The vampire lay on his side, one arm flung out, the other tucked beneath the chest, legs crossing. His blue eyes were open and staring, fixedly, at nothing. Faded violet bruises and rosy abrasions covered his exposed flesh - hands, face, and chest. His ribcage did not rise or fall; the perfect pose of death
( ... )
Broken. That's what he looked like sprawled out on the floor, a perfect simulacrum of death. She didn't know what to make of Spike's unsettling laughter or the comment, only chewed uncertainly on her lower lip and watched him in silence
( ... )
"I'm back." Contentment punctured his weariness, because he took comfort in her presence. She soothed his unease and his guilt, and a silence settled that - for once - between them, struck Spike as intimate.
At last he summoned the willpower to sit up, settling his back against the wall of the crypt, legs outstretched. His soul burned in his breast, small and scalding, causing the demon within physical pain just from proximity. Never mind the guilt and sorrow, and all of the other emotional baggage, his ensoulment had brought
( ... )
The silence between them after his comment didn't bother Buffy, but her own uselessness did. Her bejeweled hands hovered uncertainly over Spike, prepared to catch him should the effort of pushing himself against the crypt wall prove too taxing.
"Can I get you anything?" Buffy asked haltingly, feeling odd in her one attempt at the role of Nurse Buffy. Beating monsters senseless for someone was easy enough, this came more slowly. "You really do look a little, umm, worse for wear."
Dozens of questions pressed urgently in her mind, but something checked her from bombarding him with them. Spike was here, looking at her and speaking to her. She tried to concentrate on that. And ooo, he had just said she looked pretty!
"I know," Buffy replied to his comment with a loud sigh, frowning at the empty finger. "Hey, do you still have that skull ring laying around here somewhere?"
Buffy couldn't believe the request had come from her, that she had said it aloud. God, Spike was a bruised and bloodied mess and she was thinking of accessorizing"I
( ... )
Laughter rocked Spike, hard humorless mirth that left the vampire clutching his sides. The labored movement caused sharp stabbing pain along his ribcage because of broken bones. The demons that Buffy had slain had done a real number on him before she'd come to the rescue. However, he was indifferent to his physical discomfort
( ... )
Buffy had been rather swept up in her private heroic moment, feeling like an impressive cross between fearless warrior and a caring saint. Spike's laughter punctured this inflated image, caused her to frown and return to earth once more. She let his remark about Giles pass by uncommented upon, but looked surprised as he dismissed her offer of blood
( ... )
Spike sighed and made a face of distaste. He didn't want to get into it. No avoiding it though, not if he had any hope of Buffy respecting his wishes...which for the slayer might mean her not holding him down and pouring blood down his throat, believing it to be the best thing for him
( ... )
She dropped Spike's hand at this, looking stung. Damn it, why couldn't he just be grateful for her concern? As Spike went on, however, concern swept her sudden surge of irritation away.
Weak. Damaged. Well, it was true, wasn't it? And what did that say about her? That with a soul he was somehow less useful to her? Indecision was apparent on Buffy's face as she continued to watch him silently, unsure of how to handle this turn of events.
"Look, you're not an invalid," she insisted, her one concession to what she viewed as his wounded masculine pride. Briskly, Buffy continued on, "But you are an idiot if you think I'm going to stand by while you poison yourself with whiskey. You're not up for pool or blondes and you know it."
She regarded Spike for a moment with bright eyes, clearly strategizing her next approach. He was a tricky musical piece in this mood, and Buffy felt she didn't know the proper key to play in.
"I trust you to have my back," she said at length, growing serious, before honesty made her amend, "Or I will once you
( ... )
"There are spells," Spike said, slowly, reluctantly, the words being dragged from him. He didn't like the prospect...the direction of the conversation...the resulting conclusions. But then, was it so strange? Dawn had been born of a mystical ball of glowing green energy...shaped into a girl. Manly monks had chosen her form, which struck Spike as having plenty of potential for sick and wrong.
The vampire pressed his chest to the slayer's back, partially out of utter exhaustion, mostly because he sought to soak up her anguish, to absorb it into himself. His other arm crept around her waist, hand pressing flat across her stomach, pulling her snug against him. He felt better when they touched, and thus reasoned that physical contact would offer her the same comfort.
"We should find you a seer," Spike suggested, settling his chin atop Buffy's shoulder. The side of his face alongside hers.
Buffy still struggled with taking comfort. She staunchly believed that she couldn't afford to be weak, to depend on anyone entirely. Willow's betrayal had demonstrated this truth to her in uncertain terms. Yet, while Spike's reacquisition of a soul hadn't changed his manner to her--so far as Buffy could tell--it made her more ready to accept his kindness when it was offered
( ... )
"A seer might be able to distinguish truth from fiction," Spike suggested. Not that he put stock in what most mystics had to say, but he had plenty of experience with a genuine seer. Enough to know that the gift was real for a select few.
The blonde vampire's jaw tightened, a tell-tale tick forming as his molars ground together. Demon and soul clashed. Here was a perfect opportunity to drive a wedge between Slayer and Watcher, to come between them, and increase Buffy's dependence upon him for emotional support. All wrapped up in a neat little package...
As much as a part of him hated Giles, grudging about the past, another harbored sympathy for the Watcher. More than sympathy. Genuine like. The conflict left the vampire dizzy and ill, and on the verge of collapse.
He settled for a throaty chuckle, settling for mockery. Gentle, teasing instead of cutting. "What? You think maybe he's trying to protect you from getting hurt? Got some doubt about the old fuddy-duddy?"
