Season 5. Begins with
‘Spiral’ in the abandoned gas station, and goes far off-canon almost
When Dawn makes the ultimate
sacrifice to save her sister, friends, and the world, Buffy’s mind
snaps. When Buffy's friends give up hope of her ever recovering, and become
afraid that she’ll turn violent and uncontrollable, they call in the Council to help.
Fearing what the Council will do, Spike, forgotten and ignored by her
friends, steps in. Will he be able to reach the Slayer when no one else could?
Will he be able to keep her out of the hands of the Council and away
from her ‘helpful’ friends? How much heartbreak, guilt, and failure can
one girl stand before her indestructible spirit finally resigns the
fight and gives up hope?
Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me!
Her suggestions and commentary that always makes me smile!
Rating / Warnings:
Spike/Other. Threesome B/G/G action involving Spike, Buffy, and BuffyBot.
Main Character Death. Plenty of angst.
Content is only suitable for mature adults.
Contains explicit language, sex, adult themes, and other adult situations that
some people may find objectionable. If you are under the age of 17 or
find any of these themes objectionable – GO AWAY.
swam. She felt like she was spinning on a demonic Tilt-a Whirl and she had to
take deep breaths in through her mouth to simply keep from retching. When the
feeling had subsided enough to be tolerable, she blinked her eyes open.
whispered, barely audible.
When her eyes
finally focused, she was met with bottomless pools of concern shadowed in the azure
depths of Spike’s eyes.
he breathed with relief, lifting the hand he’d been holding up to his lips and
pressing a soft kiss on her knuckles.
fluttered closed again as she tried to figure out where she was. It was only a
moment later when the distinct aroma of her surroundings hit her nostrils and
registered in her muddled brain.
The stench of
death, illness, and despair was barely veiled by antiseptics and the ubiquitous
cherry Jell-O. It seemed that all hospitals smelled just the same, and she hated
the memories and feelings her olfactory senses stirred in her.
ground out through dry, chapped lips and tight vocal cords. She swallowed and gripped
Spike’s hand as hard as she could, she hoped he would understand this was a
demand, not a question. “Home.”
“Not yet, luv
… gotta stay ‘ere a just a bit longer,” Spike answered, trying to sound
her eyes open again and looked around, trying to find an escape. To Spike’s back
was one of those flimsy cloth ‘privacy’ curtains in puke-yellow. Presumably
there was another bed, or several, beyond it. On the other side of her bed was a
solid-looking wall with a small window. The window, she noted, was very narrow
and up near the ceiling, high above head height, and there were steel bars over
disquieting memories flooded through her from the time she’d spent in such a
place when she had first been called, back in L.A. She pushed them back – she
couldn’t deal with that now, didn’t want to remember the pain of her parents not
believing her. She took a few more deep breaths to calm down, still gripping
Spike’s hand to make sure he didn’t leave her here, and continued her perusal of
leaning against the wall, her eyes open, but unblinking, unseeing. Her clothes
covered in blood.
back at Spike. “Bot?” Buffy asked, her voice still husky from disuse.
up at the Bot. “Just in power conserve mode, luv. If ya touch her, she comes
right out of it.”
shrugged. “Reckon so.”
A lock of hair
fell into Buffy’s face and she reached up to tuck it back behind her ear. Her
arm only made it a short distance from the rails on the side of the bed before
it was stopped short. She looked down – her arms were held to the rails with
wide canvas straps. Then she realized Spike hadn’t actually lifted her hand to
his lips to kiss her so much as dropped his lips to her hand.
He reached up
and gently slid his fingertips across her forehead, pressing the hair back out
of her eyes and hooking it behind her ear.
his head. “Just under … observation,” he allowed.
shrugged. “Not quite. Ya got better drugs and fewer birds shagging in the
shower, if the movies are t’ be believed.”
She tried to
laugh. Couldn’t remember how.
his voice. “We can get ya out whenever you’re strong enough t’ leave,” he
replied. “But I think we need t’ wait a bit, luv. You lost a lotta blood … need
t’ get your strength back good and proper.”
her understanding, never opening her eyes.
now, though, won’t do it unless you promise t’ not try somethin’ as daft as that
again, Slayer,” Spike warned, his voice a mix of fear, pain, and anger.
from the rebuke, but nodded. She felt tears leak from her eyes and run into her ears. She couldn’t even lift
her hands to wipe them away.
“No die,” she
assured him. “Sorry,” she croaked out, her voice shaking.
her eyes and blinked to get them to focus as she looked down at her hands. She
released her hold on Spike, flexed her fingers, and then curled them into fists
over and over again as the blood dripped from them in an unending torrent.
whispered to Spike.
Spike took her
left hand into both of his and held it, stopping her fist from opening and
closing. “There’s no blood on your hands, luv. None of us saw it comin’ … me
included. Dawn wouldn’t want this. She loved you. Don’t let ‘er sacrifice be in
vain, luv. Please, Buffy – stay with me, let me help you.”
as she clamped her eyes closed again. Her tears came harder, streaming down her
cheeks and dampening the pillow beneath her head. A moment later they turned
into keening sobs that wracked her entire body.
Spike tried to
soothe her, murmuring words of comfort, smoothing her matted, blood-soaked hair. He held
tightly to her hand, trying to keep her from slipping away and drowning beneath
the waves of utter madness, afraid
of losing her forever.
Two days later
Spike and Buffy managed to convince the caseworker and psychiatrist that had
been assigned to Buffy that she was stable and could be released into Spike’s
care. Given the fact that she had no insurance or assets, it wasn't that hard a
sell. This saved them the trouble of actually breaking her out of the psych ward.
Spike was slightly disappointed; he’d spent a few hours scoping the place out
and formulating a plan – a good plan, a solid plan – to break her out. It
would’ve worked, he was sure.
So, with an
appointment to return in ten days to get her stitches out, a prescription for an
antidepressant, and a referral to a psychologist, Spike brought Buffy 'home' –
back to Paradise Lost.
