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're back on your feet again. But right now you're making me think that maybe I was right the first time with the rope and the bathtub."
There. Humor. Would that work? Buffy thought anxiously, although her face only revealed a small smile. She was no good at this; she'd have preferred stealing him blood and beating up his enemies, but would persist with her clumsy words for now. At least she'd see Spike didn't end up prostrated over a pool table with some trashy girl.
Spike nearly collapsed into a heap, and it took more effort to hide his relief than to disguise the enormous effort that kept him upright and posturing. Weird how having a soul seemed to have turned him into a total slacker.
It was that smile that did it for him, coaxing his wounded male ego out of a lion of a mood, soothing his roar into a stuttering purr. Bollocks, that's what it was, pure bollocks. Bribing him with a smile and a joke: be a good boy and do as you're told. Only, it hadn't been that long ago that the request would have been an order, enforced with her fists, and so Spike had a very real appreciate of the value of what was being offered.
"It was rope on the chair and chains in the bathtub," Spike corrected, allowing none of his cockiness to fade. Not yet. He wasn't going to reveal just how right she was about his physical condition - and his emotional one.
He waited a beat. Smirk. Timing it perfect. "And I'm up for booze, bondage games, and trashy little blondes, any time you wanna play, love."
Damn it, he couldn't just stay behind while she went off into unknown danger. "If I choke down the pig's blood, can I come?"
Tension she didn't even know she had been carrying eased out of her shoulders as he corrected her. "Chains, huh?" Buffy murmured, her smile widening, ridiculously pleased to see his trademark arrogance was still firmly in place.
Damn, that next remark of his shouldn’t have turned her on, not with Spike looking all bruised and bloodied. But then it had been a month. The idea of booze and bondage sounded appealing, even if she thought the effort might be the end of him. She snorted at the invitation, adding archly, "Please. You couldn't handle me now-- but maybe it'll give you something to strive for. Although, don't think I missed the plural in there."
Gentle teasing was a rarity between them, usually a brief stop on the way to the way of something rougher. But Buffy felt lightened by this exchange, almost buoyant. For the first time she truly let herself imagine what Spike with a soul would be like in her life. Cautious optimisim was beginning to sneak in, despite Buffy's best efforts to remain practical and pragmatic.
"Why don’t you drink some and I'll think about it?” Buffy wheedled, a beatific smile on her face.
"Sure, got some?" It was a quick and easy comeback, especially considering that he knew she didn't have a cooler full of blood in her back pocket. "My fridge is empty. Been gone a month."
He smiled rather beatifically himself. "Day hasn't come when I can't handle you. Got the plural from you, your blondness. I started out with one trashy blonde and a pool cue. You upped the ante to bondage and swinging singles."
Unaccountably, slayer seemed to be in a good mood, though, Spike couldn't account for her sudden upturn in mood. Their bantering didn't strike him as anything special, but then, it'd been a month. A long one at that.
Maybe Buffy was happy to have him back. Damaged or otherwise...
"These bodies are foul," William muttered as the vampire circled around Buffy's kills on the way out of the crypt. "Where are we heading?"
Lips twitching in amusement, Buffy rolled her eyes at Spike's series of remarks. She'd thought he'd been down for the count but here he was, springing at her with his mix of swagger and quick wit. Despite her enjoyment of this line of conversation, Buffy realized she needed to switch to a less charged topic. Even if Spike were up for it, she had things to do, bespelled townpeople to save. Bondage fun would just have to wait.
"Right then. I forgot you wouldn't have blood on hand," she said briskly, tapping an index finger against her cheek. "Well, I'm so not in for being your personal vending machine. We can stop by a hospital or bar or something-- how long can you hold out?"
She was slipping into full-on slayer mode, lips pressed in a firm line as she considered their options. Barely registering this last question, Buffy turned and seemed surprised to see him circling her victims.
"Yeah," she agreed readily, her thoughts elsewhere. "Let's get outta here."
"I'm right as rain," William lied cheerfully. In the back of his mind, the demon spat out his own scathing commentary, which the soul ignored. Neither of them was exactly jumping to the blood, each of their own reasons, which just happened to be messily intertwined.
