There were moments in Spike Rayne’s life that seemed pivotal to everything else in his existence. One of them was the day that his mother died. That had changed him as a person even as it continued to shake the very foundations of his world. Another had been the first time he kissed Drusilla. It shaped the man he was becoming and set him on the path to his ultimate destiny, whatever that might be.
And right now, as he watched the large goon pull the trigger of the gun, he knew that this was a moment that could make or break his future. It seemed to happen in almost slow motion, the bullet leaving the barrel of the gun, aimed at Buffy’s forehead.
The trajectory was set.
Buffy’s eyes widened but she stayed glued to the spot, paralyzed with fear. Her nerves were frozen and in only a moment that bullet would tear through her fragile skin and bone, extinguishing her light.
Reacting instinctively, Spike screamed out a cry of despair and leaped in front of Buffy pulling her down to the ground with him. He felt the bullet tear through the outer skin of his upper arm, leaving a bloody trail in its wake. However, it didn’t seem to matter how much it hurt him because Buffy was lying underneath him, her body still warm, her heart still beating furiously in her chest.
Fierce blue eyes shone from his furious face and he jumped to his feet with unwavering determination. His mind blocked out the sound of Buffy’s concerned whimpering, focusing solely on his task in front of him. The barrel of the gun was now trained on him and the attacker smirked nastily, clearly feeling that he had Spike cornered.
“Don’t worry, boy,” the tattooed man said. “I’ll kill you and then there’s nothing to stop me from killing the little bitch too. Maybe when you’re out of the way I can have me some fun with that little piece of ass.”
“You won’t bloody touch her, wanker!”
“Why not? Is she…special?” he sneered mockingly. “Don’t look so special to me. The chick don’t even got a nice rack to thrust between.”
The bulky attacker smirked again, riddled with confidence. Unfortunately for the larger man, Spike’s extensive martial arts training gave him the edge and he leaped across the bed catching the attacker off guard. The tattooed man turned violently at the movement but it was too late and Spike was able to push off the edge of the bed with a vigorously delivered spin kick that gashed a temple.
He followed the move up with a kick to the hand that held the gun and his stunned opponent was powerless against him. Blood was steadily flowing from his arm wound but he ignored it and wrestled the larger man into a headlock, clamping his uninjured arm around the other’s neck. Struggling for his life, the attacker reached back and dug his fingers into Spike’s bleeding would.
“Argh!” shrieked Spike. “Bloody fucking hell!”
The pain screeched through him and stars appeared in front of his eyes. Without thinking, he inadvertently loosened his hold on the other man and stumbled backward. For several seconds he struggled to break through the haze of pain that had descended in front of him but a punch to the face snapped him back to reality.
“Fuck you, you sod!” Spike spit.
He delivered his own equally rocking punch, a malevolent smile forming on his lips. While the other man was still off balance from his well aimed punch, once again he wriggled him into a headlock. This time he wasn’t taking any chances. Using as much force as he was able to summon, Spike twisted forcefully.
A resounding crack reverberated around the small room and the tattooed man fell limp in Spike’s arms. The peroxide blond tossed the cooling corpse to the ground in disgust, breathing a sigh of relief that it was over.
For now.
“Are you okay?” he asked Buffy. She raised her pale face to him and nodded unsurely. “We have to get the bloody hell away from here then.”
Buffy climbed to her feet and dusted herself down. She padded over to Spike full of nervous tension.
“Who was that guy?” She kept her eyes pointedly averted from the sprawled corpse. There seemed to be so much death in her life now and she didn’t want to see any more. It was strange though how she’d almost become acclimatized to it now.
“One of Ethan’s boys,” Spike replied with a sigh.
“But Ethan’s gone right?” Hysteria laced her voice. “I mean how did this guy even find us?”
“Just because Ethan’s gone doesn’t mean that his goons won’t still come after us, love.” Spike didn’t voice his very real fear that Ethan might not be as gone as they’d thought. “And how did they find us? Well, I’m thinking your impromptu world heavyweight bout at the bloody mall might have alerted them to where we were. There’s Rayne spies everywhere in this city, pet.”
“So this is my fault,” she said sadly, looking as if she wanted to cry or reprise her new love of fighting.
