When Joyce announced that Buffy was still sleeping at nine o’clock that night, Spike stopped helping Giles pull up the damaged rug in the Summers’ living room, and went up to Buffy’s room. He didn’t bother knocking, and just stepped inside, flipping the light switch on. She was on her side, in the exact same position he'd laid her in when he had found her sleeping in her chair earlier that day. The pizza that Joyce had ordered for everyone sat on her table untouched, and Spike knew that her lunch had been left on the plate as well.
He stalked over to the bed and shook her roughly. “Slayer, get up. You need to eat your dinner.”
Buffy’s response was to snore loudly and tuck her hands under the cover. Spike sighed and shook her again. “Buffy! You’ve slept all day.”
She moaned softly and her head lolled, but she didn't wake up. Her breathing deepened again and a light snore rumbled in the back of her throat as he let her go. The Slayer was obviously oblivious to his presence. Frowning, Spike scratched his head and then noticed the open bottle of pain pills beside her bed. She must have had another episode. He stared down at her for a few more seconds, put the lid back on her pills, and left the room.
Buffy rolled over when she heard the door click and knew that he had gone. She had woken up when he shook her, but couldn’t bring herself to sit up and talk to him. Glancing at the clock, she realized that she had not yet gotten through what had been one of the worst days of her life. She exhaled loudly and fumbled for her pills again, taking two more and chasing it with the watered down cola that sat next to a plate of food. Rolling onto her back, she stared at her ceiling and waited for peaceful oblivion to claim her once more.
“Are you sure you don’t mind me going out of town early?” Joyce asked Spike as she made her morning coffee. “If Giles had any doubts about this protection spell, I wouldn’t go, but I could really use the money.”
“I don’t mind at all.” Spike drained the last few drops of blood from his cup and rinsed it in the sink. “This is a big chance for you. Take all the time you need.”
“It’s just ... This is the first time that I’ve ever been invited to put anything on display. If I am able to sell some pieces then that would give me at least two months of being in the clear, and I could figure out my next move.” She nibbled on the edge of her toast. “But with so much happening here-“
“Joyce, you have to do what you have to do. Things will be just fine.” He glanced at the clock and then at her robe and messy hair. “Aren’t Giles and Xander meeting you in an hour to load crates?”
“Mm!” Joyce almost choked on her coffee. “I completely forgot!” She grew thoughtful suddenly and looked at Spike. “Will you really be okay here?”
“We’ll be fine.”
“What are we going to do without you?” Joyce wondered as she made her way around the island. Before leaving the room, she glanced back at him. “You take good care of my baby.”
“Count on it.”
Buffy was in an earthquake. It had to be an earthquake. Her entire body was being shaken roughly and someone was shouting her name. She could hear it, but her eyes wouldn’t comply and open. The shaking continued and finally stopped as abruptly as it started. Her mind wandered briefly, then sleep claimed her again, opening its jaws and swallowing her whole.
Spike stood next to her bed and stared down at her. Something had to be terribly wrong. She had slept through her mother’s goodbye and had not responded to him shaking her at all. She was breathing. He could see the steady rise and fall of her chest and she was no paler than usual. He took a step closer to the bed and felt something crunch under his shoe. Looking down, he saw a pill on the floor, powdered on one end from him stepping on it. Several more littered the table beside her bed, the overturned bottle precariously close to the edge.
She wasn’t sick, she was over-medicating.
Growling, he walked into the bathroom and turned the shower on cold. He strolled back across the room and lifted Buffy, letting her body dangle in front of his instead of cradling her. She babbled something about an earthquake and he growled again, stepping into the shower and shoving her back under the stream of cold water.
“Ahhh!” Buffy screamed, her eyes popping open in fear and confusion.
“Are you awake now?” Spike yelled, moving her further under the water so that it rinsed over her head. “Because I can toss your ass to the floor and get ice if you need that.”
“Spike, stop it!” she cried, her teeth clanking together as she sputtered and coughed.
He pulled her closer to him, letting the water pound against her back. “How many pills have you been taking?”
“None of your business.”
“How many?” Spike shook her, his eyes shifting to a deadly yellow.
