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Author's Chapter Notes:
I know this story has been going on for quite some time, which is why I want to thank all of you who are still reading and especially reviewing. You don't know how much I appreciate it. Your motivation keeps me writing. :)

Beta'd by the awesome All4Spike.
Chapter 38

After the sparring debacle followed by a heated make out session that had sent Buffy’s head spinning, they had stopped at a motel to shower – separately – then have cheeseburgers at a nearby diner. Now they were back on the road again to squeeze in at least a few more hours of driving.

She was feeling inexplicably shy and gave Spike a sideways glance for the hundredth time in the last hour. The urge to lean in and just touch him in some way was overwhelming, yet she didn’t want to seem too eager.

“What is it?” He kept his eyes on the road, the corner of his mouth tilting up.

Crap. She’d been caught. “Nothing. Nope. Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Mmm… something tells me you’re a big, fat liar.”

She gasped in mock outrage. “Did you just call me both big and fat in the same sentence? You should know better than to say that to a girl.”

“Maybe I ought to stop the car, yeah? Let you punish me for misbehaving.”

He knew what the look he was currently giving her did to her. He had to, the evil bastard. Great, now she was staring at him like a deer caught in headlights and his tongue was doing that curling behind his front teeth thing that made her thighs clench.

She squirmed in her seat.

“Seems to me, you like the idea. You just want to put your hands all over my tight little arse and spank it real good, don’t you, kitten?”

She squeaked. Honest to God, she had no idea she was capable of making a noise that high-pitched. “T-that’s just…” She gulped. She really did want to put her hands on his tight little bum, especially since she knew how tight and round it felt under her hands. “Outrageous. A-and… err…”

“Makes you hot, doesn’t it?”

“No,” she said, making him huff. “Maybe. Just a little.”

“So, what’s with all the eyeballing? Can’t get enough of me?”

Did he have to say it like that? It was embarrassing enough that she couldn’t help but steal not-so-sneaky glimpses of him. There was something seriously wrong with her. “I was just observing the ambience.”

“And did you find it pleasant?”

“Maybe.” She bit her lip to tamp down the silly urge to giggle. There would be no giggling. That was where she drew the line.

“Come here.” He stretched out his arm.

“Why?” she asked warily, though her fingers were already unbuckling her seatbelt so she could slide closer to him on the leather bench seat.

“Because.” He pulled her flush against his side and curled his arm around her shoulders.

A minute passed then, “Are you sniffing my hair?”

Spike shifted away, looking as innocent as you please. “’Course not. What the bloody hell would I do that for?”

“You tell me,” she said, amused.

“I wasn’t. Was just… resting a part of my face on the top of your noggin.”

“Uh huh. Okay.”

“I was!” He stared ahead at the darkened road, muttering, “Sniffing your hair. Pfft.”

“You smell nice too, you know.” She buried her face in his shoulder. All musk and leather and something inherently fresh that made her mouth salivate from the desire to taste his skin.

“I do?” His eyes twinkled when he shot her a quick, self-satisfied glance. He looked like a little boy eager to be praised.

“Yup. Very manly. And yummy. Let’s not forget the yummy part.”

“Good enough to eat?”

“Not saying anything more until you admit to the sniffing.”

“Never,” he said with a barely hidden grin, leaning in to take in a deliberately loud whiff. “Mmm… wildflowers.”

The warmth of his body sank into her flesh, sizzling flames of his presence licking at her skin.

“So, what else do you like about me?”

*******

“Do you like it?” They’d stopped at a hotel, the last overnight stop before they reached Cleveland.

“Where did you get that?”

He approached her slowly, as though nearing a place of worship.

“My dad’s girlfriend gave it to me. Nifty, huh?” She rotated her wrist; light shattering on the edge of the double blade as though it had been sliced into billion glittering pieces.

“I’ve seen this before.” Spike frowned, his eyes intent, unblinking.

“Where? The book of ancient nifty weapons?”

“Bloody hell,” he whispered and his sudden pallor scared her into dropping the blade on the bed and jumping to him to make sure he wasn’t about to faint on her.

His wrist was limp in her grasp. “Spike?”

“T-that’s…”

“What’s wrong?”

Silence. Somewhere nearby, a clock ticked.

“If you don’t say something in the next five seconds, I’m going to slap you. O-or something.” He wasn’t going into some kind of shock, was he? She was no good with healing people. Give her an ass to kick and she’d do it without straining a muscle, but the whole Florence Nightingale thing really wasn’t her forte.

