The walk, if you could call it that, from garage to guest bathroom was possibly the longest of Spike's unlife. He'd had broken bones before, and even walked on them when he absolutely had to, but a split kneecap was a new experience, and not one he cared to repeat.

Not bloody ever.

The less said about getting the brace on him, the better, what with fumbling with straps none of them knew how to use and banging the aluminum frame into his leg more than once. The walk itself wasn't too bad, having both Buffy and Harris supporting him on each side, but it wasn't until they'd made it through the kitchen that Spike realized – this was the first time he'd been on his feet in well over a week.

If he had a temperature of his own, Spike would doubtless have been dripping with sweat before they'd gotten half so far. If he'd had a pulse, likely just being upright would have made him too dizzy to even try walking at all. As it was, he was shaking in every limb, shocked by how weak he still was even after days of almost constant feeding and rest. The three of them inched along, pausing to rest far too often for Spike's liking, but he didn't have much of a choice. His own sodding body would allow nothing else.

Pretty clear the witch would have to wait to run her tests till later.

So he leaned on Harris but mostly on Buffy, soaked her warmth in deep, ignored her when she accidentally bumped his ribs – that pain, at least, he was used to – and whenever they paused he buried his nose in her hair and drank in her scent. Kept him from getting too upset with himself. The state he was in.

Eventually they got him shuffled into the guest bathroom. Spike braced shaking arms on the countertop and rested as best he could, while behind him Buffy and Harris held a quick conversation. Do you need us for anythin'; no, why, where you going; oh, me and the bird are going out for a spot of dinner and maybe a movie, you sure you'll be all right. That sort of thing.

So, the boy and the witch had a date. Bit odd considering the photo of Anya he'd spotted during one of their rest breaks. Prominent. On-the-mantel type prominent.

Ah, of course. A memorial photo.

Buffy shut the door and they were alone again.

"Demon girl didn't make it out of Sunnydale?" he asked quietly. Not what he'd really wanted to say to her, but then, he wasn't sure what he did want to say, shut in a bath with her for the first time since – that.

"No," said Buffy. Looked about as awkward as he felt. No, not awkward – shy. "No, she was killed saving Andrew's life. A Bringer." He watched her reflection as she tucked a lock of hair behind one ear. "Xander named his construction company after her."

Spike didn't say anything, just shifted his weight. Tried to get his arms to stop shaking.

"Here," said Buffy. Ducked under his arm. "Lean on me."

Spike closed his eyes. "This was in my dream," he murmured. "This afternoon, while we slept. Had a dream with you in it. Strange. Vivid."

"And this happened?" she asked him.

"Something like it," he said. Only in his dream he'd ended up merging into her, leaning on and then into her so that they blended and dissolved into one another. Now that he was awake, Spike wasn't sure if that was supposed to be a good thing or not, but when it was happening he remembered feeling happy about it. "Leaning on you," he said into her hair. "We were together."

Buffy ducked her head. He saw her smile in the mirror, felt himself smiling in response. "Together is good," she said. She took more of his weight, got them turned around. "So – is the shower okay?"

"Don't think I'm up for all the knee-bendin' I'd have to do for the bath," he said. "Sitting down, standing up."

"That's what I thought," replied Buffy. Paused. "Um… is this okay? I mean, me – would you rather have privacy, or something?"

Spike huffed something that was too tired to be a laugh. "Can barely stand on my own, love," he told her. "Best I could do without you here is stand under the water for a bit. Doubt I could even get turned round to do both sides."

She bit her lips, looked away. "Okay," she said. "And… I'm sorry."

He frowned down at her in confusion. "Nothing to be sorry for," he said. "Why would you –?"

"I just am," she said. "I know you don't like people seeing you like this."

"You'd be the exception, then, wouldn't you?" he replied. "You always are." Kissed her on the top of her head. "Always have been."

It was an ordeal, and Buffy had to half-lift him off the floor at one point – lovely on his ribs, that was – but eventually they managed to get him into the tub. Buffy blushed, and started taking off her clothes.

Spike propped himself up against the wall of the bathtub and watched her with a smile. Wanted her, of course. She could wind him up at the drop of a hat, anytime she wanted. Too bloody worn to do anything about it, but a bloke could always watch. Be bloody stupid not to, when you thought about it.