“How about I
take you out to dinner t’ celebrate, luv?” Spike asked after they’d gotten back
to their room. BuffyBot was ‘asleep’, lying on
Spike’s bed charging.
her head and wrapped her arms around her torso in a protective gesture. “Safe
“No worries – we can order in, watch a movie. Got ten porn channels ‘ere.
There’s a classic on t’night: ‘Deep Throat’,” Spike suggested, waggling his
brows and running his tongue slowly over his teeth.
away from him and began rummaging through her bag to find something clean and
comfortable to change into. “Pig,” Buffy retorted after a few moments.
The timing of
the come-back was late by about fifteen seconds, and her tone was flat, there
was no inflection to her voice either of disdain or anger, but just
saying the word was some improvement, in Spike’s estimation. At least she had
the wherewithal to insult him. Not her best shot, by far – but a good first
get you everywhere,” Spike replied, his tone teasing.
her eyes. Spike caught it in the mirror over the dresser.
eye roll! Spike’s eyes went wide and his heart nearly flew out of his chest in exaltation.
Buffy gave up
her search. Spike hadn’t packed any of her comfy, grungy clothes at all – and no
PJs. She found the white t-shirt she’d slept in when they’d first gotten here
laying on a chair and picked it up, considering it.
that I don’t fancy that … outfit, luv. But … errr … if ya don’t want t’ go the
porn route, maybe you’d be more comfy in one o’ my shirts,” Spike suggested,
grabbing one of his black t-shirts and holding it out to her.
Buffy took it
and held it up to her shoulders, sizing it up, then pulled it up to her nose, closed her eyes,
as he watched her breathe in his scent. So, he wasn’t the only one with an aroma
fetish. He studied her face, trying to decide if she liked 'Eau de Spike', but
her expression remained neutral – he couldn't tell.
the shirt and opened her eyes. She looked down at her hands. There was still
blood on them – standing out bright red against the black material. It didn’t
drip from her fingers in rivers of crimson, but it was there.
said aloud, looking around with wide, eager eyes. She was sure she'd heard
Spike said softly, moving up to her. “It’s me, pet, Spike.”
repeated, scanning the room again, just to make sure.
looked at him. He thought the flashes of lucidity were more frequent – more …
lucid. But right this minute she looked like a lost kitten, desperately searching for its
her eyes and tried to get her jumbled thoughts to coalesce into something –
anything – that made sense. Single words and short phrases were all that made it
through that crimson shroud that covered everything – a shroud of guilt, of pain, of
failure. She knew enough to know this wasn’t right, but couldn’t find a way to
escape the river of blood that swept her thoughts away like fallen leaves in a
mountain stream. She'd gotten it to ease before, she knew, but couldn't think
how she'd done it – or had it been her doing at all? Everything was just too
muddled and disjointed. Was she on some kind of drugs? Was that the problem? She
didn't know, couldn't remember.
need help with the shower, luv,” Spike said, pulling her from her futile efforts
to make her brain function properly. “Can’t get your bandages wet,” he pointed
out, laying a tender hand on her right forearm.
looking down at the bandages on her arms. Why were there bandages on her arms? She
struggled to remember. Concentrated hard. Couldn’t. Gave up.
“I could …
give ya hand,” Spike offered in earnest. When she didn’t dismiss that idea out
of hand, his heart fluttered in his chest – or it felt like it did.
She closed her
eyes again. There should be more. More thoughts, more … something, but she was
unable to find what the ‘more’ was. She felt like there was a word – or perhaps
a whole dictionary of words – right on the tip of her tongue, so close she could
taste it, and yet utterly elusive. All she could see was blood. The blood kept
the words and thoughts from forming properly, kept them obscured from her.
began to tremble, still gripping Spike’s t-shirt. She opened her eyes and looked
at him, silently pleading with him to help her – help Dawn.
“Help me,” she
begged, leaning against him heavily as her knees wobbled beneath her.
his arms around her and supported her weight easily. “I gotcha, Slayer. No
worries now – Spike’s ‘ere. Won’t leave ya, luv. Never leave ya. Gonna get
through this, we are.”
“Buffy … luv,
ya can’t stand like that. The water’ll get on your bandages, pet,” Spike cajoled
as Buffy stood in the shower stall, her back to him, her arms crossed over her bare
her bandages in plastic bags, but that would only stop water that splattered on
them, not a direct flow from the showerhead.
heaved, her heart raced, and fear made her adrenaline levels spike.
you’re still covered in dried blood. Nurse Ratched and her cronies couldn’t be
bothered t’ clean anything but your arms. Gits.” Spike spat the last word before
shifting back to a cajoling tone. “Need t’ get it off. You’ll feel better once
you’re cleaned up. You’re gonna have to raise your arms up above your head, out
of the flow of the shower so I can turn it on,” Spike told her, his exasperation
growing. He just wanted this over with – and at the same time wished to stand
here and look at her naked backside for all eternity.
about booting the Bot up and having her take over this task, but he had
reservations about just how much water the Bot's outer skin could repel.
In addition, he wasn't entirely sure the Bot had any idea how to do this. She
might scrub Buffy's skin off, he reasoned as he let his eyes wander over Buffy's
nude form. Definitely better if he do this, he concluded with little mental
opposition to the idea, even if it kills him.
Spike fought to
compose himself, to maintain a sense of aloof propriety – like having her standing there naked had
no effect on him whatsoever. “Bloody hell, woman – you don’t ‘ave anything I
haven’t seen before,” he practically growled at her when she didn’t raise her
at his hard tone and moved as far away from him as she could get in the shower
immediately felt a stab of regret and pain. “I’m sorry, pet,” he continued,
running a hand through his already mussed hair. “Didn’t mean t’ frighten you.
