Home : Stories by Author : Stories by JodyorJen : Electrical Storm
Summary: Buffy's tentative detente with Spike takes a turn for the unexpected when she takes the time to reflect on their past and consider their future.
AUTHOR: JodyorJen
EMAIL: jodyorjen@yahoo.com
RATING: NC-17
PAIRING: Buffy/Spike
SPOILERS: Post 'Him' Season 7
DISCLAIMER: All hail Joss Whedon, UPN, the WB, FOX, Mutant Enemy and 20th Century
Fox Film Corporation. GO team! Theirs, not mine.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You ask me to enter
But then you make me crawl
And I can't be holding on
To what you got
When all you got is hurt
-U2, “One”
I pulled my car into a parking space and turned off the engine. Thunder sounded loudly overhead, and I heard a bolt of lightning strike. Immediately, rain began to pour, hitting the windshield in loud steady thumps. Wonderful.
I unfastened my seatbelt and leaned over to get the small black umbrella Mom had always stashed under the seat. It wasn’t there, and now I remembered Dawn taking it from the Jeep the last time we went out. I looked around the car for anything I could hold over my head. Not a damn thing.
With a curse, I grabbed the plastic grocery bag off the passenger seat, tossed in my cell phone, and ran for it. The rain turned to sleet, little drops of frozen rain soaking my clothes. I got halfway up the steps to Xander’s apartment before my foot slipped on the icy pavement and I fell. My knee smashed into one step, my chin into another. I bit down on my tongue, and the salty taste of blood filled my mouth. Stupid slippy new shoes. I hadn’t felt so uncoordinated since ever.
I scrabbled to my feet, pushing off with one hand. The sleet picked up, coming down harder, pelting me mercilessly. I’d scraped my knee in the fall, shredding my hose. A red dot formed on my shirt and I dabbed at it. Blood. I reached up and felt my chin stinging. My fingers came away streaked with red.
Something smacked me in the top of the head, hard. I looked up, confused, and a chunk of hail the size of a golf ball landed on the bridge of my nose. Rain, sleet, hail and snow within five minutes. That seemed awfully Hellmouthy. Ice clattered all around me in a torrent, and I rushed up the remaining stairs and pulled open the door.
The AC was cranked in Xander’s building. I shivered as the cold air hit me. I was totally soaked from the rain, right down to my underwear. It felt slimy and gross.
I knocked on Xander’s door. After a moment, Spike opened it. He wore a set of black sweats, his hair curly and loose. He was barefoot, and he held open a fat novel. “Hisself’s not here, Slayer,” he said, without looking up.
My stomach did the little flippy thing it always did when I saw him. “C-can I come in?” My voice was shaking as bad as I was.
He looked up, puzzled, and his eyes widened. “Bloody hell, Buffy!” He held open the door and gestured for me to come in. “What happened to you?”
“I fell down some stairs,” I explained, my teeth chattering.
He looked at me. “Well, I buy that, but- how’d you get ice in your hair?”
“It’s probably sleet. That was the happy prelude to big chucks of hail hammering me in the head.”
He put down his book with a sigh. “A hailstorm in November. Just the thing you’d expect-” He looked me full in the face and tilted his head, his brow furrowing. “You’ve got blood running down your neck, Slayer.” My face was numb with cold; I couldn’t feel anything. “Your chin’s all bollixed up.” He reached out for my jaw. Inches away, he stopped. “Just want to see how deep it is,” he explained.
“I’m not afraid of you touching me, Spike.” His soft hands closed on my jaw, and I shivered, my entire body jerking. He stepped back, looking away. “Stop making the kicked puppy face. It’s not you. I’m just so cold that your hands feel really warm.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, still not meeting my eye. Back to square one. “Hot shower. That’s all I need.”
He gave me the patented “you’re an idiot” look, usually reserved for Xander or fledgling vamps. “You should tend to your chin,” he argued. “It looks bad. You may need some stitches."
“I’ll deal with it when I’m not freezing to death.” I shoved the paper bag into his hand and went into the bathroom. In a rush, I stripped off my sodden clothes, threw them into the sink, and stepped into the shower.
It felt so amazingly good, the steaming water pouring over my body. It stung like hell when the lather hit my knee. It was a total boy setup in the shower: Irish Spring, one big bottle of Kirkland brand shampoo and no conditioner. No washcloth. No shower gel.
The clods of ice melted away as the hot water ran over my head. I twisted off the water and stepped out onto the slippery tile floor. There were no towels, no bathmat, just a white terry robe hanging from a peg. I put it on, tying a huge loop at the waist. It was massive, hanging down to my ankles, but it was soft and snuggly, and smelled like Polo.
I grabbed my clothes and headed into the hallway. After pulling open the accordion doors that hid the stacked washer/dryer combo, I threw my clothes in on low heat. With a buzz and a rumble, the dryer began to turn, filling the eerily quiet apartment.
The living room was empty, and so was the kitchen. My knee and chin were throbbing now that I was warmed up, so I made two icepacks, emptying a tray of cubes into dishtowels. “Our Happy Home”, one of them said. It made me feel sad. Anya had really wanted this to be her happy home; they both had.
I lay down on the couch and put my feet up. My knee was swollen already, puffing up around the scrape, and I balanced a cold pack on top of it. I pressed the other pack to my chin and laid my head back. I hurt, really hurt, my knee and the scrape on my palm and above, all, the chin. I could still feel the blood trickling out of the cut. I pulled the towel away, and saw that it was soaked with blood.
“Spike!” I called out. “Spike?” It was so quiet that I’d wondered if he had left.
The hall closet opened, and Spike came out. He stood all the way across the room, as if he didn’t trust himself to come any closer. “I can get you some clothes, if you’d like to cover up.” He looked embarrassed that the robe left me bare from the thigh down, lying open so I could ice my knee. Pretty bizarre considering that he’d licked every square inch of the flesh he was working hard to avoid looking at. But that had been before everything had become so utterly messed up.
“I’m fine like this,” I said. “I need you to get my first aid kit. It’s outside in my Jeep.” I shifted the ice pack on my knee and some ice spilled out, falling on the floor.
Spike frowned. “You need a decent pack on that knee, Slayer. It’s swelling up like a melon.” He walked into the kitchen, coming back out with a hospital ice pack, cracking it to activate it and contouring it to my knee. He took away the towel and ice, handing me two white pills. “Just Tylenol,” he said. “Xander’s got none of the good stuff here.”
I swallowed them dry, grateful for any relief from the pain. “I have some codeine in my kit.”
“Where are your keys?” he asked, as he walked back into the kitchen. I heard the clatter of ice being tossed into the sink.
“In my-” I started to explain. But they weren’t in my jacket. In my minds eye I saw the keys hanging from the ignition, decorated with a smiley face key ring and a lanyard with beads that spelled “#1 Sister.” “I left the keys in the car.”
“Locked?” he asked.
“Not sure.” I told him.
“Not a problem,” he said. He went back in his closet, returning with a hanger in his hand. “Back in two shakes.”
“It’s sleeting and hailing,” I reminded him. “You should take an umbrella.”
“Yeah, and I’ll be sure to put my Wellies on too.” He snorted and slammed the door shut behind him.
I closed my eyes and waited. It was nice, in the big, soft robe, with the sounds of ice hitting the windows. I remembered one winter night when my sister and I were tucked into bed with my parents. We had come in, scared by the storm. Hail was clattering down on the roof with a huge racket, and thunder was booming, making the windows shake.
Dawn was tucked between me and Mom, her fine hair tickling my chin. “Why is it doing that?” she asked worriedly. She was shivering, really scared, and I held her tight.
“Doing what, baby?” Mom smiled at my sister and smoothed down her hair.
“Why is the sky making snowballs?”
Mom and I both laughed and Dawn frowned, her little cherub face comically angry. “Don’t laugh at me!”
“Pipe down, little women,” my father said sleepily.
The three of us giggled. “Go back to sleep,” Mom had whispered, and pulled the covers tight around us all.
It was so hard to remember that it hadn’t really happened, that it was all made up. I could feel Dawn’s shoulder underneath my chin and feel the warm flannel of my footie pajamas against my legs.
