Beautiful banner by Sylvia (nmcil).


Chapter 13


Spike drew in a breath and turned the doorknob. The door creaked as he pushed it open with his palm, revealing a gruesome picture.


It was one of those moments when time stopped, seconds freezing as the world around tunneled down into one single moment of dread. There was no thought, just blank emptiness.


Spike shook himself and strode forward, his legs laden with the weight of terror as he crashed to his knees, crimson fluid soaking the fabric of his jeans. The demon inside him roared in rage, bones in his face shifting, fangs elongating as Spike tried to fight through the panic suffusing him.


His harsh breath echoed off the walls of the bathroom while Spike scrambled to reach for the towels on the counter, ignoring the broken shards of the mirror slicing into his skin. Pain didn't matter. Nor did the shattered glass scattered across the floor, reflecting everything but his sickly pallor and stricken expression.


“S-Spike.” The whisper broke Spike's shock and he snapped his eyes towards Buffy's face, almost dropping the impromptu bandages.


Blood was slowly pooling around her, soaking her hair and staining her skin. Spike wrapped the towels hurriedly around the jagged wounds on her wrists while Buffy watched him with unfocused half lidded gaze, tightening them to stop the flow of her blood.


“God, what happened?” he asked.


“I... feel... tired.” Buffy's voice was strained, the few words taking visible effort.


“Hush, don't talk. I'll-”


'Yeah, what am I going to do?'


It was one thing to end a life-- he was good at that-- flashing his fangs, ripping out a throat and making the blood flow. It was quite another to save a life, especially Buffy's. If she died, he'd be alone. Again. She'd live, he'd make sure she would.


Spike picked Buffy up and listened to her heartbeat. It was weak, but it kept steady. He sighed in relief. No need to call 911 and get the authorities involved. It would be damn inconvenient, and they'd ask all sorts of questions that couldn't be answered.


She didn't even move, had probably fallen unconscious from the blood loss and exhaustion as he put her down on the bed, setting her wrapped up hands in her lap.


This was all his fault; he should never have left. He should have scared the receptionist kid into bringing the stuff to him, should have been faster, more clever. He should have expected something like this to happen. But why would she give up now that they were so close to the solution? A few minutes later and... No, he would not think about it. Buffy was the Slayer; she was strong enough to pull through.


Still there was dark corner of his mind whispering to him to take advantage of her unconscious state. It was his demon talking, and Spike listened.


'You can still turn her, can't you? Leave all this ridiculous episode behind and paint this sorry excuse for a town red. Together, forever. You'd be a force to be reckoned with. She would never leave you then.'


Spike's yellow eyes turned in Buffy's direction, drinking her in, imagining what it would be like to give in and make her one of his kind. Liberate her. Damn her. Was she far too damaged and traumatized to be made a vampire? Would he create something worse than Angelus had even been? Would he lose her forever if she never forgave him or simply ended up as another one of his failures? Just like his mother had?


'I can't turn a slayer. Vamps don't do that for a reason.'


Spike had heard about a few such occurrences throughout history and it never ended well. One slayer had gone on a murderous rampage-- though not of the fun kind-- and slayed thousands of demons and vampires alike in a matter of a few days, then staked herself. Then again, that slayer hadn't been linked to a vampire.


Even if he did it, there was nothing to guarantee that Buffy's blood wouldn't turn to the black sludge as it had the last time he tried to make her his. Still, this wasn't claiming, and it would only take a little to push her towards the boundaries of death, just to fall over the precipice.


'Do it! You know you want to. No waiting for you to take what you want, to sink inside her soft little body.' The demon inside him pressed on, beating down against the walls of his control, raging to take her and make her his in every possible way.


'What about the ritual?' Spike mused.


'Looking for excuses? You're a coward, William!' The demon inside him mocked.


'I am not a bleeding coward!'


'Prove it!' The demon growled, desperate to take what it wanted, regardless of the consequences.


Spike snarled and strode forward, crawling onto the bed with an ease of a true predator ready to pounce on its prey. He delved his hand into Buffy's blood matted hair and lowered his fangs toward her neck.


“Spike?”


The soft drowsy cadence of her voice reached him just as he was about to sink his teeth into her jugular.


He stopped dead, shook off the game face and averted his eyes when Buffy glanced up at him in confusion. Spike stood with his back to her after he climbed off the bed.


The tone of her voice had penetrated through his bloodlust. He couldn't believe the loss of control. Maybe because he had been trying to suppress it for so long, he hadn't realized how strong it was getting. He hadn't fed properly in days. The blood was merely a sustenance whereas the taking of a life, seeing it putter out like a cheap candle, offered the true satiation.