It took a huge effort to move forward in his normal stride, but William managed to evade falling over the bodies and make it to the door of the crypt in time to open it for Buffy. He stood to the side, and then automatically offered her his right arm, which would place him on the outside of the walkway. Just because he'd woken up a vampire, didn't mean he couldn't be a gentleman.
"Does it not offend your sensibilities to wear rhinestones and sterling when there are jewelery stores on Main Street full of diamonds and pearls? Treasures as we speak that are unguarded and being plundered by reprehensible sorts?" William asked. Not because he advocated theft, but because Buffy's basic greed would probably become preoccupied, and she'd lose track of her plan to force blood on him.
"I never got that," Buffy said absently, walking through the open door without taking note of his courtly gesture. "Why rain? What's so right about it?"
She looked skeptically at the proferred arm, unsure exactly what he expected her to do with it. Sighing, she slid her hand around the crook of his arm, humoring him. Buffy thought absently that this couldn't go on for long, she really shouldn't be letting Spike tag along at all in this condition. At least there didn't seem to be any real danger for the moment.
Buffy had already taken a step forward when his next words arrested her. She glanced at him uncertainly.
"You're not getting the skull ring back, if that's what you're thinking," Buffy said, suspicious. "I like it."
A moment later, however, and his words truly hit home. Visions of precious gems danced in her eyes, the color in her cheeks heightening at the idea of possessing them. More, she needed, more. How had she ever imagined that this had been enough?
"You're right. Let's go, slayer duty calls," she announced breathlessly, tugging him along with her, suddenly heedless of his injuries or the change of accent and demeanor. All she could focus on was the image of herself dripping in ropes of pearls and diamonds.
"Oh, yes, steal it back. That's what I'm thinkin'. You caught me out." William rolled his eyes heavenward, the hollows of his cheeks becoming even more pronounced as evidence of his amusement.
William's face twisted into a pained grimace as he discovered various breaks and bruises all over his body. However, his ploy had worked, and the slayer had taken the lead, pulling him along in her wake. He forced his feet to move in spite of his excessive exhaustion. It was better than falling over and being dragged. And after the beating he'd incurred, the vampire felt that further damage would be to his detriment.
They reached the Main Street store in short order, and it was as William had predicted. The scene of so much chaos. Broken glass, a blaring alarm, and open combat between assorted greed-ridden denizens of Sunnydale, both human and demonic, fighting over piles of shiny treasure.
Spike looked around with open interest, head swiveling from one side to the other. A man went flying past the vampire and over a display case, barely missing the blonde. The victor dashed toward Buffy and the door, holding an armful of glittering prizes.
"Gonna get the alarm," Spike volunteered, finding the noise to be particularly annoying. "So, are we going steady now?"
Buffy knew she should be putting a stop to this bedlam, remembered years earlier trying to restore order that the Gentlemen had shattered with their nocturnal theft. Despite the nudging of responsibility at the back of her mind, she found it disturbingly easy to ignore this prick of conscience. Truly, it was difficult to care about anything when the prospect of the jewelry boutique was before her.
Smiling innocently enough, her foot unexpectedly darted out to trip the man as he came running past, arms laden with all of those tempting items. Falling hard to the ground, he remained sprawled on the floor as Buffy cheerfully squatted beside him, bending forward to peruse her options.
Picking and choosing happily from the scattered loot, Buffy glanced up at Spike as he went in search of the alarm. His question caught her unawares, caused her to sit back on her heels and actually abandon her eager treasure sifting for a second.
"How old are you again?" she asked, her fingers resuming their search to replace her current jewelry with newer, pricier selections. She struggled with the clasp of a pearl necklace ineffectually, still studying Spike from her vantage point on the floor.
"What would go into that exactly? Pining me? Would I get to wear your varsity jacket?" Buffy asked these questions teasingly, discarding one of her ugly garnet rings and replacing it with an extravagant ruby set in platinum.
Well, he had informed her he wasn't an invalid, Buffy thought to herself. A healthy Spike would expect some sass.
"Older than you, Sunshine," Spike replied, quick and flippant, right before he put his fist through the wall above the security control panel. Plaster crumbled away, and the vampire's fist emerged holding wiring, which he ripped out. The blaring alarm went blessedly silent.