She shook him, not too hard, but hard enough to register. To her relief, Spike’s gaze finally slid to hers, still a touch incoherent, but present.

“I can’t believe it,” he said, looking at her as if she’d grown a halo. “You’ve got it.”

“Got what? The blade? What’s—”

“Buffy.” He cradled her face between his palms. “This is it. The weapon I was looking for. The bit Rupert managed to translate was about this… this is the weapon that can kill Angelus. Do you know what that means?”

That Spike would dive head first into a suicide mission? She wished she’d never shown him the blade, as immature and selfish as that thought was.

He kissed her then, hot and desperate and smiling against her lips. Yet the only thing she could think of was that she’d just given him the instrument of his own destruction, if it didn’t pan out right.

So, I’ll have to make it work. Make sure it does pan out right.

She wouldn’t let herself admit, not for a second, that she could lose him.

Their lips parted and he was hugging her as if she was his only lifeline.

“So, I guess you’re happy.”

“I’ve been searching for this for years. This one break that would tip the scales in my favour.” He pulled away, hands spanning her waist. “Happy doesn’t even begin to describe it. I can end this! I can…” A shadow snuck over his expression, the corners of his mouth dropping as his gaze darted between the blade resting among the sheets and her. “Buffy, you’re… I know what I said and—”

She shrugged off his arms, her own coming up to fold over her chest. “I’m coming with you.”

“I wasn’t… I’m not leaving you to fend for yourself. I made a promise, didn’t I? But now I want you to promise me something.” He reached out to touch her elbow but his hand dropped before he could make contact. She felt a pang, a fleeting pain somewhere beneath her breast. Was she so unforgiving that he would be hesitant to touch her?

“I don’t want you anywhere near Angelus.”

“So what now? You’ll just go in without anyone watching your back?” What would it take to make him see how stupid and dangerous that was?

“I’ll have the weapon.”

“It’s still just a weapon. It’s not a miracle, Spike.”

He shook his head, idle hands slipping into the pockets of his jeans. “’S just it. It’s not just a weapon. It was made to defeat the undefeatable. Not even that blasted gem of his will save his sorry arse this time. The weapon will slice right through and leave him bleeding. But I can’t bloody well keep my head clear if I’m worrying about you.”

“So I’m something to be worried about now? Thanks,” she said, bitterly, turning away from his pleading gaze.

“Yes. No.” An irritated huff. “Know you can handle yourself. This isn’t about me not treating you like my equal, and you know it. I fucking… I care, all right? Satisfied? The idea of you dyin—getting hurt… I can’t even…” The lightest of touches fell on her shoulders but she didn’t turn around and it was gone in an instant. “Please understand.”

“And you think I don’t? Care? I’m just supposed to sit twiddling my thumbs while you go into a fight alone? I’m seeing a double standard here.” She turned on her heel then, refusing to look at his face because if she did, the resolve to deny him would crumble to dust. “I’m going to take a shower.”

She scurried away before he could say a word.

*******

Spike stared after her long after the door clicked shut. His hands were clenched into fists inside his pockets and he wished they’d stop trembling.

For a moment he even considered giving up all together. Bugger Angelus. Bugger revenge. Let someone else rid the world of the Giant Poof’s pompous self.

But he couldn’t very well let it go, could he? Made himself a promise a long time ago, the day he watched the lifeless body of his mother drop to the floor, the day his sister… He couldn’t let it go.

It never really bothered him much, the threat of danger. The thrill of a fight, of giving it his all and coming out on top was his reason to live. And now, suddenly there was something to lose.

Spike sank down on a bed, his fingers hovering over the double blade. He couldn’t take the easy way out and not take the chance. That wasn’t who he was anymore and if he did, he’d never be able to live with himself. He knew he’d come to blame Buffy eventually.

But could he take her with him? Let her cover his back and fight alongside him in a fight that was only supposed to be between him and Angelus? Would she come to hate him if he didn’t? Think he didn’t believe she was strong and cunning enough? He did. God knew he hadn’t been pulling his punches near the end of their little sparring soiree and he’d still somehow managed to get his ass handed to him. She wasn’t a slayer, but there was something inside her that pushed those instincts and abilities to a higher level.

It wasn’t her strength he questioned, no. It was the thought of losing her that about left him gasping for breath. He wasn’t in love with her; he couldn’t afford to let himself fall. Yet the quicksand was shifting under his feet and there was no way out, nothing to grasp in order to pull himself out.