“No, it’s no one’s fault,” he told her, unsure as to why he was comforting her. It would be easy just to let her believe that she was fully responsible but somehow his repressed gentlemanly instincts wouldn’t permit that fallacy. Even if she hadn’t gotten herself involved in the fight with Destiny, somehow they would have been discovered. It was only a matter of time.
With a watery smile she nodded in gratitude. She knew he was just trying to placate her, but the little girl part of her appreciated the comfort. Suddenly her nose twitched as she caught sight of the spreading dark stain on Spike’s shirt.
“You’re bleeding,” she said, tenderly laying a hand on his forearm. Her previous anger over the way he’d talked to her in the car had melted away the moment he jumped on top of her to save her life. She was very aware of the fact that she would be dead if it wasn’t for Spike. His penchant for saving her life was getting to be somewhat of a habit.
“Just a scratch,” he replied gruffly, reluctantly pulling away from her touch. He didn’t want to tell her that it was fucking with his pain sensors like a bitch on meth.
Buffy quirked an eyebrow at him, her expression telling him that she didn’t believe him one tiny iota. “The little gunshot wound is only a scratch?”
“It’s not a gunshot wound. The bullet didn’t go in, just flew past so it’s nothing serious. Don’t fuss, Summers.”
“I’m so not making with the fussing,” she denied hotly. “I just don’t want you to bleed to death or get some horrible, deadly infection and turn green.”
“Turn green?” he asked with some amusement.
“What? It’s a thing!”
“I’m sure it is, love. But you don’t need to worry about ole Spike.”
“I kinda do,” she admitted. As soon as she realized what she’d said her eyes widened exponentially, two green saucers staring at him in shock. Spike was equally stunned by her admission. It was hardly a declaration of love but he didn’t imagine she felt anything for him other than contempt or maybe indifference.
But worrying about him meant that maybe she cared. And if she cared maybe she did like him. Maybe she liked him like he was starting to like her.
And that opened up a whole world of possibilities.
Eager to change the subject, Buffy rose to her feet. “I’ll…uh…get a towel to clean it.”
“Really not necessary, love.”
“Take it like a man, Spike. I’m gonna clean it.” Slightly shaky feet carried her into the bathroom to fetch some water. She was hiding her fear under layers of bravado right now, knowing that she had to wait until she was safely alone and under the cover of darkness before she would allow herself to cry again.
For now, she had to stay strong.
“Bloody hell!” Spike sighed raising his eyes heavenward. He wanted to react without feeling to her concern but his heart beat a happy tattoo in his chest as her worry warmed him.
She actually cared.
Minutes later Buffy finally returned with a small basin of water and a towel. She reached for his arm and painstakingly cleaned the cut, pressing the white towel firmly over the wound as the blood finally clotted. “We don’t have any antiseptic but if you keep it clean then it shouldn’t get infected.”
“Never took you for a regular bloody Florence Nightingale but you seem to be quite the little expert on this.”
“I had to clean a few of my dad’s cuts and wounds,” she admitted with forced indifference. “Sometimes when he was drinking or gambling he’d get into fights and come home all cut up. I used to clean him up. We never talked about it but it was easier to pretend that it never happened.”
Spike winced at the pain in her eyes as she remembered her father. It was obvious to him that even though the man was clearly an asshole, Buffy still loved him. And she hadn’t grieved for him yet. Not properly anyway.
“Well, I think you have a hidden talent, pet,” he smiled, relishing the way her fingers danced over his damaged flesh. Goosebumps seemed to leap up over his arms in the wake of her touch and his eyes fluttered closed under her gentle ministrations. He couldn’t remember anyone treating him so sweetly since he was a little boy.
“I have many hidden talents,” Buffy joked, frowning when she realized that sounded more risqué than she’d intended. “I mean…uh…”
“I know what you mean, pet.” He lifted a shaky hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear and she let out a little breathy sigh.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “For saving my life, I mean.”
Spike gulped, a lump settling heavily in his throat. “I couldn’t let anything happen to you.”
The temperature in the room seemed to rise, and suddenly all Buffy was aware of was Spike’s deep blue eyes and the pounding of her own heartbeat. The little organ was going crazy in her chest, beating out a tattoo of passion and desire.
When had she started desiring Spike?
