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Chapter Five


Buffy startled awake out of deep sleep and discovered that she was in the middle of an apocalypse. Everything was dark as night; there wasn’t even the light from her alarm clock or the streetlight outside. The windows were rattling so hard that she thought they might shatter or implode, and it took her a moment to realize that the winds wailing outside were accompanied by an odd whining sound. And she thought the branches hitting the glass downstairs was bad.



Moving on instinct, she slid out of bed, pulled on her fuzzy socks, and felt her way to her bedroom door. A flash of lightning briefly illuminated the room in stark white, and she spied the exit, practically leaping for it before darkness took over again.



Her heart pounding in her chest, she hurried to the top of the stairs and swayed at the top step as her toes curled over the edge. She balanced herself on the railing and inched her way down the stairs, using her feet to guide her and almost tumbling down and down halfway to the first floor. Her hand and arm collided hard with the smooth wood and she held on for a long moment until she felt sure again.



Seconds later, her feet thankfully found the ground, and she meandered her way to the kitchen with the cacophony resounding all around her. She stubbed her toe hard on something – a curse escaping from her lips. It took her a few seconds to recover from the sharp pain and make sense of what it was – the leg of the dining room table. Stupid table in the way.



With the next lightning flash, she raced to the basement door and flung it open before she lost sight of the doorknob. Holding her breath, she waited for the crack of thunder to finish echoing.



“Slayer?” came an amused voice from below.



“Yeah?” Her voice came out a little squeaky, which was annoying and hardly Slayer-like.



“Sounds like a tornado up there. Best get down here.”



“Are there tornados with hurricanes? Aren’t they a different storm?” The blackness below seemed impossible.



“There can be.” He wasn’t being sarcastic. That was probably a bad sign. There was a long pause before he added, “What’s holding you back? Afraid of what’s down here more than the storm up there? I’m a monster in the dark, but I promise I won’t bite you.”



“Promise?” Buffy asked, not really caring about the answer. She just couldn’t see anything in front of her face, and the basement stairs had always been a little trickier to traverse than the stairs between the first and second floor. There was that step halfway down into the basement that always threatened to collapse, and there was another step with an exposed nail that she’d almost stepped on plenty of times with actual light guiding her.



“Wait there.”



Before Buffy could protest that she didn’t need anything, he was there before her, setting off all of her Slayer senses. The hair on the back of her neck was shouting at her that there was a vampire in front of her, and the goosebumps rolling over her arms were making her shiver with something far different than fear.



Lightning flashed again, giving her a glimpse of Spike’s pale face and bright blue eyes, which were earnest with kindness. He was extending a hand to her.



She hesitated. If she took his offer of help, what did it mean? Thunder rumbled as if in answer to her question.



Spike must have seen something in her expression because he growled in frustration and grabbed for her hand. “Not going to bite you, pet. Not in the way you think. ‘Sides I have this chip in my noggin. Couldn’t do it anyway.”



Buffy was mum because his palm was cool against hers, and in her mind, she flashed to another hand that had felt similarly. Angel’s hand had been larger, but Spike’s was firmer and more insistent – maybe because of what he was trying to get her to do. She swallowed, wondering what would happen to her if Spike used his current leverage to pull her close to him. He couldn’t hurt her physically, but she assumed he could do other things to her without being in pain.



A one-two punch of lightning and thunder made Buffy start forward and lose her balance. She fell against Spike with a soft “oof.” Her face landed on his chest, and his arms instinctively went around her, holding her tight. She remembered then how it felt to be in his embrace. It was a memory that Buffy had shoved to the back of her mind with the end of Willow’s will-be-done spell. Buffy hated it, but there was comfort in his arms. She’d been so sure of how she felt about Spike. She’d loved him with her whole heart, unencumbered by the angst of her relationship with Angel. the hurt she’d felt when Parker had shunned her, or the vague regret that Riley was gone.



Spike released her as more thunder resounded and a heavy gust of wind seemed to shake the entire first floor.



Buffy slammed the basement door behind her, and together, they hurried down the stairs. Spike flicked on his zippo lighter, providing a tiny light in a sea of black. When they reached the basement floor, he let go of her hand without fanfare. She hugged her ribcage, uncertain what to do with the freedom.



Seemingly oblivious to her insecurity, Spike held the flame up, scanning the shelves against the wall. “Got any candles in those boxes?”