A loud electronic ringing disturbed my sleep. I opened my eyes, and saw that I was covered with an afghan. “Yeah?” I heard Spike say softly. He was rustling around in the kitchen, opening and closing cupboards. “Yes, this is Spike. She’s here, at Xander’s. She hurt herself, came to get fixed up.” He listened for a moment. “Her chin, mainly. Closed it up with some of that liquid stitch stuff. She slept right through it. Yeah, the girl is exhausted. She’s racked out now on the sofa.” There was a pause. “Yeah, I’m behaving myself,” he said angrily. “I’m not going to molest the Slayer while she’s sleeping. Well. Yes, that’s true. Don’t blame you for thinking it.” A kettle whistled for a second, and then abruptly stopped. “Harris will be home shortly from his meeting. I’m sure he’ll see her home. Yeah, I’ll have her call you.”
The aroma of toasting bread filled the air. Cinnamon raisin bread, my favorite. My stomach gurgled and I sat up. God, I was really sore. I limped into the kitchen, and saw Spike sitting at the counter, smearing butter onto toast. “How you feeling?”
“Like crap, really,” I said. “I can’t believe I hurt myself so badly slipping on some stairs.”
“You weren’t expecting it,” he said. “That’s when you really get hammered, when you’re taken off your guard.” He stuffed a mug full of marshmallows and tipped a teapot over it. The mug filled with bubbling light brown liquid.
“You made cocoa?” I asked. Spike, being domestic, struck me as funny. But if I mocked him, he might not share, and it smelled really good. “Can I have some?”
“Sure thing,” he replied. “Want some toast as well?” I nodded, and he popped some bread in the toaster. He pulled a mug down from the cabinet and set it in front of me. “Sunnydale High School,” was embossed on it in large crimson letters.
“How long was I asleep?” I asked. I felt clear and focused, as if I’d had a full nights rest.
He filled my mug with cocoa and looked at the clock on the wall. “Nearly four hours.”
“That’s more than I’ve been getting every night. It’s been a really busy week. Work, slay.”
“Have to make time to rest, catch your breath. A tired Slayer is a Slayer off her game.” Spike picked up my cell phone and handed it to me. “Dawn called, reminded you that she’s going to a lock in with her friend Kit. Giles called, said you’d missed your appointment with him.”
“I was supposed to help him apartment hunt,” I explained.
“When did he get back?” Spike asked.
“Yesterday. He’s been offered his old job back at the high school.” The toast dinged and Spike retrieved it, setting it before me on a plate. “Apparently, the new librarian decided to ‘leave town abruptly’.” I made air quotes with my fingers.
He laughed softly. “What a rare occurrence in Sunnydale. What he eaten by a beastie or munched by a vamp?”
“Munched,” I said. “And it really pissed me off, because the little bastard that did it was the only one that got away from a whole nest I took out on Heyward.”
He looked at me quizzically. “Another nest moved onto Heyward? Where, that abandoned warehouse?”
“You got it,” I confirmed.
He shook his head. “Someone should really knock that building down.”
“Great minds think alike,” I said. “I torched it.”
He laughed, his eyebrows raised. “You torched it?”
“Flame-thrower, bottle of gas. Kerboom!” I made a big gesture with my hands. “No more vamps moving on up to the top.”
“Old building, wooden,” he said. “Must have gone up like a roman candle.”
“Much sparkage, big whooshy flames. It was really beautiful, actually.”
“Wish I’d seen it,” he said wistfully. He tilted his head and smiled at me, and I smiled back.
“You know, I can really see the appeal of pyromania,” I said. “It’s such a satisfying feeling, seeing something so big and tall come crashing down. Knowing you were the one to destroy it.”
His mood abruptly shifted, his face going hard and closed off. “Need to finish up what I was doing,” he said, as he stood up and set down his mug. “Thank you for the blood.” He was gone before I could respond, and I hear the door of his room slam and lock.
I felt hurt and abandoned. He’d said that we weren’t best friends any more. I’d truly forgotten, sitting with him. Forgotten that we weren’t anything to each other, anymore.
I’d missed him after we’d broken up, for lots of reasons. I’d missed the way he listened, his head tilted, as if I was the only thing in the world that he could hear. It felt awkward fighting without him, without having him there to watch my back. And, yes, I’d missed the sex, the feel of his hands on me, the sensation of his body within mine. But there was always the nagging sense of shame, the guilt that I felt something for a monster, that I had taken evil inside myself and found solace in it.
The rape attempt had been the clincher, the confirmation that Spike and I were a big ball of wrong. But that Spike was gone. This new Spike who had come back had a soul. I didn’t have to be ashamed of him any more, of caring about him. There was no reason why we couldn’t be friends. Although I wasn’t holding my breath that anyone else would give him a chance.
The front door opened and Xander walked in, shaking an umbrella. “What’s your vote?” I asked. “Bad weather, or a signal of impending Apocalypse.”
“Well, I just put a down payment on an a house, so I vote for bad weather.” He smiled at me happily. “Ooh, big bandagy chin.”
“Got my butt kicked by a stair monster.”
“Sounds painful, and yet, kind of funny,” he said, as he hung up his coat. He came into the kitchen. “So I see you have food a la Spike. The guy can’t make anything that doesn’t involve the toaster or the microwave.”
“He boiled some water,” I pointed out. “That’s stove skill, right there.”
Xander frowned. “Is he bothering you? Because I specifically told him to stay the hell away from you.”
“He helped patch me up and made me a snack,” I said. “Gee, let’s stake him.”
He gave me a worried look. “Are you sure you’re all right?” he said. “You seem a little- cranky.”
“Just tired,” I said. “I’m going to get dressed and go home.”
Xander looked at me. “You’re not starting up with him again are you?” he asked, his voice hard.
“No,” I replied defensively. “No, no and more no. Why would you say that?”
“Because you’re wearing his robe,” he said.
*********
The demon was running really, really fast for something that weighed a ton and was nine feet tall. He hustled through the graveyard at full throttle, just out of my reach. I pushed as hard as I could, ignoring the ache in my knee, and vaulted into the air using a tombstone as leverage. Landing on his back, I held on with one arm as I struggled to get the right angle with the sword to shove it through his head.
He roared and shook, trying to knock me off. One huge arm grabbed my thigh and squeezed. I bit my lip hard to keep from screaming, Agony. My leg, my leg, oh, this demon had fucked up my leg. It was snapped or broken or something else bad and crunchy. Red hot pain speared through my thigh.
My vision began to blur, and I heard a faint roaring in my ears. Grabbing the hilt of my sword, I tilted it and rammed it home. The demon fell, and I fell with him. I rolled away, stopping when I slammed into a gravestone. Red sparks filled my field of vision, my eyes burning. The impulse to curl up in a ball and rest was nearly overpowering, but I fought it and tried to stand.
I did scream then. Deep, searing pain crashed over me like a hammer. Using all the energy I had left, I pulled out my phone and hit the arrow button, one, two three and then send. Brriiing. Brring. The tone seemed loud in my ears.
“Hello?” said a tinny little voice.
“Help me,” I said loudly.
“Hello?” said the voice. “Can’t hear you.” It was Spike, and he sounded annoyed.
I brought the phone to my mouth. “Leg’s broken,” I said, gasping with pain. “Help me.”
“Buffy! Buffy, where are you?” Spike screamed. “Slayer!”
The world was growing dark. But it was night. This was darker than dark. Was there a word for darker than dark? Darkerest? I really needed to go back to college.
“Rest in peace,” I told him. It began to snow, little flakes landing on my face. It felt nice, and gentle. Little wet hands, Dawn grabbing my nose with her mittens and giggling. “Let’s make a snowman, Dawnie.”
I dozed, the snow falling on me from heaven. I wish I remembered if it snowed in heaven. If it did, where did it come from? What was higher than heaven? Something in between outer space and heaven. That place that must be where the snow came from, for the angels, and my mother.
I saw myself lying on the ground. I looked uncomfortable, down there in the icy grass. My leg looked funny, all bent, and the snow around it was dark. A shadow was moving, faster than anything could move, coming straight for me. The figure knelt at my side. “Buffy? Wake up love.” He sounded so sad.
Strong hands lifted me, pressed me to a broad chest. I knew those hands. “Spike,” I said.
“Thank God,” he said. “Thank God.” He was running, running fast, and my head banged against his shoulder.
“I don’t like it when you call me Slayer,” I told him.
He laughed oddly, his voice strangled. “Bossy bitch.”
“You know you love it.” I closed my eyes, and let go. Spike was here, and he could fight the demon. He was strong, like me.
