spoke volumes about how her best friend really felt.
“Don’t… ap-appolo-”
“I’m not apologizing for his behavior, that’s just him, like it or not,” she finished for him, knowing he was having trouble pronouncing some words.
Spike clenched his teeth in frustration. “Stop!”
She glanced up at him and read the agitation there. “What? What’s wrong? Am I hurting you?”
He closed his eyes and tried to take a deep, unneeded breath. “Need to… learn… on… my own,” he said, dropping his hands to his shirt hem and trying to pull it over his head. “C-can’t… be… inv-valid.”
“I never thought of you as one.” She watched him struggle with the material, anxious to help him with the task but held off because of what he’d said.
His efforts to remove the shirt met with resistance until he finally gave up and stared blankly at the window. “Please… help,” he ground out.
She removed his shirt and began unbuttoning his jeans. He let her completely disrobe him without saying a word, refusing to look at her the entire time.
“Do you want some sweatpants to sleep in?” she asked hesitantly. She didn’t know how to react to this stubborn, silent Spike, his standoffish attitude confusing her.
Sending her a fleeting look, he realized she was bewildered by his actions, and his gaze softened as he nodded. “Nice… pet.”
She smiled timidly and left the room, returning a short time later with a pair of workout pants that’d seen better days. “It was the only pair I could find that was clean.”
Nodding his thanks, he allowed her to slip his feet into them and pull them up to his waist, her face directly in line with his groin. Even though he felt his reaction to her delicate hands on his body, nothing happened in the right area to reveal her affect on him. He didn’t know whether to be sad or grateful for it.
Pulling back the covers, she helped him sit on the comfortable bed, swinging his legs under the blanket and settling it on his chest. “Comfy?”
Not without you. “Yes.”
“I’ll be just down the hall, if you need me.” Please say you need me?
I always need you. “I… know.”
She lingered in the doorway, her eyes fixed on his. If only he could hear my thoughts again. No, bad Buffy, can’t rely on that! “Goodnight,” she said softly.
Stay… please stay! “Night,” he answered gruffly.
Closing the door, she leaned her forehead against the wood and sighed sadly. Why was it so difficult to tell him she cared, that she really liked him… that she loved him? She rubbed her cheek against the door, a poor substitute for his soft skin, and pretended he loved her, too.
He heard her on the other side of the door and cursed his inability to just fling it open and hold her. But once again, his pride and weakness kept him from doing much else than to stare longingly in her direction until she moved away and her own bedroom door closed.
After an hour of trying and failing to find any rest, he heard her enter his room quietly. Keeping his eyes closed to feign sleep, he felt her slide under the covers and adopt the position he’d known she slept in while watching over him at Giles. Once settled against his side, her breathing evened out and she fell into a deep sleep.
Spike leaned over and kissed the top of her head, her scent playing with his senses, as he tried to remain awake and savor the feel of her in his arms. He knew he was buggered when she murmured his name and snuggled closer to him, but he soon followed her into slumber, feeling content now that she was next to him.
~*~
She looked at the pair, the vampire and the Slayer, cuddled close together on the small bed, oblivious to the world around them. She should be angry, she should be outraged, but she didn’t have the heart. She knew what happened with Angel, the terror that he caused because he supposedly loved her daughter.
But Spike was… different. Always had been.
So, she let them be. Didn’t try to drag her out of the bed, saying she was too young or ‘for God’s sakes, he’s a vampire!’ He had a long enough road ahead of him and if her daughter made it easier, then that was that. Seeing them so close together, she knew no harm would befall either of them as long as they were together. Apart they would fall… together they’d stand strong and more powerful. And anything that kept her daughter alive would be accepted without hesitation.
Backing out of the room, Joyce closed the door and made her way downstairs to fix breakfast, knowing Spike’s first day of therapy would be interesting indeed.
~*~
Sunlight tickled Buffy’s nose, causing immediate panic to surge through her at the thought of Spike bursting into flames. She hurriedly extricated herself from his arms and swiftly pulled the blinds shut along with the curtain.
“Sorry,” she said in a shaky voice, turning to see him looking at her.
He pulled his hand out from under the blanket and waved it. “Gem.”
“Oh! Right.” She tried to laugh off the dread still coursing through her.
“Love… c’mere?” he asked gently, seeing her body tremble.
Sitting beside him, she took his hand once more and began stroking it, making sure it was still in one piece. “Just old habit, I guess.” She glanced at her rumpled side of the bed. “I wanted to know you were safe,” she explained, indicating the spot next to him.
