Awesome made by Sylvia (nmcil). :)


Chapter 17


Spike groaned and fumbled to shut off the alarm clock only to discover that he couldn't move his arm. He opened his bleary eyes, sleep still fogging his brain as he glanced over at the offending appendage. He couldn't move because there was someone lying next to him and his arm was trapped beneath a woman's head.


'Buffy? That can't be right. Still sleeping, any time now I wake up and she'll be gone. Just like always.'


This was as much as annoying as it was painful. He'd fall asleep and dream of her green eyes, smiling at him, then he'd wake up just to find her still lying in her own bed, comatose. Spike rubbed his face and sighed, shutting his eyes to ward off the tortuous mirage of her face. This wasn't real.


“Spike?” she asked.


The alarm clock went off again, nothing but a pesky buzz barely penetrating the myriad of thoughts rushing through his mind. Spike froze, convinced that he was finally going off his rocker and was just hearing things. That he wanted Buffy to wake up so much he'd mistaken a whisper of wind that must have breezed through the opened window for her voice.


The buzzing stopped and warm skin brushed against his chest. Spike sharply inhaled. His hand shot out to clutch hers, opening his eyes when he realized he could touch her, feel her soft and real under his fingertips. There was no mistaking the scent of her or the black empty void within him filling out with the comfort of Buffy's presence.


“Buffy?”


He hated how pathetic his voice came out; how yearning and weak. He let go of her hand and Buffy ran her fingers through his hair, smoothing them away from his forehead. That was all Spike needed. Buffy was finally with him, nothing else mattered.


******


What had happened to make Spike act this way? He was gazing at her as if he hadn't seen her in months, when in fact it was merely yesterday. Or was it? Millions of questions swirled in her mind, so many things she didn't understand and Buffy didn't know where to begin. She reached out to stroke his hair, watching as his eyelashes flutter, his intense eyes never leaving hers. She caressed the side of his face and confusion swelled within her even further when Spike's eyes teared up.


He tugged her closer to him, as they lay on their sides and buried his face in the crook of her neck, embracing her possessively. Buffy could feel the tremors that ran through him, the emotions she couldn't figure out taking hold of him. Spike peppered her neck with kisses, his silent tears soaking into her skin.


“Spike. Tell me what happened. Did the ritual work?” Buffy asked after a while.


“You could say that.” Spike loosened his hold and leaned away far enough to be able to stare at her. When he noticed Buffy furrow her brow he elaborated. “The hijacker is gone, luv. But--” he hesitated. “What is the last thing you remember?”


“I... the pull of the spell, and then nothing. But where are we? And why I do I have a feeling this didn’t happened yesterday? And-” Buffy brushed his wet cheek with her thumb, “why are you crying?” She watched him avert his gaze, obviously embarrassed for the display of his emotions.


Spike sat up and wiped his face with his palms, not sure how to answer that. “It's just... you're here.”


Buffy looked puzzled. “I am.”


“Buffy, the last time we talked was sixteen days ago.” He turned to face her and noticed she was sitting up too.


“What? But how-?”


“The doc told me it was magically induced-” Spike said.


“The doctor?” Buffy glanced at the tubes, then back at Spike.


“You were in a coma. Right after I killed the hijacker, I looked over at you, but you were just... laying there, and I couldn't wake you and-”


“Spike-”


“But I want you to know that I took care of you. And I would have carried on even if you didn't wake up,” he said seriously.


“I- Thank you.” The words seemed so empty to her, so useless in the face of his sacrifice.


“No need to thank me. I'll always take care of you.” Spike glanced at her heatedly and said in a rough voice. “You're mine.”


“You're mine too… aren't you?”


Spike rose on his knees and drew Buffy to him, his hands on her hips as he leaned into her. “Always,” he whispered into her ear, and then claimed her lips in a tender kiss.


“Where are we?” Buffy nuzzled his cheek.


“Huh?” Spike asked eloquently, his mind fogged with need.


“The house? Are we still in Sunnydale? How did you get the house anyway?”


“Yeah we're still here. As to your other question, I've got some cash stashed away in a case of emergency,” Spike said.


