Chapter 5: Washed Clean

Buffy heard the front door slam, indicating that someone had brought Dawn home, and she turned away from where Spike was sprawled on her mother’s bed. As she did so, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. She was covered in blood. His blood.

She met Dawn in the hallway. The younger girl tried to peer into the room to see Spike, but Buffy blocked her. “No, Dawn!” She grabbed her sister by the shoulders and pulled her out of the doorway. “Come away from there.”

“I wanna see him!”

“No. You don’t.”

There was a quiet fear in Buffy’s voice that worried Dawn. Her lower lip quivered. “Is it – is it bad?”

Buffy let out her breath. “Yeah.”

“Worse than Glory?”

Crueler, Buffy thought. Glory may have been a crazy hellgod, but at least she wasn’t sadistic.

After sending Dawn downstairs, Buffy stood at the bathroom sink, methodically scrubbing the blood off her hands, watching the water turn pink and swirl down the drain. She caught herself becoming mesmerized by it and realized that the adrenaline rush had worn off and tiredness had crept in. Storming the castle was hard work.

Once she was clean, she ducked back into her mother’s room to check on Spike. She ought to clean him up, she thought. She shouldn’t just leave him to bleed all over the place. Fighting exhaustion, she went to get a washcloth and a bowl of water, returning to Spike’s side and gently dabbing at the gash on his temple.

Spike’s eyes fluttered open, and Buffy dropped the washcloth into the bowl and set it on the night table. “Spike?” She placed her hand gently on his shoulder.

Spike blinked as his vision cleared, and the blonde angel before him took shape. “Here, love,” he managed, pain shooting through his body with each word. He felt empty inside, hollow, as if a piece of him had been pulled out. Then, the memories came flooding back, and he realized why.

“Oh, God, Dru…”

“Shh. She’s gone now,” Buffy reassured him, caressing his cheek. “She can’t hurt us.”

She froze when she saw the painful, unexpected sorrow in his eyes. “She made me,” he whispered. “She made me what I am. Gave me eternity.”

Buffy’s lips parted in shock as it dawned on her that Spike wasn’t afraid of Drusilla. He was mourning her. She abruptly drew her hand away from him, feeling foolish for offering the wrong kind of comfort.

“Dru…” He squeezed his eyes shut briefly, his jaw clenched. He hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t thought he could still feel for her, had thought his love for Buffy had swallowed up all of his affection for his dark mistress.

He wasn’t… sorry he’d killed her – would do it again in a heartbeat to save Buffy – but it didn’t stop the feeling of loss that gripped him now. She’d been his sire, his lover, and in spite of recent events, he’d never regretted the century they’d been together.

“Spike…” Buffy started.

Spike shook his head almost imperceptibly, meeting her gaze for a moment before he looked away. He didn’t want her to tell him all the reasons he should hate Drusilla, to make it easier for him. He needed this moment, the catharsis that came from embracing the pain, from remembering why he’d loved her for all those years.

Buffy sat in stunned silence. She hadn’t been expecting this kind of reaction, and she didn’t know how to give him this kind of comfort. How could he grieve for the monster that had done this to him? How could he feel sympathy for someone who’d broken and violated him, tortured him and left him chained to a wall?

And despite that – or maybe because of it – she couldn’t help the gnawing feeling of jealousy in her chest. She told herself that the bond between a vampire and his sire was strong, especially when they’d been lovers, and she owed Spike this chance to grieve.

He loved her, she thought, hard as it was for her to believe. The way I loved Angel. She thought back to when she’d killed her own lover, and she began to understand what Spike was feeling. But he hadn’t killed Dru to save the world. He did it to save me.

She wasn’t sure how that made her feel.

She swallowed hard and snuck a glance at the door, unsure what to do. She didn’t want to leave him like this, but she felt as though she were intruding on a private moment she shouldn’t be witnessing, and she needed some space to sort out her own emotions.

Buffy reached a hand out to comfort him, retracting it again before she touched him. Making her decision, she stood and backed away from the bed. “Listen, I’m, uh, I’m gonna get some sleep.” She moved to the window and adjusted the curtains, making sure no light could get through. “If you need anything, just – just call.”

“Buffy?”

She stopped at the doorway and turned.

