Buffy pulled her hand out of Spike’s grasp and cradled it as if she’d been burned. “Nothing. I said nothing,” she quickly lied. There was no way on God’s green earth that she was going to admit to anything until she knew what was happening to her - and even then, it was debatable.
As she said the words, a faint buzzing began in the back of her head and continued until it was a dull ache that centered between her eyes. “Ugh,” she grimaced and dropped her head between her knees to keep from heaving.
Spike was completely bewildered at her actions. First she spies on him while he’s trying to calm down from the jumbled thoughts in his head, then she’s going on about finding someone to love her while staring at him, next she’s wanting to empty her stomach… on his Docs. Chit’s gone barmy, he thought to himself.
“I have not gone barmy… whatever that is,” she groaned from between her legs, slowly raising her head until she was eye level with him. Gone was the softness from the moment before, a glint of steel now replacing the sympathy Spike thought he’d glimpsed.
“I didn’t say anything, Slayer,” he spoke slowly. How in the hell did she know what he was thinking? As if he didn’t have enough problems on his bloody plate, now heap on the fact that the Slayer could pick up what his mind was broadcasting? Unnerving at the least!
She narrowed her eyes at him and frowned. “Yes, you did! You said I’d gone barmy, plain as day,” she protested. “What does barmy mean, anyway?”
He quickly got up and edged towards a corner of the room, uncomfortable with the downturn in her mood, not liking the situation one bit. “Means crazy,” he explained, backing into a corner. If she attacked at least he wouldn’t have to worry about what was behind him. He didn’t have to wait long.
“Crazy? You think I’m the crazy one? Look at you, mister Fountain-of-Knowledge-I-can’t-shut-off!” She was advancing on him, waving her arms wildly about. “I’m not the one who has to depend on people I hate for my survival. I’m not the fangless demon who can’t get a bite to eat, because I would’ve left town before being captured!” She was close now, punctuating every nasty sentence with a poke to his sunken chest.
He could honestly say he hated her very much at this moment.
With a deadly gleam in his eyes, nostrils flaring, he began stepping towards her, forcing her to retreat instead of him. “I know how to survive, Slayer, even if it means having to bunk down with the enemy. You and your pious lot think you know everything, yeah? Don’t know jack-shit… not about livin’! If you’d pull that stick out that’s so far up your arse you might be able to do just that… live. Quit tryin’ to make everything you know about life, which is nil, fit into two categories. What Buffy thinks is right and what Buffy thinks is wrong. There are other people in the world, Slayer. Get it through your thick skull! No matter how hard you try to get rid of me or beat me half to death, you’ll always lose… `cause the truth scares you and I don’t back down!” he roared.
Too close - he was too close… to her, to the truth, to breaking a piece of the ten-foot wall she’d erected around her heart when Angel left. He may be down on his luck, but with his strong determination not to be defeated, she realized he was biding his time until he got his old self back. So she did what she had to… to protect herself, she reasoned.
He saw it coming and closed his eyes; her backhand slammed across his cheek with such power, it sent him flying across the room, landing him on the bed… out cold. She walked out the door without a backward glance and went downstairs where Giles was waiting for her, arms crossed, face stern.
“Was that really necessary?” he asked dryly.
She crossed her own arms and glared just as hard. “Giles, I seriously don’t know what you’re doing with Spike, but it needs to end. I’m unconvinced he’s not a threat.”
“If that is your stance, then you can take him with you when you go to the Bronze this evening.” He smirked and watched her turn three shades of fuming red.
“What?! No! That is so not happening! There’ll be lots of meals on wheels as he puts it, and I will not risk other people’s lives just to keep his bleached Highness among the undead living,” she ground out. Really, this… relationship between the two Brits was odd beyond extreme. “Giles, has Spike used any kind of thrall on you?” That was the only explanation she could think of that would keep him in constant company with the vampire menace.
“Of course not!” he refuted indignantly. “Spike has no such ability, not one that’s been documented at least. No, no, Buffy… Spike is in possession of valuable information, and I feel it would be remiss of me if I didn’t document as much as I could. The Council’s views on everything could be altered with his knowledge.” Giles’ eyes took on a feverish light, a Gollum-type of obsession.
Oh great, the only thing missing is him saying Spike is my precious. She frowned, shivering at that thought.
He whipped around, stared at her, and curtly replied, “I hardly think I would ever say such a thing, especially about Spike.”
She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Ugh, I really need to stop with this thinking out loud crap.”
