Home : Stories by Author : Stories by Kit H. : Nothing's Wrong - Page 2
Spike caught a whiff of a familiar male scent before he heard the creak of the heavy door opening, followed by quiet footsteps. It was no surprise when Xander planted himself between him and the telly, blocking off his view of the picture.
"Oi - down in front," he complained, "I was watchin' that."
Xander reached behind him and turned of the TV. "I need to talk to you."
"Why the long face, Harris? Father Christmas leave a lump of coal in your stocking?"
"I'm here because Buffy's in trouble."
Spike's attitude changed in an instant. He got to his feet and grabbed his duster, ready to rush to the rescue. "What's happened? Where is she? Is she all right?"
"What? Oh, no. It's not like that. She's at home. She's okay."
"Well then, what's this about?"
"She's not really okay."
Spike scowled, tiring of the boy's nonsense. His eyes narrowed and flashed sparks of gold fire, and he walked up to him 'til they were standing nose to nose. "You've got exactly two seconds to make some sense, mate, or you can forget about ringin' in the new year."
"Okay, okay," Xander raised his hands, gesturing for the vampire to back off. He began pacing across the floor of the crypt, in and out of the flickering shadows cast by the candlelight. "There's something, uh ... strange going on with her. I don't know what it is. Most of the time she seems fine, but then there're times like tonight."
"What happened tonight?"
"You mean you didn't lurk around to peek in the windows after you decided to play Santa Claus? Come to think of it, this is partly your fault."
"What is?"
"The big knock down, drag out fight they had over Dawn accepting your present. Buffy wanted to send it back."
"Then the Niblet liked it, yeah?" Spike grinned.
"You're missing the point, Spike. All you succeeded in doing is turning them against each other, and they've been fighting enough lately as it is. You should have heard the horrible things Dawn said to her."
"Is that what this is all about? Some sibling spat?" Spike dismissed it with a wave of his hand.
Xander pinched the bridge of his nose to try to relieve the pounding in his head. "This was a stupid idea. I shouldn't've come here. What the hell was I thinking?"
"Exactly. What were you thinking?"
"Right. Forget it," Xander muttered. He started toward the door of the crypt, but Spike called out to stop him.
"Too late for that now. Look, something made you come here tonight to tell me Buffy's in trouble. Now you're here, you may as well sit down and tell me everything."
Xander stood by the door for a second, torn about whether to stay or go. Finally, he took off his jacket and pulled up a chair next to Spike's. "All right, then, listen up ..."
* * * * *
Spike poured Xander another shot of whiskey, and refilled his own glass before sitting down. What he'd heard about Buffy's recent behavior only reinforced his own feelings that she was going through something serious.
"Did she say how it happened?" Spike asked.
"How what happened?"
"The cut, man. On her hand tonight."
"It was an accident. She broke a glass."
"And she didn't seem upset when you found her?"
"That's the weird thing. You should've seen her right before she ran into the kitchen, after Dawn said those awful things to her. She looked frantic, almost panic-stricken. But a minute later when I caught up with her she was calm as a lamb," Xander frowned as he recalled her odd reaction. "It gave me the willies. She was standing there watching herself bleed with this strange look on her face."
"What kind of strange look?"
"Um... spacey, blissed-out - almost like she was on drugs or something. But that couldn't be it. Buffy doesn't do that, and even if she did, there wasn't enough time to take anything before I got in there."
"Was tonight the first time somethin' like this happened?" Spike asked, lighting a cigarette.
Xander shook his head. "I've been comparing notes with the others. These odd spells of hers seem to be happening a lot more than I thought. Tara doesn't think it's the result of any witchcraft. Anya thinks it's a temporary side effect of her being brought back from the...er, brought back. Like aftershocks or something."
"And you? What d'you think?"
"I have no idea. I'm really worried about her, but I don't know what to do." Putting down his empty glass, he got up and started pacing again. "I wish Giles was here, or Joyce, or even Willow. You can tell how desperate I am - I still can't believe I'm actually here talking about it to you."
"You still haven't said what it is you want me to do about it."
"Maybe you can... I'm here because you..."
"I what? Spit it out, mate."
Xander turned back to look at the vampire. "Oh, man - this is killing me to admit. It's just that -- you and Buffy; there's some kind of weird connection between you two. Maybe it's the whole Supernatural Being thing you've got working for you. I dunno. But you seem to see her in a way that the rest of us don't...or maybe can't."
"There's nothing supernatural about it, Harris. I'm in love with the girl."
Xander snorted, "Yeah, sure -- whatever."
"You don't believe me."
"I don't know what to believe anymore, Spike, okay? And I don't have anyone else to turn to here. So if there is anything you can do, you gotta help her. Help both of them. If you can do that, then who knows? Maybe we'll all believe."
* * * * *
Spike insisted he needed to spend some time alone with Buffy if he was going to help her and Xander, after threatening to stake the vampire if even one of his friend's blonde hairs was harmed, reluctantly agreed.
The plan to get her to his crypt was simple, as plans went. Just a bit of little-sister sleight of hand. Anya and Xander were supposed to be watching Dawn at the Magic Box. They sent her off to the movies with Tara, instead. A phone call to Buffy, telling her that Dawn had run off from the shop was all it took to send the Slayer in Spike's direction.
The sun hadn't yet set when she arrived at the vampire's crypt and threw the door open. It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the dimness inside, but she immediately felt his presence in the room.
"Where is she?" she asked, her voice hard as nails.
"And good evening to you, too, Slayer," he answered, emerging from the shadows.
"Dawn?" Buffy called, looking around the room.
"Lil Bit's not here. You can search the place if you like," Spike said. He leaned his sinuous body against the wall; arms casually folded across his chest, looking like a cat who'd just eaten a whole nest of canaries.
"Then let's go."
"Go where?"
Buffy sighed and explained, as if to an idiot child, "If she's not here, then she's missing. You have to help me find her. For all we know she's reckless enough to end up at Rack's place again."
"Calm down. She's not there. She's not even missing. She's with the witch."
"Tara? How do you know...?" Buffy took a closer look at Spike's self-satisfied expression and realized she was being played. "Okay, what the hell is going on here?"
Slowly, Spike began to prowl around the edge of the room, putting himself between the girl and the door. "You and I need to have a little talk, without any inconvenient interruptions from Dawn or the Slayerettes."
"We've got nothing to talk about," Buffy said, firmly. "I told you before, what happened that night was a horrible mistake. It will NEVER happen again."
"Who said I wanted to talk about that? Funny though, you do seem to have a one track mind about it," Spike said, with a grin that could only be described as evil.
"Don't flatter yourself. And speaking of 'don'ts', you didn't seem to get my message about staying away from Dawn and me. I want you out of our lives, which means a big 'no' on the subject of gift giving. "
Buffy reached deep into her coat pocket, took out the present Spike had left for her the night before, and threw it at his feet. He looked down at the still-wrapped package, a pained expression washing over his features for a moment. Then he drew himself up to his full height and stared her down.
