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Chapter Four

Buffy stood in front of the mirror. The shower had felt good, the warm water pounding her body, easing the ache in her muscles from doing nothing but sitting in a car for hours on end. She felt useless and hated being unable to do anything proactive. Spike drove, and she sat and played Robin to his Batman, a role that she fully disliked. She was like a caged tiger, pacing relentlessly, unable to slay freely. She pulled at her wet hair gently, the gold showing, even through the natural darkening of the water. She searched her reflection for some signs of change, some visible trace that she was different than when she had left but there were none to be found. She was still Buffy.

Spike lay back on the bed, trying not to imagine Buffy in the shower. Of course, he was failing miserably. Her wet, supple body…warm water spraying it, steam rising around her. He groaned. Soddin' torturer that's what she was. The door opened, and there stood Buffy in nothing but a towel, dripping wet. Spike swallowed hard, trying to remain impassive. He couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from her.

“I need to dye my hair." The words were calm and quiet but Buffy looked anything but. Her fingers played nervously with the edge of the towel, causing it to inch ever so slightly up her body. Spike followed its rise with his eyes not really hearing her. "And I need to do it now.”

Spike blinked. Had she actually just said that to him? Slowly he began processing her words, brain fumbling out of a lust induced state of soft lines and colliding with the sharp reality of her meaning. And he understood, perhaps more than she did. The hair didn't matter, but the wrapping did. Change should be something concrete, definite, something with loud crashes and symbols so that everyone could tell. But it wasn't, it was quiet, tiptoeing over window ledges, worming its way into hearts and minds, till the world looks different, but only to you. She knew she had changed, reluctantly, and out of a necessity, but she had a woken from this dream-like state different. And she needed the wrapping to match, so that they could look at her and know this wasn't the same girl, this wasn't the Buffy they knew. “Umm... okay, pet. Just let me run to the store…” He started to rise, praying that in his depleted state he wouldn't wobble in front of her. She had just presented him with a golden opportunity to track down a butcher's shop without arising any suspicions.

"No need." Buffy spoke gathering one of the brown paper sacks that they had been traveling around with. Her long slender hand reached inside and felt through the candy bars and discarded wrappers and brought out a small box of brown dye.

"When did you get that?" Spike questioned a bit too harshly, upset that his chance to feed had been snatched away.

"That first morning." She commented quietly as she sat on the bed. She held out the box to him. "You gonna help me?"

Spike stood on weakened knees, feeling somewhat trapped. "Can't you manage on your own?"

"Do I look like the Best Cuts hair girl?"

"Just saying I don't have a lot of practice with this sorta thing." He took the box in his hands. "Don't want you getting all dusty happy if you turn out all splotchy looking. Think you’d probably be better at it than me, is all. Not like you haven't played ‘horse-of-a-different-color’ with your mane."

"I have only had highlights!" Buffy huffed defensively. "And they were done by a professional. And hey who are you to talk? Cuz that bleached color happens so often in nature..."

“Fine.” Spike rolled his eyes.

“What?” Buffy questioned as he glared at her. “I don’t want to get dye on my clothes.” She explained when he hadn’t moved.

Spike swallowed hard, struggling to see her as annoying and not adorable. His eyes began to wander down her exposed flesh, drinking in her long limbs before he forced his eyes to stare at the picture above the bed. “Got have dry hard… Err… I mean hair.”

Buffy rose, holding the towel tightly to her breasts causing the bottom edge to skim just below her ass as Spike silently cursed her, convinced she was doing this to him on purpose. “I saw one attached to the wall in the bathroom. “ She walked past him, the scent of freshly washed hair filling his nostrils. She turned and stood in the doorway to the bathroom, arms crossed over her chest. “Aren’t you coming?”

“Oh so now I’m the sink boy? I think not, dry your own hair, Slayer.”

“Fine. “ She sulked into the bathroom. “But if the back doesn’t get all dry then it is your fault.” She twisted her arms behind her head. “I can’t really reach it.”

Spike knew very well that Buffy could manage to dry her own hair. Part of him wanted to demand she stop treating him like an errand boy and yet he could resist the opportunity to be so close to her, no, near her. He was never close to her, no one was. He berated himself for the mental slip, repeating it over and over in his mind till the mental wounds would never mend. Buffy didn’t love him, Buffy didn’t love him, she didn’t, and she never would. “Give me the rutty thing.” He snatched the dryer out of her hand. She didn’t love him, still he would take would he could get.

He went to work quickly, the small cord being twisted and stretched as he worked the hot air across the back of her head trying not to notice how her skin on her arms became dotted with goosebumps or how her hair turned into spun gold as the heat stole the wetness away. There was an uneasy tension, his body rigid, her sitting too still, a tension that broke abruptly when Buffy laughed.

“What?” Spike questioned, trying in vain to hold on to his anger at being relegated to ‘hair-dyer’.

Buffy giggled again and pointed up. “It's the haunted blow dryer of the Holiday Inn.”

