“You are truly hopeless, you know that?” Buffy crawled across the feather tick mattress gingerly on her hands and knees, the voluminous cotton nightgown she’d found in a one of the small trunks, covering her from neck to toes.
“Was being a good Samaritan, Slayer.”
Buffy gave a very unladylike snort and flopped down onto her stomach. “You were flirting, Spike.”
It was Spike’s turn to snort and he did so in an indignant fashion. “Was not! The girl needed help. She’s lost her husband, travelin’ alone, what was I supposed to do?”
“Oh, please,” Buffy rolled her eyes at him. “You nearly tripped over your own feet trying to get to her. Besides, she couldn’t, like, fix it herself?”
“A broken wagon wheel?” Spike asked incredulously.
“Hey, I learned how to fix a flat in Driver’s Ed.”
“Too bad they didn’t teach you how to drive,” Spike mumbled, dropping down to sit cross-legged near the side of the mattress. No nightgown had been found for him, only a few extra pare of jeans and some thread-bear work shirts. Normally this wouldn’t have concerned him in the least, as he slept in the buff, but with the closed, shared quarters, it was out of the question. But living in his clothes night and day would get old soon enough. He figured once the lights were out he’d skim out of his jeans to sleep—what Buffy didn’t know, couldn’t hurt her … or him.
“What was that?” Buffy lifted her head from where she had nestled it in the crook of her crossed arms.
“Never mind, Slayer. It was a bloody wagon wheel needed replacin’. Not some Firestone comes off with a lug wrench. Just did what any other red-blooded man would do.”
“You’re not—”
“Am now, so don’t get your knickers in a twist. What’s it to you anyway? No skin off your perky little nose.” Even with her cheek back resting on her arm, he could see her lower lip beginning to pout. “Got back here in time to unhitch the wagon, didn’ I?”
“Well, yes,” Buffy sulked. Then her head shot up again, and she glared at him. “But I had to feed the horses.” At his raised brow, the infamous lower lip reappeared. “I almost lost a finger,” she whined.
“Lemme see,” Spike slipped into a grin, leaning forward to grab the hand now curled under her chin.
His hands felt warm and strong around her own and although she knew she should, she didn’t pull free of his grasp and actually sat up, facing him, so he could get a better look at her hands.
“Yup,” Spike nodded, thoroughly investigating her fingers. “They do look a bit like carrots; can’t say as I blame the beasts.”
“Oh,” Buffy huffed, trying to pull her fingers free of his grip.
He’d have none of it however, holding her hand firmly within both of his. “Looks like when we get home you’re gonna have to make an appointment for a manicure.”
“Yeah,” Buffy stopped tugging at her hand and watched as his fingers worked over delicate bones with a gentle massage that felt surprisingly soothing. “Frontier life, I’m finding, pretty much sucks.”
Spike chuckled, but didn’t look up from his ministrations. He turned her hand in his, pressing and releasing his thumbs in the soft meat of her palm, feeling as the tension begin to seep from her muscles.
It had been a long day—the first of, possibly, many like it before they found their way home. While neither he nor the Slayer were slouches with regards to physical fitness, they were still far more fragile than they once were. Add to that the rigors of wagon train travel, and Spike realized that it wasn’t going to be easy to make it through this adventure in one piece. And they only had each other to rely on. Considering that two days ago they could barely stand to be in the same room for more than five minutes, he figured they done pretty damn well – but he’d be kidding himself if he thought it was going to get easier.
“Take it you didn’t get a chance to talk with Shay?” His fingers absently wandered, pushing up the loose fabric of the sleeve of her nightgown to stroke the tanned flesh of her forearms.
“No,” Buffy breathed deeply, trying not to think too much about why his hands felt so good, so soothing, when in the past they’d seemed only threatening, something to cause pain. Her eyes went from the fingers plying her flesh to the top of his head. He seemed so intent on his task, still not looking up at her. “Did you?”
The blue of his eyes, as they shifted up to meet hers, at first startled her. Even in the dim light of the oil lamp, their intensity shone vividly. Maybe it was the contrast to his skin, which was already slightly darker. Even in this he seemed to be doing better at adapting than she; tanning gracefully, the slight squint lines around his eyes framing the ocean blue to perfection. It simply wasn’t fair.
But even after only one day, Buffy did have to concede that this exact ability—to fit in—had made all the difference. There was no way in hell she could have faked her way through everything that had been thrown at her in this world; yet Spike had stepped up to the plate and made it look, if not easy, at least doable. More importantly, all the while, never once making her feel inadequate because of her lack of expertise.
It was more than a little overwhelming, seeing Spike in such a different light. Hell, seeing him in any light at all! But there it was. This adventure, or whatever it was to be called, had turned the tables on both of them. Thrown them for a loop and knocked them off their feet. That they were both still standing—albeit somewhat wobbly and a bit unsteadily—was a testament to both their wills. They’d both said, at the onset, that they’d have to work together—she just never imagined it possible. Now, with the darkness gathering behind their first day, she was beginning to think that just maybe they’d make it through this. The fact that Spike had something to do with that optimism was what surprised her the most.
“Did I. . . what?”
The sound of his voice, deeper and more gravely than she remembered it being, drew her from the depths of his eyes. She refocused, thinking it safer, on his mouth.