Not gonna hurt you, Buffy,” he assured her, keeping is voice low and melodious.
voice echoed off the hard tile of the shower and came back to him. “One good
and dropped his head back in frustration. He had to try and look at this from
her point of view, he knew. He closed his eyes and tried to suss out what he
could do to just get this over with. After a moment he turned and left the
bathroom, only to return a moment later with a stake from his bag. He handed it
to her, tapping the blunt end against her upper-arm to get her to take it.
it out of reflex, and clutched it to her like a child would clutch a security
began again. He laid his hands on her hips and gently guided her toward the back
of the shower, away from the showerhead, keeping her turned away from him. His fingers rejoiced with the
contact – her skin was soft and warm under his cool touch. It called out to him
to touch, to explore every inch of her;
with a Herculean
effort, he pushed the thought away. Now was not the time for that. She
needed his help, not his overactive libido. He positioned her so her body was
sideways to the showerhead, facing the tiled back wall of the shower opposite
the curtained side where he stood.
‘ere and raise your arms up over your head. Can’t hurt you, can I? Slipped ya that
lovely bit o’ hard wood, didn’t I?” Spike groaned at his double-entendre, but Buffy
didn’t seem to even notice. “Safe as houses, you are.”
waned slightly as she held the familiar weapon in her hands. She looked down at
her body and the dried blood that covered her skin.
raised her arms, both hands wrapped around the stake tight enough that her
knuckles turned white with the effort.
girl…” Spike cajoled. He stood outside the narrow shower enclosure as he leaned
in and turned the water on. He angled the showerhead away from her until the
water got warm, then tilted it until it hit her around the shoulders.
Buffy let out
an unconscious moan of pleasure when the warm water sluiced over her skin. At
the sound Spike felt his cock jump in his jeans, which he’d purposely kept on.
If he didn’t get this over with soon he’d either cream his jeans again or his
balls would turn blue, possibly permanently.
his eyes and took a deep breath meant to calm his libido down. It was only
marginally successful. Giving up on
that, he grabbed the washcloth and the little bar of hotel soap – he’d have to
remember to get Buffy some proper soap tomorrow – and began to rub the two
together. His hands moved almost angrily as he took his frustrations out on the
defenseless bar of generic soap, creating a bubbly lather on the washcloth.
his best to think of her as the Bot, not Buffy, as he moved her long hair out of
the way, flipping it forward over one shoulder, and began washing her back. He
started at the back of her neck and scrubbed the grime and blood off her body,
trailing small circles of bubbles over her soft skin.
again, let her head fall forward, and leaned more heavily on the wall. She still
held the stake in her hands above her head, out of the spray of the shower, but
her grip had visibly loosened on it.
swallowed hard and struggled to push back his desire to kiss her, to shimmy out
of his now heavy, water-logged jeans and press his body to hers, to make love to her,
to devour her.
care of her, you tosser, Spike admonished himself. It’s not about you.
When Spike got
her entire back soaped and scrubbed, he hung the washcloth on the towel rack at
the back of the shower and began gently massaging Buffy’s tight trapezius
muscles. Working from the base of her neck out to her shoulders and back again,
he kneaded the stress away with strong, talented fingers.
of pleasure nearly drove him to the edge of madness as his hands skimmed over
her slick, soapy skin. He could feel her relaxing beneath his touch, though, and
that was worth every ounce of self-control he had to expend. He moved his hands
lower, working the hard strap of muscle on either side of her spine into relaxed
submission. Spike couldn’t take his eyes off the gentle hills and valleys of her
back as he slid his hands over her, her body slowly submitting to his
beautiful. More beautiful than the Bot by far – perhaps only because he knew
that this was real. Her skin shimmered under the white foam of the soap, and her
curves were luscious, tantalizing, as the spray of the shower rinsed the suds
over them in snaking rivulets of rich lather.
stress and tension had been trapped in her body, in her muscles, ever since that
horrible night in the desert. Spike could feel it under his hands as he gently
pressed fingertips and knuckles into her bowstring-tight body. And, as he
worked, he could feel all that stress flowing out of her with each soft moan
that fell from her lips. Each slow, deliberate pass of his strong hands over her
back, across her shoulders, and up her arms released more of the toxic guilt and
tension from her body.
It gave him
something else to focus on, and he actually felt himself relax as he
concentrated on taking Buffy’s pain away, or at least relieving it for a short
while. His deep, undeniable desire for her hadn’t gone away, but it had morphed,
at least momentarily, from something sexual to something even more basic: the
simple desire to help another person in need, specifically to help the woman he
loved. She trusted him to help her – he
would not betray that trust; not now, not ever. Everyone has a need to touch and
be touched, and Buffy had had no one to soothe her in those weeks after Dawn's
death. He'd tried in the cemetery as she sobbed, but he knew it hadn't been enough. Her
friends, he guessed, might've tried – a hug, a short embrace, a moment of solace – but she needed
more, anyone would. She needed to feel like she was connected to someone in this cold, hard
world, someone she could count on, someone she could trust. He vowed to be that
person if it killed him. It very well may.
retrieved the washcloth and the soap again and knelt behind Buffy to work the
same magic on her legs as he had her back. The water splashed down on his head
and over his bare chest and back as he knelt on the shower floor, soaking him
now from head to toe. The fact that Spike’s nose and mouth were so close to her
sex in this position barely registered with him as his entire focus was on
working every knot, every tinge of tightness and pain from her muscles. He
wanted her hurt, her guilt, and pain to wash away with the water, to flow down
the drain and allow her some peace. She deserved to feel at peace; she'd given
so much to the world, his strong Slayer, it was about time the world started
giving something back to her.
He began by
scrubbing her legs and feet, hip to toe, top to bottom, front to back with the
washcloth and soap, getting every hint of blood and grime off her skin. While he
was down there, he did the same with the shapely globes of her ass, although he
deliberately avoided venturing between them lest he undo all the good he’d done
for her. He didn't want to freak her out. The fact that she still had that stake
in her small but deadly hands hadn't slipped his mind, either.