"That's not his job! He shouldn't be deciding what information I do and don't need to know," Buffy replied tartly, even as Spike's words mollified her somewhat
( ... )
Soap bubbles falling from his head like a fluffy white wig, Spike stopped, head cocked and smile thin. It was one of those openings that the demon waited for - when a lover or opponent or friend - in Buffy's case all three - played right into his trap.
"Really?" Spike managed to utilize William's cultured accent to perfect effect: pure intellectual disbelief peppered with just a hint of scandal. He allowed the word to float on the steamy air, and dunked his head, rinsing away the suds.
A split second later Spike peered out from behind the shower curtain, blue eyes round with shock. "I thought figure skaters had to be graceful-"
Gentle, tentative compassion vanished as soon as his words registered. Without thinking she grabbed a large bottle of lotion and chucked it with deadly precision in the direction of Spike's head. No, the caring professions really weren't for Buffy.
"Smart ass," she snapped, "That's not even a good insult. I float, I'll have you know. And as for thin.."
She jumped off her perch on the counter and turned to face the mirror, shrugging off her denim jacket and letting it fall to the floor. The steam from the shower had begun to fog the mirror's surface, but she could make out enough of her reflection to reassure herself of the utter inaccuracy of his slur.
Patting her hair, her back to the shower and the vampire inside of it, Buffy mused aloud, "Maybe you're jealous, maybe you wish I had been the next Dorothy Hamill. Think of all those ego-crushing fights you wouldn't have lost had I been doing double axles instead of slaying."
Spike moved his head a couple inches to the side, and the bottle of hand cream sailed past him and crashed into the back of the shower, falling with a clatter
( ... )
Buffy mumbled something rude under her breath at his joke, half amused and half exasperated by the humor at her expense. At least all of those uncomfortable nurturing feelings he'd stirred up in her seemed gone. It was much preferable to bicker good-naturedly with Spike than comfort him. Despite the soul and the spell things felt almost... natural between them. But better. The little rationalizations that ran constantly in her head for months was no longer needed. It was blissful, Buffy reflected with a half-smile at her reflection, just to let herself be with him
( ... )
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At last he summoned the willpower to sit up, settling his back against the wall of the crypt, legs outstretched. His soul burned in his breast, small and scalding, causing the demon within physical pain just from proximity. Never mind the guilt and sorrow, and all of the other emotional baggage, his ensoulment had brought ( ... )
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"Can I get you anything?" Buffy asked haltingly, feeling odd in her one attempt at the role of Nurse Buffy. Beating monsters senseless for someone was easy enough, this came more slowly. "You really do look a little, umm, worse for wear."
Dozens of questions pressed urgently in her mind, but something checked her from bombarding him with them. Spike was here, looking at her and speaking to her. She tried to concentrate on that. And ooo, he had just said she looked pretty!
"I know," Buffy replied to his comment with a loud sigh, frowning at the empty finger. "Hey, do you still have that skull ring laying around here somewhere?"
Buffy couldn't believe the request had come from her, that she had said it aloud. God, Spike was a bruised and bloodied mess and she was thinking of accessorizing"I ( ... )
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Weak. Damaged. Well, it was true, wasn't it? And what did that say about her? That with a soul he was somehow less useful to her? Indecision was apparent on Buffy's face as she continued to watch him silently, unsure of how to handle this turn of events.
"Look, you're not an invalid," she insisted, her one concession to what she viewed as his wounded masculine pride. Briskly, Buffy continued on, "But you are an idiot if you think I'm going to stand by while you poison yourself with whiskey. You're not up for pool or blondes and you know it."
She regarded Spike for a moment with bright eyes, clearly strategizing her next approach. He was a tricky musical piece in this mood, and Buffy felt she didn't know the proper key to play in.
"I trust you to have my back," she said at length, growing serious, before honesty made her amend, "Or I will once you ( ... )
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The vampire pressed his chest to the slayer's back, partially out of utter exhaustion, mostly because he sought to soak up her anguish, to absorb it into himself. His other arm crept around her waist, hand pressing flat across her stomach, pulling her snug against him. He felt better when they touched, and thus reasoned that physical contact would offer her the same comfort.
"We should find you a seer," Spike suggested, settling his chin atop Buffy's shoulder. The side of his face alongside hers.
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The blonde vampire's jaw tightened, a tell-tale tick forming as his molars ground together. Demon and soul clashed. Here was a perfect opportunity to drive a wedge between Slayer and Watcher, to come between them, and increase Buffy's dependence upon him for emotional support. All wrapped up in a neat little package...
As much as a part of him hated Giles, grudging about the past, another harbored sympathy for the Watcher. More than sympathy. Genuine like. The conflict left the vampire dizzy and ill, and on the verge of collapse.
He settled for a throaty chuckle, settling for mockery. Gentle, teasing instead of cutting. "What? You think maybe he's trying to protect you from getting hurt? Got some doubt about the old fuddy-duddy?"
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"Really?" Spike managed to utilize William's cultured accent to perfect effect: pure intellectual disbelief peppered with just a hint of scandal. He allowed the word to float on the steamy air, and dunked his head, rinsing away the suds.
A split second later Spike peered out from behind the shower curtain, blue eyes round with shock. "I thought figure skaters had to be graceful-"
"-and thin."
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"Smart ass," she snapped, "That's not even a good insult. I float, I'll have you know. And as for thin.."
She jumped off her perch on the counter and turned to face the mirror, shrugging off her denim jacket and letting it fall to the floor. The steam from the shower had begun to fog the mirror's surface, but she could make out enough of her reflection to reassure herself of the utter inaccuracy of his slur.
Patting her hair, her back to the shower and the vampire inside of it, Buffy mused aloud, "Maybe you're jealous, maybe you wish I had been the next Dorothy Hamill. Think of all those ego-crushing fights you wouldn't have lost had I been doing double axles instead of slaying."
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