"Well, now that we've exchanged the usual pleasantries, let's get down to business, shall we?"
"Just how delusional are you, Spike? We have no business, whatever you may think otherwise. It's all in your overbleached head."
"Oooh, I wouldn't throw stones, pet - not with a head as messed up as yours," the vampire purred.
Buffy sighed and shook her head. "Why do I even try talking to you? I'm out of here."
Spike moved to block the door. "Fraid I can't let you leave, yet, luv. First, you need to tell me - how did you hurt your hand?"
Unconsciously, Buffy's right hand reached over to cover the bandage on her left. "It was an accident, I cut it on a glass. What's it to you, anyway?"
"Something tells me you've been having lots of 'accidents' lately, haven't you?" he asked, drawing closer to her.
The first nervous butterflies erupted in Buffy's stomach. Before she could catch herself, she'd taken a few steps backward, away from the approaching vampire. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said.
With three quick steps, Spike was upon her. He grabbed her left arm and pushed up the sleeve of her sweatshirt, revealing the scars of two more jagged cuts.
"This is what I'm talking about. More 'accidents'?"
Buffy's heart began to pound. She fought the rising feelings of panic and struggled to maintain a cool exterior, shaking his hand off her arm. "No, those are called injuries, Spike. You know, from fighting demons and vampires like I do every night of my life? Now get out of my way, I'm leaving."
"Not yet, you're not. I know your dirty little secret, Slayer. And you're not leaving here till I have my proof."
"You're out of your mind," Buffy whispered, calculating the distance to the doorway and out of this nightmare.
"Yeah, I get that a lot. Now be a good girl and cooperate and this will go a lot faster."
"Huh?"
"'Fess up. You're cutting yourself, isn't that right? You've even gotten yourself hooked on it."
Buffy went cold all over. "Wh-what?"
Spike saw her reaction and mellowed his approach. "Admit it, Buffy. I'm not here to judge you. I'm your friend. I want to help."
"Ha! My 'friend'? Not if you were the last god-forsaken demon on the planet. I've had enough of this. Move away from the door or I'm going to have to hurt you."
Spike's expression turned grim. "So, we're going to do this the hard way, eh? All right, then. Strip."
"In your dreams, sicko," Buffy snorted.
"I'm serious. Take your clothes off."
Buffy was incredulous. How dare he try to pull this kind of kinky bullshit on her? "Or what?" she challenged.
"Or I'll do it for you," the vampire stated calmly.
"You and what army?" Buffy asked, confidently.
Spike pulled a small pistol from his back pocket. "Me and my new friend Mr. Tranquilizer Dart Gun, here," he said with cocky glee. "So stop arguing and start peeling off those denims."
Staring at the gun, Buffy felt the panic rise up inside her once more.
"C'mon, luv. No need to play the blushing virgin. It's not like I haven't been up close and personal with what's underneath 'em, is it?"
Buffy felt herself blush from head to toe.
"So what's it gonna be, then? You gonna shimmy out of those tight little trousers or am I gonna take 'em off for ya?" Spike asked, licking his lips.
"No. Don't do this," Buffy breathed.
"Admit you have a problem, and I won't have to," countered the vampire.
The Slayer's eyes flashed angrily as she prepared herself to attack. "I hate you, Spike."
"Sticks and stones may--- oof!"
The kick came out of nowhere,
knocking him back against the wall. Like a
streak of light, she flew past him on her way to the door and her escape.
Pulling the trigger on the dart gun was harder than Spike had expected it to be, but he did it. The dart found its target in the curve of her hip, felling his prey in a small heap on the cold floor. Great, Spike, he thought, now you've shot her. That should really help convince the girl you love her - you bloody great prat.
* * * * *
Spike lifted Buffy's motionless body up and cradled her in his arms, startled at how fragile she felt. There was no question about it, she'd definitely lost some weight since their night together, and it wasn't weight she could spare.
He sat her down on the edge of the bed, letting her fall forward against his chest for support while he peeled her sweatshirt over her head. Gently, he lowered her down onto her back, eyes skimming across her stomach, chest and arms for more signs of self-injury.
Other than the cuts on her arm and hand, nothing looked suspicious. The vampire felt a pang of guilt. Perhaps he was mistaken, after all?
Continuing with his task, he removed her shoes before pulling down the blue jeans. As the smooth, pale skin of her thighs was revealed, he scented the tang of fresh blood in the air. And there it was: exactly what he'd expected, and been afraid to see. Swearing to himself, he counted the small, neat rows of cuts, the freshest of which began bleeding anew as the rough denim pulled the scabs away.
There was very little blood; still he was dizzy with it. It was Slayer's blood, after all. Buffy's blood. Despite the violence and lack of inhibitions that marked their one sexual encounter, he'd not tasted a single drop of her blood. Now the tiny red droplets sang their Siren's call to him and it was all he could do to fight the temptation to drink from her.
Unsteadily, he pushed himself away from her and across the room to a place where her scent wasn't so overpoweringly intoxicating.
Christ! He needed a drink. No. What he needed was to think. He knew what this was. He even had a pretty good idea of why it was happening to Buffy. What he needed to know was how to get her to stop doing it.
One thing was for sure: letting her just get up and walk out of here once she woke up was not an option. Not if he was going to help her. And she needed help, no matter what she said. More than that - it was his help she needed.
Who else in her life had a hope of understanding her strange addiction? Who else had the strength to stop her the next time she felt the call of the knife?
The answer was clear. There was no one but him. He'd have to keep her here where he could help her get through the pain of withdrawal. What was the old saying? He'd have to be cruel to be kind. Of course, all she'd see was the cruel side. It certainly wouldn't help him win her affections.
But what else could he do? What would happen when cutting herself wasn't enough anymore? What kind of pain would she seek out next? The kind that could leave her disfigured for life? The kind that could kill her?
Spike sighed and reached out to smooth a strand of hair back from where it had fallen across the face of the woman who had now become his prisoner. This was yet another crime she'd never forgive him for. But if he failed to help her, could he ever forgive himself?
From his easy chair across the room, Spike watched the Slayer sleep. Nervously, he chewed on a black-polished thumbnail, checking the clock on the table beside him to see how long she'd been unconscious.
Three hours and counting. She should only have been out for a little while. He'd obviously bolloxed up the dosage of Nembutal in the dart. Once again he rose and walked over to the bed to check her vital signs. Same as before; her heartbeat was slow but steady, as was her breathing. She was okay; she just wasn't waking up.
Telling himself to calm down and stop being such a bloody wanker, he took a moment to check her restraints again. A sturdy manacle on her right ankle was attached with about 10 feet of heavy chain to a bolt in the stone floor beside the bed. He'd wrapped cloth around the metal to keep it from digging into her skin - not wanting to inadvertently give her a tool she could hurt herself with. He'd been tempted to chain her arms to the headboard for good measure, but decided against it. Instead, her wrists were cuffed together in front of her with a pair of fur-lined handcuffs, (a leftover from his days with the fun-loving Harmony.)