“If you expect me to laugh, you are out of your gourd.”

“Well you could make those little ‘woooo’ noises. Give it the right atmosphere. Bet we could sell tickets.”

“So that some Dracula flick watching bloke could figure out the little mirror trick and stake me? I think not.”

Buffy relaxed slightly the back of her head brushing ever so slightly against Spike’s toned stomach. The warmth filling the tiny bathroom was making her drowsy, and in her sleepy form her mind drifted to Dawn. She would look like her, well more like her anyhow. She imagined them standing next to each other, both brunettes, but a thought came barreling at her hard and fast that she might never see Dawn again. It was a hot fear that flew up from her stomach and caught in her throat, making it hard to swallow. She watched as the blow dryer moved across her hair in the mirror and she wanted to tell Spike everything. He was always there, this invisible quiet force that helped her get through the past two years, she wanted to tell him how afraid she was, how worried for herself as well as her sister. She had constructed her life around keeping Dawn safe, she had left her home, her friends, walked away from everything for Dawn. If something happened to her… No, she wouldn’t think of it. “He did have nice eyes.”

“Dracula? You have got to be kidding me! Bunch of glamours is all, smoke and mirrors.” He tossed the blow dryer down angrily, the short cord catching it before it hit the floor, leaving it dangling a few inches above the cool tile. He didn’t want to play this, he was struggling enough with normal, but playful forced banter? He could read her, she was like a soddin’ novel, and she was scared; she would be a moron if she wasn’t. “Done.” He strolled out of the bathroom, trying not to replay the slightly hurt and confused face Buffy had made at his display. She wasn’t the only one who was afraid.

Buffy sat for a moment before trailing after him. He was sitting in the bed, forcing his feet into his heavy boots. “Wanna tell me what that was about?”

“Not really.” He started to throw on his duster, hastily shoving his arms in the sleeves, completely absorbed in his anger.

"You're leaving?" Her voice didn't carry the angry tone that it normally did, instead it sounded small and child like.

"Not light yet." He commented casually though he was anything but. He didn't want to look at her, didn't want to see her needy and refusing help. He wanted to just walk out of that room, possibly walk out of her world forever. It had to be better than this. This emotional wringer she put him through daily. He wanted to, but he didn't. That wavering note in her voice left him no real option but to turn and face her.

She was perched on the edge of the bed, her dry golden hair just grazing her hunched shoulder, green eyes injured. She opened her mouth to speak. For the briefest instant she wanted to ask him to stay, stay forever, and then she flitted to the other extreme, wanting to yell at him to go and never come back. That's how it was with him. There was no middle ground. So she said nothing, thinking perhaps nothing was best after all.

Spike sighed, his chipping black fingernails running through his bleached mane in frustration. He more than wanted to leave, he needed to. He needed blood for starters, and he needed some air. Buffy was suffocating him, so close yet so far. He gaze went from Buffy's hurt face, to the door, and back to Buffy before he shrugged off his jacket. His mind berating him for being the great poof he was. He prepared the dye, and wordlessly went to work on her head.

Confused by his sudden change in attitude, Buffy sat quietly, waiting for him to break the silence. She was acutely aware of his nearness, his smell, and his hands massaging her scalp. His arm brushed her right breast lightly, and she shivered pleasurably. Her nipples hardened, and she hope fervently that he didn’t notice. This was torture, his closeness. Squeezing her legs together, she felt the moisture pooling there. She fervently hoped he would finish soon and contradictorily prayed it would never end.

Spike was doing his best to touch her as little as possible. This was torture. Every time he brushed against her, his pants became that much more uncomfortable. He ran his fingers around the nape of her neck, making sure he had gotten all of her hair. At her soft gasp, he almost groaned aloud. He redoubled his efforts on her hair, and suddenly got a whiff of her arousal. His nostrils flared, breathing her in deeply. His demon demanded that he take her, make her his, and ravage that sweet body till their scents mingled into a heady potion of possession. His possession, his mate, his lover. Swallowing hard, he fought for control, nearly giving in to his primal side. Finally, he was able to step away from her.

“All done, luv.” Spike said, clearing his throat.

“How long do I have to let it sit?” Buffy asked, reaching up to feel her hair. Unknown to her, her towel had slipped down, affording Spike a look at one rounded breast.

Spike’s mouth went dry, the demon inside him raging. “Uhh…” he croaked, almost unable to speak. “About thirty minutes?” God, this was almost more than he could take!

Buffy looked down and blushed, snatching the fabric back against her chest. “Sorry.” She muttered.

“I’m not.” He said without thinking.

She looked at him, eyes wide. “I think I’d better wait it out in the bathroom.” She turned towards the door, not trusting herself to be so close to him for another second longer. Her sense were on overload, she was exhausted and hungry, hungry for her life back, to be doing something, for someone to tell her it was all gonna be alright so she could surrender control and be free from her worries. So she could be free from everything.