When he was
satisfied with the cleaning part of his task, he laid the soap and cloth down on
the floor of the shower and turned his attention to her tight muscles. His hands
traveled first over her hamstrings, kneading and squeezing the hard cords as
Buffy groaned her approval. When he ghosted his fingers over the back of her
knees, Buffy jerked and danced a small step to the side.
we?” Spike asked with a small glint of evil glee in his eyes.
didn’t answer, he leaned around the side of her body to see her face. Her eyes
were closed, but he could see the smallest hint of a smile on her lips. His
heart soared in joy. He would do anything if he could only get her to smile
again … to laugh.
Spike bit his
lip and filed that small bit of information away for future use as he returned
to his mission. He reached around her body and massaged the strong quadriceps
muscles on the front of her thighs, careful not to get too close to her naughty
bits. He didn’t want to do anything to ruin this now. Directly, he slid his
hands down to the tight muscle that ran the length of her shin and raked his
fingertips up and down the length of it several times until it, too, relaxed. Finally,
he came back to her shapely calves, which he worked by squeezing them like
stress-balls between his strong fingers and thumbs.
finished, he picked up the soap and washcloth, and stood back up behind her.
“Gonna need ya
to turn around, luv,” he coaxed, using his hands on her hips to turn her all the
way around to face him.
Buffy kept her
hands up above her head, the stake still held between them, as she turned
around. She’d had her eyes closed, but when he stopped her spin, she blinked
them open to look at him.
struck with how defenseless she looked standing here like this, stake
notwithstanding, and how hard this must be for her to do. It made his heart ache
to see his strong Slayer looking so very unsure and vulnerable.
He gave her
what he hoped was a reassuring smile and cleared his throat somewhat
uncomfortably. “Just gonna … get your neck here, luv … and your tummy. Let you
get the … other bits in the sink, yeah?”
slightly and shifted her gaze to look past him. “Thank you,” she murmured
“It’s all in
it, yeah?” Spike replied, trying to sound nonchalant and business-like. “Said
I’d help ya, and I will … whatever ya need, pet.”
He lathered up
the washcloth again and began cleaning her neck and face, careful not to scrub
as hard as he had on her back and legs. His eyes wandered over her face as he
worked, taking in every line, every curve. The shape of her eyes, the contour of
her nose, the sweetness of her lips, the strength of her jaw, and the smoothness of
her skin all combined to reignite his desire for her.
uncomfortably in the warm spray and dropped his eyes away from her face – and
that was the absolutely wrong thing to do. Suds ran over her bare breasts, which
stood out even higher and tighter than normal with her arms held overhead. Spike
nearly dropped the soap and washcloth as he tried to draw his eyes away from the
perfection of her body. It was a lost cause. The soap bubbles slid over the
curves of her breasts, across her dusty-pink nipples and down her flat stomach, mesmerizing him.
His fingers twitched in longing, desperately wanting to reach up and swirl the
foam around those lovely peaks, hardening them into pebbles under his touch. His
lips and tongue tingled, yearning to suck them into his mouth, lavish them with
the adoration and attention they deserved. Spike’s chest heaved with unneeded
breaths and his cock came back to life in his jeans as image after image flashed
through his mind.
Buffy said after a few moments of him not washing anything. “Done?”
shot up to her face and he swallowed guiltily. “Uhhh … yeah … No! … ummm … hair,”
he stammered out. “Gotta wash your hair, luv,” he managed finally.
but turned to face the back of the shower so she could rest her arms
against the wall.
away from her slightly as he tried to get his racing mind to race in some other
direction. He retrieved the small bottle of shampoo and conditioner from the
little shelf in the shower stall and stuck one into each of his front jeans
“Right – lean
back a bit and let’s get your hair wet,” he instructed as he forced himself to
concentrate on the task at hand. He put one hand on the small of her back and
one hand on her shoulder and helped her lean back into the shower spray soaking
her head completely while still keeping her arms well out of range of the
sputtered some water from her nose and mouth when he stood her back up straight.
“Sorry, luv… haven’t done this kinda thing in a good while,” he offered,
grabbing a hand towel and wiping her face off with it.
said, it was more a statement than a question.
shrugged. “Yeah,” he agreed, a touch of sadness in his voice. He’d taken care of
Dru for a over a century – seen her through everything, stood by her, forgave
her when she hurt him, when she strayed, when she dragged his heart through the
mud, when she … chose Angelus over him – and
what had it gotten him? Dumped. Abandoned. Left lonely and utterly alone.
He took in a
deep breath and let it out slowly as he pushed Dru from his mind. Buffy was not
Dru; she could never be as cold, cruel, uncaring, and hurtful as Dru had been.
the little bottle of shampoo out of his pocket and emptied easily half of it on
top of Buffy’s head before he began massaging it into her long, golden hair. The
blood and dirt from the alley that had matted in her tresses began to loosen and
discolor the suds and water as it ran down her back.
Before long, Buffy had a giant foam halo atop her head and she had to keep
her head tilted back to keep it from running down into her eyes.
she complained as some of it ran down into her face despite her efforts to stop
it, and she was forced to close her eyes and try to wipe her face on her raised
he said again as he ran his hands down her hair to sluice some of the shampoo
away. He grabbed the towel and wiped her face again before returning to her
He felt more
than heard her contented sigh when he began massaging her scalp in earnest. Her
body once again began to relax as he worked. He knew he had succeeded in working
the fear and tension from her body when the stake fell from her hands and
clattered down onto the tile floor of the shower.
react to the loss of her weapon, but kept her arms raised, out of the direct
spray, and just let him wash everything down the drain. The blood, the fear, and
the guilt flowed away with the steaming water. His hands felt so good on her
skin, on her body, on her scalp – strong and steady and sure – everything she wasn’t at
that moment. As Spike massaged her scalp, Buffy opened her eyes and looked up at
her now-empty hands. She turned them over so she could see her palms – the blood
was nearly gone. She rubbed them together and looked again … yes, even less now.