He smiled weakly. “You came for me.” He said it with gratitude, but also with a fair measure of surprise in his voice.

Buffy lowered her eyes to the floor. “I’ll check on you in a little bit.”

She was out the door before he could even open his mouth to respond.

*****

Dawn cornered Buffy as soon as she came out of Spike’s room later that afternoon. “How is he?"

“He’s sleeping,” said Buffy, holding the bowl of water – now a dark pink color – close to her chest. Spike must have cleaned himself up sometime during the day. “But he looks better.”

“Can I see him?”

Buffy hesitated. “Not yet.” Spike really did look better – the shallowest cuts had already started to knit themselves together and some of his bruises were beginning to fade – but better was relative, and Spike still looked awful.

“Hey, you wanna do me a favor?” Buffy reached into her pocket and pulled out a handful of bills. “Go to the butcher’s and pick up some blood?”

“Can I keep the change?”

“No.” Buffy held out the money, then snatched it back when Dawn grabbed for it.

“Please?”

Buffy let Dawn take the money this time. “You may buy yourself a candy bar.”

Dawn tried to make a face at her sister, but she couldn’t help smiling. “King size?”

“What the hell? As long as you share.”

Dawn bounded down the hallway but stopped at the top of the stairs. “Hey, Buffy?”

Buffy, on her way to the bathroom, turned back and looked at her expectantly.

“It was just a dream.”

Buffy blinked. “How did you…?”

“Spike told me.”

“Dawn…”

“I mean it, Buffy. For once in your life, could you try not to screw this up?”

Buffy gaped at her. “Try not to s… You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“He loves you, and you love him. And don’t try to act like you don’t,” she said, as Buffy started to protest. “I can see it, Buffy; anybody can see it! You love him!”

“I don’t. And even if I did, it doesn’t matter.”

“Why not?”

“He’s a vampire.” She shot Dawn a warning look. “And don’t even say it. I know what you’re gonna –”

“Fine.” Dawn rolled her eyes. “I’m going to get blood… for the vampire.” She shook her head exasperatedly and flounced down the stairs in classic teenager fashion.

Buffy let out a sigh and leaned against the wall. Why did Dawn have to tear into her like that? Didn’t she get it? Didn’t she understand everything that was wrong with dating a vampire? It didn’t matter if he seemed good. Angel had taught her that.

She went into the bathroom and dumped the dirty water down the drain. She set the bowl on top of the toilet basin, figuring she’d use it again later. Why had she gotten herself into this? She could’ve dropped Spike off at his crypt, or even the Magic Box, someplace neutral, someplace not her home. Someplace where she wouldn’t have to think about the last time he was here.

As she rinsed out the bloody washcloth, something kept running through her head. Something he’d said before – you came for me. He’d been surprised, as if he thought she might have left him there. Did he really think that of her?

Even though she’d just checked on him, Buffy popped her head in on Spike once more. Only this time, he was awake.

“Spike? How are you feeling?” She perched on the bed next to him and ran her fingers through his unkempt hair. He was lying on his side, probably for reasons she didn’t want to think about, but he looked so innocent and childlike, gazing up at her with his cheek resting on the pillow, as though she were his mother come to tuck him in.

“Better, love, now that you’re here.” Spike managed a smile. It quickly faded though, when he saw Buffy’s serious expression. “What is it, pet?”

She shook her head and forced a smile of her own. “Nothing. We didn’t wake you up, did we?”

“What, you and Niblet?”

Buffy blushed.

“’s all right, pet. Nothin’ I didn’t already know.”

“I, uh, brought you a change of clothes.” Buffy gestured to the chair, where she’d laid them earlier.

Spike groaned. “Not the kitten shirt again?”

“No.” She smiled. “I went to your crypt and got your stuff.” She picked up the black t-shirt and jeans she’d selected from his bizarre wardrobe of nearly identical clothes and brought them over to the bed. “Here, hands up.”

Spike rolled onto his back, wincing as he was forced to put weight on his wounds, then pushed himself up, revealing his entire bare torso. He pretended not to hear Buffy’s sharp intake of breath when she caught sight of the nail scratches and whip welts that crisscrossed his chest. Spike had cleaned off all the dirt and dried blood, and now the angry red marks stood out in stark contrast to his pale skin.