“Open your eyes, Buffy! Don’t you die on me,” he said. “Don’t you fucking die on me again, Buffy Summers.”
“I can rest now,” I told him. “I’m so glad that you’re here. I really wanted to rest.”
“Buff-” he began, but it was too late. I couldn’t hear him anymore.
****
“Buffy?” I opened my eyes, and it was hard work, because they felt so heavy. Giles was looking down at me, his face haggard.
“You look tired.” My voice sounded weak and scratchy, not like my voice at all.
“We’ve been up all night waiting for you to regain consciousness,” he explained. “You had surgery on your leg, and they put you under for it.”
“Why did I have to have surgery?” I asked. “I’m all superpowery and stuff.”
“You had a compound fracture of the femur,” said Giles. “You lost a great deal of blood.”
“Oh,” I closed my eyes. “That sucks.”
“Indeed,” he said.
When I woke up again, it was dark outside. Dawn sat next to me, her head bent forwards. She was making another lanyard. This one was red and black. “SPI”, it read.
“He’ll really like that,” I said. “Anything you gave him, he’d like.”
She looked up at me with a smile. “Hey, Buffy.” She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I’m really glad that you’re awake.”
“I feel a lot better now,” I told her. “They must have me on some big drugs.”
She nodded. “I think- morphine?”
“Wow,” I said, impressed. “Very big drugs.” I tried to shift, and realized I really couldn’t. A pulley, keeping it immobilized, held up my leg. “Oh, I hate this. When can I go home?”
“Tomorrow night,” she said. “But you’re going to have to take it really, really easy.”
“I have to work, and slay, and-" I stopped. “How the hell am I going to do any of that?”
“You won’t,” Dawn explained. “We’re getting you some help.”
“I need to get paid,” I said. “We have bills-"
“Giles spoke to Principal Wood,” Dawnie said. “You’ll be on leave with pay. It’ll be fine.”
“And the slaying?” I asked. “Who’s going to be doing that?”
Xander walked in, carrying a big bouquet of Mylar balloons. “Yay! It’s Xander!” Dawn said gaily. She got up and gave him a big hug.
He smiled, the wide grin lighting up his face. “That’s the kind of greeting that I like.”
She picked up her backpack, tucking in the lanyard she was working on. “I have school tomorrow, so I’m heading home.”
“Wait until Xander can drop you off,” I protested.
“Spike’s going to take me,” she explained, waving as she left. “See you.”
Xander sat down, handing me an open box of chocolate covered cherries. “For you."
“They’re open.”
“I took them for a little test drive,” he explained with a smile.
“I don’t like them that much,” I protested.
“Really?” He looked at the box. “I thought they were your favorite.”
“Anya,” I corrected. “I’m the one that likes the chocolate ones with the chewy stuff in them.”
“Oh, yeah,” he said, remembering. "Nougats."
“But these are a nice change of pace,” I said. I took one out of the box and popped it in my mouth. “Mmm, yum.” Yuck. I chewed it quickly and then swallowed. “So what’s with the change of heart with Spike?”
Xander looked at me oddly. “Huh?”
“Dawn, all wearing her ‘We Like Spike’ button. Last time I tuned in, she wanted Spike flambé.”
“He saved your life, Buffy,” Xander said seriously.
“He did?”
He looked at me, his brown eyes concerned. “Don’t you remember?”
I thought about it. Running, running, falling, fumbling for the phone. “No, I don’t.”
“Well, he saved you,” Xander explained. “He ran here with you, and thank God he did, because you lost a huge amount of blood and the doctors said-" He broke off, looking sick. “It was bad, Buffy.”
“How did he find me?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask him.”
****
“I hate these things,” I complained, struggling to get out of the car. I fumbled with the crutches, trying to figure it out.
Xander stood in front of me, his hands extended. “Let me help, Buffy.”
“I don’t want help,” I said, gritting my teeth.
“Buffy, you’re going to have to let us help you,” he said.
“I’m stronger than all of you put together,” I reminded him.
“Don’t be a bint,” said a quiet voice. Spike reached in the car and pulled me out. “Grab your crutches.”
“Put me down.”
“Grab the bloody crutches, Slayer,” he said. He glared down at me, his jaw set.
“Put. Me. Down.” He dropped me, and I landed on my bad leg. Big, serious pain flared in my thigh. “Ow!”
He picked me up again. “Take two, pet. Pick up the motherfucking crutches, alright?”
I picked them up, and he carried me across the lawn. He smelled of Polo, and Irish Spring, and he wore a white oxford shirt and chino pants. His hair was slicked back, and I noticed that a small silver stud gleamed in each earlobe. “Why did you pierce your ears?” He ignored me, and climbed up the stairs, pushing open the front door. “You look totally gay.”
Willow turned to look at me, screwdriver in hand. “Thanks,” she said with a grin.
“Not you,” I said.
“You’re really, really early,” Willow said to Spike. “You aren’t supposed to be here for another hour.”
“Miss Thing here kicked up a fuss,” he said. “They gladly threw her out of the hospital.” He set me down, holding me up as I braced myself with the crutches.
“That’s not entirely true,” I said. “I very nicely asked-”
“How did you become broken?” asked a cheerful voice. A really, really familiar voice. I swiveled to see the Bot standing in the doorway of the dining room. “You should ask Willow to repair you. She has very gentle hands.”
“Buffy-” Willow began.
I swiveled and stared at Spike. “How could you?”
“Me?” he asked, staring at the Bot.
I couldn’t recall ever being so angry in my life. Not ever. “You asshole!” I picked up my crutch and hit him with it. It hurt like hell, but I just didn't care.
He looked at me with surprise. “Buffy!“
“Willow fixed your fuckbot for you?” I yelled. “How could you?”
“It wasn’t me,” he protested.
“Bullshit!” I hit him again. Willow grabbed at my arm, trying to take away the crutch.
“Buffy, stop!” Dawn ran downstairs, standing in front of Spike. “Stop it.”
“You don’t understand!” I said.
“No, you don’t understand,” Dawn explained. “She’s going to patrol for you, so that you can rest. That’s why Willow fixed her, as a favor to you.”
“Spike didn’t know about it,” Willow said. “I knew he’d be really upset. I was going to break it to him gently, but you guys came early.”
All of the anger drained out of me in one moment. “Oh.”
“The Bot patrolled for you all summer,” Willow explained. “It was the best option we could think of, to have her fill in while you recuperate.”
“We went back patroling in teams,” Dawn said excitedly. “I’m in Tara’s place with Spike and Giles on Team B.”
Spike wasn’t standing behind her anymore. In typical Spike fashion, he had slipped out, unnoticed. “I need to go apologize to Spike.” I set down my crutch and leaned on it.
“You really should,” Dawn said. “I can’t believe that you’d just start hitting him like that. How could you?”
Because it was what I’d always done. “I’m really tired,” I said, and I let them help me upstairs.
*****
The voices woke me up. I looked at the clock. 3:30 AM. Someone was arguing right outside my window.
“Why don’t you love me anymore?”
“Keep your voice down,” Spike hissed. I carefully slid to the edge of the bed and got up on my crutches.
“Why don’t you love me any more?” I hobbled over to the window and pulled aside the drapes. Spike and the Bot stood on the front lawn, under the tree.
“Go to Willow, and tell her to refresh your programming again.” He said, trying to step around her.
She sidestepped in front of him. “You can’t leave me,” said the Bot. “I love you.”
“You don’t love me,” Spike said, exasperated.
“I do,” the Bot insisted. She grabbed his wrist, looking at him beseechingly. “I love you with all my heart.”
“You don’t have a heart,” he said. “You’re a thing. You can’t love.” He tried to jerk away from her, but she held fast.
“But I do!” she said insistently. “You’re all I think about, all I dream about, all I want in the whole wide world.”
Willow ran across the lawn. “I’m sorry, Spike. I shut her down for the night. I don’t know what happened.”
“Just get her off of me,” he snapped. “You don’t know how much I wanted to knock her head off.”
“Override,” Willow said. The Bot dropped her hands, staring into space. “I’m so sorry, really, Spike.”
He turned and ran. I watched him run up Revello Drive, moving faster than any human being ever could.
“Engage,” Willow said.
The bot turned back on and looked at Willow. “He doesn’t love me any more,” she said sadly.
Willow looked at the robot sympathetically. “Sometimes- sometimes love just doesn’t last.”
“But true love should last forever and ever,” The Bot said fervently. “If you really love someone, it never stops, no matter what.”