Spike could feel her walls dropping, her guards normally held at such high alert being let down. His hand went to her hand, but realizing it would be too intimate, too much of a show of love and not passion her grabbed her arm instead, growling low in his throat. “Slayer…”

Buffy looked at him, scared. Out of habit she reached for the stake neatly tucked in her back pocket, only to realize she was still in a towel. “Spike, what are you doing?!”

He closed his eyes, relishing in her closeness. “What’s wrong with my eyes?” It wasn’t what he meant to say, it had just come out.

Buffy looked at him, eyes wide with surprise. “Your eyes?” She repeated, stupidly. Her tongue flicked out, licking at her pink lips.

The importance of the movement wasn’t lost on either of them. Blue orbs locked with green, and they were both momentarily stunned silent. The sparks flew as the tension stretched.

“Just one kiss, Buffy, pet, please…” Spike whispered, leaning towards her mouth. With a hazy mind he knew it spoke of love and not of passion, and dimly realized it was a mistake but it was already out there. Words dancing across the briefest space that separated them.

The room was warm and the scent of the dye was making her stomach flutter as she titled her head ever so slightly upward. Spike taking the invitation leaned down over her. Their lips touched, briefly, and feather-light in contact. Fireworks exploded in her belly as alarms went off in her mind. It felt so right, too right. It wasn't, it couldn't be. She pushed him away, frightened by the intensity of her emotions. “No, I can’t.” Buffy said, not quite meeting his eyes. She broke away from him, stepping clearly into the bathroom, and Spike knew what it meant. He felt every bit of the distance that his heart felt as the door shut with a resounding ‘click’.

He stood staring at the door for what felt like forever, he could hear her, the shower turning on as she rinsed the dye from her hair yet his ears seemed to only echo her words, "No, I can't." He was so stupid, so bloody dumb. He raged at himself, wanting to smash everything he could, wanting to shake her till she came to her senses, or stake himself, or all three. He had messed it up all the way around. He had a good thing going, and what he had though as torture only a few minutes ago now seemed like heaven. He knew what would happen now, they would go to Sunnydale all right, and they would be there, her precious Scooby Gang. They couldn't go back from this, they wouldn't sit around their kitchen table in the morning sharing a cup of coffee, whatever slim chance he had in the first place had been thrown away on a kiss.

"Shagging idiot." He spoke aloud. He knew better. Spike knew they could get along swimmingly as long as he kept his emotions hidden. No pressure and it was all picture perfect. He knew better than to hope that she could feel the same. He contemplated leaving, but the more he thought about his impending fate he decided to stick it out as long as he could, a few more days and she might be out of his life forever. Weak in both body and mind he pulled off his shirt and unbuckled his pants and slid into the king bed. Sleep was good, he dreamed of nothing but her and him, together forever.


*****

"The number you are trying to reach is not in service." The not so helpful message informed her. "Please hang up and dial again."

Dawn slammed the receiver down hard, shivering despite the heat. She had made eight calls in all and they had all yielded the same results. This wasn't happening. She was stranded in Vegas with no money and no help. What could have happened to them all? Even Angel's LA number was a bust. Suddenly she felt panicked at the thought that they might be hurt or worse, or maybe they had all moved. After all a Hellmouth without a slayer would be... bad. No one would stay in harms way without help. She tried to reassure herself that the summer Buffy had runaway the Scoobies had stayed, but a voice reminded her that was only for a summer. They had been gone for over two years now... and with the destruction Glory could cause... Dawn shuddered at the very thought.

She started walking up the sidewalk to keep her mind from wandering; she didn't want to think of all the 'what ifs'. She was in bad enough shape without piling stuff on top, for now she figured she would head towards the Strand, surely she could pickpocket some cash off someone and then she would just hop a bus. She would worry about what Sunnydale held once she got there.

"Dawn?" A voice shouted out from behind her.

She froze before speeding up her walk, her heart thundering in her chest. They were talking to someone else, she told herself. Not me, not me, not me.

"Dawn!" The voice was louder and Dawn broke out into a full run, feet pounding behind her as a hand grabbed her arm forcefully. Dawn didn't even have time to scream before the voice spoke. "I've got you now."


*****


Buffy peeked her head out of the bathroom still clad only in a towel. Clothes were fast becoming an issue and she wished again for the millionth time that she had the foresight to had made Spike stop at the apartment to pack a quick bag. Seeing Spike deep in sleep she cautiously stepped out. She didn't know what she had been thinking earlier, kissing him. She was clearly insane. Spotting his discarded silk shirt on the dresser she put it on, quickly fastening the buttons higher than necessary.

She eyed the bed suspiciously; this was not the smartest idea. She pondered just staying up and when he woke she could sleep but her body bulked at the idea. Softly, she slid between the sheets and comforter, creating a thin but careful barrier between them.

Spike, who had woken as soon as she had neared the bed, stayed where he was keeping his eyes closed. As he felt her relax into the mattress he smiled softly. This was good enough…for now. He fell back asleep, thanking the Gods or the Powers or whoever decided to cut him a break, that she was still there. For now she was still by his side.





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