She heard her mother's voice echo in her mind ...
Her blood is
not on your hands, Buffy.
Not yours, not
Spike’s … not anyone’s except Glory’s.
Not your fault.
Only one to
blame is Glory.
Spike’s hands gently urging her to lean back so he could rinse the shampoo from
her hair and she let him guide her and support her as she did. The water felt like
heaven as it rinsed all the oil, grime, and blood out of her golden tresses. She
could feel her hair shimmy silkily over her shoulders and back as the water
flowed through it and Spike urged the last of the shampoo out with his fingers.
She closed her eyes and let herself get lost in the feel of it – the hot water
pounding against her, the warm steam that rose all around them, Spike’s strong
hands flowing gently against her skin, the way her spine tingled with his
presence … and the way other parts of her tingled, which had nothing whatsoever
to do with generic vampire tinglies, and everything to do with the specific
vampire standing next to her.
Just as it had
done the other night in the alley, the shroud that blocked her thoughts and
emotions from reaching the surface of her conscious mind began to slowly lift.
The river of blood that carried her words and thoughts away slowed to a trickle as Spike
worked the crème rinse into her hair. Ideas, conversations, thoughts, fears,
dreams all came flooding back to her with overwhelming clarity.
was trapped. Make a baby … with Spike. Get her out of Limbo … a baby with Spike.
Think about Dawn … the Monks will fix it. Have to help Dawn – get her soul out
of Limbo – give her another chance.
got it, luv,” Spike said from behind her as he ran his fingers through her
silky, tangle-free hair. After assuring himself that all the soap and crème
rinse was gone from her hair and body, he mashed the water control knob and
stopped the warm spray.
her arms thankfully, rolling her shoulders a bit from the strain of holding them
up, then turned around – facing him squarely. Spike had started reaching for the
towel which hung just outside the shower stall – averting his eyes from Buffy’s
wet, naked bits. Buffy watched him with clear eyes for the first time in … she
didn’t know when – before Dawn died. How long had that been? Seemed like
yesterday – or several millennia ago, she wasn’t sure.
He was taking
care of her. She remembered that. Her friends were gonna put her in a loony ward
– the Council’s loony ward, no less. She clearly remembered Spike telling her what
he’d overheard at the Magic Box, but she also remembered hearing Giles, Willow,
and Xander talking about it at the house. They were afraid she’d get dangerous –
they wouldn’t be able to control her. Afraid she’d hurt someone or hurt herself.
Giles had been the one to suggest that the Council would be Buffy's best option
for recovery. The Council, who she hated with every fiber of her being. How
could Giles suggest that? He knew how she felt about them. The memory was
painful, and Buffy wished that had been one of those things that had simply
stayed locked behind the wall of blood.
remembered that Spike had gotten her away from them – took her where the Council couldn’t find
her. But even before that, on her nightly sojourns to the cemetery, he’d been
there every time, watching her, holding her, protecting her. He’d stood with her
even when she didn’t acknowledge him or even seem to know who he was. He stood
with her when no one else did.
You love him,
don’t you? I know he loves you,
her mother's words rang in her head. What did it say about her to know that a
soulless vampire was capable of love but she wasn't? It didn't matter ... Dawn
needed her help. The mission came first – her duty, as always, was the important
murmured, standing facing him, one arm now crossed modestly over her breasts
while the other covered parts lower.
shifted and met her gaze. So blue. Had his eyes always been that blue?
he asked, head tilted, waiting for her to continue.
His hair fell
in wet ringlets around his face. So cute. Had he always been so cute? No, not
cute. He’d hate that. Adorable? Definitely not. Devilishly handsome, in a Standard Poodle sort of way,
with Shirley Temple hair, luscious lips, razor-sharp cheekbones, and cobalt blue eyes.
“Uhhh …” Buffy
stammered a moment as she tried to sort through her myriad of thoughts, which
had suddenly bombarded her when the blood-red barrier had lifted. “I … uhhh …
think you missed my tummy,” she said at last.
lifted straight up and his eyes widened in surprise. Her eyes! He couldn’t pick
out one thing to attribute it to, but her eyes looked alive, sparkling, they
looked like, “Buffy? Are you … Is
that you, pet?”
“Yeah, Spike …
I’m here,” she replied, her voice gentle and even a little shy.
He bit his
bottom lip and his head tilted again, regarding her with a look of school-boy
wonder and awe. She was back! Buffy was back! His chest heaved with unneeded
breaths as his heart rejoiced – shouting his gratitude to the Powers for
bringing her back to him.
asked sheepishly after a few moments of silence filled the space between them.
"You ... missed some spots. Maybe you could ..." she shrugged uncomfortably, her
eyes dropping to the floor. "... ummm ... get them for me?"
“Buffy …” he
murmured, unable to stop himself from leaning forward and kissing her soft, wet
met tentatively – a first kiss – exploring, tasting, testing, teasing. Spike
drew her bottom lip – that sweet, pouty lip – into his mouth and nibbled on it
gently. Her tongue darted out and flicked against his teeth and Spike released
her pouty lip to allow her entry. His tongue met hers and they twined together,
each circling the other in a slow, sensuous discovery.
settled gently against Spike’s sides, just above the waistband of his jeans. Her
fingers ghosted like feathers over his skin and he longed to feel her touch
every inch of him.
pet?" Spike murmured against her lips when Buffy
pulled back to breathe. "Maybe we should ..."
Buffy cut him off, ghosting a soft, reassuring kiss against his lips. She was so
warm, her lips so soft, her voice so inviting that any argument to the contrary
sputtered and died in Spike's mind before it could reach his lips.