Yeah, that was the only reason.


“I'm sorry.” He couldn't look at her, couldn't let her see that the trust she'd placed in him was nothing but a fluke, that maybe he wasn't strong enough to help her, to change for her. She didn't demand it of him, he knew that. But it was there, under the surface. She was the Chosen One and no matter how much she'd been hurt, she could never love him when he was a murderer. He could never be loved if death was what she wanted more than anything. “You're still weak. You should rest if we do the ritual tonight.”


“What's wrong?” Buffy struggled to get the words out, her mouth felt like cotton had been stuffed into it, her brain wrapped in a web of weakness. Tense back hidden beneath the leather duster was his only response.


“You tell me.” His voice was empty, devoid of emotion. It was disconcerting to see Spike so still even for a second.


“You're scaring me.”


Spike chuckled humorlessly and turned to face her, his eyes blazing, anger just simmering under the surface. “You've figured that out just now? Not very bright, are you? I'm evil!” His shoulders tensed under invisible weight. “I can't be what you want me to be.”


“I'm not asking you for anything.” She was looking at him with those green eyes and it made him madder. Spike started to pace around the room to work out the excess energy.


“You're asking me for everything, don't you get it? Not now, but one day you will. If I give up my life for you, I will not end up in this alone. Not again!”


“I've never-”


“No! I'm not done here. You think you can just march into my life, turn it upside down, and then just leave? Are you that fucking selfish?” His fists clenched in restrain. He wanted to kill her. He wanted to kiss her. He could do neither, but be the slave of her solemn gaze. She didn't even flinch at his outburst. She looked concerned.


“Spike. I'm right here. I haven't left.” Buffy frowned, her head clearing a little as her accelerated healing took care of her injuries. The cuts were long closed, and her body started to replenish the blood loss.


“You tried! You fucking tried to off yourself while I was gone! Didn't you think about what it would do to me? I could have died along with you for all we know.” His eyes were narrowed, refusing to blink in fear of betraying the distress and panic that the sight of her broken and bleeding had provoked. He would not lose her, not now when he'd just found her.


“Spike, no. That's not-”


“I’ve bloody had it!” he said, glaring at her. “Admit it. You're a coward, you know that? You couldn't face living, even if offing yourself might kill me as well.”


Buffy stood on her shaky legs, black dots swimming before her vision for a second before she walked towards Spike and grabbed his forearm. He jerked out of her grasp and ground his teeth.


“Stop it.” Buffy's voice was thready, but it carried a note of resolve Spike hadn't heard from her before which made him gaze at her and stopped his retort. “Please Spike. Just... let me explain...”


“Explain what?” Spike asked.


Buffy wavered on her feet and without thinking, Spike caught her, picking her up and carrying her back to the bed. “What are you bloody doing up anyway?”


“You were being an asshole. I had to grab your attention somehow.” She tried to cover the undercurrent of pain in her voice by faking nonchalance. It didn't work.


Spike's anger evaporated, and guilt crashed over him as he recalled his hurtful words.


'Balls.'


It didn't change the fact that he was still hurt about Buffy trying to commit suicide by slashing her wrists. They were in this together. She threw him so much out of the loop he had almost turned her in order to have her, to make her stay.


“It wasn't me, Spike. I fought it, but I lost. One minute I'm standing there, looking in the mirror and the next, my body is completely out of control. I could see and feel everything but there was nothing I could do. Then I picked up the shard of glass and-” Buffy squeezed her eyes shut. “I couldn't fight it.”


Realization slammed into him and Spike wanted to smack himself upside his head. He could be such a dimwit sometimes. “I should have been here.”


“No, you needed to get the stuff. For the ritual.” Buffy ran a hand through her hair and grimaced when she found it crusted with blood. “I'm gonna have to take a shower.”


“I'll go clean up the bathroom. Yell if something feels funny.”


“I will.”


******


When Spike called to her, she entered the now clean bathroom. Buffy noticed his strained expression as he stood there, a smear of her blood now on his cheek and in his hair. The pieces of mirror were gone, the floor was so clean it almost sparkled. Besides the broken mirror, there was no evidence of the struggle she'd been in earlier.


“I've bought you some smelly fruity stuff that you birds like so much. So, go on, luv. Shower.”


“Ummm... aren't you going to leave?”


“So you can get hurt again? Not bloody likely. I won't look. I'll be a perfect gentleman.”


“It's not that. You've already seen me naked. It's just... really weird to shower while you're standing there.”