“Couldn’t agree more,” he said in disgust as he dismissed her and went back to his desk to pick up writing once again.
After a few tense moments of silence, Giles looked back in her direction, noticing Spike standing on the bottom step of the staircase, dried blood crusted over his now purple cheekbone. He started to say something to Buffy about her treatment of the vampire in his care when Spike shook his head imperceptibly in the negative.
Pursing his lips with a frown, Giles ordered in a tone that brooked no argument, “Buffy, you’ll take Spike with you this evening to the Bronze and then on patrol.”
“But, Giles,” she huffed.
“’S okay, Rupes…” Spike said quietly behind Buffy. “`S better to be alone than in bad company.”
She tensed and turned to see him watching her in an eerily detached way, a purple bruise mottling his pale face. Tinglies aside, she should have know that he’d been there… because the headache that began pulsing when she’d lied to him eased considerably when he was near. Okay, this was too much! I am going barmy! His closeness shouldn’t have an affect on my migraine, it’s just not possible!. Maybe it was best to keep him in sight, as the headache would be a major disadvantage during patrol. If Spike kept the pain at bay, and she definitely didn’t want to dwell on why he did, then she’d just have to keep his undead ass… well… undead.
Hearing her thoughts, Spike frowned as he realized she hadn’t moved her lips – he was actually picking up the chatter in her brain. Well, bugger me!
“Fine. He goes.” She groaned, turning to face her Watcher and ignoring the comment she’d heard. Then, looking back over her shoulder, she remarked with an evil smirk, “But, if you harm anyone, I’ll relish being the one to personally dust you.”
Spike’s lip curled into a sneer. “You know what your problem is, princess? You’re afraid of sullying your precious and pristine self with us lowly vamp-folk.” He moved past her, heading towards the kitchen then pausing to add, “You can’t keep us in the bowels of Hell, Slayer, without remaining there yourself.”
She looked at Giles in confusion. “Huh?”
“Oh, for God’s sake, girl, he was indicating, in a polite way of course, which is hard to imagine from the likes of Spike, but, he was saying that if you persist with a holier-than-thou attitude in regards to your duties, then you’ll be quite humbled if you were to ever become a vampire. Or something worse,” he tried to explain to, his eyes widening at what he’d just said. “Oh, dear Lord… tell me I didn’t just exonerate most of the undead populous in the world?”
“In a nutshell, you’ve just belittled my calling to that of a vigilante,” she seethed.
At that point, Spike reappeared, leaning against the archway between the two rooms, mug of blood in hand observing the Slayer and her Watcher. Who needed TV when he had his own little drama right here? Right now, it was a staring contest, a test of wills to see who was more stubborn or pissed-off. He didn’t like the twitchy vibes he’d felt all day long and, if the two fighting before him was any indication, there was some serious mojo floating around. If the piece of hardware in his head was the only thing that stood between him and dustiness, he’d likely not last another day – and he didn’t like it.
“I-I didn’t mean, that is to say… I was just trying to explain Spike’s thought process, what he was trying to convey since you didn’t seem to understand his logic.”
“His logic? Isn’t Spike and logic in the same sentence like an ox-moron?” she asked, hands on hips.
“Oxymoron, and no, Spike is very intelligent… just not one for common sense,” Giles clarified.
“Oi! Standin’ right here!”
“Shut-up,” Slayer and Watcher barked in unison.
Taking a sip of his blood, he muttered into the mug, “Gormless twits.”
Ignoring him, Giles continued. “Until we understand what is happening to him, I think we should take a course of action that will allow for optimum retention of his knowledge while investigating the-the… what were they called, Spike?”
“Dunno, Army gits? Goons? G.I. Joe’s? Commandos?”
“Yes, yes… Commandos.”
“You’ve really got to work on your speech therapy there, Giles. I caught investigate and Commandos.”
“Seems she’s a true blonde, Rupes… she’s actin’ like one,” Spike offered, winking at her before he took another drink.
Buffy’s eyes turned pointed before she pounced on Spike, flinging his cup against the wall where it shattered and left blood dripping down the white stucco. “I said, shut-up!”
Growling, he retaliated without thought, lunging at her and gripping her arms to the point of bruising. The chip fired mercilessly, leaving him slumped on the floor, his face smeared with blood from both nostrils.
Giles grabbed her arm and shoved her away from the incapacitated vampire. “Buffy! For God’s sake, get a hold of yourself! We need him, and you beating the sense out of him will not help!” he yelled as he banished her to the other side of the room.