A part of him was held tense, waiting for Buffy to cast off the skull ring in favor of something more extravagent. He didn't care. The ring meant absolutely nothing. There wasn't anything permanent or spoken between them. No verbal understandings beyond maybe we share something - undefined - unlabeled, which in and of itself was a vast improvement. Almost a year that they'd been lovers, and she no longer told him that he meant nothing to her. You're beneath me.
It'd be a long time before the echo of her voice repeating those words faded from his mind.
On the fair side, he'd tried to kill her and her friends for years before undertaking his Great Reformation, as his soul so astutely reminded him with an ever-so-helpful pang of guilt.
"I'd love to pin you," Spike said, leering suggestively. He patted the wall with his hand.
The noise of his fist smashing suddenly though the plastered wall startled Buffy, causing her to pause momentarily in her efforts at further self-adornment. But only temporarily, the promise of jewelry was too thrilling to keep her subdued for long.
"How could any other man tempt me when you still have all the great one-liners?" Buffy asked half teasing but still circling around his earlier question.
She rolled the unconscious man to his back carefully, experiencing a twinge of guilt at having been responsible for knocking him out. Satisfied that she had made the would-be burglar as comfortable as possible, Buffy sprang to her feet and meandered through the small boutique, making her way gradually in Spike's direction.
"Don't think you're up for pining," she said, clearly enjoying this rift. "And I've already got your class ring, I guess."
Her gaze strayed from Spike's face to the large glass display case a few feet away, one that had remained untouched from the chaos on the street. She stared at it, hypnotized by the gaudy excess spread out on red velvet. "Think I could pull of a tiara?"
"Unlikely that you're ever gonna meet another man with my fantastic wit," Spike agreed with a smirk. At the flirtation, all of his negative thoughts evaporated like dew in the desert.
Lust quickened Spike's gaze, a telltale narrowing of his eyes, the expression that betrayed his inner-most thoughts. It disturbed his sloth, and threatened his placid depression. Ballocks, but the slayer had him. He wasn't going to be up to 'pinning' until he ate...
Funny, he'd been confident that his renewed vow of fasting was iron-clad. Would it be indicative of a terrible weakness of character if he failed simply due to an inability to keep his pants fastened?
William leaned over and reached through the broken glass of a display case, retrieving a ladies sliver hair brush. It was one of the classic long-handled types still made in England. He shook it out to make sure there were no pieces of glass lodged in the bristles, then beckoned for Buffy to come.
"Bring it here, he said. "I'll fix your hair. Those Chinese hair pins might have to go if you want it to look right."
Even that summer after her sophomore year when her father had spoiled her rotten, Buffy couldn't remember finding so much joy in material acquisition. Nothing struck her as excessive, certainly not the tasteful diamond tiara winking back at her under the lights of the case. A quick jab of her elbow and the glass shattered, leaving her prize open for greedy, grasping hands.
Temporarily oblivious to Spike's words, her hands held the tiara almost reverently in her open palms. She had heard the unexpected offer however, and subsequently moved wordlessly over to him, clutching the tiara in one hand. She passed him the tiara, confident as she hadn't been with his skull ring that Spike had no intention of stealing it.
"Unexpected skills much?" Buffy asked with a small smile, easily jumping onto the slick mahogany counter by the store's register-- the better for him to concentrate on her unruly hair which was quickly escaping the pins.
"I can see why you're so popular," she continued, almost chatty as her hands reached behind her head and removed the pins. She shook out her long hair before glancing over her shoulder at him, seeing if the offer still stood. "I'm sure Dawn loved having you as a babysitter."
"I never did your sister's hair," Spike scoffed. Though, it was true. Dawn had once loved his company. However, the girl's reasons probably had as much to do with Buffy having objected to her sister hanging around with an evil vampire, as any other.
Sometimes, Spike thought that Buffy willfully forgot just who he had been with for over a century. Drusilla, gloriously mad as she was, had required care, fussing, attention. Spike had been forced to master many decidedly non traditional male skills - not that he'd ever minded. He'd loved her.
With the brush, Spike stroked through Buffy's hair, over and over, brushing it to a glossy smoothness. He was gentle, and a little reluctant, disliking touching her with hands that hadn't been properly washed in how long...? So recently covered in blood...