Not meeting her eyes, Spike dutifully raised his hands over his head for Buffy to slip the t-shirt on him. He glanced up at her when he felt her hands on his arms, gently pulling them back down to his sides. She sank down on the bed next to him, forcing herself to take in the full extent of his injuries.

“Do you… if you want, I can…” She swallowed the lump in her throat, raising one tentative hand to his chest, her fingers ghosting over the cuts and bruises. He brushed her away. “Let me do this,” she murmured.

He hesitated before nodding his acquiescence. “Just – just my back, all right? Couldn’t reach.”

She went back to the bathroom, returning with a bowl of fresh water and a washcloth, along with a towel and bandages. Spike scooted forward on the bed, giving her reluctant access to the burned and flayed skin of his back. Buffy squeezed her eyes shut to keep the errant tears from escaping as she cleaned him up. After patting him dry with the towel, she picked up the roll of gauze and managed to say, “Lift – lift your arms again.”

She wrapped him like a mummy, covering his entire torso in white gauze before helping him into his t-shirt. She smoothed the sleeves over his shoulders, aware that she was touching him more than necessary but unable to stop herself. She wanted to just wrap him up in her arms and never let go, but she was too afraid of hurting him and restricted herself to only the lightest of touches.

Before it could get too awkward, she stood up, pulling the sheet back to tend to the rest of him. She glanced at his torn jeans, and her eyes traveled up his body, stopping as she came to the abrupt realization of what came next. She so was not ready for another Spike full monty. Their little modesty-check in the cave had been more than enough embarrassment, and her cheeks flooded with color at the memory. Still, she had to press on, had to take care of him. With one trembling hand, she reached toward his button fly.

Spike saw her hesitation and caught her by the wrist, taking the new pair of jeans from her with his other hand. Normally not one to be overly concerned with modesty, he felt a fair measure of humiliation at the thought of her in the cave, seeing his scorched-red privates dangling helplessly, sticky with blood and come. No need for a repeat performance. “I’ll take care of that, love.”

Relieved, Buffy nodded and gestured toward the other side of the room. “I’ll just…” She proceeded to stand facing the wall while he changed.

“Listen, thanks, love,” he said, grunting as he twisted his body to get his pants off. He hissed as the material scraped against his particularly sensitive bits. “You really went to the mat for me last night. You didn’t have to.”

Buffy shrugged, still facing the wall. “Yeah, I did.”

She could feel Spike’s skeptical look boring into her back and she sighed, conceding a little bit. “Look, I know there’s a lot of… stuff,” she started. “You know, unsorted – anyway, this… wasn’t about that.”

“No?” He balled up his ripped jeans and tossed them onto the chair.

“No. It was…” Buffy started to spin around, prompted by emotional momentum, but Spike stopped her.

“Naked, pet.”

She froze, but now he could see her face reflected in the mirror. “You were saying?” he asked.

Buffy opened her mouth and closed it again, as if she needed to collect her thoughts before speaking. “Because, not too long ago, I fell off a cliff and you saved my life. And you’ve been thrashing every demon that came near my sister since, you know…” She stopped short of saying since I died, and Spike saw a flicker of something in her eyes. It still wasn’t exactly easy to think about. “So, yeah, I did this, because I had to. It doesn’t matter what’s between… It was just… It wasn’t about that.”

Spike nodded, processing everything she said and all the things she didn’t say in the pauses. He gritted his teeth as the dried blood chafed between his butt cheeks as he slid into the new jeans, but he absolutely refused to ask the Slayer to help him wipe his ass. He would live with the discomfort.

“All done now,” he told her, buttoning up his fly.

Buffy turned around and came back to the bed. “Anyway, Dawn went to get blood, so you’ll have something to eat soon.”

“Thanks.” He noticed she wasn’t looking at him.

“Pig’s blood,” she clarified. “Not as good as the real thing, but…”

“It’s fine, love.”

She hesitated. “I can… help you.”

Spike looked at her, the question reflected in his eyes.

“I can heal you quicker…” Buffy waited for him to make the connection.

When he did, he shook his head, his eyes closed and his face turned away so he wouldn’t let her see the hunger that rose up in him with her offer. “I couldn’t, love.”

“The chip won’t go off if I let you, right? If it doesn’t hurt?”

“Well, yeah, but…”

“Then, do it.”