His biggest defense against her escape was a small patch that released a steady dose of a powerful muscle relaxant. He'd placed the tiny dot between her shoulder blades where she couldn't reach it. Warren the boy genius Bot-builder had assured him the dosage wasn't enough to make her spacey, but it was guaranteed to reduce her Slayer strength to that of an ordinary human female.
Lying there like that, so still and quiet, she almost looked like an ordinary girl. But Spike knew better than anyone what an illusion that was. Buffy Anne Summers was the most extraordinary woman he'd ever met. She had to be exceptional to make a soulless creature of the night like him forsake his evil ways and fall desperately in love with her.
Desperate was the word, all right. He had only to look in front of him to see the evidence of his daft obsession. Keeping her here chained up against her will was sheer madness. He'd been out of his mind to even consider it. But then again, he'd been out of his mind to varying degrees ever since he realized he was in love with the Slayer and would do anything in the world for her. Anything, including incurring her considerable wrath in an effort to stop her from hurting herself. If only he could get to the reason behind her behaviour, he was sure he could help her.
Spike sighed and carefully tucked the covers around the motionless girl. Then he sank back into his chair. He picked up one of the heavy books he'd stolen from the library and turned to where he'd left off. As long as she was still out, he might as well continue his research.
* * * * *
"Mmmmmmm," moaned Buffy softly as she slowly began coming to. She snuggled down into the soft covers, feeling the cool smoothness of satin against her cheek and sighed. Her button-nose twitched a bit, sending a signal down her nerves that the end of it itched. Her subconscious brain got the message and automatically routed it to her right hand, which moved up to scratch it. For some reason, her left hand came along for the ride. Oh oh, something was wrong here, time to get the higher brain functions involved. In a heartbeat, she jolted fully awake and began taking inventory of her situation.
Right ankle manacled, hands in cuffs, (fur-lined?), huge bed with red satin sheets, dank cave smell, candlelight. Shit. She was chained up in Spike's place. Suddenly it all came back to her. He'd shot her, the son of a bitch! When she got loose she was gonna stake him so bad...
Buffy sat up in the bed and looked around for the Vampire-soon-to-be-pile-of-dust in question. He sat nearby in a chair, staring back at her over the top of a large leather-bound book. For just a second she could've sworn he looked guilty. Then the expression was gone and he looked like his typical aggravating self.
"So, Sleeping Beauty awakes at last. I thought you were going to sleep the whole night away, Slayer."
"What the hell is this, Spike? Didn't you learn your lesson the last time you tried to keep me here in chains?"
Again, Spike looked oddly chastened. "That was a mistake."
"And this isn't? You think that keeping me prisoner here is going to change my mind about wanting you out of my life?"
"No, I'm not that dim."
"Oh, I think you are. Only an idiot would keep me locked up here, in the first place my friends are going to look once they figure out I'm missing. How long do you think it'll take before they show up to rescue me, huh?"
Spike's confidence returned. "I wouldn't hold your breath, pet. The cavalry won't be making an appearance for awhile. We've got time -- not a lot, but enough."
"Are you nuts?" Buffy looked at the vampire like he'd lost his mind. "When I don't come home tonight, Dawn will get Xander and Anya and they'll come looking for me-tomorrow morning at the latest."
"No, luv. You're wrong about that. Dawn thinks you're on your way to L.A. to visit the poof. She's staying with the witch until you return. And let me add, she wasn't at all unhappy to get out of chez Summers for a few days."
"Yeah, well maybe you can fool Dawn, but Xander will see right through that lame story. He´ll-"
"Harris was the one who helped me come up with it."
"He... huh?" Buffy's mouth hung open for a long moment before she gathered her wits and snapped it shut again. Xander was in on this? No, that had to be a lie. This was all some kind of trick Spike had come up with to get her in his bed.
"I don't believe you," she said, though her furrowed brow betrayed her uncertainty.
Spike pulled his chair toward her and sat on the edge of it. Clasping his hands in front of him he leaned forward, looking the Slayer right in the eyes, favoring her with his most open, sincere expression.
"Listen to me, Buffy. You're in trouble and everybody knows it. Your mates are just as worried about you as I am. They're at a loss about what to do for you."
"So you decide to kidnap me? This is insane. You've got to let me go right now."
"I can't do that. You need help. I think, no -- I know I can help you get through this."
Buffy's expression turned incredulous. She laughed, a sharp cold sound that sent a chill through the vampire. "You're so full of it, Spike. Listen to you, acting all noble like you're trying to save me from myself. Give it up, already - I know what this is really about."
"You do, do you?"
"It's totally obvious. You finally figured out I was serious about getting you out of my life, so you gave up on the subtle seduction attempts and actually drugged me and chained me to your bed! Is this fulfilling some sick bondage fantasy of yours? God, I can't believe how pathetic you are," she spat.
"Is sex all you ever think about, Summers? Not that I'd be complainin' if it were, mind," Spike purred in the low, lusty drawl Buffy remembered all too well from the night they spent in the condemned house. He flashed her his patented evil grin and for a moment they sat there in silence, just staring at each other; she remembering the feel of his body under hers and he picking up on her racing heartbeat and rising body temperature.
Buffy was the first to look away, cursing herself for still being attracted to the vampire despite her best intentions. But she could be strong, now. She could resist. She didn't need what he had to offer anymore. She'd found something else just as powerful but better. Something she could control.
As if he'd read her mind, Spike sat back in his chair and turned uncharacteristically serious again. "You know why you're here, Slayer. And we both know it's not about shagging this time."
The girl scoffed, "Yeah, sure - whatever."
Spike's eyes flashed angrily and he scowled at her. "It's time for you to be still and listen to me, pet. You have a problem. You're cutting yourself. Admit it."
Staring him down, Buffy met his angry expression with one of defiance. "You don't know the first thing about it."
"Oh, but I do. I've been studying," Spike gestured to the books piled beside his chair. "Want to hear what I've learned?"
"Not particularly," she answered, affecting boredom by examining her chipped nail polish.
"Well, as you're not going anywhere for the moment, humour me. The head shrinkers call it 'Self-Injury´, luv," Spike said. Opening one of the big texts to a marked page, he began to read. "´Self-injury is a compulsion or impulse to inflict physical wounds on one's own body, motivated by a need to cope with unbearable psychological distress or regain a sense of emotional balance.´"
"So? Is that your 'expert´ diagnosis, Spike? Or should I call you Dr. The Bloody?" Buffy rolled her eyes, and worked on the cuticles of her left hand with the thumbnail of her right. "Dr. The Bloody Clueless, is more like it," she muttered.
Spike slammed the book shut and stood up, towering over her. "You're the bloody fool, if you think this is something you can mess about with. Cutting yourself to give yourself some kind of - I dunno - relief or what have you, it's like drinking or doing drugs."
