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Chapter Seven


“You’re going to drink the blood cold?” Buffy shut the cooler that she and Spike had filled with ice, blood, and human food. She had snacked on a package of peanut butter crackers and an apple, washing it all down with as little water as possible, so she didn’t have to pee.



“It’ll taste awful, but blood’s blood.” Spike didn’t seem too distressed by the nastiness that was clotted, cold sustenance. He was lounging back on his cot with his hands behind his head after having blown up a partially leaky air mattress that Buffy and Dawn had used on the one last summer camping trip with their parents before the divorce. Spike had even patched the leak using his vampire hearing to find where the air was escaping and using a patch he just so happened to find in her dad’s precious toolbox, which her mom had confiscated. Buffy thought that Spike would be amused by that story.



Buffy gingerly sat on said air mattress and yawned. The world above still sounded like an actual apocalypse was raging above, but she felt – dare she even think it – safe in the basement with Spike.



He turned his head and regarded her with a steadfast stare. “It’s okay to get some shuteye, pet. This house has good bones, and even if it does start to collapse around us, I’ll wake you up before we’re crushed.”



“Gee, thanks. What a vote of confidence for sleep.” Still, Buffy was exhausted as the adrenaline from above wore off. She would just sleep with a stake under her pillow. Just in case.



“I’ll say it again. I promise I won’t bite you. Can’t anyway with this chip in my head.”



“I’m sure you’d find a way around it.” She laid her head on the pillow. Stupid stake was hard.



“If I found a way around it, you’d better believe – ” Spike caught himself when Buffy propped up on one elbow and lifted both eyebrows at him. “Touché, touché.”



Buffy thought about his lips on hers – soft and hungry and loving. “I don’t think you’d bite me.” Unless she wanted him to. There was a bit of stunned silence from Spike’s direction, and Buffy couldn’t look at him with her cheeks aflame. Stupid Willow spell giving Buffy stupid memories of kissing stupid Spike and loving every minute of it. “What? No snappy come back about how you’d drink my blood after you did ungodly things to me?”



“I’ll give you ungodly, pet.” Now, why did he sound hungry in the kissing-kind-of-way and not the killing-her-kind-of-way?



Buffy worried with her bottom lip. “If we’re stuck down here for a really long time like if the house collapses and we’re trapped, and if we’re starving and you need blood, you don’t need to worry. I’ll give you some of mine.” She clapped her mouth shut before she could say anything else. It was the shadows hiding Spike’s face. Shadows made it easier to be. . . generous to the vampire. Yep, generous. Magnanimous.



“Oh yeah?” Spike sounded surprised, but it came out like everything else he was saying – smooth as butter. Her arms were left covered with the good kind of goosebumps again.



“Yeah. I mean. . . I would. . . Dawn would kill me if I staked you or let you die.”



“The Nibblet, huh?” Why did Spike seem wholly unconvinced?



Buffy bit the inside of her cheek to hopefully avoid opening her mouth again.



Luckily (or unluckily depending on how she looked at it), Spike took up where she left off. “We’re not going to be trapped forever. I won’t let us be trapped forever.” He shifted downward until he was lying on his back. Then, he turned his back to her – a sign he of trust. “Get some sleep, pet.”



The wind howled in response but louder than before, and there was another crash directly above them. The few windows in the basement were vibrating so hard that Buffy thought they might shatter. There was another crack and smash as the storm seemed to grab the house by the shoulders and give it a good shake, and dirt or drywall sifted down from the ceiling and fell on her air mattress. Buffy bolted upward, blinking and swiping at her face.



When the dust cleared, she saw Spike’s silhouette. He was sitting up, gazing upward. “Not rightly sure what that was.” His eyes met hers, and even though the light was dim, she felt them boring into hers. “You’re welcome to join me.”



“Um, no.” Buffy’s words were more emphatic than she felt.



“Look, Buffy.” He was calling her by her name? He hadn’t done that in well. . . since the spell? “We’re in a bit of a pickle here, and it seems to me that if the ceiling’s going to cave in down here, it’ll be above your pretty little head. And as much as I hate to admit it, I’d rather not be alone in this bloody pickle.”



Buffy set her jaw stubbornly. “No.”



“There’s plenty of room.” Spike scooted over. “For the pillow and blanket even.”



There was another rumble and more dirt fell. Buffy really didn’t have much of a choice. Not at all. She tried not to think about how she could just move the air mattress to another part of the basement. The part of her that was scared was stronger than her stubbornness. “And the stake.”



Spike heaved a sigh of resignation. “If you must.”



“And you have to sleep with your back to mine.” There was no way she was cuddling with Spike.



“Back-to-back?” Spike asked, sounding amused. “’Fraid something more could happen if we don’t?”



“Yes on the back-to-back or no deal.”



“Fine,” he growled and shifted downward, turning away from her.



Buffy gathered up her pillow and blanket. She gave the very hard stake a long look and decided that she really needed sleep because if Spike was going to kill her or do anything equally nefarious, rest was crucial. She plunked down the pillow so that it sent up a poof of cool air, and then, she eased onto the cot. Before she realized what was happening, her back was solidly against his, and the blanket covered both of them. There was something oddly comforting about his solid presence next to hers, and she yawned before she could stop herself.



“Good night, Slayer,” Spike said softly, sounding just as tired as she felt.



“Good night.”



Oddly enough, the rattling of the house lulled her back to sleep.





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