“I was.”
“I know, but I just wanted… it didn’t feel right and I-”
“Was… safe… with you,” he corrected, seeing her shrug off her importance to him.
Gripping his hand tighter, she brought it to her lips and pressed a hard kiss to the back of it, closing her eyes. “I promise not to let anything happen to you ever again.”
Knowing she wouldn’t accept the words that it wasn’t her fault, he let them settle into a comfortable silence as he watched several emotions play over her face. Guilt and grief haunted her eyes, followed by grim determination to keep him secure, her behavior thus far proof of that.
Joyce yelling up the stairwell that Willow and Tara had arrived and that breakfast was nearly ready interrupted their quiet reverie. Wanting to linger just a bit longer, Buffy ghosted her fingers over his brow, playing with a few stray curls.
“Hungry?”
Nostrils flaring, his grip on her hand tightened. “Always.” For you.
Her eyes glazed over with desire as she leaned closer to his face. “Me, too.” God, I want you so much, right now!
“Buffy!”
Resting her forehead against his, she blew out a heavy sigh at her mother’s imperfect timing. “Let’s get you up,” she said, placing a soft kiss on his cheek.
“No… worries… there, pet,” he snarked as she brushed against his erection. Seemed he was healing fine after all.
Rolling her eyes, she slapped his chest playfully. “Out of bed, you shirty bonehead!”
“Mmm… bone… head,” he snickered as she pulled him to a sitting position.
Apparently, she was having quite an effect on him. She noticed his tented pants while trying to put his shirt over his head and wanted nothing more than to peek beneath the waistband to touch and stroke and... Bad Buffy! Mom’s waiting and you’re having the lusties for Spike!
Watching her lick her lips as she glanced at his raging hard-on nearly made him spill in the borrowed sweatpants. He needed to calm himself if he was to make it downstairs without poking someone in the eye with it. Grabbing her hand to stop her fussing with his clothes, he brought it to his lips and placed a kiss on her knuckles.
“Give… me a… mo’… pet.”
“But I-”
“Please? Need to… calm… down.”
She darted her eyes to his groin and blushed profusely. “Sorry!”
“Never… be… sorry about… that,” he said heatedly. Don’t be sorry that I want you!
“O-okay. I have to use the bathroom anyway.”
Watching her leave the room, he tried to gain as much sanity as her lack of presence would allow. Breathing deeply, he thought about Angel with a moue of disgust. Angel in a peach tutu… Angel being buggered by a T’wilek demon… Angel, Giles, and Harris in a threesome. Spike nearly gagged at the last thought, but it was highly amusing and served the purpose of deflating his painful erection.
A few moments later, Buffy returned to assist him in making his way down to the people waiting below, without saying a word and trying to be ever helpful. But her nearness drove him to distraction, and he wondered if his therapy would be more a test in self-restraint than actually gaining mobility.
If he only knew.
~*~
They settled into a pattern over the weeks that was similar to his first night in the Summers home.
Buffy would tuck Spike in at night but at some point, would make her way back into his room and coil herself around him to sleep. Likewise, he stayed awake until he felt her body hug his, then they both slept, content in the safety of each other’s arms.
He’d catch Joyce every now and then, checking up on them in the pre-dawn hours, making sure they were both still there, as if one would be somewhere the other wasn’t. Why she never said anything to stop the behavior mystified him, but he never took it for granted, clutching Buffy closer to him after she’d gone.
Joyce had shown Buffy the routine a normal therapist would use on a stroke victim, having retained the instructions from the notorious Aunt Nora, and she quickly became a pro at massaging his aching limbs to keep the blood flowing.
Willow would come over three times a week and work with him on his speech, using exercises that strengthened his jaw and tongue… like saying words with a mouthful of marbles. She immediately stopped after he swallowed three of the spheres while trying to say the word, ‘delicious’. This particular session, however, would be their last. He’d worked hard, had come a long way and his enunciation was now near perfect.
And wherever Willow was, there was Tara. The two became inseparable and Spike wondered if something other than friendship was going on between the two witches. His suspicions were validated when he caught Willow staring at Tara the way he knew he watched Buffy.
“She’s a great bird, Red,” he pointed out towards the end of their session.
She froze and slowly turned to him, pleading, “Don’t tell Buffy! She wouldn’t understand!”
“Piffle! She’d be glad you found someone,” he assured her.
Ducking her head, she confessed with a blush, “She makes me smile.” As an afterthought adding, “And Oz never… came back.”
“That’s all that matters then.”