“I don’t know!” The chills were wracking through her body now, causing her to shake all over. “What do you care?”
“Are you trying to kill yourself?” he shouted, angrier than he'd been in a long time. He wanted to shake her until her head flew off, and was amazed that he wasn't doubled over in agony for handling her so roughly.
“Maybe I am!” she screamed at him, her eyes awake with fury. She slammed her fists against his upper body, twisting and turning as he held her firmly. “Maybe I should!”
“Stop it! Don't you ever say that again!” He turned and put her down on the floor of the tub and pinned her wrists in one of his hands. The cold water slammed him on the back and he jerked around, quickly shutting the water off. She yanked a hand free and he grabbed it, gripping both her wrists. “Now, I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours, but it stops now! Do you hear me?”
“You’re hurting me!” Buffy twisted her arms, trying to make him let go. “And what do you care anyway? You’re leaving. If I’m dead or alive, you’re still going!”
Her words froze him, and Spike leaned his head back, stared up at the ceiling, damning Willow’s spell. That was the only way to explain Buffy’s actions and her need to keep him there. He turned his attention back to her, saw the tears streaking down her face, and knew he would have to give in. He would have to let her believe that he would stay with her for as long as she needed him, and he would have to tell Willow to undo the spell. He grabbed a washcloth from the towel rack and dried her face. “It’ll be okay, Slayer.”
“It’s never going to be okay,” she sobbed, finally pulling her wrists free. “I am never going to be able to walk and you are never going to-“
“Don’t. You'll hurt yourself.” Spike gripped her hands, examining the bandages that were coming off. “Oh, Bloody Hell!" he sighed. "I’ll stay. I’ll stay for as long as you need me.”
“Y-you’ll stay?” She asked tremulously, her teeth still clanking together. “Really?”
“Yeah.” He lifted her again, holding her the same way he had when he was wetting her.
Buffy wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face against his chest. The ache in her own chest had diminished, and she clung to him, trying to find the words to express how happy she was. “Thank you,” she murmured, her hand stroking the sensitive skin at his nape. “Thank you so much, Spike.”
Spike tightened his jaw, still cursing Willow, and let his hands move around her back. He hugged her lightly, then scooped her up in his arms so he could carry her more easily. “Your mum has gone to Atlanta early. She came in to tell you good-bye, but you slept through it.”
“How long will she be gone?” Buffy wiped her face and shivered as he carried her through the cool hallway and into her room.
“For about six days.” Thinking better of sitting her on the bed in her wet dress, he sat her on the vanity chair, and turned to go get a towel.
“Six days!” she cried suddenly. “Spike!”
“What?” He paused at the doorway and looked back at her.
“Who will give me my baths?”
With a shrug, he exited fast and went into the bathroom. This wasn’t good. This wasn't good at all. He hadn’t even considered that Buffy would still need to be bathed and have help getting dressed everyday. He supposed he could call Willow and get her to do it, or possibly even Xander --- no, hell would freeze before he’d let that bloke see her naked. Grabbing the towel, he turned to go, and bumped his groin against the sink.
His very hard groin.
“Son of a--” He leaned his forehead against the mirror and sighed. He had gotten a hard-on just thinking about the Slayer naked and wet in the tub. If he had to actually see it, he’d be stuck wanking himself in the basement all hours of the day and night.
“Spike, I’m freezing!” Buffy called from her bedroom.
He made sure that his shirt was long enough to cover what was bulging in his pants and made his way back to her room. Handing her the towel, he turned his back and said, “What are you going to wear?”
“Look in my closet. I like wearing dresses because it makes it easier to-well, you know.”
“Right.” Spike opened her closet and sifted through the garments. Each one seemed to be made of less material than the previous one, and that wouldn’t do at all. Finally, he found a lime green number with a high collar and long sleeves. He yanked it off the hanger and held it out toward her. “Here.”
“Eww!” Buffy wrinkled her nose. “Spike, that is a bridesmaid dress.”
“Sorry, didn’t know.” he grumbled.
“Did the taffeta not give it away?” She smiled up at him, then glanced past him at her open closet. “Just hand me that blue one.”