He borrowed a few bejeweled hair pins from the same display case that had yielded the brush, and began pinning it up. The tiara would come last.
"The Bit hasn't come around at all since I put her over my knee. The girl hit me, swearing n' making threats," he said, assuming that either Dawn or Giles had told Buffy. But also feeling compelled to add a few words in his own defense.
A soft, contended sigh escaped Buffy as the brush moved with practiced ease through her hair. Her head tilted back fractionally, eyes fluttering shut as she enjoyed the gentle sensation. When was the last time someone had pampered her like this? A distant memory of her mother flitted through her mind, fussing over a young Buffy when she had missed a week of middle school due to the flu.
This memory led to less happy thoughts about Dawn. Specifically, her lack of memories concerning her sister. It startled her then to hear Spike refer to Dawn aloud, as if he had somehow peered into her mind and read her secret thoughts.
"She's had... a lot going on," Buffy said uneasily, tension creeping back into her neck and shoulders. Giles had told her, generally, of what had passed between them but right now, Buffy couldn't summon up any belated outrage on her sister's behalf.
"I don't think it's about you at all," she added, still feeling the need to reassure Spike but hesistated and going further in her explanation.
"Didn't think it was," he agreed, surprised that she didn't have even a weak reprimand to make regarding what had happened. Given, it'd been a month past, but it was the first time that the two of them had discussed it openly.
"What're you not telling me?" Spike asked, sensing unspoken words, perceiving the tension that had entered the slayer. He was astutely sensitive to her moods, and set aside the brush with caution, reaching for the tiara, which he settled upon her head.
"All done." He reached for the silver hand mirror that went with the brush, shaking aside the glass, glancing in it briefly -confirming no reflection- before offering it to Buffy.
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're back on your feet again. But right now you're making me think that maybe I was right the first time with the rope and the bathtub."
There. Humor. Would that work? Buffy thought anxiously, although her face only revealed a small smile. She was no good at this; she'd have preferred stealing him blood and beating up his enemies, but would persist with her clumsy words for now. At least she'd see Spike didn't end up prostrated over a pool table with some trashy girl.
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It was that smile that did it for him, coaxing his wounded male ego out of a lion of a mood, soothing his roar into a stuttering purr. Bollocks, that's what it was, pure bollocks. Bribing him with a smile and a joke: be a good boy and do as you're told. Only, it hadn't been that long ago that the request would have been an order, enforced with her fists, and so Spike had a very real appreciate of the value of what was being offered.
"It was rope on the chair and chains in the bathtub," Spike corrected, allowing none of his cockiness to fade. Not yet. He wasn't going to reveal just how right she was about his physical condition - and his emotional one.
He waited a beat. Smirk. Timing it perfect. "And I'm up for booze, bondage games, and trashy little blondes, any time you wanna play, love."
Damn it, he couldn't just stay behind while she went off into unknown danger. "If I choke down the pig's blood, can I come?"
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Damn, that next remark of his shouldn’t have turned her on, not with Spike looking all bruised and bloodied. But then it had been a month. The idea of booze and bondage sounded appealing, even if she thought the effort might be the end of him. She snorted at the invitation, adding archly, "Please. You couldn't handle me now-- but maybe it'll give you something to strive for. Although, don't think I missed the plural in there."
Gentle teasing was a rarity between them, usually a brief stop on the way to the way of something rougher. But Buffy felt lightened by this exchange, almost buoyant. For the first time she truly let herself imagine what Spike with a soul would be like in her life. Cautious optimisim was beginning to sneak in, despite Buffy's best efforts to remain practical and pragmatic.
"Why don’t you drink some and I'll think about it?” Buffy wheedled, a beatific smile on her face.
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He smiled rather beatifically himself. "Day hasn't come when I can't handle you. Got the plural from you, your blondness. I started out with one trashy blonde and a pool cue. You upped the ante to bondage and swinging singles."
Unaccountably, slayer seemed to be in a good mood, though, Spike couldn't account for her sudden upturn in mood. Their bantering didn't strike him as anything special, but then, it'd been a month. A long one at that.
Maybe Buffy was happy to have him back. Damaged or otherwise...
"These bodies are foul," William muttered as the vampire circled around Buffy's kills on the way out of the crypt. "Where are we heading?"