Spike was getting worked up and his words began making Buffy uncomfortable. She'd had enough of this latest little game of his. It was time for her to get going. She looked down at the silly fur-lined handcuffs. It should only take her a couple of minutes to pull them apart and get her hands free. As he paced the floor, lecturing to her, she subtly began to work on the weakest part of the metal.
"It might make you feel better for a little while," Spike was saying, "but it doesn't solve anything, it just covers up the real problem..."
A frown creased the Slayer's forehead. She must have underestimated the strength of the cuffs. They didn't seem to be giving way at all.
"...and soon you find yourself needing to do it more and more just to get the same kind of effect, isn't that right? When you started this you probably thought it was a one off. Well, from the number of cuts I saw, it looks like it's developed into quite the nasty little habit."
Something was very wrong. The handcuffs weren't budging. It wasn't the metal - it was her. She had no strength. Whatever he'd shot her with must still be making her weak, which meant she really was a prisoner here. Who knew how long it would take before she could get herself free and escape? If Xander was really in on this with the vampire, she might be a prisoner her for days! Buffy felt the panic begin to bloom and grow inside her, fighting its way to the surface like a living thing. It was taking her over rapidly and she was powerless to stop it. She was trapped again. Trapped and frantic to get free.
"You of all people should know how dangerous that kind of addiction can be," Spike continued, "There are always consequences. We've both of us just seen the consequences of Red's magic addiction with our own eyes." As he finished his point, he turned to see if he'd made any impression on her at all, only to find her pale as a ghost and breathing shallowly.
"Nooooo," he heard her moan, as she struggled to get her hands free of the handcuffs.
In an instant he was kneeling on the floor in front of her, reaching out to take both her hands in his to try and calm her. She tore them out of his grip, but not before he felt how cool and clammy they were.
"Buffy? Buffy, luv, are you okay?"
Her eyes were wild, pupils dilated and unfocused. A fine sheen of sweat broke out on her face and neck, and the room was instantly filled with the scent of overwhelming fear. Her efforts to free herself became more frantic. She got to her feet and ran away from the bed, falling hard to the floor when the chain connected to her ankle reached its limit. Once on the ground she began to flail around, kicking against the chain that bound her. Then she started to scream, a sound of such pure terror it burned like a flame into Spike's very core.
"Oh, unholy Hell - what've I done?"
The Slayer's eyes stared into space, seeing nothing but the absolute blackness of the inside of her coffin. Her hands clawed at the air in front of her, feeling instead the slippery torn satin lining and splintering wood of her tiny prison. The sound of her own ragged breathing echoed in her ears. Her lungs burned as she struggled harder, desperately gasping for oxygen.
Spike dropped to the floor beside her, reaching to still her hands, fumbling with the handcuff key. "Easy, luv. I'm sorry. It's all right, Buffy. Please stop, you'll be free in a moment. It's okay."
She didn't seem to hear him, just kept struggling against her bonds, making it harder for him to release them. Her screaming had stopped, but she was murmuring something softly over and over like some kind of mantra.
"No, not again," she panted, "no, please, god, not again."
At last the handcuffs snapped open. Buffy's hands immediately reached for the metal band around her ankle, fingernails scratching and tearing the skin around it in an attempt to claw herself free.
Spike saw her draw blood and grabbed her hands in one of his own, stopping her from doing further damage to herself. With his other hand he unlocked the manacle.
Once freed, Buffy shrank in upon herself, drawing her body into a small, trembling ball. At once her breathing began to ease and Spike felt a spark of hope that the worst was over.
Wrapping his arms around her, he gathered her close to him, murmuring words of comfort to her as he tried to get his own raging fear under control. She continued mumbling to herself, but the words were no longer intelligible. Still, she stared, unfocused into space.
Not wanting to leave her there on the cold stone floor any longer, Spike picked her up and took her over to the bed. He laid her down, kneeling there next to her. Leaning over her, he reached down to her neck to check her pulse. Suddenly her eyes snapped open wide, focusing on him at last. Never had he seen her lovely green eyes so filled with fear. Guilty and grief-stricken, he began to move away from her, but she reached out and grabbed a handful of his T-shirt, holding him in place just above her with surprising strength.
"No, don't go," she pleaded, her eyes filled with desperation. "Don't want to feel this, can't stand it." Her breath was still coming in short gasps, and he could see the panic begin to gain the upper hand again. "Make it stop, please just make it stop."
He felt her pull him down to her and resisted. This was wrong. This wasn't what was supposed to happen. He hadn't brought her here to take advantage of her. Gods, could he have screwed this up any more if he'd tried?
Strong fingers moved down to work the button fly of his jeans and Spike felt himself become instantly hard. Instinctively he thrust his hips against hers, pinning her down with his erection and growing light-headed from the scent of her answering arousal.
Like a woman possessed, Buffy worked to rid him of his clothes, and too weak to resist, Spike quickly freed her of hers as well.
Then they were naked and then they were joined; mouth to mouth, hand to hand, and with a single breathtaking thrust, body to body. And oh - he was home, buried deep within the woman who made him whole. Above her, inside her, drowning in every inch of her. Needing her more with her every heartbeat. Loving her more with her every breath.
She moved beneath him like a jungle cat, locking her legs together behind his back and using them to pull him deeper inside her than he ever though he could go. Urgently she met his every thrust, the fever inside her building as she quickly climbed towards her goal.
Feeling her body wind ever tighter, Spike eased his pace, not wanting it to be over so fast. But Buffy had other ideas. In a single motion she flipped them over and trapped him beneath her, taking charge of their rhythm, not letting it slow a bit.
Entranced by the sight of her moving above him, Spike gave up all control to his lover, concentrating on making himself last long enough for her to reach her peak. He watched her rock up and down on his cock; her eyes closed, head thrown back, cloud of golden hair cascading around her shoulders. He knew that he should be content with the amazing fact that she was here - miraculously alive and physically joined with him as one. It was beyond foolish to want more, but he did. He wanted her to open her eyes and realize she was with *him.* He wanted what they were doing to be more than a physical release, more than just a way for her to stop feeling the pain that so tormented her. He wanted her to be happy and whole. He wanted her beside him for a lifetime. He wanted her love.
With a cry that echoed through the far reaches of the crypt, Buffy came. The powerful clenching of her inner muscles sent Spike over the edge as well, dropping him from a dizzying height into blissful oblivion. The Slayer collapsed on top of him. She slipped into semi-consciousness with a look of profound relief on her perfect features. Wrapping his arms tightly around her, Spike wished there was some way he could hold her forever.
At last, dazed and battle weary, they slept.
* * * *
Strength. Spike had always believed his Slayer had strength enough to conquer anything. Never had he imagined seeing her weaken to the point of becoming some kind of addict. Never had he thought he'd watch her writhing naked beneath him, begging to be taken by a man she professed to hate, just to escape her pain for a little while.