~ The one with the thin little straps and neckline to the navel? ~ he thought, swallowing hard as he took it from the closet. “You’re cold, remember?” He waved the green one back and forth in front of her. There was no way he could find her remotely attractive in the green one. “Don’t you want to be colorful? Make a bold statement?”
“You mean a blinding statement? I’ll wear the blue.” She grabbed the bottom of the dress she was wearing and started to pull it over her head. “Oops, I’ m sitting on it. Can you help me?”
Wordlessly, he moved to help her and pulled the material out from under her. She raised her arms, indicating that he should pull it over her head, and he froze for a second.
Buffy looked up at him. “What?”
“Shouldn’t you dress yourself?”
Shaking her head, she blushed slightly. “It throws me off balance and I’ll fall. Plus, it bunches around me if you don’t do it and then lift me and smooth it down the way it goes.”
“Right.” He grasped her wet clothing again and gently tugged it over her head. He tried to focus on the posters on her wall, but he could see her bare breasts out of the corner of his eye and dared a peek. ~ Of course I have to look, I’m evil!~
Buffy put her arms through the underside of her dress and waited for him to tug it down. Her face was so hot she imagined that she looked sunburned. Shaking slightly, and not from the cold, she pointed toward the dresser in the corner of her room. “Uhm, I need underwear too. Top drawer.”
He willed his feet in that direction and opened the drawer, frowning when he saw all the delicate laces and silks neatly folded inside. She apparently didn’t own anything cotton and practical. Gingerly, he lifted a lacy blue number, the thing closest to him, and slammed the drawer shut. Holding it out to her, he waited for her to take it. When she made no move, he put his hands on his hips. “What?”
“Spike, when you were in a wheelchair, did you dress yourself?”
“Drusilla helped me. Why?”
"Did she help you with your underwear?"
"I don't wear any." He shrugged, hiding the flirtatious smirk that wanted to accompany that statement.
“Oh." She flushed at the image that suddenly flashed through her head and struggled to maintain her composure. "Well, I *do* and I need help. I can’t just stand up and peel them off and I really don’t want to roll around on the floor and get all wrinkled while I try to change them. It’s hard enough just to pull them down to use the bathroom.” She gave him a pointed look.
“Oh,” was the only response he could muster and he kneeled in front of her. Careful not to touch too much of her thighs, he skimmed toward her waist until he felt the top band of her panties. She instinctively leaned over his shoulder, letting him lift her bottom easily. He carefully slid them down her legs, finally clearing her feet. He trailed his tongue out over his lips as he imagined the possibilities. ~It would be so easy,~ he thought to himself. ~To lift her up, put her on the bed, and bury my face between her legs. So easy. So fucking easy and good and---~
"Spike?" Buffy nudged him, wondering why he was staring at her knees. "What are you waiting for?"
"What? Oh!" Grabbing the dry ones quickly, he slipped them upward, trying to think of anything other than what he had been. Buffy put her arms around him suddenly, and he half expected her to try to kiss him again; instead she looked annoyed. ~Oh god, she knows what I was thinking.~ "What?"
“Here’s the part where you stand and I hold on and you pull them up.”
“I was getting to that!” Spike lied and stood, dragging her up with him. His fingertips glided over her skin, and he closed his eyes as his body hardened in contrast to her softness. Slipping his hands behind her, he pulled her lacy panties into place and tried not to notice how firm her backside was, how easily her hips would fit into the palms of his hands as he thrust into her. He yanked his hands out from under her dress, disgusted with himself. He was supposed to be taking care of her, not taking advantage of her. “Okay, I’m done.”
“Thanks.” Her stomach rumbled when he sat her back down and she glanced at the clock. “God, it’s noon already?”
“You hungry?” he asked, anxious to have an excuse to put some distance between them.
“Starving. Can I come down with you while you make lunch? I want to see what all that noise was about yesterday.” She grabbed her brush from the table and dragged it through her hair, then twisted it, clipping it at the nape of her neck.
“Fine,” he replied, watching her movements. “Why do you pull your hair back like that?”
“It’s drab and my roots are showing,” she said with a shrug. "Why leave it hanging for everyone to see?"