Gazing at Tara, who was standing at the kitchen sink cleaning the dishes, Willow sighed wistfully. “You think so? I mean, it’s just so new and I don’t want Buffy to be wigged about it, or that I’d ever thought of her in that way, and-”
“S’okay, Red. Don’t think she’s the type to judge, pet.”
“I hope not. I really like her! In fact,” she said, leaning in and speaking in hushed tones. “I think I love her.”
Spike smiled sadly and tapped her on the nose. “Tell her then.”
“She hasn’t told you, yet… has she?” Willow observed after a lengthy silence, noting the distant look he always had in his eyes in regards to Buffy.
He looked away and tried to act as if he didn’t know what she was talking about. “Don’t know what you mean, Red.”
“Oh, we both know the scourge of the underworld lives in the land of denial until she thinks she can handle it. When she can’t, she goes all kablooey and it’s just not a pretty sight.”
“You don’t say?” he said with a wry grin. Hearing the flow of water cease, he followed Tara’s movements as she finished her task, joining them at the kitchen table to listen intently to the conversation.
Nodding, Willow took his hand and held it lightly. “Have you talked to her about it?”
Shaking his head, he told her the secret nobody knew. “I could hear everything though.”
“Hear what?”
“From a certain point on, I heard everything you lot said… just couldn’t respond.”
Her body became tense and still. “From what point?”
“I believe undead English patient rings a bell.”
Mortified, she buried her flushed face in her hands. “Oh, God.”
“She didn’t m-mean it,” Tara quickly defended her girlfriend. “She was really tired and I think Xander was getting on her nerves during the blood transfusion.”
“Can’t imagine why,” he said dryly. “Already had my talk with Harris.”
Willow peeked over her fingers. “You did? When?”
“Last week, when he snuck me a pack of fags.”
Her nose wrinkled. “You shouldn’t smoke, and why is Xander helping you anyway?”
“I’m the only bloke in a sea of women is the way I figure. Whelp’s gotta chat at someone about his bird, or whatever happens to be rattlin’ around in his brain.”
Eyes narrowing, she didn’t buy that line of malarkey one bit. “What did you two really talk about?”
Running his hand through his hair, he blew out a heavy breath. “Cut to the quick, eh Red?” He waited for her to possibly change the subject, but when she didn’t he continued. “About not havin’ the chip.”
Silence hung thick in the air, no one courageous enough to tackle the subject while Spike was recuperating, but now it was an inevitable problem they’d all have to deal with. Everyone knew that Spike had to get the chip removed – but no one thought about the consequences of such an action. The entire time he was out for the count, no Scooby broached the subject, not even Xander. But apparently, he’d already spoken with him about it and Willow was highly curious as to what the vamp had to say that would sway her best friend’s opinion of all things demon.
After several moments of quiet stillness, the redhead had to ask, “Have you talked to anyone else about your chip?”
“Watcher. Think he was the first one I sussed it out with,” he confided with a grimace.
“Bet that was a barrel of monkeys,” she muttered under her breath, knowing Giles could make a even a root canal seem preferable to his lectures. And that was if it was fun, let alone if the topic was something painful.
Spike snorted. “Yeah, I’ve had better tortures – excluding this latest round, mind you.”
Finally, curiosity got the better of her. “So what did you say that made them feel you were less of a threat?”
“Nothin’.”
“Huh?”
Tara interrupted. “It’s what he didn’t say.”
“Told you, Red… got a smart bird there,” he said with a smirk, looking at the shy witch who beamed under his praise.
Becoming frustrated, Willow huffed. “Of course she’s smart! But I still don’t get-”
Laying a hand on her lover’s shoulder, Tara whispered something in her ear and pressed a kiss to her temple. Willow’s eyes narrowed as she peered at him for an intense period of time until he became extremely uncomfortable under their scrutiny.
Separately, the girls were powerful enough, but together, the chits were downright scary and Spike was tired of being scared. “Ease up, ducks.”
Willow pouted. “How come I never saw it before?”
Tara squeezed her shoulder again. “You have to look with better eyes… ones that don’t hate or judge. You’d never see it otherwise.”
His eyes darted to the timid girl and nodded in silent approval. “I expect your unique relationship with Glinda here, allows you to see a bit more clearly.”
“Does Buffy know?”
“Heard her,” he whispered, staring out the window at the coming twilight.
“What did she say?” Tara asked, placing a comforting hand on his tense arm.
The affection startled him, but he turned to her, tears misting his eyes. “Sussed out I had a soul and prevented her Watcher from dusting me. Said she…” He went silent, unwilling to finish his sentence.