From the farthest corner of the room, Spike looked over to where she still lay sleeping in his bed. For the first time in over a century he felt physically sick to his stomach. His mind skipped back to the morning after the first time they'd had sex and he laughed; a short, sharp, bitter-sounding snort. He was such a bloody fool. He'd been so deliriously happy then. He'd actually thought that after they'd shared that incredible night of passion things had changed between them. That if he could bring her such intense physical pleasure, she couldn't help but have feelings for him as well.
Now he knew better. He was no more than a thing to her, a tool she'd used twice now to block out the pain that haunted her every waking minute. If she'd had her choice between him and a sharp knife last night, he had no doubt she'd have chosen the blade. It seems once again he'd been nothing more than - what had she said? - oh, yes, convenient.
Ah, good old self-pity. Combined with self-loathing, it made a bloke want nothing more than to drink himself into oblivion, never to see another moonrise. Never to look into the green eyes of the one woman he'd been foolish enough to give his whole heart to.
He sensed a change in her breathing before he saw her begin to move in her sleep, apparently gripped by a bad dream. She raised her arms in front of her face, delicate wrists crossed in defense against some invisible foe. Her lips moved, and even from this far across the room his sensitive vampire hearing picked up her whispers of 'please' and 'no'.
Spike's heart ached to know she was in such torment. She was going through agony he couldn't even imagine, much less help her recover from. She'd been ripped out of paradise, only to be returned to a world of loss and heartache. And worse, somehow she had come back damaged to the point that his chip no longer registered her as human.
He looked down into the palm of his hand at the tiny patch he'd removed from Buffy's back as she slept. The drug would have lost its effect by now. Good. She needed all her strength. Without every bit of it, could she keep fighting to remain among the living? Or would she give in and find a way to be sent back again -- back to heaven and beyond his reach for eternity.
"The hell with this," he mumbled, and went off in search of a drink.
* * * * *
Buffy's tossing and turning grew more frantic. Then suddenly with a gasp and a cry, she sat bolt upright in bed, wide-awake. For the second time in less than a day she looked around her, putting together the pieces of where she was and how she'd gotten there. Oh god, Spike's bed. Major deja-vu. Except this time the aches and tingles and stickiness between her legs were vivid reminders that she'd had sex with Spike. And this time she'd woken up unchained, so she didn't even have the excuse of being his prisoner to help justify what she'd done.
Protectively, she drew the sheet up around herself and looked around the crypt for a sign of the vampire. Thankfully, he was nowhere in sight.
She quickly found her clothes and started dressing, trying unsuccessfully to stop the flood of memories of the hours she'd spent in Spike's arms. Being with him was like escaping into a different world where the pain magically disappeared. Sure, the pleasure was incredible; mind blowing in fact. But it was more than that. Somehow, being with this powerful creature who's strength equaled her own; this killer who'd terrorized the world for more than a century - made her feel incredibly alive. In some bizarre way, when she gave herself up to the passion that flared between them, he made her feel safe, like nothing could hurt her ever again. Never had she felt so protected, so free to be her real self.
But it had to be wrong. When she was in her right mind, she knew that, and it made her ashamed and afraid. What did it say about her that she felt more at home in the bed of a monster than in the company of her friends and family?
Finally dressed and ready to go, Buffy sat back on down on the edge of the bed. If she were being honest, she'd admit there was a part of her that didn't want to leave. Where was she going anyway - back home where she had to pretend everything was fine? She damn well wasn't fine and she knew it. When she wasn't feeling numb, she felt angry. And when other feelings tried to surface, the pain and panic they brought with them threatened to push her over the edge. She looked down at the cut on the back of her hand and shuddered. Sometimes she felt like she was hanging off some high cliff by her fingernails and that time was rapidly running out.
From up above she heard the sound of glass breaking. So, he was still here after all. She'd better get moving before he got another bright idea that involved tranquilizer darts and handcuffs.
When she reached the top of the ladder she saw him. He was sitting on a bier, smoking a cigarette. What looked to have been a full bottle of scotch lay smashed into small pieces not far from him. Buffy's eyes met his and she was surprised to see he was stone cold sober.
"Drop something?" she asked, with a sneer in her voice.
"Nope. I just quit," he answered through an exhale of smoke, "cold turkey, as you Yanks say."
"Right," Buffy scoffed, "you'll be back into the Wild Turkey before nightfall."
"Don't bet on it."
Buffy just shook her head and started walking toward the door. Bantering with Spike was a bad idea. Spike in general was a bad, bad idea.
"What - no threats, no insults?" Spike shouted after her. "No warnings to stay away from your precious self or face the pointy-ended stick of your wrath?"
"Would it do any good?" she asked, still walking away.
"Buffy!"
The note of desperation in his voice made her stop against her will before she reached the door. She closed her eyes and tried to force her feet to move forward, but they refused.
"I'm sorry for what I did - trying to keep you here. I just… I was tryin' to help," he pleaded. "What you're doin' to yourself - I'm afraid for you, luv. You really need to get some help."
Suddenly furious, Buffy whirled around to face him. "Don't you think I know that, Spike?" she yelled. "Do you think I like being this way - being some kind of messed-up freak?"
"You're not-"
"I am! But what am I supposed to do - find some shrink in the Yellow Pages? How do you think that would go, huh? 'Hi doc, I've been having some problems lately readjusting to being resurrected from the dead. And oh, did I mention I'm a Vampire Slayer? That's right, I go out prowling cemeteries at night killing demons and saving the world from assorted hell-gods because I am the Chosen One.' I'd be thrown in a padded room faster than you could say Mariah Carey."
Spike could picture it clearly. She was right, of course. No doctor would believe a word of a story like that. Only a member of the Watcher's council or someone else with underworld connections…
"Of course! Why didn't I think of her before?" he blurted out, startling the Slayer.
"What?"
Buffy watched as Spike's expression grew hopeful. He jumped to his feet with his customary feline grace and approached her with growing confidence. She retreated a couple of steps, unsure of his intentions.
"Not 'what', Slayer - 'who'. I know someone who might be able to help you. She's not a doctor, exactly. She's a healer. And she'd understand because she's half demon herself."
"Are you crazy? Some half-demon witch doctor? That's the m-most insane thing I've heard come out of your mouth yet."
"It's not insane, it's bloody brilliant!" Spike insisted. "I met her back one time when Dru'd taken badly. She works wonders, she does."
Despite herself, Buffy found herself considering the idea. Maybe the only way to fight insanity was with another dose of insanity. "But eww, she's all demony? Who says she wouldn't try to kill me or something?"
Spike chuckled, "Oh, she looks human enough, and there's nothing dangerous about her. Her mum was a full-blooded Pathos demon, and a healer like herself."
"Pathos demon? Never heard of 'em," she said, skeptically.
"That's 'cause they're rare, see. Very special powers - they can tell what you're feeling, and can do something about making you feel better in return."