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"Right then. I forgot you wouldn't have blood on hand," she said briskly, tapping an index finger against her cheek. "Well, I'm so not in for being your personal vending machine. We can stop by a hospital or bar or something-- how long can you hold out?"
She was slipping into full-on slayer mode, lips pressed in a firm line as she considered their options. Barely registering this last question, Buffy turned and seemed surprised to see him circling her victims.
"Yeah," she agreed readily, her thoughts elsewhere. "Let's get outta here."
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It took a huge effort to move forward in his normal stride, but William managed to evade falling over the bodies and make it to the door of the crypt in time to open it for Buffy. He stood to the side, and then automatically offered her his right arm, which would place him on the outside of the walkway. Just because he'd woken up a vampire, didn't mean he couldn't be a gentleman.
"Does it not offend your sensibilities to wear rhinestones and sterling when there are jewelery stores on Main Street full of diamonds and pearls? Treasures as we speak that are unguarded and being plundered by reprehensible sorts?" William asked. Not because he advocated theft, but because Buffy's basic greed would probably become preoccupied, and she'd lose track of her plan to force blood on him.
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She looked skeptically at the proferred arm, unsure exactly what he expected her to do with it. Sighing, she slid her hand around the crook of his arm, humoring him. Buffy thought absently that this couldn't go on for long, she really shouldn't be letting Spike tag along at all in this condition. At least there didn't seem to be any real danger for the moment.
Buffy had already taken a step forward when his next words arrested her. She glanced at him uncertainly.
"You're not getting the skull ring back, if that's what you're thinking," Buffy said, suspicious. "I like it."
A moment later, however, and his words truly hit home. Visions of precious gems danced in her eyes, the color in her cheeks heightening at the idea of possessing them. More, she needed, more. How had she ever imagined that this had been enough?
"You're right. Let's go, slayer duty calls," she announced breathlessly, tugging him along with her, suddenly heedless of his injuries or the change of accent and demeanor. All she could focus on was the image of herself dripping in ropes of pearls and diamonds.
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William's face twisted into a pained grimace as he discovered various breaks and bruises all over his body. However, his ploy had worked, and the slayer had taken the lead, pulling him along in her wake. He forced his feet to move in spite of his excessive exhaustion. It was better than falling over and being dragged. And after the beating he'd incurred, the vampire felt that further damage would be to his detriment.
They reached the Main Street store in short order, and it was as William had predicted. The scene of so much chaos. Broken glass, a blaring alarm, and open combat between assorted greed-ridden denizens of Sunnydale, both human and demonic, fighting over piles of shiny treasure.
Spike looked around with open interest, head swiveling from one side to the other. A man went flying past the vampire and over a display case, barely missing the blonde. The victor dashed toward Buffy and the door, holding an armful of glittering prizes.
"Gonna get the alarm," Spike volunteered, finding the noise to be particularly annoying. "So, are we going steady now?"
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Smiling innocently enough, her foot unexpectedly darted out to trip the man as he came running past, arms laden with all of those tempting items. Falling hard to the ground, he remained sprawled on the floor as Buffy cheerfully squatted beside him, bending forward to peruse her options.
Picking and choosing happily from the scattered loot, Buffy glanced up at Spike as he went in search of the alarm. His question caught her unawares, caused her to sit back on her heels and actually abandon her eager treasure sifting for a second.
"How old are you again?" she asked, her fingers resuming their search to replace her current jewelry with newer, pricier selections. She struggled with the clasp of a pearl necklace ineffectually, still studying Spike from her vantage point on the floor.
"What would go into that exactly? Pining me? Would I get to wear your varsity jacket?" Buffy asked these questions teasingly, discarding one of her ugly garnet rings and replacing it with an extravagant ruby set in platinum.
Well, he had informed her he wasn't an invalid, Buffy thought to herself. A healthy Spike would expect some sass.
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A part of him was held tense, waiting for Buffy to cast off the skull ring in favor of something more extravagent. He didn't care. The ring meant absolutely nothing. There wasn't anything permanent or spoken between them. No verbal understandings beyond maybe we share something - undefined - unlabeled, which in and of itself was a vast improvement. Almost a year that they'd been lovers, and she no longer told him that he meant nothing to her. You're beneath me.