He lay back against the mattress, trying to figure out a way that would keep both Buffy and the broken pieces of his heart somewhat safe, when the phone vibrated loudly against the nightstand.

Buffy’s phone.

He rolled over to read the ID.

Dad.

Should he let it ring? Old Hank would probably shit a brick and sent the cavalry within seconds if someone didn’t pick up.

Reluctantly, Spike hit ‘accept’. “Hello.”

Confused silence then, “Spike?”

“Yeah, ‘s me. Buffy’s in the bathroom right now. Safe and sound, so no worries.”

Spike expected a snort or a not-so-good natured jibe, but none came. “I need to speak to her, but… I guess you could tell her, or maybe not. I don’t want to… ” Sigh.

Spike’s spine stiffened as he detected the serious tone of Hank’s voice. “Is everything all right?”

“No. Not really. Something happened… A friend of Buffy’s, Anya Jenkins… well, she’s been found at her house. Basement of all things. And—”

“Dead?”

“Yeah,” Hand replied with a weary voice, as though he hadn’t been sleeping. Probably hadn’t, most likely trying to come up with a way to break the news to Buffy.

“Fuck.”

“You can say that again,” Hank said without a trace of humour. “Listen, I don’t like you—”

“No kidding.”

“—but, I do trust you to keep her safe. I wouldn’t have let her go with you otherwise. Not that I could stop her even if I wanted to,” Hank muttered. “And now this. I need to know you’ll look after her… man to man, can you promise me that?”

Spike swallowed, gripping the phone tighter. “Yeah. I promise.”

“Will you tell her?” Hank asked, his tone heavy and sluggish. “I could call back in a few if you don’t want to.”

“No. I’ll… I’ll do it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’ve got it.” People dying, now wasn’t that a familiar territory? He wished he could protect Buffy from it, keep it a secret, but it wouldn’t be fair. She had the right to know.

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” The words came out slowly, as if against Hank’s better judgment. “Have her call me, would you?”

The line went dead before Spike could open his mouth to reply.

The next ten minutes felt like an eternity, the nervous bouncing of his foot increasing with each second. Then the door finally opened and he wished he’d remained stuck in the infinity of waiting for her to come out.

What was worse, she was avoiding him, her gaze settled anywhere but on him, hands fidgeting with the sash of her oversized bathrobe. She looked like a child playing dress up.

“Buffy—”

“I don’t want to argue, Spike.” She sat down on the bed opposite him, still not quite meeting his eyes. “I’m tired.”

“I wasn’t going to…” He took a steadying breath. “Hank called.”

“Oh, I have to call him back.” She stood up and reached for the phone next to him but he caught her wrist, halting her.

“I picked it up. There’s something you ought to know.” He relinquished his hold.

“What happened? Why are you… looking at me like that?”

“Buffy…”

“Oh God, has something happened to my dad? We need to go back… I—”

“No. No, he’s all right.” Spike stood up, tilting her face up to catch her gaze. “It’s Anya.”

“W-what…”

“She’s… they found her body in the basement,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” She paled. “Body? Is she…”

“Yeah.”

Suddenly Buffy’s fingers were clutching at his T-shirt. She was shivering, her knees buckling but he caught her just in time, held her, his heart breaking.

They stood tangled up in a desperate embrace for the longest time, him holding her up, keeping her from falling apart. Some time later he tucked her into the bed and prepared her a cup of tea that was still sitting untouched on the nightstand, steam curling up into the quiet air.

She hadn’t spoken, hadn’t even cried. Had to be in shock and he didn’t know how to help.

She barely moved as he went about getting ready for bed. She looked so small curled into a ball with her back to him, still dressed in that motel bathrobe. After watching her for a while, he felt himself drifting off, though he tried to fight it in case she needed him.

Later during the night, something woke him up and he scanned the dark room for the source of the muffled sounds.

Buffy.

How the hell did she do that? Every ragged breath she took, every muffled whisper of her crying felt as if a knife was being repeatedly stuck into his stomach. He never even thought about his actions, never asked himself whether it was the right thing to do. His instincts called the shots and he followed, rising from his bed and sliding behind her under the duvet, pulling her close.

For a second, Buffy’s back stiffened and he expected her to kick him out. Instead she twisted around to bury her face in his chest and held on to him as if he was her only tether in the eye of a storm.

Neither of them spoke a word. All he did was hold her, feel the energy drain out of her body as she eventually fell asleep. It was the closest he’d ever been to anyone and he realised he’d never be able to give this up.

He was falling, and he was falling hard.

TBC


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