Buffy glanced toward the door, thinking about what awaited her on the other side -- pretending, hurting, using all her energy just to struggle through each day in a life she hadn't wanted to return to in the first place. She was so tired. So very, very tired. She sighed deeply. Maybe she was as loony as Spike. But what did she have to lose?
"Where do I find her?"
"I'll find her. I'll bring her to your house - tonight, yeah?" Spike asked.
"No way! You are NOT coming anywhere near my house tonight or any other night. Why do you even have to be involved?"
"I know her, you don't. She usually doesn't work on humans, but I know I can convince her. And she'll want to meet you where you live - something to do with vibrations or whatnot."
Buffy threw her hands up in resignation, too tired to argue any more. "Okay, then. You bring her. But this had better not be another one of your stupid tricks, you hear me? I'll meet her this one time. Just for the record, I'm not holding out a lot of hope for this," she said, as she finally reached the door and walked out, slamming it behind her.
"That's all right, luv," Spike murmured to himself, "I've got quite enough hope for the both of us."
* * * * *
The doorbell rang a little before seven. Buffy opened the door to find a tiny woman who looked to be in her sixties standing there smiling serenely up at her, with Spike a few steps behind watching their meeting nervously.
"Oh, hello. Are you--?" Buffy asked, uncertainly.
"Hello, Miss Summers," the woman answered in a strong voice that belied her small stature, "I'm Margaret O'Shea."
"I'm Buffy. Please come in."
She stood aside in the doorway, opening the door wide while the woman stepped over the threshold. Once inside, her guest turned and looked back at Spike, a questioning expression on her tiny features. Buffy looked uncomfortably from the woman to the vampire.
"Oh -- no worry, luv. I'm not expectin' an invitation," Spike said, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Was plannin' to wait out here anyway." He peeked up at the Slayer from under long lashes and nodded to her before turning away to lean against the porch railing.
Buffy closed and locked the door and gestured for the woman to go into the living room.
"May I take your coat?" she asked, feeling oddly as if the spirit of her mother were standing at her shoulder watching to make sure she was a gracious hostess. Ms. O'Shea handed her a vintage-looking blue wool coat but held on to her Queen Elizabeth style handbag as she took a seat in a high backed upholstered chair. "Would you like something to drink?" Buffy offered, again feeling like she was channeling Miss Manners.
"No thank you, my dear."
Buffy sat down on the sofa opposite the woman, unsure of how this was supposed to go. "So, Spike says you're a healer," she began. When Margaret smiled and nodded, she continued. "And that you understand what a Vampire Slayer is, and that I am, you know… one."
Again the woman nodded and smiled peacefully, but didn't speak.
"What exactly has he told you about me?" the girl asked, not sure if she wanted to know the answer.
Margaret folded her hands genteelly in her lap, and spoke in a soothing voice with the hint of a lilting Irish accent. "Ah well, I hope you don't mind, but he has related to me many of the tragic events you've experienced in the past year. You have my deepest sympathies on the loss of your mother."
Swallowing hard, Buffy drew her feet up underneath her on the sofa and wrapped her arms around herself. "I miss her so much."
"Of course you do."
"So you know about Dawn - that she's the Key?"
Margaret nodded, "And about your battle with Glorificus."
"And that I was… that a few months ago I…"
"Died? And were brought back magically by your Wiccan friend called Willow? Yes. He told me all that, and also that since you've been back you've been-"
"Wrong," Buffy whispered to herself, looking down at her lap.
"Pardon me, dear?" inquired Margaret gently.
"Nothing," Buffy said, before changing the subject. "I've never done this therapy, healing, whatever-you-call-it thing before. How does it work?"
"To start, we just talk. That's all," the woman said simply.
"And you - you have some kind of special, um, powers because you're part dem--, I mean, excuse me…"
Margaret laughed, a delightful little sound that made Buffy smile a little in return. "Demon. You can say the word, child, I'm not ashamed of my demon half. In fact, it's a blessing in the kind of work I do."
Buffy looked as if she wanted to ask a question, but couldn't decide whether or not she should. Margaret sensed her curiosity. "Go ahead, ask me whatever you want."
Looking a little startled, the Slayer stuttered, "s-so you can read my mind?"
"Not your thoughts, don't worry. It's your feelings I'm in tune with. Sometimes your feelings reveal a great deal about what you're thinking, but I'm no mind reader."
Knowing that her every thought wasn't an open book to this stranger, Buffy relaxed a bit. She took a deep breath. "Okay, I guess I'm ready. Where do we begin?" she asked.
"Wherever you would like. There are no rules here. You just tell me whatever is on your mind and we talk about it together, all right?" asked Margaret, settling in to her chair more comfortably.
"All right," agreed the Slayer.
* * * * *
Buffy heard the low melodic chimes of her mother's anniversary clock in the next room and checked her watch. "Omigosh! Is it really that late? I'm so sorry. We said an hour, right? And it's been three! You should have said something, Margaret."
The older woman just smiled the peaceful smile that Buffy had become familiar with during the evening, and rose gracefully from her chair. "Nonsense, child. I told you there were no rules, did I not? But it is time for me to go now."
Buffy couldn't believe they'd been talking for so long. The time had seemed to pass so quickly. They'd mainly talked about all that had happened in the last year. About how she'd gained a sister, but lost so very much along the way. Her mother, her Watcher, her boyfriend, even her best friend were now gone, leaving her to cope with so much on her own. And that didn't even take into account the ultimate loss she'd experienced - the loss of paradise.
After their session she felt tired, but calmer than she remembered feeling in quite awhile. There was something really unique about Margaret, something that put her remarkably at ease. It was hard to think of her as any kind of demony thing at all.
"I'd like meet again soon and take up where we left off, if you're interested in continuing," Margaret said.
"Yeah. Please. It was … good."
Margaret saw Buffy look down at the jagged scab on her left hand and felt the girl's anxiety level begin to rise.
"Um, we didn't talk about the -- you know," she said, uncomfortably.
"We will," soothed Margaret. "Tell me, do you feel the need to cut yourself right now?"
Buffy shook her head.
"That's good to hear. You look so tired, my dear. You must be exhausted. Get some sleep tonight. Perhaps I could come back tomorrow evening? That is, if William is available to drive me. I gave up driving many years ago and it's not easy for me to get around on my own, you see."
"William?" Buffy asked, not instantly making the connection. "Oh! Spike."
"He's been very kind to bring me here and wait for me tonight. Would you do me a favor and ask him about tomorrow night while I freshen up a bit?"
Buffy pointed her toward the powder room and reluctantly went out to the front porch, gathering her cardigan sweater closer around her as she stepped out into the chilly night air. She found Spike where she expected, sitting on the front steps. When he heard the door open behind him he quickly got to his feet, searching her face for a clue about how things had gone inside.
"Where's Margaret?" he asked.