Willow smiled sadly. “You’re absolutely right.” She put her arm around her shoulder and steered her into the house. “Now, let’s tweak your programming a little bit. It’ll be better for everyone.”
God, what a freak show. I sat down on my bed and set the crutches down. The Bot was so pathetic. How could he ever imagine that I would act that way? I plumped up my pillow and lay down. The pain in her face, the desperation of her voice. “I love you with all my heart.”
I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. My body was throbbing with pain, even with the medication. “You’re a thing. You can’t love.” Odd to hear it coming from his mouth instead of my own.
I’d been wrong, though. He could love. At least, he had loved me. I was pretty sure that he didn’t, not any more. He looked at me now the way he did the Bot- wary.
I shifted my pillow, trying to become more comfortable. How could he have imagined that I’d be like the Bot when I was in love? So demanding and psychotic and driven, as if love was the only thing in the world that mattered. As if I’d be like him.
****
Someone knocked on my door. I opened my eyes and yawned. “Come in.”
Dawn came in, carrying a tray laden with a carnation in a vase, cereal, and seriously burnt toast. “Good morning!”
“You made me breakfast,” I said. “Thank you!”
“I’m leaving now for school,” she explained. She set down the tray on my bed and pulled a small plastic appliance from her pocket. “This is an intercom. Spike has the other one down in the kitchen. If you need anything, just press the button and talk into it. She demonstrated. “Testing 123.”
“Very creative,” Spike’s voice replied.
“Why is Spike here exactly?” I asked.
“He’s the only one who doesn’t have something to do during the day,” Dawn elaborated.
“I guess better him than the Bot,” I grumbled. “Not that I imagine he has a great bedside manner.”
“Call my cell phone if something happens and you need me,” Dawn said. “I can come right home from school and take care of you.”
“Nice try,” I said. “But you’re really going to stay in school. This isn’t an excuse to ditch.”
She pouted. “It’s a really good excuse.”
“Have a nice day,” I told her. “Good luck on your history test.”
“Bye,” she said, leaning over to kiss my cheek.
****
Being in bed was really boring. I ate my breakfast, painted my fingernails, and leafed through Vogue. After sighing over clothes I would be able to afford exactly never, I opened Cosmo. “Is he the one?” blared a banner across one of their quizzes.
Well, apparently not. I decided to do it anyway.
“ Question 1: Do you share secrets with him that you don’t share with your best friends?”
“I was in heaven.” Spike stared at me as the wind kicked up in the alley behind the Magic Box. I picked up a pen and starred the box next to “All the time.”
Question 2: “When you are having financial problems of conflicts with family, is he caring and supportive?”
Spike leaned over the counter of the Doublemeat, his eyes wide. “I can get money. Walk with me now.”
Question 3: “Does your guy escort you to weddings and family gatherings?”
I never gave him a chance to. I thought of the winner he’d brought to Xander’s wedding. What a gum snapping skank. Leave it to Spike, he who had chose Harmony freely, to pick another rocket scientist.
Question 4: “In bed, how interested is he in learning about your needs?”
Lying in the rubble of the basement, looking down at him, breathless from our fall. “Can you bite me?”
He looked at me, still stunned. “Bite you or feed?”
“Just bite.”
He pulled the jacket from my arms and stripped off my blouse, all the time staring at me as if I was something precious, an icon that he adored. Every movement shifted us both, his cock growing ever harder as I grew more and more slick.
Question 5: Since you've gotten to know him, has he increasingly opened up about more personal things?
“She was sleeping with him, you know,” he said. “When I was in the wheelchair.”
“I had no idea,” I said. The idea disgusted me. Drusilla and Angel, together in bed.
“Not Angel,” he said, looking serious. “Angelus.”
“I know the difference,” I said. “I don’t need you to explain to me who Angel is.”
“You have no idea who he is,” Spike said. “Not a glimmer of a drop of a clue of what you were dealing with.”
“You knew Angelus, not Angel,” I reminded him. “Don’t pretend that you know anything about the man I loved.”
“Not a man,” he said. “And I hate to break your bubble, high and mighty, but I knew them both, quite well.” He looked at me, his gaze devoid of warmth. “Much, much better, than he would ever want you to know.”
Question 6: What kind of embarrassing, blackmail-worthy information do you know about your guy?
He looked at me seriously, and I burst out laughing. “I’m not joking,” he said.
I calmed down, still smiling. “Tell me the truth.”
“I was studying to join the clergy, but I really wanted to be a poet.”
I lost it again, the laughter bubbling up from me uncontrollably.
“I’m serious!” he said, looking mightily irritated.
Question 7: After a sweat-soaked sack session, what's been his most emotional statement?
We lay together atop his sarcophagus, our clothes scattered everywhere. He kissed my shoulder and ran his hand through my hair.
“I’ve never loved anyone the way that I love you,” he said, smiling at me. I opened my mouth, and he gently placed a finger to my lips. “Don’t tell me how much you don’t love me. Don’t ruin it. You asked me to tell you that I love you. I know what it means, petal. It means that this, here, now. This is the beginning of us.”
He cuddled me close on his chest, and I closed my eyes. He felt so good, so strong.
“I cannot exist without you. I am forgetful of every thing but seeing you again. My Life seems to stop there; I see no further. You have absorbed me.”
I opened my eyes and looked up at him. His eyes bored into mine, and I could see it, burning inside. The love.
“Make love to me,” I asked. “Tell me all the things that you feel about me.”
He moved over me, his eyes a clear, cornflower blue. “You are my soul, my life, my existence. Without you, I am nothing.”
The quiz ended, and I totaled up my score. I flipped to the next page to read my result. “You have found your soul mate,” it proclaimed, in large pink script. “Sweetheart, they don’t get any better than this. Lacking intimacy and trust issues, he’s revealing who he really is- and he cares who you really are. This man is a lifetime keeper.”
He is your soul mate. Complete with a brand spanking new soul that he got just for you. I felt a rush of anxiety and confusion. He is your soul mate. Yeah, it was just a stupid quiz. But-
There was a knock at the door. “Buffy?”
I let the magazine drop behind the bed. “Come on in, Spike.”
“That’s okay. Just making sure you hadn’t knocked yourself unconscious or something.”
“I’m fine. Come in and keep me company.”
Spike opened the door and came in, standing barely over the threshold. He was wearing chino pants and a blue rugby shirt, brown oxfords on his feet. “Why are you dressed all preppy? You looked like that last night, too.”
“Dress code,” he said simply. “Work.”
“You have a job?”
“Half the rent on the apartment.”
“Xander shouldn’t make you pay half,” I argued. “You’re living in the closet!” He shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. “What kind of a job did you get?”
“I’m a host.”
“A host of what?” I asked.
“Italian restaurant. Hand out menus, show people to their table, take reservations.”
“Like a real person,” I said. He flinched and turned away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
“Yes you did,” he said. “Don’t bother pretending.”
“I know you’re a real person,” I argued. “You have a soul, you’re real.”
“Is that the criteria?” he asked bitterly. “Because all this time, several human lifetimes worth, in fact, I thought I was real.”
“Stop twisting things around,” I told him.
“You stop twisting things around to please yourself, Slayer,” he said.
“I’m acknowledging you’re real," I said. “You, Spike, have a soul. You are a real person. There. Is that good enough for you?”
“Not really, no,” he said.
“Well, what the hell do you want?” I asked. “I got you a place to live, got you out of the evil brain sucking basement. What else do you want from me? My undying love and affection?”
He wanted to hit me. I could see it in his face, read it in his eyes, watch his fingers opening and closing, as if he wanted to squeeze the life right out of my body. “Right now, Slayer, that’s the last thing I want from you.”
You don't know if it's
fear or desire
Danger the drug that takes you higher
Head in heaven, fingers in the mire
Her heart is racing, you can't keep up
The night is bleeding like a cut
Between the horses of love and lust
We are trampled underfoot
-U2, "So Cruel"
The teddy bear was cut into five hundred jagged little bits. Picking up the puzzle box again, I looked at it, trying to figure out where the handful of light blue pieces belonged. There wasn’t any blue in the picture anywhere. I knocked over the glass I had propped against my leg and cold water poured across my thigh.
"Help!" I yelled, pressing down the intercom button.
Rapid-fire steps thudded up the stairs, and Spike burst in, looking ready to kick some ass. "What’s the matter?" he asked, his eyes scanning the room for a threat.