Spike trailed his tongue down her wet
skin. Over her jaw, down her neck, momentarily nuzzling and nibbling on the spot
where her neck met her shoulder. Her blood thrummed beneath his lips, he could
feel it pulsing a staccato beat just beneath her hot skin and he moaned against
her, his desire growing by leaps and bounds. He waited there, suckling gently
against her neck for a while – waiting for her to stop him, to push him away, to
call him a 'pig', to change her mind; giving her every possible chance to say ‘no’. She didn’t.
wandered down her flanks, this time allowing himself to savor the curve of her
breasts before sliding down over the hourglass of her waist and hips. His mouth
followed his hands down her body as Buffy’s fingers slid up and tangled in his
wet curls. She moaned, low and throaty, when his lips encircled her right nipple
and his tongue teased it to stiff attention.
she murmured as her whole body tingled and shivered in delightful anticipation.
As missions went, she'd had worse.
he’d never heard anything sweeter than his name rolling from Buffy’s lips, full
of pleasure and desire. He slid over to give her other beautiful tit equal
attention, nibbling the pebbled nub with his blunt teeth until she moaned and
her back arched into him.
you are, Buffy,” he whispered to her as he went lower, covering her flat abdomen
with lazy kisses and licks.
down to his knees in front of her, lifted one of her legs up, and draped it over
his shoulder as he found the nirvana he’d dreamed of for months.
roamed up from his shoulders to his head and tangled in his curls, silently
encouraging him to continue. The heavenly aroma that assailed him when he lifted
her leg told him that he had found the Promised Land. The scent of her arousal
sent waves of desire flooding through him, threatening to drown him. He wanted
to be buried in that sweet quim, feel her surrounding him, holding his body as surely
and strongly as she held his heart. But first he wanted a taste of her sweet
He spread her
pussy lips with two fingers and buried his mouth in her dark, springy curls.
Buffy’s hips bucked against him when his tongue touched down on her clit then
circled the throbbing nub, teasing her body to the edge of oblivion.
“Spike … God …
please … yes … Spike … so good,” she panted from above, her words flowing over
him like warm honey as he worked his magic on her. No one had ever done that to
her before. The feel of it surprised her – so different than the rough,
inarticulate fingers that had bungled their way around down there in the past.
His tongue was cool against her hot skin, strong but pliable, rough and soft at
the same time, as it stroked her throbbing bundle of nerves. Buffy felt herself
getting lost in the utter pleasure of it as her legs quivered uncontrollably
with every touch of his lips, tongue, and teeth against her sex.
Her body sang
with his every touch, every teasing flick of his tongue, every suck, every
nibble. She was like a Stradivariusand he was Stradivari himself; every
note flowing into angelic chords, chords forming a moving, flowing concerto, all
building to an earth-shaking crescendo.
worshiped her clit with his lips and tongue, taking her right up to the edge of
the harmonious climax, he slid one long finger into her slick, wet heat.
jerked, pressing her mound harder against his mouth and hand, increasing the
symphony’s tempo, racing for the finale. Even this was so much better than
anything she'd had before. How did he know exactly where to touch her? How did
he know just how and when to vary his strokes and nibbles to keep her hovering
on the brink of heaven? He kept the waves of bliss washing over her, but never
allowed them to break. It was at once the most incredible feeling she'd ever
known and the most frustrating.
“Spike … more
… more … so good … please … more,” Buffy gasped, her hands now painfully tangled
in his hair as she pressed him to her with unbridled desire.
against her, indicating that he was more
than happy to oblige. He slipped a second finger into her tight, wet hole and a
third, stretching her opening to accommodate them. He began sliding in and out
of her, matching the ever-increasing rhythm of her heartbeat, which rang like a
clarion against his eardrums. Her hips matched him, slamming against him in
perfect time, driving his fingers deeper into her. Bolts of pleasure shot out
through her limbs every time her clit banged against his mouth and teeth, making
Buffy’s legs twitch and weaken. Spike curled his fingers inside her just enough
to rake hard over the sensitive g-spot with every thrust, and the walls of
Buffy’s channel spasmed and shuddered around him in violent, blissful waves of pleasure.
Buffy’s words, which had been flowing from her lips in an unconscious stream,
were swallowed by a breathless gasp. After a moment, the brief silence was
replaced with a wordless, primal exclamation of orgasmic ecstasy that
undoubtedly woke every guest in the motel. Paradise Lost had just been found
tensed, her sex seized around his fingers, and her cum flowed over him as she ground her clit against
his luscious lips and inscrutable tongue. Her whole body shuddered in the throes of the orgasm, which
broke over her in wave after wave of furious bliss the likes of which she’d
never felt before.
his pleasure again as she came, her sweet nectar coating his fingers, and
pooling in his palm and between her pink petals. He suckled her folds, lapping
hungrily at the slick ambrosia she had bestowed upon him. He'd never tasted
anything sweeter than his Slayer's bliss – it was everything he'd dreamed of and
more. He could've seen to her sweet quim all night, never moving from this spot,
if the leg Buffy was standing on hadn't buckled at that moment.
Unable to stop
the inevitable, her body
slid down the wall and slumped to the floor of the shower bonelessly. Spike felt her slipping and
quickly extricated himself from her embrace and grabbed her hips. He helped lower her to
the tile so she didn’t land awkwardly or do anything to tear her stitches out.
Buffy’s breath came as rasping gasps, her chest heaving to replenish the oxygen
that had been depleted so thoroughly by Spike’s touch. She looked up at him
through heavily-lidded eyes, the green of her irises nearly completely engulfed
by the black of her dilated pupils. Her beautiful eyes were a deeper green than
he'd ever seen in them before, full of passion and ecstasy. He thought she'd
never looked more beautiful than that moment.
