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Author's Chapter Notes:
to my betas eman, holly, and beanbeans. I lurve youz all!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It didn’t take Spike long to carry the two pails of water from the river. As rivers went, it wasn’t very impressive; following the line of trees at a leisurely pace, at times no more than four to five feet wide. But the water was fresh, running clear and cold.

When he arrived back at the wagon he found that Buffy had succumbed to the punishment of the day’s hard physical labor. She was curled on her side on the feather tick, her hands folded, as if in prayer, tucked under her chin.

Spike paused for a moment, watching the slight, steady movement of her chest as she breathed. It hadn’t really hit him until he was standing by the river’s edge; the fear flooding through him, causing his muscles to tense, his breath quickening.

It was a simple reaction to the adrenaline, his logical mind told him. His heart argued that it was something far more. It wasn’t as if she’d almost died – a bit of heat exhaustion, quickly dealt with. But it could have been worse, and it was this fact that brought forth in Spike’s mind a myriad of dangerous situations in which Buffy could fall prey.

His biggest fear was now exposed, like a raw nerve. Buffy, admitting her feelings of vulnerability to him, had opened the wound even further. She was depending him to make things right; to take care of her. While her belief in him made Spike proud—producing an overwhelming urge to throw out his chest and trumpet the news to anyone within hearing distance—it also scared him right down to the marrow of his bones. Could he protect her? Was he strong enough? The idea of having to live up to her belief in him left Spike doubting himself, cloaked in feelings of frailty and weakness he hadn’t experienced in over a century.

Protect her.

My arch nemesis.

My ‘chosen’ executioner.

Even now, his mind screamed that it was wrong. Emotionally, however, he knew that nothing had ever felt so true. Circumstances had conspired to place his heart into the palm of his sworn enemy. It was as it was, and Spike knew from years of experience, that in matters of the heart he had no more control than he had over the rising of the sun. He could try to fight it, but ultimately he knew he would end up under the heel of love. It seemed to be his destiny.

Spike’s eyes focused once more on the wellspring of this emotion. Tiny but fierce—his warrior princess. She would, of course, cleave him in two if she even suspected his feelings for her. She might accept him now, forced into this situation, buffered by the fact that he was now human, but Spike would not fool himself into thinking it was more than that. Her heart was surely hardened against him, forever, as he was the creature she was destined to destroy.

Her destiny.

His destiny.

Spike took in a sharp breath.

Their destiny.

He shook his head, firmly pushing any thoughts that the two of them could form some sort of alliance out of him mind, his heart. They needed each other now, but when they found there way out of this mess, they would go back to life as it was; as it was meant to be. Slayer and vampire. A chipped, hobbled, harmless vampire, but still a vampire. Perhaps they were no longer sworn enemies, he conceded, but to presume more than that would only lead him further info the dangerous territory he now skirted.

He had to keep focused on the goal. Getting her home. Anything else, well, it was just foolish. Like spitting into the wind. Better to work towards finding their way out here, and getting Buffy back on her feet was the first step in that process. She may question her strength right now; her ability to survive in this place and time. But Spike hadn’t been lying to her; he knew that in her soul she was still the Slayer. Now he just had to get her to believe it.

Heading back to the camp site, Spike began gathering what little fallen wood there was and built another fire, beside the one that was already blazing away. He hung the two large pails of water over the flames, then went about pulling together a meager meal of beans and biscuits left over from breakfast. Kneeling, he stirred the now glowing embers of the older fire, causing them to hiss and snap, as if angry with him for disturbing them

He’d been kneeling there, gazing into the dancing flames, his mind miles and years away, thinking things a vampire should never, ever think, when a small voice drew him back, away from his pleasant, but inconceivable imaginings.

“Anything I can help with?”

Spike jumped up and spun around to find Buffy, leaning on the wagon, her dress and hair still rumpled from her nap. He took a step toward her but she held up a hand, warding him off.

“I’m okay. Is that dinner?”

Spike nodded. “Yeah, wasn’ sure if you’d be up for anythin’, but jus’ in case—”

Buffy’s hand fluttered to her stomach and she shook her head. “Not right now, maybe in a while. I still feel a little queasy.”

“O’ course,” Spike turned and removed the food from the flames, placing it on a small pile of rocks beside the fire pit. “It’ll stay warm for a while. When you’re ready.”

“What’s that?” Buffy pointed at the other fire and the two pails that were now steaming and bubbling atop the flames.

“Jus’ . . . you mentioned that you …. ” A lump formed in his throat, threatening to drown out his words and he coughed to cover it. He fisted his hands, then stretched them open, at last jamming them into the pockets of his jeans.

“Spike?” Buffy tilted her head as she took a step toward him.

Spike shuddered, like a dog shedding water from its coat, then jerked a hand from the pocket of his jeans to gesture towards to the pails of water. “Can’t help with a hot bath, but thought maybe you’d like to, well, clean up as best you can. Maybe wash your hair? Could help you with that.” His voice caught again and he cleared his throat

Buffy looked from the ex-vamp to the steaming water, then back again. “That’s hot water? Hot water that isn’t for cooking or cleaning dishes? Hot water I can . . . bathe in?” The last words were whispered reverently.

Spike gave a lopsided grin, soaking in Buffy’s obvious joy. “Yes, hot water that you can bathe in.”

Buffy’s eyes darted to the large cask of water on the side of the wagon. “But I thought—”

“Didn’ come from there, luv. Got it from the river.”

She blinked back at him for a second before a small smile began to grow. “Thank you, Spike. I—”

He waived her off. “Nothin’ to it, pet.” He shifted from foot to foot, until he looked back into her eyes. What he saw there sent a small shiver down his back. He tried to shake it off with a laugh. “It was just time we got you washed up a bit.”

Their eyes locked again and Buffy nodded, acknowledging the awkwardness of the moment, but allowing it slide off into humor with a chuckle of her own. As her hands went to the neck line of her dress, Spike’s eyes widened.

“Wha . . . ah, Buffy . . .” he stuttered, as the flesh of her neck and chest appeared and she began to slip the dress off her shoulders. “What are you doin’ pet?”

“I’m taking this dress off so I can get cleaned up.” She laughed as the dingy gown slipped to the ground, leaving her in a white cotton chemise and petticoat. Reaching up, she started removing the wooden pins that held her hair up in the soft knot at her neck, and the honey colored tresses swung free about her shoulders and down her back. “Spike, I don’t know how I’m ever going to be able to thank you for this.”

Spike mouth fell open, one brow rising, as Buffy slowly walked toward him.

To Be Continued





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