“You sure must have a lot emergency cash then,” Buffy said, as she looked around the stylish bedroom.


“Oh yeah, baby. I'm loaded. Good thing I didn't throw the funds away when I became a vamp.” Spike smirked.


“Good thing you're mine then.” She smiled.


“So that's why you're with me? Bloody gold digger.” Spike grinned and sneaked his hands around her waist, pulling her even closer.


“You know it.” Buffy smiled into his neck, feeling a little bit emotionally carefree for the first time in months, even though her muscles were cramping painfully. Everything was so much easier with Spike touching her.


“I'll get you for that one later, greedy chit,” Spike said in a fake stern voice, then frowned when he felt Buffy jerk against him. “What's wrong?”


“Nothing. Just... my muscles.” Buffy glanced up at him and squirmed under his scrutiny. Spike looked ready to inspect every inch of her body, and from the serious expression he was sporting it looked like he wouldn't let her go until she was all right. “It's nothing, really. I suppose it's just from the disuse, so please... don't worry.”


“Don't worry, she says. Like that's even an option,” he muttered under his breath. “Right. Lie down.”


“Umm... why?” Buffy asked.


“Buffy.” His look brooked no argument. “Trust me?”


“I do.” And she did. There was no hesitation on her part when he had asked her that, no need to evaluate, to think. She trusted him with her body and soul. The question was, did she trust him with her heart?


They had managed to dispose of the tubes, without her bleeding out; something Buffy was immensely grateful for.


“Take off your pj's and lie on your belly. I'll be here in a sec.”


“Spike, what-” But he was already gone. She did as he said and waited for him, wondering what exactly he was planning on doing.


Spike stepped back into his bedroom, trying not to stare at Buffy's naked back and legs. He tried, and failed. He was a man, after all. “I'm here. Just had to get oil.” He climbed on the bed. “Gonna give you a nice massage, if that's alright with you.”


“You're a man of many talents, I see.” Her voice came muffled as her face was partly squished into the pillow that smelled very nice. Just like him.


“You have no idea.” Spike drawled as he hovered over Buffy's thighs and poured some bergamot oil on his hands. He rubbed his palms together before touching them to her hot skin. Her muscles were tense and he lifted the pressure a little when Buffy hissed. “Sorry, luv.”


He’d done this when she was in coma too, though it had been all business like then. He never felt anything resembling arousal when he’d had her limp body bare before him, so unresponsive and empty. It was quite different to have her body come alive beneath his skillful hands with her sighing and purring in approval when he hit the right spot. Spike kneaded her shoulders and neck and then worked his way down her spine, massaging the tenseness out.


What was he doing anyway? Had he gone completely soft in the head? Spike berated his anxious need to help Buffy, not because he didn't want to help her if not for voluntarily putting himself in a rather uncomfortable position. Every part of him burned with the need to touch her beyond the matter of healing her. He wanted to devour her.


'I really must be a glutton for punishment.'


Spike sighed as he bypassed her buttocks-- thank God she'd left her knickers on-- and massaged the muscles of her thighs, strained tissue loosening under his ministrations.


By the time Spike reached her calves, Buffy already felt like a boneless heap. She was so relaxed that she couldn't move now if her life depended on it. What surprised her was that his intimate touch didn't make her feel anything but safe and cared for. She wasn't so sure about Spike touching her this wholly, wasn't sure if it would wig her out or not. She knew he wouldn't try to take advantage of her, or turn this into something sexual. It was about her being able to let herself be naked, lying on her belly in a very vulnerable position.


Realizing that if she relaxed and opened her mind like she could now, she didn't have to look into Spike's eyes to feel the flickers of his emotions zap through her. It must have something to do with their swapping of blood during the ritual. Buffy closed her eyes and emptied her mind, concentrating deeply on Spike. She gasped softly when a strong lust surged through her, mixing with the frustration that wafted off him in waves. Quickly cutting the connection off, Buffy discovered a newfound respect for him. Spike must really care for her if he could stop himself from acting on such a strong impulse. She wished all those horrible things hadn't happened to her so she could give him what he needed. But she couldn't. Not yet.


