Chapter Four – Don't Squat With Your Spurs On
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Spike gaped at Buffy, open mouthed, blue eyes blinking slowly, unable to grasp the meaning of her words as they worked their way through his brain.
Heart. Beating. His. Why?
He jerked from the Buffy’s touch, falling back and scrambling away, putting distance between himself and the words that were starting to make terrifying sense. The heartbeat that until that very second he’d be unaware of, took to a gallop, until that sound pounding in his ears was all he could hear; all he could feel.
“Spike?” Buffy leaned forward, reaching one hand out to him. It was a simple gesture of concern, but it seemed to do nothing but galvanize Spike’s anxiety.
“No,” he croaked, backing further from her until the wooden boards of the wagon stopped him. He drew his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms about them, compressing himself into as small as space as he could. His eyes darted about the small confines of the wagon, as if searching for an avenue of escape.
Buffy watched him with growing concern. “Spike, it’s okay.” She wasn’t sure that it was, but it sounded good. Right now, he was scaring her, and she just wanted the wise-cracking, cocky vampire she knew back.
“It’s not bloody okay.” Spike’s wild eyes finally focused back on her, the intensity fairly radiating out of them. “What the fuck is happening to me?”
“I think,” she paused, wetting her lips and moving a hair closer to the trembling vampire. “I think you’re human.”
“Am not!” He gripped his knees tighter and glared at her. “Take that back!”
“What?” Buffy stammered, unable to keep up with the vampire — or ex-vampire’s — mood swings.
“Take it back. Now.” His eyes narrowed at her, and he released one hand to point an accusatory finger at her. “What did you do to me? Ah, Christ, this … this can’t be happening.”
Buffy’s mouth dropped open. Then it snapped shut and she glowered back at him. “I didn’t do anything to you, you stupid vampire. . . . man . . . whatever!.”
His eyes glowed a brilliant blue, even in the dim light, as he focused his fear and anger on the young blonde sitting near him. “Was it the witch? I bet she’s behind all this. Bet you put her up to it—”
“I didn’t put anyone up to anything, Spike.” Buffy took a deep breath. She tried to even her tone, realizing that further annoying the already unstable ex-vampire was not going to get them anywhere. “Look, it must have something to do with this time warp.” She looked around the wagon, then back at Spike. “What time period did say this was?”
She watched him as his muscles relaxed a bit and saw that he was trying to focus on her question. He shook his head, as if to clear it, then mumbled, “Time?”
“Yes,” Buffy nodded. “You said you could tell about what year this was by how that man – how they were all dressed. And this wagon. You called it a Skipper or Scraper or something. Spike, listen. Focus. I think what’s happened to you has something to do with where we are exactly in time.”
Spike’s hands, which were pressed to his chest, moving along with the breaths that his body were forcing upon him now, relaxed a bit. He glanced around the wagon as Buffy just had, his breathing evening out, becoming deeper. Buffy didn’t urge him further by word or movement and simply watched as he appeared to finally be processing what had happened and focusing on what she’d asked him.
After several interminably long moments, a brief flicker of understanding seemed to cross his features. Then, he took a deep breath through his nose and closed his eyes, his chin sinking to his chest.
“What?” Buffy prompted, holding her own breath in anticipation of his reaction.
“It hasn’t happened yet.” He spoke so softly she almost didn’t hear him.
“What hasn’t happened yet?” When he didn’t answer her, she moved closer, tentatively laying a hand on his shoulder. “Spike? What hasn’t happened?”
He looked up at her, his eyes meeting hers for a second before dropping to the floor. “Me. I haven’t happened yet. Bollocks!” He swore softly and pulled away from her, standing to move to the other side of the wagon.
Buffy looked up him, standing in the corner, his back to her. “I don’t understand.”
“The real me, Buffy.” He turned then, the lines of his face painted in shadows. “I haven’t … My best guess is it’s about late 1850’s, which would make it a good 20 years before … before I met Drusilla.”
His meaning finally clear to her, Buffy’s eyes widened and she looked away. She could feel Spike’s gaze upon her as she rose from the floor of the wagon. “So this, here, where we are now, is before she made you into a—”
“Monster,” Spike finished for her, his voice barely more than a whisper in the darkness.
He was still watching her. She couldn’t feel him with her Slayer senses anymore, like she used to, all tingles and soft electric-like pulses up her spine and through her limbs, but she knew his eyes were on her none the less.
“Oh,” was her only response as she tried to process the situation. As much shock as Spike had to be going through at the moment, what with the heart-beating, lungs-breathing issues, Buffy was wandering through her own confusion. She was shocked to look up and find him, once again, standing beside her.
“This might bring up another issue, Buffy.” His voice was gravely, his eyes intense upon her.
His use of her given name caused her to tuck her chin, gathering herself into a defensive posture. “What are you talking about?”
“How are you feelin’?”
She took a step back from him, tilting her head. “I feel fine. What to you mean?”
“I mean, if this little time travel adventures been playing games with me, it might be playin’ with you as well.”
“Ah, I don’t follow you,” she responded.
“Hit me.”
“Excuse me?” She blinked.
“You heard me. Hit me,” Spike growled.
“Spike—”
“Yeah, jus’ like I thought.” He reached down to grab Buffy by the shoulders, dragging her towards him.
“Hey,” she squawked, struggling ineffectually to free herself from his hold.