She flounced down on the sofa. “Don’t know why.”
Helping Spike to stand, Giles handed him a towel to clean up the blood. He shrugged off the Watcher’s offer and instead, stormed towards Buffy.
“Why? You wanna know why you need me? I’m the only one who knows what those sick bastards can do! You haven’t seen the bleedin’ destruction these humans are creating, the right mess they’re making of the demon population. And you know why they’re getting away with it? `Cause you don’t care,” he spat.
“Like I said upstairs, if you could pull your bleedin’ stubborn head out of your arse you’d know that the world is not made up of only black and white. `S a whole fucking box of Crayola crayons, which contains crude oil… along with CD’s and toothpaste,” Spike ranted then walked back to the kitchen.
Tears gathered in her eyes and she them let slide silently down her flaming cheeks. “I hate him,” she whispered.
Giles looked towards the kitchen and then back at Buffy. “No, I don’t think that’s it, Buffy. You hated the Master, and you hated Drusilla. This thing between you and Spike? It’s more antagonistic than hateful, goading each other into action, playing off of one another. The only real difference I see is, that Spike never permits his grievances to overshadow his opportunities,” he offered. “You, on the other hand, seem to fall apart if something doesn’t go your way. Not the earmark of a great leader.”
“I’m not a leader, Giles.”
“I know you never asked for it but by nature, your calling expects you to be a leader. And you are a leader, even if you refuse to acknowledge it. Your friends would blindly follow you into Hell and back if it meant keeping the world safe. But… I want you to keep something in mind. Most leaders spend their time trying to get others to think highly of them… when instead, they should be trying to get their followers to think more highly of themselves.”
Buffy turned away from his intense gaze and stared out the window into the darkening skies. She nodded mutely, not looking at her Watcher, but accepting the wisdom of his words. “I’ll take Spike with me,” she quietly confirmed.
“Good, thank-you. He may prove useful at some point.”
He moved towards the kitchen and peered slowly around the corner to watch Spike, who seemed to be staring off into space. “Are you ready to leave?”
The vampire looked down at the red-soaked towel he’d been using to stop the profuse bleeding this last round with the chip had caused and threw it in the sink. Knowing how the night was progressing, he grabbed another towel and stuffed it in his duster pocket, hoping a dishcloth would be enough the next time the chip fired. If he wanted any relief with the splitting headaches that followed, though, he’d better make peace for the time being.
“Yeah, sure, Rupes.”
Spike left the confines of the kitchen and found Buffy sitting on the sofa, her posture tense as she rose to go towards the door, not looking at him. Best make peace with the chit. Hesitantly, he reached out, and with gentle pressure on her arm, stopped her before she opened the door. She turned to see him looking at her like a scolded child, remnants of blood still on his face.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, looking downcast.
Shocked to the core, she felt a brick in that wall around her heart come loose as he pleaded with his eyes for her to forgive him, looking so very lost and uncertain of himself. Trying to retreat from the emotions his gaze brought to the forefront, she reminded herself of Giles’ statement about boosting the self-esteem of others instead of worrying about her own thoughts or feelings. Might as well start with the one person that seemed to bother her the most.
Reaching over the counter into the kitchen, she grabbed a clean towel and wet it, then wrung it out. Slowly, so she wouldn’t startle him, she raised her hand and began wiping away the remaining blood on his face… reminding her that she was responsible for the vibrant bruise that graced his perfectly sculpted cheek.
Grimacing, she wiped the last of the blood off, knowing it had to hurt. “I’m sorry, too,” she whispered guiltily. She didn’t delve too much into what emotion was causing her to be nice to her mortal enemy.
He’d closed his eyes when she started washing his face with the wet rag and gave himself in to the sensations that fluttered through his undead heart. No one had ever cared to clean him up, except his mum, and he’d resisted it every time. But this… this he liked very much, opening his eyes in amazement at her words.
She started to withdraw her hand at the look in his eyes, full of questions and too full of emotions, but he captured her hand before she could, holding it against his cheek and nuzzling into her palm. “Thank-you,” he said quietly.
“Ahem.”
Buffy stiffened as the moment disappeared with her Watcher’s cough. She tossed the wet and bloody rag into the sink through the alcove and turned to head out the door, Spike following close behind her, glaring at her Watcher as the door slammed in their wake.
“God, give me strength,” Giles muttered at the retreating pair, sure that things were about to get interesting.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
**Any and all facts come from the series "Uncle John's Bathroom Reader" which is full of trivial knowledge!**