“Spike?” Buffy mumbled into the pillow.


“Yeah?” he replied, his voice deep and sensual.


“I'm sorry,” Buffy said, and she felt his hands still on her calves. “I'm sorry I can't give you what you want.”


“What I-” Spike started to say then stopped when he realized what she had on her mind. He wiped his hands with a towel and lay down on his side, propping his head on the upturned palm of his left hand as he faced her. “Buffy. You already are. You're all I need.” He brushed her hair away from her face so he could see her better.


“But I... I want to give you everything. I want to-” Spike put a finger on her lips.


“I would never expect you to. I know what you've been through, yeah? I'm not such a twat as to demand sex from you,” he said


“I know that. But I'm just so t-tired of feeling like this. And what if I'll never get over it?”


“I can't tell you everything will be alright, though I wish I could... but I can promise that I'll help you learn to live again, right?” Spike ran his hand through her hair, smoothing it away from her face when she nodded.


“Just promise me something.” Buffy's face was serious, still; the only thing betraying her distress was a slight quiver of her lower lip.


“Anything,” Spike replied.


“I don't want you to feel alone... and I don't expect you to be celibate. You have no obligation to be faithful to me. I'll understand if you want to find someone else that can... that will let you touch them, and that will touch you in the way I can't. Just please, don't tell me about it. I c-couldn't... I just want you to know I will never hold it against you.”


Spike wanted to yell at her for being such a silly bint, for thinking he could ever shag a woman that wasn't her. If he did tell her that though, he'd put Buffy in a situation where she would feel guilty and miserable for not letting him closer, and her feeling obligated, submitting to him was the last thing he wanted. On the other hand if he told her that he would find a lover to satiate the needs she couldn't fulfill, she'd still feel miserable. Was there a way he could get out of this without hurting her? Probably not.


“Buffy... I'm not sure what to say-”


'You're the only one I crave, need more than blood,' Spike thought, but didn't say aloud. “I- okay. I'll keep that in mind. But I want you to know that even if I don't, you bloody well better not feel obligated to do anything. I'm perfectly fine with the snogging. It's pretty spectacular actually.” He grinned at her and Buffy blushed slightly, then yawned.


“Sleepy?” Spike asked.


“After sleeping for two weeks, you'd think I would be well rested.”


“I'll bring you clean jammies. The bathroom is down the hall, first door on the left.”


“Thank you,” Buffy said, and Spike went to the opposite room to grab her a clean nightgown and put it on the toilet lid.


******


Buffy entered her room and looked around. The sun had just come up, and Spike was already sprawled on his bed, fast asleep when she came out of the bathroom. She didn't want to disturb him so she turned off the light and left him to sleep. His room was very different from her own room. His was done mostly in dark jewel tones-- iron bed in the middle adorned with the dark satin sheets, whereas hers was made from wood and the comforter was light green, matching the pattern on the velvet curtains.


It looked like Spike didn't care much for wood or cheerful colors.


Her room was very tidy, not a speck of dust or clothes on the floor, though the room looked like it was lived in. There were books strewn across her nightstand, the wardrobe was partly opened and Buffy could see it was full of clothes. What gave her pause was a guitar leaning against the wall next to her bed. It must have been Spike's, and imagining him playing brought a smile upon her lips. Spike had a great voice too, so she would have to convince him to sing to her some day.


Buffy wormed under the covers and fell asleep.


******


She woke with a gasp, her whole body shaking as the residual spasms of terror jolted through her system. Her own screams echoed within her mind and Buffy climbed from the bed, sneaking into Spike's room. He opened one sleepy eye when he heard her enter, and Buffy asked, “C-can I stay here?”


Spike just lifted the covers, and she gratefully sneaked in. He shifted onto his back and drew Buffy to him, the feel of his arms calming her down as she rested her head on his bare chest.


He kissed her forehead and mumbled drowsily into her hair after she was already half asleep. “Love you.”


'Me too,' Buffy thought and fell into the arms of Morpheus.


TBC

Author's note: Reviews are the food for my soul, so feed me pretty please! *bats eyelashes*