"I spilled water," I explained. "It’s cold as hell and it soaked my bandage." God, it was freezing, seeping across my lap and down my legs.
Hell for leather Spike switched gears before my eyes. He became smaller somehow, the fire and sparks filtering away into calm and controlled. "Not to worry. We’ll get you tidied up."
He took away the tray, pushed the covers aside and helped me up. I held on to the headboard as he stripped off the wet sheets and blankets. I’d bled through the bandage and the water had spread a pool of scarlet across the snowy white cotton of my gown. "Good times for you," I said. "Lots of tasty Slayer blood being spilled."
Spike looked at me with disgust. "You bleeding to death really doesn’t get my motor humming. No matter what you may think."
"I was just kidding." Sort of.
He took a clean set of sheets out of the closet and made up the bed again, then pulled a clean nightgown out of the drawer. "How do you know where all of my stuff is?"
"Snooped around this house quite a bit, once upon a time," he said. I remembered the shrine he’d made to me in his crypt, with my stakes and clothes. God, that had been twisted.
He handed me the nightgown and slowly I turned around. I couldn’t get it on and get the other one off while I was holding on to my bed frame.
"I need you to hold on to me so I won’t fall," I said.
"Where do you want me to hold you?" he asked, his voice neutral.
"Put your hands on my waist." He moved his hands underneath my nightgown, his familiar fingers sliding along my body.
I stood on the catwalk of the Bronze, apart. I could see the world around me, watch my friends having fun, but it didn’t touch me. Nothing did anymore- except for him.
As if summoned by my thoughts, he appeared. "What would they think of you, if they found out? All the things you'd done?" He ran his hand over my shoulder and down my arm, a sensuous caress. I felt myself grow damp, my nipples hard. My body betrayed me, over and over, for a monster. "If they knew, who you really were."
He ran his hand across the front of my skirt and rubbed his thumb across my clit through the lace. A spark of pleasure flared through me. "Don't."
"Stop me." He ran his hand down my thigh, and pulled up my skirt, the satin of my slip sliding across my skin.
I pulled the dirty gown off and tossed it aside. I was totally naked, except for the bandage that covered my thigh. Spike shifted his hands, holding me in place with the merest touch of his fingertips.
Lifting the nightshirt over my head, I pulled it on. As soon as the clean flannel fell over his hands he slowly turned me to face him. He stared in my eyes as he leaned me back on the bed. "Am I hurting you?" he asked. "Am I being gentle enough?"
"I feel fine," I replied. He looked at me with care and concern, his eyes a soft blue. I’d rarely looked him in the eyes when we were this close together. A flood of warmth swept over me, a feeling of attraction and homecoming. I’d missed being intimate like this.
He turned away to fetch the basket that Giles had made up, filled with thick gauze pads, peroxide, rolls of bandages and first aid tape. He set it down next to my bed and looked at me. "I don’t think that I can do this," he said.
"How many times have you fixed me up after a fight?" I asked. "This is no different. Yes, it will hurt. But I can take it. I’m a Slayer."
He didn’t look so sure. "Take some more pain medication and then I’ll do it."
"If I wait that long, the bandage will dry and my stitches will be stuck to it," I told him. "This will hurt, but it will hurt a lot less than that."
He just stared at me, blank. What the hell was his problem? "I need you to do this for me," I told him. "No one else is around to do it."
"I don’t want to hurt you," he said. "After what happened, I promised myself. I would never hurt you again, never."
Slipping along the tile floor, his hand grabbed my thigh roughly, pulling my legs apart. His eyes were wild and frantic as he ripped open my robe. "This is nothing like that, Spike," I said. "This is taking care of me, helping me to heal and not hurt." I pulled up my nightshirt, baring the wet, stained bandage. "Please. I need you."
He leaned over and slid one hand under my thigh. With the other, he unclipped the metal clasp that fastened the bandage and unwound it. I hissed at his touch, the gentle pressure more than I could bear.
In one swift motion, he ripped off the white tape that held the gauze. I screamed as agonizing pain enveloped my thigh. "Oh," I gasped, "oh Spike." The tears rolled down my face as I sobbed. I twisted the sheets between my fingers into the mattress. I didn’t even recognize the noises that I was making; they sounded like a wounded animal. He pulled away the gauze pad that covered the stitches, and my back arched.
"Hold on, Slayer, hold on, hold on," he said, as he wiped the stitches with peroxide.
"Make it stop," I said. "Stop, please, stop."
He ripped open a sterile pad and pressed it on the wound, quickly winding the gauze over it. The pain started to lessen as the pressure increased, and by the time he was pinning the Ace bandage into place, the pain was bearable again. "Thank you," I said. I looked up and he was turned away from me. "Spike?"
"When I close my eyes, I’m back there in it," he said. "Seeing your tears, feeling you pummel my flesh, hearing you scream as you fight to get away from me." He turned and looked at me, and his face was bone white. For the first time, he truly looked dead to me. "How did you make it stop? How did you stop seeing it in your head?"
He was stuck in that hellish moment, tormenting himself with it. "I forgave you," I said softly. "I forgave you because I know you never meant to hurt me."
"I thought you loved me," he said. "I was so wrong." He wrung his hands, rocking back and forth.
"Stop beating yourself up over this, please." It was so hard to see him this way, and it made me feel horribly guilty. For love of me, he had been broken. "It was a terrible thing that happened to both of us. It could never happen again. Just let it go."
"It’s not that simple," he said.
"Just make it that simple," I said, exasperated. "I’m over it, Spike. Over it. If I’m over it, you should be too."
Without another word, he gave me back my bed tray and puzzle and left. No matter how many times I hit the intercom that afternoon, he wouldn’t come back.
I was really worried. Obviously, getting out of the basement wasn’t going to be the cure all for what was wrong with him. I wanted to talk to someone, get some advice on how to help him get through this. But what could I say? "I need help convincing my attempted rapist that he needs to forgive himself?"
With a sigh, I started again on the puzzle. There had to be a place for the blue pieces, somewhere. I’d figure it out eventually.
*******
Spike was the perfect nursemaid. He brought food, fetched drinks, and dispensed pills. But he wouldn’t talk beyond monosyllables.
After three days of dealing with Mr. Mute, I’d had it. I never would have imagined missing his yammering about Passions, the last fight he was in, his game of cards with his demon buddies. But I hated his silence, the distant and detached way he moved around my room. "Why are you mad at me?" I asked.
"I’m not," he said. He slipped a clean case on my pillow and I leaned forward as he slid it underneath my head.
"Why won’t you talk to me then?"
"Nothing to say," he replied. He shook pills out into his palm and placed them in my hand.
It was eerie. Chatterbox "pay attention to me" Spike completely blowing me off. "Well, you could be more entertaining." I swallowed the pills with a mouthful of juice.
He picked up a spoon, a cereal bowl and a banana and juggled them with one hand. He was amazingly good; he did a few more circuits, throwing in a granola bar and a cup of yogurt before catching each object and putting it back on my tray. Then he bowed. "I can stand on my head as well. And balance a ball on my nose. Would that please you, Slayer?"
"Very funny, smart ass."
He made a strangled noise of frustration and clenched his fists. "What the hell do you want from me, Buffy?"
"I want to be your friend. I want you to sit and talk with me, like we used to."
He crossed his arms. "We’re not friends. We’ll never be friends," he said, enunciating each syllable as if talking to a pet or a small child.
"Why not?" I said. "You’ve got a soul-"
He walked out, slamming the door. A framed picture on my wall fell to the floor with a bang.
What the hell was his problem? I didn’t get it.
******
The next day, Spike brought me a potpie and some apple juice for lunch. He covered my lap with a napkin and set down the tray, turning to leave again.
"Why did you save my life?" I asked.
He looked at me, startled. "What?"
"Why did you bring me to the hospital when the demon broke my leg? Why didn’t you just leave me there to bleed to death?"
He raised his eyebrows. "What the hell kind of idiot question is that, Slayer?"
"You don’t want to be my friend, you act like you hate me," I said. "Obviously you don’t care if I’m alive or dead."
He walked over to my bed and looked down at me for a long moment. "I hope that you live a long and happy life," he said softly. His thumb ran over the back of my hand, a gentle, fleeting touch.
"A long and happy life in which you won’t condescend to speak with me. I don’t understand why you’re acting this way."