"She'll be out in a minute," Buffy answered. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and avoided meeting his eyes, uncomfortable to be alone with him again. "She wanted to know if you could bring her back tomorrow night."
"Yeah, any time. You got on with her okay, then?" he asked.
Buffy walked past him and stood at the porch railing, looking out into the peaceful night. "She's…. she's amazing. I've never met anyone like her before," she answered. She turned to face him, meeting his eyes for the first time. The naked concern and care for her that she saw in them touched her, but she shrugged the feeling off and concentrated on her anger.
"Look, don't get the wrong idea just because I'm not staking you where you stand," she began, sternly, "I am not going to forgive you for the stupid kidnapping stunt you pulled. You can keep bringing Margaret here, but you're not setting a foot inside, got it? And if you dare say one word about what happened last night to anyone, you won't even see the stake coming before you're dust."
Looking down at his feet, Spike nodded his understanding. Better to be of use to her, than be shut out of her life again. He ran a nail-bitten hand through his short wavy hair, not sure if he should apologize again or just shut up and leave bad enough alone. He expected to hear the slam of the front door behind her any second, but when he looked up again she was still standing there in front of him, scowling.
"What?" he asked quietly, ready to stoically take whatever other abuse she was prepared to heap on him.
"About Margaret…"
"Yeah?"
She was about to say something else when the woman walked out the door, struggling a bit with her coat.
"Are we on for tomorrow, then?" she asked, looking from Buffy to Spike.
"All set," confirmed Spike, helping her on with her coat.
"Good night, Buffy," said Margaret, holding out her hand to the girl.
Buffy gave the woman's hand a quick squeeze and answered, "Good night."
As Spike helped Margaret down the front steps he heard the Slayer add in a voice too soft to be meant for anyone's ears but his, "Thank you."
When he looked back over his shoulder, Buffy was looking right at him with a strange expression on her face. Pleasantly surprised, he nodded back at her. As he drove Margaret home, the small flicker of hope he'd been feeling since the morning flared up, however unwisely, into a full-fledged flame.
* * * * *
When Buffy walked into the Magic Box the next morning, four very surprised faces looked up to see her. Three of them smiled at her. The fourth averted his eyes. Okay Xander, Buffy thought, you and I are going to have a little talk.
"Buffy! We didn't expect you back so soon. How was L.A.?" asked a clearly puzzled Tara.
"Change of plans. I kind of got sidetracked - you know, unexpectedly tied up."
Xander looked like he was going to lose his breakfast. He glanced toward the door, thinking about making a break for it.
"So, you didn't go at all?" asked Dawn.
"Nope. I thought I needed a little quality time with you and my friends," Buffy said, her eyes boring a hole through Xander. "Thanks for letting Dawn stay with you, Tara. But I'm back now and she can come home."
Dawn made a face and ignored her sister.
"Dawn," Buffy began, sincerely, "I know things have been a little rough between us lately, but I'd really like you to come home so we can talk about it. I want things to be better."
Dawn kept staring down at the textbook she was reading, but she nodded her head. Buffy wondered if she'd been anywhere near that stubborn at 15, but realized she'd probably been even worse. She sighed. Fixing her relationship with her sister wasn't going to be easy. But maybe Margaret could help her with that, too.
"So, Xander - I wonder if I could talk to you in private for a minute?" Buffy asked pointedly.
Squirming, Xander tried to worm his way out of it. "Well, Buff, Anya and I have a lot of planning to do on the wedding and stuff, so I'm pretty busy."
From behind the counter Anya nodded her head in agreement. "Yes, we need to decide on the color of the boutonnieres. I've narrowed it down to 17 choices."
"Heavy-duty decisions, for sure," agreed Buffy, "but maybe what I want to talk to Xander about is, um, a special surprise for the bride."
"A surprise? I love surprises!" crowed a delighted Anya. "Go ahead, Xander, talk to Buffy. How about in the training room, that's private, right?"
Like a condemned man, Xander preceded the Slayer into the training room, turning to face her when he heard the door close behind them.
"Buffy, I'm really sorry," he began.
"Save it. I don't want to hear your lame excuses."
Her friend hung his head, knowing there was little he could say to make up for betraying her. "I know you don't want to hear it, but maybe you need to. I went to Spike because I was scared. Looking back on it, not the brightest move I ever made. But without Giles or Willow or anyone here, I didn't know what to do."
Suddenly feeling way too tired to have this conversation, Buffy pushed her anger aside and decided it wasn't worth the energy to fight. Maybe he had meant well. Everything around her was so screwed up; it was hard to tell anymore.
"Just... don't ever do anything like that again, okay?"
"Look, I know I messed up. But tell me - are you really all right? Is there anything I can do? 'Cause you know I'll do anything. You just have to ask."
The look on his face reminded her of all the times he'd been there for her in the past. Good old reliable Xander. "I know. Thanks, " she said. "I ... I'm not really all right. It's no big secret, I guess. I haven't been quite myself since ... you know. But I met someone; she's kind of a therapist. She knows all about Vampires and Demons and the stuff I've been through, and I hope maybe she can help me."
"That's great," said Xander, "If you need me to drive you to see her or watch Dawn for you, just say the word."
"It's, um, taken care of for now," she said.
"Okay, then. Are we ... cool?" he asked, looking worried.
"Yeah. We're cool."
Xander came up to her and placed a brotherly kiss on her forehead, then left her alone. Buffy looked around the empty training room, remembering all the hours she'd trained here with Giles in the past. If he were here now, what would he tell her? She closed her eyes and tried to imagine it.
'You're strong, Buffy. You can do this,´ she could almost hear him say in that starched British accent of his.
Oh, Giles. I'm so, so tired. And it's so damned hard without you here, she thought in reply. Turning her back on the memories, Buffy walked out the back door into the alley and headed for home.
* * * * * *
Evening came, and after a strained pizza dinner to welcome Dawn back, the sisters went their separate ways. Dawn was upstairs watching TV in her room when Spike brought Margaret over promptly at seven.
Without exchanging words with the Vampire, Buffy invited the woman in and they settled in to start their second session together.
"Do you feel ready to talk about the cutting, Buffy?" asked Margaret.
Buffy felt her anxiety level rising, but nodded.
"It's all right, dear. I know this is difficult. But it's very important."
"Okay."
"Can you tell me about the first time? When was it? What happened just before?"
Buffy sent her mind back to the night after she'd had sex with Spike in the tumbled-down building. She remembered sitting up all night in bed holding a crucifix, strings of garlic at the windows. From across the hall she'd heard Dawn moaning in her sleep and had gone into her room to investigate. Seeing her little sister lying there with her bruised face and broken arm, tossing and turning in the throes of a nightmare was what had set off the awful feelings of choking, unrelenting panic.
She'd fled back into her own room, overwhelmed by a need to run away, a need to escape from her very own skin. Stumbling across the room towards her bed, she accidentally knocked a bottle of perfume off her dresser. It shattered into dozens of shiny pieces when it hit the floor.