She brushed the shaggy curls away from his downcast face. “She said she loved you, didn’t she?”
He nodded and turned away from her hand. It felt like pity to him and he was sick of being Love’s bitch. “Then she tried to dust me herself.”
The witches looked at each other in an oh boy! way.
“Don’t bloody understand the bint,” he growled, getting up to pace the length of the kitchen. “First she tries to dust my arse, then she’s weepin’ about my hand and won’t let go of the thing, and now she won’t say a God-damned word about that night or what I’m supposed to do once I’m done healin’. I can’t go back to bein’ what I was - she’s changed me and now I don’t fit any bleedin’ place.”
“Do you love her?”
“What?” Spike spluttered at Tara.
She grinned lopsidedly. “Do you love her?”
Instead of saying yes or no, he leaned against the wall and spilled the words he’d thought about her at the end. “She is the grass that I lay my head upon.” He looked at the girls, begging them to understand. “She is the rain that quenches my undying thirst.”
Sliding down the wall to a squat position, he whispered, “And I love her like the flowers love the sun.” He stayed that way for a long period of time, his head hung in defeat.
It was several moments before he realized the witches were not in the room… but Buffy was, her hand reaching out to him, pulling him to a standing position. He stared at her as if she were the last meal for a man on death row.
“Red? Glinda?” he asked with a gasp.
“Gone home, I hope,” she said quietly. “I got in about a half hour ago. I didn’t want to disturb you guys.”
He looked down at her small hand in his. “Did you hear-”
“Some of it,” she shrugged. “But I probably heard the things you didn’t intend for me to know about… like what I said before I decided to go all Romeo and Juliet with the Bowie knife.”
“Is that what that monstrosity was?” he kidded, evading her eyes.
She’d let him avoid the issue for a moment. “Yup and I still want to know what a ‘bint’ is.”
“You’d never speak to me if I told you,” he said, shaking his head.
Laughing lightly, she lifted his chin because he still wouldn’t look at her. “Well, then… it’s a good thing that I love you or else you’d be outta here.”
His grip on her hands became painful. “You don’t mean it.”
Her gaze became downright serious. “Don’t you dare tell me I don’t mean it!” she ground out. “I have never forgiven myself for nearly killing you! It eats away at me, knowing that you’re standing here only because you’re too stubborn to die, and that I was too weak to believe in you, and-”
“You do like to blather on, Slayer,” he snarked and covered her mouth with his own.
Effectively shutting her up, his lips moved slowly over hers; drugging them both with sweet, hot pleasure.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Try as hard as I might, I couldn’t fit all I wanted into one last chapter – or else the smut would’ve been like this: He shagged her. Boring and pointless, right? Okay, glad we got that outta the way.
Many uber, super-duper thanks to Tina and Mari - the bitchin’ babes of beta – for cleaning this up. Tina, thanks for slapping me when I would have crapped the thing up in the first few paragraphs and for suggesting where I should cut it off. (points finger at Tina – “Blame her folks, it’s her fault.”) *giggles*
There is only, and only ONE more chapter left – and that one contains SMUT of the smutty kind, of the pervy-wrong kind (not too bad), and I didn’t want to cheat you out of the Spuffy ending by trying to squeeze it in here. Sorry.
And Oh. My. Andrew! I just found out I was nom’d at the Spuffy Awards and the Rogue Poet Awards for this story! (Yes – I SQUEED all over the place, coz I had NO clue). Thank you to whomever did this, I truly appreciate it – you don’t know how much!
Enjoy!
Many uber, super-duper thanks to Tina and Mari - the bitchin’ babes of beta – for cleaning this up. Tina, thanks for slapping me when I would have crapped the thing up in the first few paragraphs and for suggesting where I should cut it off. (points finger at Tina – “Blame her folks, it’s her fault.”) *giggles*
There is only, and only ONE more chapter left – and that one contains SMUT of the smutty kind, of the pervy-wrong kind (not too bad), and I didn’t want to cheat you out of the Spuffy ending by trying to squeeze it in here. Sorry.
And Oh. My. Andrew! I just found out I was nom’d at the Spuffy Awards and the Rogue Poet Awards for this story! (Yes – I SQUEED all over the place, coz I had NO clue). Thank you to whomever did this, I truly appreciate it – you don’t know how much!
Enjoy!
Chapter End Notes:
Next? SMUT a la SMUT!! (le sigh, le pant... le MEOW!) Let the Spuffyness commence! Oh yeah, and the end of the story.