“Looks like we’re in the same boat, Slay—Buffy.” He caught her fists as they pummeled his chest and hauled her flush against him. Twisting her arms behind her back he effectively pinned her to him.
“What is wrong with you? Let me go,” she huffed, still fighting against him. Ready, at any moment to find the leverage she needed to toss him across the wagon. The moment never materialized.
Spike nearly fell over when Buffy’s frantic struggles suddenly ceased. She quieted against him, her cheek resting against his chest, her breathing harsh and labored. Still wary of her, however, Spike didn’t release the grip about her wrists, waiting for anger to spur her on to another bout.
It never came.
As her breathing slowed, Buffy trembled against him. “You’re hurting me.” Her words were a warm whisper against his throat.
Spike instantly let go of her wrists, but kept his arms around her, as if knowing she’d need the support both physically and emotionally. Bugger this being human! It was already making him soft in the head.
“Sorry, Pet, I couldn’t think of any other way.” He raised an eyebrow when she didn’t immediately move out of the circle of his arms. “Knew you wouldn’t believe it without bein’ shown. You’re jus’ as human as me, from the look of things. This mess of magic has bollocksed us both up it would seem.”
“I’m weak,” Buffy mumbled, her words muffled in the flannel of his shirt.
“Weak?” He smiled, his cheek shifting against the softness of her hair. “I wouldn’t say that. And neither would the bruises you jus’ gave me.”
Buffy relaxed against him, the tension easing from her muscles as whatever fight she had left in her drained away as his words soothed her.
Spike’s senses were overloaded. The warmth of Buffy’s body next to his, the sweet smell of her enveloped him, causing his head to spin. Had she always smelled of jasmine? Had her hair always been this soft? He closed his eyes and tried to will his body not to respond to her; but it was a battle he knew he’d never win. Even now, faced with the knowledge that they were both lost in time, and human to boot, he couldn’t seem to pull away from the magnetic draw she seemed to have over him.
Buffy tried to resist the urge to burrow further into the protection of Spike’s arms. Evil nemesis be damned; she was just plain worn out and his arms felt strong and safe. It briefly occurred to her that finding comfort in his embrace should cause her great concern. But it didn’t, and she just couldn’t find the strength to worry about that now. Exhaustion blanketed her until she felt the very weight of her bones within her skin pulling at her, dragging her down. The futility of trying to figure out the mystery that shrouded her was draining. And now, finding out that the one thing she could always count on–her abilities as a slayer–was gone, she felt like it was the last straw. They were in this together, didn’t that make it okay for her to lean on him, take strength from him?
V
Spike felt Buffy relax against him, felt the weight of her body grow heavier in his arms. She was knocked off her feet, he knew that for certain. As much as he wanted to stand there and hold her, as much as her body in his arms caused him to think of how they would fit together, how her skin would feel under his hands, he knew she needed rest. Hell, they both did. And now, without the distress of the daylight and sunshine to worry about, he knew he could put off his evening exploration and catch a bit of shut-eye himself.
He couldn't begin to understand what was happening between him and the Slayer. The feelings that he was beginning to experience—were they part of this time travel spell? Certainly they had to be. How could it be anything else? The mysteries kept growing and they would both need their wits about them to figure their way of this mess.
“Think we both need to catch some sleep, Buffy. Can’t do anythin’ tonight and maybe the mornin’ will shed some light on our situation, yeah?” Reluctantly Spike loosened his hold on Buffy and stepped back.
“Yes,” she whispered moving away from him. “Sleep sounds good. I don’t ever remember feeling this tired before.”
Bereft of her body to hold and not knowing what else to do with his hands, he shoved them into the pockets of his jeans. “Human now, Pet. Same with me. I think it’s gonna take some getting used to.”
She turned to face him, a worried frown on her face. “I don’t want to get used to it, Spike. I want to go home.”
“We will, Slayer.” He tried to sound confident but was undermined by a yawn he couldn’t quite stifle. “You and me, we’ll take the bull by the horns tomorrow and figure out what’s what.” He looked around cramped space, then back at Buffy. “You take the mattress, Luv; I’ll do okay over here.” He gestured to the few feet of space that lay between the feather tick and the supply barrels.
Too tired to even worry about her clothes, Buffy dropped to her knees onto the canvas covered mattress. Lying on her side, an arm curled under her head as her pillow, she watched as Spike made him self comfortable on the floor of the wagon. The single gas lamp flickered in the darkness as he struggled to pull off his cowboy boots and then spread his black duster onto the floor. He slowly unbuttoned his shirt, shrugging out of the garment and wadding it up to use as a pillow.
The sleek lines and etched muscles of his chest and arms drew her eyes down and her lids grew heavy with something other than sleep as she watched him unbuckle his belt and draw it slowly through the loops of his jeans. Her heart skipped a beat as his hand rested on the button fly and she quickly rolled over to face the side of the wagon.
Suddenly sleep was the last thing on her mind.
To Be Continued
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Timeline:Early 5th season, before Out of My Mind. isclaimer: Buffy and Spike belong Joss, and I thank him for their creation. I merely take them out and play with them occasionally. uthor’s Note: Thanks to xyellowroset for her continuing help in making me understand why there should be a semi-colon there instead of a comma, and also to hollydb, who has graciously agreed to beta for me – which thrills me to know end as she is one of my favorite authors and one kiss-ass writer!