“I could sit. All comfy like.” Spike offered her a grin.


The wounds were crusted, dried blood had stuck to the fabric covering them and Buffy's smile was followed by a wince as she undid the dressing from her wrists. She drew the dirty shirt over her head, letting it fall to the floor as she stepped into the shower. It seemed like she kept ruining the clothes of people who helped her.


Spike turned away and clenched his jaw. The sound of water filled the room. To have her nubile body all wet and bare just a few feet away was worse than any tortuous play Angelus could have come up with.


'Keep the hormones in check, you wanker. Think of anything else- Angelus' egoistic prattling, Darla's bitchy moods, Dru's slimy lovers, wailing children, old wrinkly man in the buff. Buff. Buffy. Buffy in the buff. Breasts and legs all slick and within touching distance. Jesus!'


Spike squeezed his eyes shut for a second, willing his nether parts to behave. An image of Buffy almost bleeding out to death flashed through his mind, and it had the instant desired effect on his libido.


There was a hitching sound followed by a shuddery inhale, almost completely drowned out by the running water, but Spike had caught it.


“Buffy? Are you all right, pet?” Spike waited for a response, but there was none. “Buffy?”


“I- I can't get this b-blood out of my hair. My wrists h-hurt.” Spike turned towards her, concerned when he saw that she was crying. Good thing he had bought a spare pair of jeans.


Spike slipped out of his Doc Martens and socks, then shed his duster and put it with gentle care on the toilet lid, followed by the black cotton t-shirt. He stepped into the shower with his jeans on, gauging Buffy's reaction. She turned around to face him with grateful expression and handed him the bottle of shampoo.


Spike squeezed a suitable amount of it onto the palm of his hand and put the bottle down. Buffy let out a content sigh when he massaged her scalp with gentle strokes of his fingers, managing not to yank her hair and getting the crusted blood out at the same time.


“Rinse.” Spike said.


Buffy closed her eyes and tilted her head back, letting the shower wash everything down along with a stressful day. Water tinted with pink as it swirled down the drain. She slid her eyelids open, encountering Spike's stormy gaze. She didn't look away. Neither did he. Not even as he reached for a shower gel and arched his eyebrow in question.


“May I?” His voice felt rough and dry from the effort of strangling his moan at the sight of her.


“Yes,” Buffy answered.


She was the embodiment of imperfect perfection. Her skin smooth and silky, yet marred with the scars on her back. Her flesh firm and supple, yet there were bones betraying months of starvation. She was so small, so fragile, it was hard to believe she had enough power to tear his head clear off his shoulders.


Spike dragged a soapy sponge across her arms, her breasts and her belly, his gaze following the progress with steady intensity, imbibing every patch of skin, every twitch of her nerve endings. He longed to throw the loofah away and glide his hands across her skin instead. But this was not about him. This was about showing Buffy she could trust him, even when he didn’t trust himself.


The wet fabric of his jeans stuck uncomfortably to his legs as he knelt down and washed Buffy's feet. Spike focused on the discomfort in order to distract his improper thoughts when he soaped up her calves and thighs, a shiver of barely repressed longing shooting through him as he ran the sponge across her inner thighs and between her legs. He craved to slide his hands up her thighs and grab her round cheeks so he could taste her very essence. The smell of her skin kept assaulting his nostrils, stroking the fire within him into a blazing inferno. He had to tamper it down before it burned everything to ashes.


Spike rose and the sparks of electricity flew through him when Buffy's fingers caressed his chest as she stepped closer. The heat of her body made him tremble in anticipation. Inhale. Exhale. The sponge fell from his grasp. Her arms slid up and encircled his neck, her torso covered in droplets of water flush against his cool skin, his arms banding around her back. Buffy's heart beat a wild staccato.


The warm water pelted against their skin as Buffy rose on her tiptoes and the world exploded around Spike in excruciating pleasure. Her parted lips pressed against his. Plump and pliant, the quivering flesh glided across Spike's lower lip tentatively before he sucked her upper lip gently between his own, dragging the tip of his tongue across it. They parted and came together in insatiable tenderness. She tasted like the first breeze of the spring. Like a favourite childhood memory. Hers was the taste of life itself.


Their rapid breath mingled. Buffy's fingers stroked the back of his neck as their lips fused in the ecstasy of a kiss. Spike never deepened it, never got to feel her tongue stroking his before she broke off, panting and leaning her forehead against his.


They stood there until the water turned cold. Two lonely beings holding onto each other, finding the solace they'd been desperately seeking.


For a moment, life was beautiful.


TBC