"I’m sorry if I’m hurting your feelings," he said. "But it’s better to just have it be what it is. I’m here to take care of you, that’s all. You have your Scoobies and your Watcher and your sis, and I’m just the muscle. Same as always." He turned away and moved to the dresser, closing the tops and tightening the lids of the toiletries that were placed on the top of it.
"But I don’t want that," I protested. "I want you to talk to me. I want to know where you went, how you got the soul, how you wound up in the basement, how you knew where to find me when I was hurt." And when, exactly, you stopped loving me.
"I’m not interested in sharing," he said, lining all my stuffed animals in a perfect row on their shelf.
"What can I do to make you stop being mad at me?" I said. He walked over to my nightstand, stacking up books and magazines and tossing away tissues. I closed my hand over his, and he looked up at me with surprise. "How can I make things right between us?"
He smiled, a thin glimmer of his real one. "You could do what you’re supposed to do, Slayer, and stake me."
"You don’t really want that," I said. Did he?
He didn’t answer, just shook off my hold and kept straightening up my room. My fingers itched to throw something at him, do something to make him see me.
******
Spike brought me two chocolate croissants and a tall glass of milk for breakfast the next day. "I can’t eat these," I protested.
"Why not?" he asked, setting down the tray in front of me.
Duh. "Because they have a gazillion grams of fat, each."
"You’re a scrawny little stick girl, Slayer." He held up my wrist like he was sizing me up as a snack, and I was failing the taste test. "You haven’t been eating anything."
"I’m just not hungry." My appetite hadn’t been that great to begin with, for the last couple of years.
"Eat it," he commanded, hands on his hips.
He was acting bossy, but he was standing close to me, talking to me. "I’ll have a piece of one, a little piece, but that’s it."
"You’ll eat it all," he said sternly.
"Or what? You’ll spank me?"
He smirked. There he was- the old Spike. My Spike. "Just eat the nice pastries, bane."
"What’s a bane?" I asked.
"Bane of my sodding existence, that’s what you are."
"So it’s not a compliment, then?"
He laughed. "No, not a compliment."
"I thought it was a new one. Rather than love or pet or Goldilocks or one of your other little gems."
"Those aren’t compliments, exactly. More like terms of affection."
"And you don’t call me any of them any more." And there’s no affection in sight, either.
He stood up and turned to leave. "Just eat your food."
"I’ll make a deal with you," I offered. "If I eat everything on the tray, you have to tell me about what happened to you while you were gone."
Amazingly, he nodded. "You win," he said. "I’ll take that bet."
Spike sat next to me on the bed and watched me eat. I felt incredibly awkward with him staring at me, but I didn’t want to send him into another insano moment by asking him to stop. The croissants were so decadent, flaky and buttery and chocolaty. "God, this is good."
"Knew you’d like it," he said, looking pleased.
"Spikey knows best," I said. "There’s a scary concept." I licked my fingers, feeling full and mellow. "Wow, that was good."
"You need to take care of yourself. Living off bagged salad, getting no sleep, no wonder you’re slipping a bit with the Slaying."
"I’m not slipping," I said defensively. "It was an accident."
"No, you had two accidents in one day," he pointed out. "That’s not like you. The Bot is doing fine with the Slaying. Take the time to relax and rest, because you need a break."
"I don’t have time for a vacation," I reminded him.
"Your friends and I have the patrols covered," he said. "Just be Buffy." He frowned. "Drink your milk. You need calcium to mend that leg."
I finished the glass of milk and rested back on the pillows, smiling. "I win the bet, Mr. I Want To Make Buffy Big and Fat." I patted the pillow next to me. "Now you have to stay and talk to me."
"No I don’t," he said, as he stood up.
"We had a deal, " I said. "I ate everything on the tray!"
Spike bent down, picked up the empty glass and plate, and waved them at me. With a smirk, he lifted the tray and left the room. "That’s cheating!" I called after him.
******
Spike sat, cross-legged, at the foot of my bed. He held my foot on his lap as he stuffed cotton balls between my toes.
"I want you to tell me what happened to you," I said.
"You promised that if I did this, you’d stop nagging me," he replied, as he shook a bottle of Copacabana Red polish.
"I’m not nagging. I’m expressing an interest in you as a person," I explained as he deftly painted my pinky nail.
"No wonder I was confused." He blew on my toe to dry the polish, and it made me giggle. He looked up, surprised. "Never heard that noise before."
"Ticklish feet."
"Really now?" He looked down at my feet, apparently thinking evil thoughts. "Slayer’s got an Achilles heel. Literally." He leaned forward and blew, making me giggle again. "God, that’s the cutest sound I’ve ever heard."
"I’m not cute," I argued.
"Big bad Slayer," he teased. "Putty in my hands, now."
It was true; he’d turned me into a little pool of Buffy goo between his soft hands on my feet and the tickling. I had to save face. "I bet I could break your nose with one kick. Want to find out?"
"You’d smear the polish," he commented as he painted my next toenail vivid crimson.
"So, we were talking about the whole ensouling process. Was it Gypsies?" Like Angel.
"You have a seriously one track mind."
"You never used to complain about that." Up against the wall. On the floor. Over a tombstone…
"Well, at that time it was working to my advantage." He finished my left foot and began to work on my right.
"Tell me about the soul, Spike." How could he not understand that I needed to hear about it?
"Got a soul, went a little nuts, came back to Sunnydale, became a driveling Looney Tune," he said in blasé voice.
I gritted my teeth, the urge to smack him one hard to resist. "You want to elaborate on any of that?"
"No."
He had to be the most annoying person on the planet. "Why won’t you tell me?"
"Because as your savagely dumped ex as well as the despicable bastard that tried to rape you, you shouldn’t care." He gingerly wiped away excess polish from my skin, his brow furrowing in concentration.
"But I do," I said. "I care, a lot."
"Sounds like a personal problem. Better work on that." He finished off my right foot with a flourish.
"Why are you such a total asshole? You make me want to beat the crap out of you, Spike."
"Another good reason not to open up to you, don’t you think?" He screwed the cap on the bottle of polish and left.
***********
The next day, he brought in a wooden stand and set it up in front of my dresser. "What’s that for?" I asked.
"Be patient," he said, and then left the room. He returned carrying a television. He set it up, plugged it in, and left again. He came back with a DVD player and another appliance that looked similar. He fiddled with cords and wires, and then handed me a keyboard, a manual, and a remote.
"Five movies in the DVD carousel, Web TV so you can surf the Internet and instant message." He flicked a button and Jerry Springer came on. "And here’s a real freak show for you."
"I don’t like computers and I don’t watch cheesy daytime TV."
"We’ll see." He left, leaving the door open.
"You’re not the baby’s momma, Linda!" screamed a gigantic woman, sporting truly frightening feathered hair. "You got no right to criticize me!"
"You got no right to call yourself a momma," countered an equally massive redhaired woman who sat on the other side of the stage. "You’re nothing but a trailer park slut. You don’t even know who the daddy is!"
The audience oooed.
"I know who the daddy is!" the blonde screamed. "Your husband, that’s who!"
Oooh. I turned up the volume as the redhead picked up a chair and the bouncers rushed the stage. I heard a chime and a message window popped up. "Accept a message from WillowWicca?"
I pressed Enter on the keyboard. "You’ve got to turn on Springer!" read the message.
"I’m watching it now," I typed. "Where are you?"
"Student Lounge. Killing time before chem lab."
"Was this your bright idea?" I asked. "Dragging me kicking and screaming into bed potatodom?"
"Spike’s," she replied. "He thought it would keep you out of trouble."
"I think he got it so he could ignore me. He doesn’t seem to want to hang with me."
"Why is that a problem?" typed Willow. "You don’t want to encourage him."
"I don’t think he loves me any more. He’s non talky."
"That’s good. Better that he’s accepted it and moved on. You should be happy."
But I wasn’t. I missed him even more than when he was gone. It was ten times worse, knowing that he was here and avoiding me.
*****
I hit the intercom. "Spike?"
"Yes?"
"I’m bored."
"Sorry to hear that."
"Come keep me company."
"No."
"I’m lonely." God, I sounded pathetic.
"I’ll send the Bot up. That’ll make you nostalgic for the silence."
How could I get him up here? I thought of a topic that could generally keep him going for hours, if I didn’t distract him. "Passions is on. I want you to explain to me who all these people are and what they’re doing."
"That is a flagrant bribe, Slayer. You’d sooner swallow a sword than watch my soap opera."