Bad choice.
His tongue peaked out and ran along his bottom lip, moistening it, before curling up to rest, provocatively behind his teeth.
She took a deep breath, her mouth opening to speak, yet she couldn’t seem to find the words beyond the image of his lips and his eyes and feel of his fingers on her arms. Finally, she raised her eyes back to his and managed to mumble a barely coherent and more than slightly lame, “What what?”
Spike’s raised brow seemed to pull Buffy out of her fog and she shook her head. “Sorry,” she smiled slightly. “I’m more out of it than I thought. Shay. Did you get a chance to talk with him yourself?”
“No.” He shook his head. “Got the feelin’ there isn’t a hell of a lot of socializing that gets done. But we at least know his morning routine. I’m gonna get up early and see if I can catch him. That don’t work, Katie said she’d let him know we were lookin’ speak with him.”
“Katie?” The left corner of Buffy’s mouth quirked down into a frown. “Oh, right, ‘Miss My Wagon Wheel Broke Can Some Big Strong Cowboy Come Help Me Fix It' Katie. What does she have to do with Shay?”
Spike narrowed his eyes, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “If I didn’t know any better, Slayer, I’d say you were jealous.”
Buffy’s mouth fell open and she stared at him for a second in abject horror. “Jealous,” she sputtered. “I am most certainly not jealous of some little wild west ho-bag.”
Spike’s smile deepened, his fingers now slipping under the nightgown to press into her biceps. “Shouldn’t be. There’s not a thing for you to be jealous over.”
“Right.” Buffy nodded curtly, then narrowed her eyes at him. “Not that I’d be jealous even if you were acting like some moony-eyed, love-stuck, cowpoke. Which, by the way, you totally are. And you didn’t answer my question: what does she have to do with Shay?”
He bit his bottom lip in an attempt to stifle his smile. “Seems he’s takin’ her under his wing, so to speak. Like I said, she’s a young widow, trying to make this trip all on her lonesome. She needs help from time to time, so people pitch in. Wouldn’t hurt you to try to be a bit more understandin'.”
“Oh, I think you’re being understanding enough for both of us.” She glared at him again, but leaned into the caress of his fingers as they moved back to her elbows. “NOT that I’m jealous, of course. It’s just that, well, we are supposed to be newlyweds. How does it look with you running after her all hot and bothered? Besides, when did you grow a conscience?”
The words were out before she could draw them back in. They hadn’t spoken of exactly what his new found humanity entailed, finding other more immediately issues to address. The one-sided fight with Shay had shown them the chip was, at the least, not functioning, if not totally absent, and neither was surprised at that turn of events. From all signs he looked like he had regressed back to what he’d been before being turned, which meant no chip. But did that include his getting his soul back? It had crossed her mind, but she hadn’t wanted to face that particular issue yet, much less take part in a discussion about it with the ex-vampire in question.
Spike’s eyes darkened as he watched the flood of emotion across Buffy’s face. His smile faltered, his chin jutting forward a bit. “Grew it along with the heartbeat, I suppose.”
“Yeah,” Buffy murmured. “I’m sorry—”
“Nothin’ to be sorry about.” Spike pursed his lips and drew his hands down Buffy’s arms, taking hold of both of her hands in his. “Not like both of us weren’t wonderin’.”
“So, you’re sure?” she asked hesitantly, not wanting to push, yet not wanting to back away.
He blew out a breath, looking from where their hands were joined, up into her worried eyes. “Pretty sure. Been tryin’ not to think on it too much, seems we’ve got enough problems to deal with without takin’ time to contemplate my navel.”
She frowned, blinking at him. “I hope you don’t think I’d consider you worrying about your soul to be self-indulgent.”
“Not sure what it would be … but right now, I know we just don’t have the time. Soul or no soul, we have to find our way out of this mess,” he stated, unable to keep the weariness from his voice.
“I know, Spike, but—”
“No 'buts' about it, Slayer. We can talk about this more after we find out what happened to us, and more importantly, how to get us back home.”
“I guess,” she started, then finished with a yawn she wasn’t able to fight back.
“See there? Already been up too late, with an early mornin’ and another hard day ahead of us. Lie back down,” Spike said, his hands moving overtop of her nightgown to her shoulders, urging her to stretch back out onto her stomach.
“What?” Buffy tensed, but followed his gentle prodding.
“You’re tied in knots, Buffy, just gonna help you relax a bit, so you can sleep.” His voice soothed over her and against her better instincts she allowed herself to be swept along with it.
At the touch of his fingers along her shoulders Buffy’s muscles and nerves sang with relief. She really hadn’t realized how very exhausted, achy, and scared she was until he started kneading her tired flesh. They were both, it seemed, standing at the precipice of something big. Large and looming, their future was anything but stable and neither knew what the next day would bring; what peril they might have to face to find their way home. Or even if they’d be able to get home, back to their own time. Strangely, however, as her eyes drifted closed and her mind started weaving dreams, it occurred to Buffy that, at this moment, she felt safe. It was that feeling, of being tended to and cared for that let her drift off, gathering the strength she’d need for what lay ahead.
To Be Continued
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Thanks so much to my betas, xyellowroset and Holly for a fast, but thorough beta. You guys arre the absolute best!