He leaned in
and began dropping gentle kisses over her face, pressing his lips to her
eyelids, the tip of her nose, her bottom lip, cheeks, forehead …
“God, Buffy …
so passionate you are. So bloody sexy, so beautiful … love you so much,” he murmured to her
between each touch of his lips to her heated skin.
flew open, wild with guilt and fear. Suddenly the crimson shroud began to fall
down on her like a heavy metal gate slamming closed on a prison. What right did
she have to feel pleasure when Dawn was dead? What right did she have to be
loved when her hands were dripping with the blood of her sister? But she needed
to … to do something. There was something she was supposed to do – a mission – for Dawn. Her
thoughts were suddenly swept away in the river of blood, ripped from her grasp
scrambling away from Spike, pushing wildly against his bare chest, and kicking at him
with her feet as she slithered along the wet floor trying to escape the confines of
began, confused, but his voice was cut-off when a foot caught him squarely in
the chest and drove the air from his lungs with a grunt and a 'whoosh' of
found the stake she’d dropped earlier. She grabbed it as she stood up on the
bathroom floor, facing him. She held the stake in front of her, the blunt end
pressed against her chest. She clutched it with both hands as she tried to cover
her nude form with her arms, looking like a terrified, cornered animal. She
couldn’t actually strike him with it from that position, or at least not very
accurately, but it would keep him from coming too near.
“Buffy … luv,”
Spike finally managed as he struggled to his feet, holding his hands out in a
conciliatory gesture. “What’s wrong, pet?” he asked, but he already knew. He
could see it in her wild eyes, frightened, guilty eyes.
ordered, her eyes scanning the bathroom with quick, jerking motions of her eyes
and head. She found the towel and pulled it from the rack with one hand. “Stay,”
she commanded as she backed up to the door, opened it with one hand, and stepped
out into the motel room.
as the door slammed shut and he heard her drag something – the dresser perhaps?
– across the floor and put against it.
dropped back and he roared in frustration. He’d just gotten her back, she’d just
allowed him to touch her and now she was gone again. And if he didn’t get out of
this bathroom, he might lose her forever. Suddenly fear outweighed the
frustration as the image of her cutting her barely-closed wounds open again
flashed across his mind. He shoved a shoulder against the door, but it didn’t
called through the door, trying not to sound as angry, afraid, and frustrated as
he actually was. “Buffy, luv … not gonna hurt you, pet. Just let me out and
we’ll … get dinner, like we planned. Remember – you wanted t’ order in? Watch a
movie?” he pled through the door as he leaned both hands on the frame on either
side of it, his head slumping forward in defeat.
He could punch
through the door – or the wall for that matter – but would that just serve to
frighten her more? He stood still, abruptly stopped his frantic breathing, and
listened. He could hear her moving around in the other room … perhaps getting
dressed? He couldn’t tell for sure.
Then she began
talking – or perhaps ranting would be a better term for it. He could tell she
was pacing back and forth across the room by the sound of her voice as it came
to his sensitive ears.
“No, no, no.
Don’t have. Can’t give. Don’t take. Too much blood. Blood all over. Oh, God,
Dawn! No! No! Not looking. Mom! Please! I …
what is it? Can’t remember. What am I doing? No – not love. There's no love.
Yes, I know! Heart! I get it! Ok. Try. Ok. The
gerbil ran away. No, it died! I’m not five! Council wankers. Hide. Just …
hide. In the blood. Hide in the blood. Won't look there. No finding. No looking. Ok. Stay. Hide.
more furniture being moved and shoved around the room for the next few minutes,
then everything went silent. He strained to listen, to hear something. Finally,
he moved to the wall and pressed his ear against it. He went all along the wall
of the bathroom like that until he finally heard it: her heartbeat. It was
muffled and racing with barely-contained fear, but it was there. She was still
He sighed with
relief and rubbed tiredly at his eyes. He’d forgotten how exhausting it was to
be around someone who was off their gourd. Not that anyone else better say that
about Buffy – or Dru for that matter – but he loved them, so he had the right.
himself for pushing her tonight. Shouldn’t have … taken advantage of her. But
she was there with him – Buffy had been there, he was sure. She wanted it
too – he was equally sure of that. But he'd known in the back of his mind that
he should've waited, he shouldn't have listened to her. But nooo ...
couldn't just turn away from her, could ya? Bloody git! But she'd wanted
it, there had been no doubt. Bloody fucking hell!
Maybe he’d made a mistake thinking he and the Bot could take care of her and protect her. But who else was there? Her friends?
They were ready to turn her over to the Crazy-Slayer police.
Then she began
talking again, pulling Spike from the silent argument he was having with himself. Quietly, whispering, barely audible through the wall and whatever
she’d piled around her out there. “Shhhh. Quiet,” she began, then, in a
sing-song voice she began murmuring, “Hush little baby, hush little baby, hush
little baby…” over and over again.
Spike blew out
a breath and settled down on the floor of the shower to wait. He leaned his back
against the wall nearest Buffy where he would be sure to hear her if she moved.
Maybe when she’d calmed down a bit, she’d let him out. Barring that, she’d have
to pee sooner or later, he reasoned.
He sat there
growing increasingly colder in his wet jeans and listened to her chant, “Hush
little baby,” as he tried to suss out where her mind had gone. He’d gotten to be
a fair hand at untangling Dru’s ramblings, but it had taken him years and years
of trial and error. He didn’t even know where to start with Buffy’s.
Buffy,” he said to the empty room, laying his palm against the wall that
separated them. “Please come back t’ me.”
best efforts to stay awake, Spike had fallen asleep sometime during the night.
He was awoken when he heard the dresser – or whatever it was Buffy had shoved
against the bathroom door – move. He pushed himself stiffly to his feet, tilting
his head from side to side and popping the kinks out of his neck, as he waited.
have you barricaded yourself in the bathroom?” BuffyBot asked curiously when
the door swung open. “Is this a new ritual?”
his eyes and pushed past her. “Can’t bloody barricade yourself in from the
outside,” he pointed out as he stepped out and looked around for Buffy.
“I do not
understand this behavior,” BuffyBot continued, following him. “The Other Slayer has
covered herself with the bedding and will not come out, and you were hiding in
the bathroom. Is this a new form of 'Hide and Seek' where everyone hides and no
his head and waved a dismissive hand at the Bot. "No ... just ... it's a bit
abilities are stellar, and I have an unlimited capacity to understand
complicated equations," the Bot assured him.