"I don't know what made me do it," she said to Margaret, "but for some reason I sat down by the broken bottle and picked up a sharp piece of it. The next thing I knew I was making a cut in my arm and just watching the blood run down to my hand."
"Were you trying to kill yourself?"
"No. No, it wasn't like that. The cut wasn't near a vein or anything. But as soon as I did it, I felt this sense of ... of calm come over me. It's like everything else in the world faded away and all that was left was me and the cut and the pain and the blood. It felt kind of ... pure, cleansing. It's hard to explain. I don't know how long I sat there but when I snapped out of it, I didn't feel the need to run away anymore."
"And can you tell me exactly what you were feeling when the panic began?"
"No, not really. It was just a jumble. Nothing I can put a name to. Just complete darkness and a swirl of terrible feelings. And a really desperate need to make it stop."
Margaret nodded and asked, "In general, what kinds of feelings have you had since you've been restored to this world?"
"Umm... I don't know. I guess the one that stands out is anger. I do anger really well. But otherwise, it's hard to say. At first I was just totally numb. Now it's more like somebody hit the mute button on my remote control."
"Have you cried at all?"
"No. There are times I think I should feel like crying, but I can't. Then the nasty terror feelings start to take over." Buffy watched Margaret's reaction to her answer. She could almost see the wheels turning in the woman's mind.
"What?" she asked. "What's wrong with me, Margaret?"
"I'd like to try something. It's a technique I use to help me see more clearly into your feelings. It should help me find out more about what's going on with you. Are you up to it?"
"Yeah, sure," said Buffy. "What exactly do you do?"
"It's a bit like a trance. We sit together quietly with our eyes closed and I hold your hands. You try to empty your mind and relax. It's the best way for me to make the strongest connection with your emotions."
"Okay. Let's go for it," Buffy agreed.
* * * * *
Outside, Spike finished his last cigarette and started pacing the length of the porch. Bored and curious, he peeked into the living room window and saw Margaret and Buffy sitting together, doing what looked like some kind of meditation. After a minute, Margaret suddenly dropped Buffy's hands as if she'd been burned and sat back in her chair, looking quite drained.
Spike put an ear to the window, tuning his sensitive hearing into their conversation.
"What happened?" asked a concerned Buffy.
"It's much as I expected. Your emotions are in near total disarray. Hardly surprising after what you've been through. Resurrection spells are notorious for not being 100% effective."
"Then it's true, what Spike said to me - that I came back wrong," Buffy whispered in horror.
"Nonsense, Buffy. That's not what I meant at all. Willow's spell brought your body back perfectly well, but it's often much easier to restore the body than the heart," Margaret explained. "Your emotional self has suffered a devastating wound. It's put up a powerful block between your feelings and the outside world. Think of it like a cell your emotions are locked inside, only the cell isn't strong enough to hold them in forever. Right now your feelings are in a volatile, mixed up mass that's trying hard to break through the cracks to get to the surface. When that happens, you feel your panic symptoms."
"Can you do something? Like unscramble my feelings and put them back the way they were?"
"Eventually I will be able to do just that. I can use that same connection technique and reach into your emotions to help bring order to them again."
"Eventually? Why not now?" Buffy asked, frustrated.
Margaret shook her head sadly. "I'm sorry, Buffy, but the barrier is too strong for me to get through. I'm afraid the first breakthrough is going to have to occur naturally."
"But, that's not fair! The panic attacks, the cutting - it's all too much. I don't know how much more I can take."
"Easy, now. The first thing we're going to do is help you find some other ways to cope with the panic - some non-destructive methods to deal with those episodes, all right?"
"You can do that?"
"Yes I can. I can teach you several of them tonight, in fact. But first, tell me, have you found any other ways that help you cope with these attacks, other than the cutting?"
Buffy's face turned bright scarlet. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Margaret picked up on her feelings of embarrassment and confusion.
"You don't have to be embarrassed or ashamed of anything you tell me, dear. Believe me, with the kinds of patients I've treated over the years I've heard everything you could imagine, and many things you couldn't," coaxed Margaret, kindly.
"Um ... sex. When I have sex the bad feelings go away," said Buffy, not meeting Margaret's eyes.
"Yes. Sex is a good, natural release. You're a healthy young woman, Buffy. There's no need for you to be embarrassed about having sexual relations. I assume you were sexually active before your recent ... death."
Looking up, Buffy nodded at the woman, starting to feel a little more comfortable with the subject.
"And your partner - does he know what you've been through? Is he someone you can talk to? Someone you can lean on?"
"Yeah. I mean, no. I mean, sometimes, I guess. It's ... complicated."
The confusion the girl was feeling came through loud and clear to Margaret's senses. "Why is it complicated?"
"Because it's Spike, okay?" Buffy burst out. "And Spike's - Bad. We're enemies. I mean, we were. But now there's this ... THING between us. I try to fight it, but when he's standing close to me I ... it's like I lose my mind or something."
"Ah," said Margaret. "You're feeling a great deal of guilt about your relationship with him. You desire him, but you think it's wrong to want him."
"It IS wrong."
"You think it's wrong to be with someone who loves you so completely?"
Surprised, Buffy asked, "Did he tell you that?"
Margaret chuckled, "Child, I don't have to be part Pathos Demon to see he's head over heels in love with you. No, he hasn't said anything to me about his feelings, but from the moment I saw you two together I knew the depth of his love for you."
"But ... how can that be? How can Spike love? He's a Vampire; he has no soul."
"Your Spike is a rare case, to be sure. I've never met another Vampire with such a capacity for caring and love. But there are vast differences between living people's abilities to have deep feelings, aren't there? So why shouldn't the same thing be true of other creatures?"
What Margaret was saying made some sense to Buffy. After all, human beings could be as different from each other as Hitler and Mother Teresa were human. Maybe there were the same kinds of extremes in Vampires.
"What there is between you and William is really none of my business, Buffy. But if you've been wondering if his feelings for you are genuine, I can tell you that they are. He loves you with all his being. And knowing a bit about his past, I can tell you he's one of the most fiercely loyal men I've ever met."
Buffy was deep in thought, trying to process this new information. Margaret decided it was time to get back to the subject at hand.
"Well, then. We've found out that sex is another way of coping you have used, one which is far less self-destructive. However, if an attack comes over you in a crowded shopping mall, it's probably not the most practical method, is it?" Margaret asked with a wicked gleam in her eye.
"Not so much, no," agreed Buffy.
"Then let me show you a few techniques that have been proven to work for others, all right? You can try them out the next time you begin to feel overwhelmed and see which works the best. I think you'll find you can soon get by without cutting yourself anymore."
"That would be wonderful. Thank you, Margaret."
"Don't thank me yet, dear. We still have a long way to go. But I know we will get there."
Buffy smiled.
From his eavesdropping position on the front porch, Spike smiled too.
* * * * *
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Kit H. - vidprin@aol.com