“It looked beautiful when you had it down yesterday, all shiny like gold.” Spike admitted, as he lifted her. He had no doubt that it was going to be a very long six days.
~ Well, now you tell me, ~ she thought, but inside, her heart was singing. She had his promise that he wouldn’t leave her for as long as she needed him ... and six days alone with him to show him that she needed him for good.
The afternoon passed uneventfully. Spike and Buffy kept conversation to a minimum, with the exception of idle chatter about the damage to the house, or what Spike should make for dinner, neither spoke. Spike made it a point to find a million things to do in the kitchen and Buffy sat on the sofa, staring blankly at the television. She was about to call for him and ask for a soda when an emergency flash went up on the screen.
Spike heard the loud beeping from his perch on the kitchen counter and leaped off, hurrying into the living room. “What’s happening?”
“Bad weather,” Buffy replied, shushing him with a wave of her hand.
He moved around the couch and sat beside her as a meteorologist began to speak. “At four p.m., the tropical storm that was traveling a few miles off the coast changed its course and is now heading north, toward the town of Sunnydale and the neighboring communities. Residents of Sunnydale are advised to use extreme caution. This storm has been unpredictable and fierce. Flooding, strong winds, and lightning are expected, so please stay in your homes and seek appropriate shelter should the need arise.”
Buffy studied the Doppler map that the woman was pointing at. Sunnydale could be seen on the coast, and a large, red patch was circled a few inches away. Swallowing hard, she glanced at Spike. “You think Mom’s okay?”
“She’s probably already in Atlanta, luv,” Spike said, leaning forward as he listened to the rest of the weather report. The patch on the Doppler looked big enough to stretch from Sunnydale to Los Angeles and back again. “Damn, that’s a huge storm.”
“We have lanterns and candles and stuff in the pantry.” Buffy nodded toward the double windows and bit her lower lip. “It’s already dark outside and it’ s only six.”
"My kind of day." Spike stood and peeked through the blind. The broken window had been boarded up by Giles, who had predicted rain. Glancing toward the coastline, he sighed. “If it gets really bad, we’ll go the basement.”
She nodded, chewing her thumbnail nervously. “I guess we’ll just wait. Right?”
“Nothing else to do.” Spike narrowed his eyes when he noticed her shaking hands. “Scared?”
“I don’t like storms.” Thunder rumbled in the distance, and she crossed her arms, hugging herself tightly. “I was in a boat once and-“ Trailing off, she closed her eyes.
“And what?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Shaking her head, Buffy pulled a throw from the back of the sofa and wrapped it around her shoulders.
“The boat capsized and you fell in the water? Poor baby.” Spike chuckled and flopped back down beside her. “Did you flail around like you did in the shower this morning?”
Pulling the cover tighter, she focused on the television, willing herself not to cry. “Still not wanting to talk about it.”
Spike picked up the remote and flipped to the weather channel. It was showing hurricane footage from a few years back, complete with a pier that was crumbling and boats splashing back and forth in the water. “I hope it doesn’t get that bad here. High wind, stinging rain, flooding waters. We’ll be up the sh--”
“Stop it!” Her nostrils flared as bile began to rise in her throat. "Just shut up."
“Oh, lighten up,” he snapped, flipping back to the local news.
He could not possibly know the blind panic that was coursing through her veins. Or maybe he did and didn’t care. He was, after all, nothing more than a demon. She felt the couch shift slightly and dared a glance at him, just in time to see him stand and walk toward the kitchen.
She moved her hands and laid her head back, casting a weary eye at the window. The wind had begun to howl as it whipped around the house, and one of the shutters, a loose one near the dining room, slammed back and forth. Buffy turned the television up louder, hoping to drown out the sounds and the memories that she had repressed for so long of that fateful night in her grandfather’s boat.
Why was she feeling the pain so vividly now?
Was it because she was just as helpless now as she had been that night?
Spike frowned as he stared across the table at Buffy. In the twenty minutes since he had prepared her dinner, and sat it in front of her, she had not eaten a bite. The sky lit up outside the window and Buffy jumped, almost knocking her glass of milk off the table. Spike grabbed it before it could do more than slosh and moved it to one side. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Buffy felt like she was suffocating. She could feel a thin bead of sweat on her forehead and dabbed at her face with her napkin. “I’m fine.”