Spike put her off as he quickly located Buffy.
In one corner
of the bedroom area of the motel room, Buffy had made a fort of sorts out of the
mattress and box springs of one of the beds, leaning them against the walls at
right-angles to each other. There was a small opening where the two met. Spike
crouched down in front of it and looked in. Buffy was curled into a fetal
position on the small floor space behind the fortress walls. She had her head
covered with a pillow, so Spike couldn’t see her eyes, but her heartbeat told
him she wasn’t asleep. In her hands she clutched the stake and one of her
little-girl keepsakes that he'd packed: a stuffed pig that used to sit on her
bed back in Sunnydale.
don’t ya come out, luv?” he asked gently. “Get some breakfast, we can. Spend the
day watching some shows … then we’ll go out t’night if ya want. Come to the
casino with me if ya like. Have a grand time, we will.”
moved nor responded.
and stood up.
the most important meal of the day,” BuffyBot offered helpfully.
Spike began to
berate her less-than-helpful ‘fun fact’, but he hesitated, thinking, then pulled
the Bot forward and planted a kiss on her forehead. “Brilliant, you are,” he
told the Bot as he reached for the phone.
“Of course I
am. And pretty,” the Bot replied, smiling proudly.
hour the smell of bacon, sausage, eggs, pancakes, fresh cinnamon buns, hash
browns, and, perhaps most importantly, coffee, filled their motel room.
actually hear Buffy’s stomach growling in hunger as she stubbornly stayed within
her mattress fort. Barmy and stubborn – perfect bloody combination that is.
back down in front of the small opening with a cup of coffee and held it out
where she couldn’t help but see it if she looked. “Hot coffee, luv. Just how you
like it: three sugars and two creamers. Got some o’ that fancy Bailey’s creamer
here too. Too bad there’s no one ‘ere that can’t breathe without coffee
in the morning,” he taunted, taking a slurping sip of the syrupy-brew.
When she slid
the pillow off her head, Buffy’s glare could’ve melted the Terminator into a
puddle of spare parts. Spike gave her his best smile through the small opening
and took another overly-dramatic sip of the coffee, ‘mmmm’ing as he did so.
her hand out to try and snag it from him, but he was ready for that tactic and
pulled it out of her reach. “Gotta come out t’ get it, luv,” he informed her,
practically waving the cup in front of her like a red cape being waved in front
of a bull.
demanded, her arm still reaching out for the cup.
“Come take it
from me,” Spike challenged, as he stood up and stepped back.
screamed at him, pressing out further against her make-shift fort.
“What part of
‘no’ don’t you understand, Slayer?” Spike retorted, moving back further. That
fort was gonna come crashing down any moment and he didn’t want to be under the
mattress when it fell.
not ten seconds later, both the mattress and the box springs tumbled to the
floor away from the enraged – and deranged – Slayer.
deranged, caffeine-deprived Slayer by teasing her with coffee is something akin
to poking a bear with a stick: Neither ends well, unless you’re the bear … or
could properly enjoy his victory or bask in a smug moment of superior intellect,
he found himself flat on his back atop the other bed, the mug of coffee gone
from his hand without a drop being spilled. He rubbed his jaw, which hurt
despite him not actually seeing the punch Buffy must’ve thrown.
BuffyBot exclaimed, worry evident in her voice.
hurried over to his side, but he waved her off with a, “No worries.”
himself up to his elbows, his eyes locked on his Slayer. The self-satisfied
smirk he’d been denied a moment ago curled his lips as he watched Buffy tuck
into not only the coffee, but the tray of food, with wild abandon. His smile
quirked into one of wonder when he realized that she had put on his t-shirt last
night after she’d locked him in the bathroom. It hung down past the curve of her
ass and he could just get a glimpse of pink knickers beneath when she moved. He
thought his shirt never looked better as he mused over just what that meant.
He let out a
breath and admonished himself to not over-think it. It was hard to not be
pleased, and a little confused, however, given her mental relapse and angry,
frightened reaction to him the previous night.
He shook his
head, giving up trying to suss her out just then, and lay back on the mattress.
One hurdle cleared: she was out of her hidey-hole and was eating. And, despite
everything, including how the previous night had ended, hope bloomed in Spike’s
chest: Buffy was still in there somewhere. He hadn’t imagined what had happened
between them in the shower – she had been there with him, at least for a while.
The sound of his name rolling blissfully off her lips was something he'd never,
ever forget and he longed to hear again.
Just how many more buildings would he have to leap to get his Slayer back
permanently? He hoped not too many; his tights and cape were at the cleaners.
- Brain Damage/Eclipse
The lunatic is on
The lunatic is on the grass
Remembering games and daisy chains and laughs
Got to keep the loonies on the path
The lunatic is in the hall
The lunatics are in my hall
The paper holds their folded faces to the floor
And everyday the paper boy brings more
And if the dam breaks open many years too soon
And if there is no room upon the hill
And if you're head explodes the dark forebodings too
I'll see you on the dark side of the moon
The lunatic is in my head
The lunatic is in my head
You raise the blade, you make the change
You re-arrange me 'till I'm sane
You lock the door
And throw away the key
There's someone in my head but it's not me
And if the cloud bursts, thunder in your ear
You shout and no one seems to hear
And if the band you're in starts playing different tunes
I'll see you on the dark side on the moon
All that you touch
And all that you see
All that you taste
All you feel
And all that you love
And all that you hate
All you distrust
All you save
And all that you give
And all that you deal
And all that you buy
Beg, borrow, or steal
And all you create
And all you destroy
And all that you do
And all that you say
And all that you eat
And everyone you meet
And all that you slight
And everyone you fight
And all that is now
And all that is gone
And all that's to come
And everything under the sun is in tune
But the sun is eclipsed by the moon
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