It'd be a long time before the echo of her voice repeating those words faded from his mind.
On the fair side, he'd tried to kill her and her friends for years before undertaking his Great Reformation, as his soul so astutely reminded him with an ever-so-helpful pang of guilt.
"I'd love to pin you," Spike said, leering suggestively. He patted the wall with his hand.
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"How could any other man tempt me when you still have all the great one-liners?" Buffy asked half teasing but still circling around his earlier question.
She rolled the unconscious man to his back carefully, experiencing a twinge of guilt at having been responsible for knocking him out. Satisfied that she had made the would-be burglar as comfortable as possible, Buffy sprang to her feet and meandered through the small boutique, making her way gradually in Spike's direction.
"Don't think you're up for pining," she said, clearly enjoying this rift. "And I've already got your class ring, I guess."
Her gaze strayed from Spike's face to the large glass display case a few feet away, one that had remained untouched from the chaos on the street. She stared at it, hypnotized by the gaudy excess spread out on red velvet. "Think I could pull of a tiara?"
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Lust quickened Spike's gaze, a telltale narrowing of his eyes, the expression that betrayed his inner-most thoughts. It disturbed his sloth, and threatened his placid depression. Ballocks, but the slayer had him. He wasn't going to be up to 'pinning' until he ate...
Funny, he'd been confident that his renewed vow of fasting was iron-clad. Would it be indicative of a terrible weakness of character if he failed simply due to an inability to keep his pants fastened?
William leaned over and reached through the broken glass of a display case, retrieving a ladies sliver hair brush. It was one of the classic long-handled types still made in England. He shook it out to make sure there were no pieces of glass lodged in the bristles, then beckoned for Buffy to come.
"Bring it here, he said. "I'll fix your hair. Those Chinese hair pins might have to go if you want it to look right."
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Temporarily oblivious to Spike's words, her hands held the tiara almost reverently in her open palms. She had heard the unexpected offer however, and subsequently moved wordlessly over to him, clutching the tiara in one hand. She passed him the tiara, confident as she hadn't been with his skull ring that Spike had no intention of stealing it.
"Unexpected skills much?" Buffy asked with a small smile, easily jumping onto the slick mahogany counter by the store's register-- the better for him to concentrate on her unruly hair which was quickly escaping the pins.
"I can see why you're so popular," she continued, almost chatty as her hands reached behind her head and removed the pins. She shook out her long hair before glancing over her shoulder at him, seeing if the offer still stood. "I'm sure Dawn loved having you as a babysitter."
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Sometimes, Spike thought that Buffy willfully forgot just who he had been with for over a century. Drusilla, gloriously mad as she was, had required care, fussing, attention. Spike had been forced to master many decidedly non traditional male skills - not that he'd ever minded. He'd loved her.
With the brush, Spike stroked through Buffy's hair, over and over, brushing it to a glossy smoothness. He was gentle, and a little reluctant, disliking touching her with hands that hadn't been properly washed in how long...? So recently covered in blood...
He borrowed a few bejeweled hair pins from the same display case that had yielded the brush, and began pinning it up. The tiara would come last.
"The Bit hasn't come around at all since I put her over my knee. The girl hit me, swearing n' making threats," he said, assuming that either Dawn or Giles had told Buffy. But also feeling compelled to add a few words in his own defense.
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This memory led to less happy thoughts about Dawn. Specifically, her lack of memories concerning her sister. It startled her then to hear Spike refer to Dawn aloud, as if he had somehow peered into her mind and read her secret thoughts.
"She's had... a lot going on," Buffy said uneasily, tension creeping back into her neck and shoulders. Giles had told her, generally, of what had passed between them but right now, Buffy couldn't summon up any belated outrage on her sister's behalf.
"I don't think it's about you at all," she added, still feeling the need to reassure Spike but hesistated and going further in her explanation.
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"What're you not telling me?" Spike asked, sensing unspoken words, perceiving the tension that had entered the slayer. He was astutely sensitive to her moods, and set aside the brush with caution, reaching for the tiara, which he settled upon her head.
"All done." He reached for the silver hand mirror that went with the brush, shaking aside the glass, glancing in it briefly -confirming no reflection- before offering it to Buffy.
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