"Well, grab a rapier and hoof it on up here, because I really want to see Passions." And you.
"When hell freezes over." He paused. "It’s snowing again outside; just our luck that hell may actually be freezing over."
I turned on the show. The witch lady was talking about how much she missed Timmy. "What happened to Timmy?"
He sighed. "I’ll be right up."
"Bring me a Diet Coke and some Doritos."
"You need to eat good food, not crap."
The guy was obsessed with nutrition. He was nearing Riley levels of boring lectures about my food intake. "The Doritos are cheese flavored. That counts as calcium, right?"
He came into the room, carrying a tray laden with milk, beer, Doritos, and some HoHos. Woo hoo! I nearly applauded. I tossed him a pillow. "Get comfy. You’re not leaving until I understand what the hell is going on with this show."
He settled back against the wall, his long legs dangling over the side of the bed. "This is going to take a while."
Three hours later, he’d resorted to drawing a family tree on some poster board left over from Dawn’s science fair project to explain the population of Harmony.
Dawn came in. "Hey! I got an A on my paper on Prohibition."
"Well done," Spike said approvingly.
Dawn turned to me. "Can I have dinner with Spike?"
"What?" What with who?
"Spike said if I got an A on this paper, then I could ask you if I could go with him to his restaurant," Dawn explained.
Spike laughed. "Not my restaurant, sleigh bell. I’m a total peon." He turned to me. "However, I am a peon who can score a free meal, so I thought I’d take Dawn for some spaghetti Bolognese before patrol tonight."
"Please, Buffy?" Dawn pleaded.
"If you do your homework now," I responded.
"Cool," she said happily. "It’s a date then." She flounced out of the room, humming happily.
Spike and I exchanged a look. "I’m sure it’s just a figure of speech," I said.
He raised his eyebrows. "One can only hope."
"How’s she doing out on patrol?" I asked. "She kind of gives me the shruggy no big deal thing, so I figured maybe she was having problems." He looked away. "It’s hard when you’re just starting out," I explained. "It takes time to get really good."
"She did a two for one last night, Buffy," he said. "Two vamps, one stake." He smiled. "It was a sight to see, truly."
"Really?" Wow.
"I should get going now," he said. "See you in the morning." He picked up the tray and tossed all the empty cans and wrappers on it, and left the room.
Dawn, completely kicking vamp ass. Patrolling with Spike. Having dinner with him.
I was totally jealous of my baby sister.
******
I heard everyone come in from patrol, laughing, talking loud, weapons clanking and the trunk slamming shut downstairs. I heard thumping and doors closing.
The Bot and Willow walked upstairs. "Who taught you that word?" Willow said angrily.
"Spike said it-"
"Don’t say it," Willow said. "It’s not a nice word."
"But Spike said it," the Bot protested.
"You can’t be a good role model for Dawn if you use inappropriate language," Willow admonished.
"If I can’t call them motherfucking nimrods, then what can I call them?" the Bot said anxiously.
"Just call them- bad monsters," Willow said, opening the door to her room.
"Die, you bad monsters!" the Bot said loudly.
"Come sit and I’ll adjust your programming," Willow said, and her door closed.
Poor Willow. I really needed to do something nice for her, to thank her for putting up with the bot. I turned on the Web TV and searched on Google. "Wicca gifts," I typed in.
I was scrolling through an assortment of incense holders, goddess statues and beeswax candles when the intercom popped on.. "-because I don’t want to discuss it, Giles," Spike said.
"Spike, what has happened to you is one of the most pivotal, tremendous events that has ever occurred. You were rewarded with a soul, and you must explain what you did to earn it."
"Found it in a box of Cracker Jack. Really surprised me, I was actually rooting for the temporary tattoos."
"Why do you insist on being so flip?" Giles asked angrily. "How are we supposed to help you through this transition if you refuse to let us be part of the process?"
"There is no process, Watcher. No soul, soul. Aside from the mind splitting headaches and the constant, terrifying visions, not much has changed."
"We need to hear about what you went through, and the way you are feeling now," Giles said. "The soul must have significantly altered your world view, your sense of self. We must determine what your purpose is, the destiny that you have been blessed with."
"The way I feel, there is no blessing in it," he said. "And I don’t fancy splitting my head open so you gits can take a peek. If you really must know-"
The intercom popped off, leaving me in ringing silence. Really must know what? God, this was frustrating.
Dawn came into the room, bearing a Healthy Choice meal on a tray, some cookies and a glass of milk. "How was patrol?" I asked.
She shrugged. "The ice and snow seem to have forced the vamps into panic mode. They’re all holing up in warehouses, and if you find one, you get yourself a dozen vamps."
"Are you sure that you can handle that many vamps at once?" I asked worriedly.
"Spike could probably take them all out by himself," Dawn remarked. "He’s a total animal during a fight." She set down the tray on my bed. "He’s very efficient, but sometimes I worry that he’s enjoying the slaying a tad too much."
"That’s vamps for you," I said. "They do like their daily spot of violence."
"It’s the happiest that he ever seems," she said. "Laughing, smiling." She took a cookie off my tray and took a bite. "Although he was laughing a lot earlier tonight, with Chloe."
"Who is Chloe?" I asked.
"She’s Spike’s friend," she explained. "She ate dinner with us, and said she’s heard a lot about me."
"Spike doesn’t have any friends," I said.
"He has me," Dawn said. "And he has Chloe." She pulled something out of her pocket. It was an origami swan, silver paper intricately folded and tucked into a graceful neck and pointed wings. "She brought me this as a present. Isn’t it pretty?"
Who cared about the stupid paper bird? "What kind of a friend is she?" I asked. "Like a girlfriend?"
She nodded her head. "He didn’t say so, but they seemed kind of vibey, liked they enjoyed being together." She looked at me thoughtfully. "Don’t you think it would be nice for Spike to have a girlfriend? He seems really lonely."
"No."
"No he doesn’t seem lonely, or no he shouldn’t have a girlfriend?" Dawn asked, sipping my milk.
"No, I don’t want him to have a girlfriend," I said.
"Would it make you feel jealous?" Dawn asked.
Yes, and kind of like someone put a concrete block on my chest. "No, not at all," I said lightly. "So I was picking out a present for Willow."
I scrolled through the gallery, and we talked about which things we thought she’d like. But all the time all I was thinking was: it’s really over. He doesn’t love me any more. He’ll never look at me again, the way that he used to.
Early the next morning, I woke up in a panic, my heart racing. I stumbled into the bathroom and splashed my face with water. My image in the mirror showed a reflection as pale as snow.
I loved him. I’d fallen, hard. For Spike.
*******
The next day, Giles brought me my breakfast tray. "Where’s Spike?" I asked.
Giles smiled at me. "He won’t be coming during the days any longer, Buffy. It’s time for you to start moving up and about, using your muscles." He buttered a scone and handed it to me. "There’s quite a surprise for you downstairs."
"What is it?" I asked.
"You’ll see shortly," he said. "Eat your breakfast, take a shower and dress, and carefully come downstairs to the basement. Use your crutches."
Under twenty minutes later, I descended into the basement. It was transformed. Drywall had been put up, creating a main area and closing off the laundry room. It looked just like my training room had at the Magic Box. Giles and a tall black guy I’d never seen before stood waiting. "Giles? What is all this?" I asked, leaning my crutches against the wall.
"Do you like it?" Giles asked, his eyes shining. "Xander provided the construction and I purchased the equipment."
I threw myself into his arms, and he held me in a tight hug. Ah, the arms of Giles. I’d missed them. "I love you."
"I love you, too," Giles said. "I’m so pleased to see you restored, back to your old self."
We broke the embrace, and I turned to the man. "I’m Buffy," I introduced myself.
"I’m Ralph," he said in a deep rumbling voice. "I’m your physical therapist."
"There’s been some kind of mistake. I can’t afford that," I protested.
"It’s taken care of," he said, smiling. "Just focus on your recovery. We’ve got a lot of work to do."
"I’ll be upstairs if you need me," Giles said. "Please be careful not to overtax yourself. You had a titanium rod inserted into your leg; don’t forget that."
"I’ll be careful, " I promised.
Ralph turned to me with a smile. "Let’s get to work."
*****
I was waiting for the guys to get back from patrolling. Another snowstorm had hit, and there were now several feet of snow on the ground.