Buffy stopped at her underthings and stepped in beside him nearest the faucet, and Spike's smile widened. His girl might be trying to keep things modest between them, and to be fair he was sure nothing was about to happen with the shape he was in, but he could already feel wet satin under his fingertips and it was all a fella could do to keep himself to himself.

"Too tempting, love," he said to her. Watched her blush. Didn't bother to hide the growing erection his towel was doing nothing to cover. Felt his heart kick once in his chest. "You're too tempting by half."

"This isn't why we're here," she said, looking away, and Spike's smile faded. Christ, he was an idiot. Back in a bathroom together for the first time since – that – and the first thing out of his mouth was about sex?

Bloody hell.

"I know that," he said quickly. "Buffy. I do know. You're just… beautiful, that's all. Fella can't help how he reacts." He tried to stand straighter, thought better of reaching out to touch her, close as she was. "But he can still mind his soddin' manners, yeah?"

She looked up at him, and to his surprise she actually seemed confused for a second. Spike watched as her face cleared. "Oh," she said. "That. No – I wasn't thinking about – I trust you, Spike. I already told you." This time she reached for him, brushed her thumb across his lower lip. "I love you," she said, and his eyes fell shut. "I'm just trying to figure out how to get you clean without – I dunno – giving you the wrong idea?"

Spike smiled, relieved, and caught her thumb between his teeth. Licked the tip and watched her shiver as he let her go. "As long as you live," he said, "I will always have that idea in mind, every time I look at you." Looked her up and down, took his sweet time about it. "Christ, you're beautiful."

"Whatever," she replied. Reached down to start the water running. "If I'm so great, then I need to ask you something."

"All right," he said.

"It's really easy," said Buffy. "Two words: 'Harmony? Really?'" Raised an eyebrow at him while clearly fighting a smile.

Cheeky, his girl was.

Spike ducked his head with a grin and pulled off his towel.

---

Despite the smiling and the… horniness, Buffy thought Spike looked worse, now that he was up and on his feet, than he had while still stuck on the cot in the garage. Probably because the feet he was standing on were injured to begin with, to say nothing of all the other cuts on his body. It was a miracle Spike hadn't tracked dead-guy vampire blood all through the house as they helped him to the bathroom. He was clearly exhausted just from having taken such a short trip, and she had no idea how he was managing to still stay vertical with the way he was shaking.

She'd really thought he was recovering better than this. It was scary to see that he wasn't. In fact he was reminding her a little too much of the time in Sunnydale when a hell goddess had worked him over.

Okay, Buffy, she told herself. You can do this.

Warm water. Pull the curtain. Thank Xander mentally for having one of those shower hose thingies.

Turn Spike around to face the wall, so he could brace himself better.

She ran the water up Spike's back and heard him sigh, watched him sag forward till his cheek was resting on the tile, hands on either side of his face. Carefully, gently, soaked his hair, watching the water trickle gray down the back of his neck and across his cheekbones. A smell like fresh potting soil rose up around them.

Buffy hadn't realized just how filthy Spike still was from his ordeal. Now she could see the tracks from where she and Xander had first rinsed him off, back when he was lying on the cot still unconscious and bound in cord, gray trails that had trickled around his ribs to collect dirt all along his spine. She rinsed him carefully, head to toe, and when he sighed again she reached forward to turn the heat up.

"Thanks, love," he murmured. Eyes shut. She could barely hear him over the hiss of the spray.

"Hush," she said in his ear. "Give your ribs a rest. You don't need to breathe if you don't talk."

She saw his cheek shift in a tired smile, but he didn't say anything else.

Right. What came next… shampoo. Buffy was glad, right at the moment, that Spike wasn't that much taller than she was. It made it easier to work her fingers through his hair. Ugh, and she could feel the grit now, collecting under her nails as she lathered, rinsed, repeated. He definitely needed the repeat.

When she was done, Spike's hair hung in dripping curls, fallen-angel bright except for the couple weeks' worth of darker roots showing. He'd definitely been grubbier than she first thought.

