"Sweetheart..."
Her sobs echoed off the shower walls.
"Buffy, pet...let's get you dried off and in bed, yeah?" Spike stood awkwardly by the tub, still clutching the towel in his hands.
His heart broke as she continued to wail despairingly.
"Buffy, please..." he begged desperately, "you need to rest. You can shower again in the morning, luv." His hands shook as his grip tightened on the soft fabric. "You can shower all day long! Just, please...you need to get up and go to bed. Okay, luv? Okay?
She remained curled up in a ball in the bottom of the tub—shoulders shaking—choking on her tears.
Slowly, Spike dropped to his knees by the tub...and watched her closely. He really wasn't sure how to approach the situation. This wasn't at all like the time she fell off the swing when she was six and scraped her knee or when Billy Ford stood her up for her first date when she was fifteen. A band-aid, a hug, and a few soft words weren't going to make this all right. Not at all. No, this was very different.
Leaning his head against the wall, he gazed sadly at her bare, bruised body. He'd had fantasies about seeing her naked when he was a teenager. He fancied himself in love with her for about six weeks until she started dating that Riley wanker. He was crushed at first, but then Drusilla came along and helped transform him from a lovesick ponce into the confident man he was now. He and Dru dated on and off for years. He really wasn't sure why he agreed to start seeing her again this time around. He'd had plenty of other girls in their off times. He supposed—in a way—he felt he owed her. If it wasn't for her, he'd probably still be pining away over a woman who'd never want him.
His eyes focused on the black and blue fingerprints on the swell of her breast, and he felt his stomach turn. His fantasies never went like this. For a moment, he felt guilty for allowing his eyes to linger on her form, but then he realized that he didn't feel aroused in the least. How could he when almost every inch of her body was covered in angry bruises and abrasions? He wasn't turned on by her naked flesh, but he did feel disgusted. Oh, not by her, she was as beautiful as ever. He just couldn't grasp what kind of monster would force himself on a woman. It was simply beyond his understanding.
She had calmed a bit as he studied her. Her tears had been reduced to a series of shaky breaths and hoarse moans. He supposed she'd managed to cry herself out. It was bound to happen with the way she was carrying on. He wasn't deluding himself that the worst of it was over, but for now, perhaps she could find some peace in slumber. Almost at its own volition, his arm stretched out, and he lightly trailed his fingertips down her cheek.
This time, she didn't protest as he gently wrapped the towel around her body as best he could given her position in the tub. He pulled his own body up from the floor and leaned into the shower. Gingerly wrapping his arms around the small girl, he lifted her from her fiberglass sanctuary. She whimpered softly, and he had no doubt that despite his careful hold, he was still causing her some measure of pain.
"Come on, sweetheart, Spike's gonna tuck you in...gonna keep you safe..." he murmured to the top of her head. Cradling her in his arms, he carried her into his bedroom and lowered her onto the firm mattress. "There we go," he whispered as he pulled away from her body. She was already breathing evenly before he even had a chance to stand upright. It seemed pointless to retrieve the boxers and t-shirt from the bathroom. Now that he had her sleeping soundly in his bed, there was no way he was going to disturb her. He walked over to his closet and pulled a quilt off of the top shelf. She didn't stir as he covered her and tucked the edges in around her body.
He placed a soft kiss on her forehead and whispered in her ear how he was going to protect her and take care of her. Finally, he managed to pull himself away and quietly duck out of the room. He had to sleep himself if he wanted his mind to function on some sort of useful level when she awoke. He removed his shirt, carelessly tossing it on the living room floor, and settled onto the lumpy, old couch. Within seconds, he was snoring softly.
"Uuuugh," Spike groaned as he tried to turn his body away from the light pouring through his broken blinds. His stiff body protested the movement, and he resigned himself to being bathed in the miserable brightness. He let his eyes flutter open but immediately found himself squinting to focus. "Fuck this," he muttered under his breath.
He had wondered if he would be so disoriented when he woke that it would take him a moment to recall the events of the previous night. As he drifted into awareness with Buffy's battered face on the forefront of his mind, he realized it was idiotic to think that he could ever forget her pain—even for a moment.
He righted his body and propped his elbows on his knees. Holding his head in his hands, he attempted to gather his thoughts. Somehow, he would get to the bottom of this. He would find a way to persuade her to let him in on what transpired to lead them to the point where she was lying broken in his bed. He both hoped for and feared the possibility of her waking soon.
What time was it anyway? He glanced over to the clock on the kitchen wall. Nine 'o' clock in the morning. He lowered his gaze to the pile of books on the table. His eyes drifted closed. Shaking his head, he reminded himself—there are more important things than a stupid test.