Buffy’s mind latched onto his question. “Yes.” She rushed forward as if his help would end or the zippo would run out of juice. She went for the second box on the second shelf where she remembered a few candles lived. Sliding it forward, she recognized that it felt too light for candles but still, she untucked the cardboard flaps and felt around inside. Her fingers closed over a soft, plush stuffed animal – Dawn’s overflow box. Buffy’s sister had tons on her bed, but these were ones she didn’t want but wasn’t ready to discard. And this box was supposed to be on the top shelf. Buffy quickly rummaged in a couple more boxes before sighing. “Sorry.”



Spike pulled out a box and opened it with his free hand. “You lot should really label the boxes.”



Buffy bit her tongue to stop her from telling him to shut up. Instead, she said, “Yeah. It’d be a big help right now.”



With a smirk of triumph, Spike held his box against his hip and brandished a candle encased in glass. “Found them.”



Buffy let out a sigh of relief. At least, she’d be able to keep tabs on Spike once a few were lit.



“Little help?” he asked when she didn’t move.



“Sure.” She managed to grab the box without touching him. Somehow. A hint of disappointment spread through her chest.



Spike frowned at her without the snark she expected. Buffy ignored him and plopped the box on the small table near the stairs. She began pulling out the candles, discovering there were more than she remembered. Spike’s fingers brushed hers as he took one at a time from her, lighting them. (Was it her imagination that he let the touch linger?) They each took the tiny golden flames and spread them around the basement until they ended up standing next to each other, surveying their work, while the storm raged overhead.



“It’s kinda pretty,” Buffy whispered. The candles were warm and flickering and made her feel somewhat cozy and safe.



“Yeah,” Spike agreed. There was wonder in his eyes; he’d been on the planet for over a hundred years and he still found things to marvel at. There was something so human about him that she hadn’t noticed before.



His vulnerability allowed Buffy to tap into her own. “I’m sorry about earlier. You did a really nice thing with the tacos, a-and you told me about your family, and then I. . . I’m sorry.”



“It’s not as if we’re not recently mortal enemies.” He was letting her off the hook.



“True.” She blurted her next question before she really thought about it, “Do you think that the house is going to be destroyed?”



Spike glanced up as if listening in on what was happening upstairs with his vampire hearing. “Dunno. Maybe.” He must have caught the fear on Buffy’s face because he reassured her. “We’re safe as houses down here though, pet. Don’t fret.”



“How long do you think it will take to pass through?”



“Not sure. It depends on if it stalls out on top of us.”



“A hurricane can do that?”



“Yeah. Something to do with the air around the storm. I tried to listen in on the radio,” Spike nodded at the old radio sitting on the cot along the wall, “but storm’s messing with the signal even with the antenna.”



“Great.” A sudden thought planted itself in Buffy’s head. “There’s no food or water down here. No bathroom.”



Spike’s eyebrow lifted. “There’rebuckets down here and worse comes to worst the sink. I won’t look.”



She felt her cheeks heat up; she didn’t like the idea that Spike knew she had to use the restroom. Weren’t vampires and Slayers supposed to have some mystery in their relationship? She never went to the restroom in front of Angel; she couldn’t imagine going in front of Spike.



There was a loud crash upstairs followed by an odd sound that continued. Buffy and Spike went on high alert. Determined to find out what was going on, Buffy headed toward the stairs without thinking.



“Pet, wait,” Spike called.



She hesitated. “What is it?”



“Be careful. Something’s not. . . right up there.” His inflection was sincere.



“Let me guess. You’re going to stay down here while I check it out.”



There was another sound of something falling and thumping followed by a series of other sounds that Buffy couldn’t make sense of. Something very bad was happening to the house.



“’Course not.” Spike was offended. “I just heard that,” he gestured in the direction of the commotion, “about to happen. I’m not letting you go it alone.”



“Good because I need food and water and maybe some toilet paper.”



Now, he was defensive. “If you expect me to gather all that up, you’ve got another thing coming – ”



She glanced down at her stockinged feet and was suddenly very conscious of her lack of bra and the state of her messy bun. “I need shoes, too. And something besides pajamas.”



“Who are you trying to impress? There’s a mandatory evacuation order.” Spike crossed his arms. “You are not going upstairs.”



Buffy matched him. “Says who? You are not my mother.”



“It’s not safe. What I heard. . . it’s not safe.” He cared about her safety? Well, he hadn’t wanted her to go patrolling either. It was becoming a pattern.



Somehow, Buffy resisted the urge to roll her eyes at him. She couldn’t roll her eyes at him. Huh. She picked up a candle. “Oh.”



“And I’m coming with you.”



She handed him another candle. “Okay.”





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