I was doing leg lifts, weights strapped to my ankles. My left leg burned horribly when I did the reps, and I worked through the pain, knowing that it was an inevitable part of getting back into shape.
A loud crack hit my window. I stood up and saw my sister waving. "You've got to get out here!" she yelled. "We’re going to-"
Suddenly, a large snowball slammed into the side of her face, exploding into a shower of white powder.
She whirled around. "Hey!"
Xander picked up another handful of snow. "You snooze you lose, Summ-" he began, before a snowball decked him from behind.
"You were saying?" Spike said, coming up behind him. My souled, demanding, difficult, moody love.
"You’re dead meat," Xander said, and Spike took off running. Dawn squealed loudly, chasing after them both.
Snowball fight! I pulled on a pair of sneakers and grabbed my jacket from the closet. I walked down the hall, still limping slightly, and carefully made my way down the stairs. The Bot was looking out the window. "I want to play too. I promise not to rust."
I walked outside. The piles of snow glimmered underneath the streetlights, piled up on the curbs in a town where no one had ever needed the streets plowed. I heard the sound of giggling and the swoosh of people running through snow, and went around to the back of the house.
It was war. Giles, Willow and Dawn were pounding Spike and Xander with snowballs. "I want to play too," I called out. "No fair all of you having fun without me."
Spike turned and looked at me. "Bot’s on the loose, Willow," he said.
"She patrolled, she should be allowed to join the fight," Xander said. He picked up a snowball and threw it at me, hitting me in the chest.
"I’m-" I began, and Dawn hit me in the neck with a snowball.
I bent down and made a snowball and hit her in the leg. Soon, I was in the thick of it, beaning Willow in her arm, getting Giles right in the glasses. I lost track of time, and suddenly Giles was walking away, his entire body coated with snow. "I believe that cocoa is in order," he said. "I can no longer feel my fingers. Or my feet. " He looked thoughtful. "Or my face, now that I think of it."
"Cocoa and s'mores!" Dawn called, and everyone ran for the house.
I couldn’t run anywhere, not yet. I shook the snow from my hair and brushed off my legs. Spike walked past me, headed around the side of the house. "Good fight," I said.
"Good fight," he said, without turning around.
"Aren’t you going to stay?" I asked. "Join in the cocoa fun with the rest of them?"
He turned and looked at me. His shoulders were dusted with snow, his skin even paler than usual. Ice chips glittered in his hair, sparkling in the moonlight. "I don’t belong in there any more than you do," he said.
Same old song. "You still think I belong in the shadows with you," I said. "But I really don’t, Spike. I never did."
Something changed in his face, and he was on me in a flash, scooping me into his arms. "Spike!" I yelled, surprised.
Spike looked down at me, his face deadly. "I could kill you."
My heart pounded in my chest as he stalked towards the front of the house. "You’re scaring me."
His face softened, his grip loosening a bit. "I’m sorry. I'm just-" He swallowed hard. "I’m very angry with you."
He walked up the front steps and opened the door, carrying me up the stairs. I heard everyone laughing and talking in the kitchen, and Dawn was singing "Frosty the Snowman."
Spike set me down in my room. "What were you thinking?" he asked. "Going out in leggings, t-shirt, jacket open, no boots?"
"I was fine," I protested, as he took out thick socks, a flannel nightgown and a fleece robe from my dresser and set them on my bed.
"You’re not healed yet," he said. "So you decide to risk injury to your leg by running around in three feet of icy snow?"
"I was just having fun," I protested.
"You could have made yourself lame," he muttered. "Caught a chill. Taken a fall-"
I closed my hand around his and he looked up at me. "I’m fine. I’m sorry I scared you." He looked so lost, afraid and confused. I wrapped my arms around him, hugging him tightly.
He was still for a moment, and then his arms tightened around me. "I couldn’t stand it, something else happening to you," he whispered, burying his face in my hair.
"Nothing’s going to happen to me," I promised. I turned my head, and my lips ran across his.
We exploded. His arms tightened around me and I slipped my hands under his shirt, feeling his back. His tongue was in my mouth, his hands sliding down to cup my ass and we were both on fire, pressed tightly to each other as we kissed passionately.
God, it was so good. Touching him was as good as before but even better, because I knew what I’d be missing if this stopped. I knew every inch of his muscles, every place that made him gasp and cry, everything he wanted.
He pulled away, running his hands through his hair. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-" he broke off and turned to leave.
"Don’t go," I said. I reached out and grabbed his arm.
"This was a mistake. It’s better we’re apart," he said. "You’ll come to understand, you will."
"I don’t want to," I said. "I want you. I- miss you." It was so hard to say, to make myself vulnerable to him. "Spike, I think about you every day, and I wonder how you are, what’s going on with you. I hate being shut out, left out in the cold."
"I’m sorry I can’t be what you need," he said.
"You are what I need," I said. "You’re what I want." It was true. I’d missed him horribly, and it just kept getting worse, an ache in my chest that grew sharper each day he stayed away. "Spike, I lo-"
He waved his arms in the air and stepped back. "I’ll be there at your back in a fight," he said, his eyes closed. "I’d gladly die for you. But don’t ask me to try to love you, because I can’t."
In an instant, he was gone.
******
After three weeks of physical therapy, I was ready to slay again.
"We’ll see how you do in a practice session," Giles said cautiously. "I’m not letting you patrol again until I’m confident you can defend yourself."
My body sang with adrenaline. I so wanted to kick somebody’s ass. I tossed Giles a face mask and padding and pulled on a pair of boxing gloves. "Just try to keep up."
Twenty minutes later, Giles was flat on his back, winded and red-faced. "I think that’s enough for the day, Buffy."
"I’m just getting warmed up," I complained.
"I fear I have pulled a muscle," he said, wincing. "And- I really should get back to the school."
Bummer. "Okay," I said. I leaned down and helped him up.
"I’ll come back tomorrow," he promised. "We’ll pick it up where we left off."
He left, and I hopped up on my pommel horse. I wanted to keep going. I needed to keep going.
I walked over to the wall and dialed the phone.
*****
Spike walked downstairs. He was barefoot and in his sweats, and he looked totally amazing. Weeks without seeing him made me focus on all the little details: the slight scruff on his chin, two small dots of jet in his ears, a silver ring on his thumb. He smelled like Polo, and the scent of it made my skin tingle. "You sure you’re up for this?" he asked worriedly. "I can’t believe the Watcher got you up and about already."
"Evil waits for no one," I said. "I miss the slaying, and I want to get back out there."
"If you’re not in top form, you’ll get yourself killed," he said.
"Then you’d better help me get back in the game." I tossed him a quarterstaff.
He made several pathetic jabs at me, which I easily blocked. Looking for some real action, I jabbed at his throat. Then we got into it; anticipating, blocking, cracking the wooden staffs against each other. I felt the nice healthy glow of a good workout, marred by a dull pulsing in my thigh.
I wasn’t paying attention. Spike caught me in the knee with the wooden pole and I cried out, bending over. He dropped his pole and ran over. "Buffy?" he said worriedly. "God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!" I clipped him in the ankles and he fell down on his back. Quick as a wink, I dropped my quarterstaff and pinned him to the ground, his wrists slamming back into the mat. He looked up at me, his eyes wide. Lust crashed over me in a wave. Too long, too long, since we’d been like this. He lay still beneath me, and I could see the need in his eyes.
I leaned down and bit his neck, in the high spot near his jaw that drove him nuts. "Unnh," he moaned, thrusting upwards. I moved my mouth up to his ear, tracing my tongue around his earlobe and sucking it. The stone earring in his lobe tasted cold and smooth in my mouth.
I let go of his hands, secure that I had him where I wanted him, and smiled down at him. He stared in my eyes for a long moment, and then shoved me away. I tipped off him, landing on my ass. "This is wrong," he announced.
"It’s not wrong," I said. "I care about you. I want to be with you." Wasn’t this what he’d wanted all along?
"How can you want me?" He looked lost and confused again, once more with the wiggins. "I tried to rape you. "
I really, really wished he would stop bringing it up. "What’s in the past doesn’t matter," I said. "It’s over and done. It was a mistake and you’re sorry-"
"You made me lose my mind," he said, his eyes wild. "I lost my mind, Buffy!"
I crawled over to him. "I’m sorry that you went through that, Spike. I wish I could make it go away." I wrapped my arms around his neck and gently kissed him. He was completely still for a moment, and then he rolled on top of me