With harsh realization, she knew that if she didn’t break their gaze then he was going to kiss her, and she couldn’t let him kiss her. She wasn’t ready for it and it was all too much. Purposefully lowering her eyes, she turned her head sharply away from him. However, she didn’t miss the flicker of disappointment that crossed his face.
Wanting to think about anything other than what could just have happened, the blonde turned to the bag of clothes on the bed and began to root through it. However, as she discovered the contents her face turned ashen.
“Are you insane?” Buffy shrieked as she lifted the clothes out of the bag. “You expect me to wear this stuff? You realize I’m not actually a hooker right?”
Buffy sorted through the short leather skirts, skintight pants, shiny tops and other assorted slut-wear. Where the hell did he get this stuff? ‘Sluts R Us’?
“If you’d decided not to get yourself into a bloody scrap with that tart then maybe you could have picked them out yourself,” he shot back defensively, a pout forming on his lips. “I did my best between watching you get hauled away and coming to rescue you. I wasn’t going to spend hours trawling through a shopping mall of bloody teens looking for haute couture while you were in lockup.” The pout intensified.
Buffy could see that he was trying to wheedle his way out of the situation but there was no way she was about to let that work on her.
No way, no how.
“You know that I’m all teeny too right and you spend time around me, dontcha old man?” Her hands were planted on her hips in a manner that reminded him of a teacher. Would that make him her naughty student? Of course there was no way he wanted to let his thoughts progress down that path right now.
He made a mental note to revisit those thoughts during his next shower.
Spike held in a growl. Of course he realized she was a teenager, a very delectable and alluring teenager. Her age hadn’t really bothered him but when she pointed out that there was over a decade between them it made him feel like a dirty old man.
Worse than that, it just made him feel old.
“Look, you have to find something in there to wear, okay?” he commanded her gruffly, leaving no room for argument. “I did my best.”
With a sigh Buffy relented. She was tired of fighting with him. Tired of fighting, period. Wearily she obeyed and hunted for the least whorish item of clothing she could find.
“Where are we gonna go?” Buffy asked him, wriggling into a pair of pleather pants that he’d purchased for her. They were a size too small and clung to her like a second skin but she suspected he’d done that intentionally.
Reminding herself that she only had herself to blame for not being able to pick out her own clothes, she pulled up the zipper and fastened the button at the top. She kept his coat on while she changed. Despite the fact that she was becoming more comfortable with him, she wasn’t even close to feeling okay with baring all to him.
Picking up on her flustered discomfort, Spike concealed a smirk. “Got a friend we can go and stay with. Keep our heads down at her place for a while until the goons get bored of coming after us. Bloody loyal group of sods they are but with Da out of the picture they’ll give up eventually. Concentration spans of a gnat.”
Buffy wrinkled her forehead wondering just what kind of friend Spike was talking about. She hoped it wasn’t one of those special kinds of naked friends. Although a large part of her psyche longed to remain convinced that she didn’t like or trust Spike, there was a strange ache when she thought of the blond being intimate with someone else.
Right now he was hers…hers to have, hers to want, hers to hate.
In silence Buffy finished dressing and they gathered up all of their meager belongings, both lost deeply in their own conflicted thoughts. Neither of the blonds could really identify just what it was that they were feeling right now. They were both on sensory overload, bombarded with their changing perceptions of each other and of the world.
“Uh, Spike, what are we gonna about the…body?”
“Nothing we can do, pet. Not exactly equipped to give him an acid bath right now and the best thing to do is bugger off before one of his pals comes along to find him.”
“But won’t the cops follow us?”
“I already told you. A lot of the cops in this city are on my Da’s payroll. All they’ll know is that we were here but they won’t know where we’ve gone. Or we could just stand here waffling about it until the whole of the bloody LAPD turns up.”
Buffy swallowed heavily. “Okay.” This time it was easier to put her trust in Spike. It was getting gradually less painful to trust him.
“Right, glad that’s sorted, Your Highness. Let’s go,” said Spike, not turning to look at his companion.
Buffy stepped over the prone cadaver in front of the doorway and followed him out to the parking lot. The blonde was filled with apprehension over the next step. She didn’t know where they were headed or what was going to happen.
But with Spike by her side, she felt strangely safe.
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