From his head, she worked her way down slowly, carefully, doing what she could to avoid his injuries but cleaning as thoroughly as she could everywhere else. Massaged his shoulders a bit, slid her hands down along the furrows of his spine and heard him groan softly. Heard him hiss as the soap got into the cuts that wrapped around his chest to the back. A little grunt when she found an especially tight knot in one muscle.

She soaped the firm muscles of his ass, but decided he could rinse his private bits himself after she turned him around. Buffy didn't care how much grit was in there, and she really had no desire to find out.

She couldn't wash his injured leg, since it was covered by the brace and all that Velcro, but she managed to hose it down pretty thoroughly before she soaped and rinsed the other. Unwound and peeled wet gauze away from each ankle, watched Spike flinch the tiniest bit as the water hit the punctures left behind by the barbed wire. Buffy caressed them gently before standing up to help him turn.

"Better?" she asked when they were facing each other again. Spike looked more than half-asleep, head lolling back against the wall and arms hanging loosely by his sides. He took a slow breath before answering, and she half-smiled. The fact he'd actually listened to her suggestion said a lot about how much pain he was in.

"Do anything you want with me," he breathed. "In my dream I belonged to you."

"You did?"

"Mm," he said, eyes closing. His eyebrows lowered for a second. "Actually, no. I offered. Someone else – you never met her – she wanted me as her pet, and I was waiting till I found you." Another slow breath. "I was looking for you, in my dream."

Buffy leaned in on her tiptoes and kissed him. Spike lowered his head just enough to reach her, moved his lips across hers as if drugged, slow and heavy and sensual. She heard the slip-slide as he braced his hands behind him on the wet tile. Felt his cock come to attention, little by little, poking her in the thigh. He pressed on his chest with one hand for just a second and she wondered if she'd hurt him.

God, she needed to stop teasing him like this. But the things he said…

"Did you find me?" she asked.

His eyes barely opened, blue slits looking at her through damp lashes. "You found me," he said. "And I offered to be your pet."

She shook her head, trailed fingers across his collarbones. "I wouldn't want that," she said.

Spike blinked and opened his eyes a bit wider, looked at her – wounded. She'd hurt his feelings?

"Whyever not?" he asked.

Buffy drew wet fingers down his cheek. "Because you don't belong to me," she said. "I think you belong with me – it's not the same thing. I don't want to own you. We tried that, once." She looked away, at the faucet, the drain, the bottle of shampoo. "Never again, Spike. You deserve better."

Shaking fingers came up to trace her jaw, and she made herself look at him again. He had white curls falling across his forehead and tears standing in his eyes. Gazing at her like she was his entire world. They were talking about what he deserved? How had she ever come to deserve him?

Buffy washed Spike's arms for him, watched him cup the water in his palms and the stained, dried blood loosen and flow down the drain. Held the hose up high so he could stick his face under the spray. She thought he might stay under forever, the not-breathing showoff, and she rolled her eyes and smiled at him when he finally pushed her hand away and opened his eyes.

Soaped his chest, carefully. There were so many cuts, making a cross that covered his torso. Swallowed hard when she dragged her palms across his nipples and he arched into her touch. Buffy looked up and saw his eyes, dark with desire.

Looked down, and noticed something besides the obvious.

"These bruises," she said. "They weren't here before."

Spike looked down at the spot, where black and blue marks were appearing to cover his broken ribs. "Didn't have enough blood at first," he said, "then I wasn't moving to get the blood to the surface." He tipped his head back against the tile again. "Walking about plus the hot water must be bringing them up."

Interesting.

Buffy let the water flow between them, her bra and panties getting soaked as she rinsed his chest, stroked her palms across his belly. She leaned in and kissed him again and again, slow, soft, till he rumbled in his chest and brought one hand up to stop her.

"Sorry," she said.

"No, pet," said Spike. "Never be sorry. Just – my legs are going to give out from more than your kisses, before too much longer."

Water off. Buffy helped him out to sit on the toilet and toweled him dry, while he braced himself upright. He was reminding her again of the time Glory had beaten him half to death, the way he could barely sit up on his own, back in his crypt.

Together they staggered off to her bed, Spike with one arm across her shoulders and one on the wall with every shuffling step. He sank into bed with a sigh and didn't move an inch while she undid the soaking wet leg brace. She stepped across the hallway to drop it in the bathtub.

By the time she got back to her room, he was asleep.

---

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