“Well you don’t look fine.” Spike leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, watching her closely as she eyed the windows. “I can’t imagine a Slayer being scared of a little rain. You do realize how pathetic that makes you, yes?”
Slamming her fork down, she rolled back and started around the table. “Why can’t you just leave me alone? You don’t always have to hurt my feelings, you know.”
Spike grabbed her wheel and stopped her. “Hurt your feelings?”
“Yes, you hurt my feelings! You called my leg a chicken bone, you didn’t bother to acknowledge the fact that I kissed you, and you make fun of me for being terrified over something I can’t help.” She shoved his hand away. “Stay away from me.”
She rolled out of the room and he leapt to his feet, following behind her. “Okay, first of all, I was just teasing you and second, how was I supposed to react to you kissing me?” Buffy kept her back to him, saying nothing. Spike stalked around her and gripped the arms of her chair, leaning down low. “Tell me. Tell me how to react. Tell me how you meant it. Tell me something.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” She swallowed hard and chewed her bottom lip.
“You brought it up.” Spike saw her turn her gaze toward the television and he stood, putting his hands on his hips. “Fine. We won’t talk about it. We’ll just go on pretending that it didn’t happen and you can sit there and have a nervous breakdown because of a little thunder. Which, I might add, is something else you brought up and don’t want to talk about.”
Buffy heard him flop onto the couch behind her and she rolled slowly toward the other room, wishing more than anything that she could get up and run away. Away from him, away from the storm that was raging outside, and the one that was raging inside of her. She paused before she entered the dining room and half turned. “Spike?”
“What?”
“I was boating with my grandfather. We had heard the storm warnings, but I begged him to take me out anyway. Just for a little while, I said. The boat capsized and we fell in. I had on a lifejacket, but my grandfather didn’t. He got a cramp after about thirty minutes of treading water. One minute he was there, telling me that it was going to be okay, and the next minute he was gone.” She closed her eyes, recalling her Grandfather’s wrinkled face, and his big hands holding her in his lap as they had fished that day. “They never found him.”
Spike rose slowly, dropping the remote on the couch. He rammed his hands into his pockets, searching himself for the right words. “Buffy, I’m sor-“
She held her hand up, silencing him. “I thought that I had worked through it all a long time ago. I mean, I went to therapy. But today, that storm warning and that wind outside - I feel the hurt again like it happened yesterday. I have never felt it so strongly. It feels like my heart is breaking.” She put a hand over her mouth to stifle the sob in the back of her throat.
Spike narrowed his eyes, recalling Willow’s words about the spell. ‘Buffy will have the strength to confront her fears and admit the truth to herself. She can admit what’s in her heart, but we don’t know that it worked.’ He heard her sob again and moved around her, kneeling in front of her. Pulling her to his chest, he rubbed his hand up and down her back, and whispered softly in her ear, trying to soothe her.
The spell had worked. She was admitting what was in her heart and confronting her fears. Admitting what was in her heart? Spike blinked several times as he tried to comprehend it all. Maybe, just maybe, there was a part of her that actually did want to kiss him. Maybe it wasn’t just the spell. ~Yeah right, Spike.~
The lights flickered several times and then the power went out. Buffy’s grip on him tightened and he lifted her, taking her to the sofa. His demon emerged, enabling him to see in the dark, and he sat down safely, straightening her legs out, and cradling her in his lap. He could hear her heart slamming in her chest, could hear her ragged breathing, and laid his head on top of hers. “We’ll be fine. I promise.”
She took his hand and laced their fingers, moving her face into the hollow of his neck. Her lips skimmed the cool curve of his jaw line, then his cheek, finally fluttering briefly against his mouth. “I wanted you to react by kissing me back. I wanted you to hold me and not let go. I wanted-“
He felt her hand move toward the buttons of his shirt and he grabbed it. “Buffy, you shouldn’t-“
“I know what I want.” She trailed her fingers over his lips. “Do you know what you want?”
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