CHAPTER FIVE

“Thanks, Xander. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Buffy waved to her friend through the car window, smiling at the sight of the two witches passed out in the back seat. Glancing up at the sky, she frowned, “Or, well, later today.”

“Swing by the Magic Box tomorrow afternoon...” Xander caught himself, glancing at the vampire standing next to Buffy.

She had insisted that he ride shot gun, slipping in the back with Tara and Willow, sitting behind his chair. When they’d gone over a bump he’d jumped, and she’d touched his shoulder over the back of the chair. She’d left her hand there the rest of the trip, ignoring the strange look she received from Willow and the curious one from Tara.

She’d hurried out of the car as soon as they had pulled into her driveway and gone to help him. Spike had tried to do it himself and when he stumbled, Buffy had caught him. She slid an arm around his waist and pressed 'the opposite hand lightly against his stomach as his arm wrapped around her shoulders again.

“Or... well, as soon as you can.” Xander amended, and Buffy took that to mean when it was dark enough to bring Spike. “Do you want me to pick you up?”

Buffy tried to shrug without jostling Spike and his arm slipped lower slightly, before he pulled it away, mumbling something that sounded like an apology. She squeezed his waist reassuringly, but he didn’t put his arm back around her. Instead it hung awkwardly behind them.

“It’s okay. I’ll get Mom to drop us off.” Buffy answered as Xander yawned, “Go get some sleep, Xand. I’ll be okay.”

Xander nodded, giving her a small wave and an awkward half-smile before backing out of the drive. She watched him go for a moment before readjusting her hold on Spike’s hip. “C’mon, Spike. I’ll get you inside. We’ll have to be quiet though, it looks like Mom and Dawn are already in bed, and I don’t really feel like explaining to them why you’re here. Not tonight.”

Spike nodded. “”S’okay, pet. I understand. No need to tell your Mom ‘bout the demon in the basement ‘til morning. I can keep a secret.”

Buffy pulled his arm back around her shoulders, startling the vamp, and led him into the house. “You’re... You’re not sleeping the basement... not tonight.”

“Then wh—“

“I’m taking you to my room.” Buffy admitted in a whisper as she began to help him up the stairs. “It’s just... The cot isn’t set up and I’m tired. It takes like an hour to get that thing unpacked and made up. Besides, I really need to get you cleaned up, since you wouldn’t let me at Giles’, and I need to check your leg.” His face turned toward her, and she ducked her head. “I noticed the limp on the way to Giles’.”

“Having your wicked way with me, Slayer?” Spike muttered, the tiny smile he could manage on his lips.

“No, thank you.” Buffy replied, leading him to the bed... her bed... flicking on the lamp next to it. Carefully helping him sit, the injured leg in mind, she blushed. Spike was in her bed... and why the HELL was she blushing? She took a step back. “I’m going to get some water and first aid stuff. Do you want anything? We aren’t exactly stocked up on O-pos, but I can pick some blood up tomorrow.”

“I’m fine... thanks, love.”

“Right. Okay, I’ll... I’ll be back in a minute.”

Spike nodded and heard the door close behind her. He took a moment to let his surroundings sink in. He was in the Slayer’s bedroom. On her bed. Never in a million lifetimes did he think this would happen... the Slayer, Buffy, inviting him into her room and into her bed.

Of course, he was certain there were no intimate notions behind the invitation, but still, it was unbelievable.

He cursed the fact that he couldn’t see the room, drink in the sight of the Slayer’s most private place. See what she loved, what she cherished. See what reflected who she truly was. He could smell her all over the room, her scent woven into the very bed. He groaned as he shift slightly, pain rising in his stomach. Being thrown into the mausoleum had hurt him more than he’d thought.

 
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Buffy piled first aid supplies on the vanity as she pulled them out of the cupboard and drawers below it, her eyes unfocused. Benefit of your Mom knowing you’re the Slayer? She always made sure that the first aid supplies were well and truly stocked. Smirking at herself bitterly, Buffy stood, catching the sight of her reflection in the mirror.

She looked pale, making the dark circles, always slightly present courtesy of the all-night, every-night patrols more prominent. It made her eyes look dull, small. She face was worn, and she looked... terrified. Her eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot with the lack of sleep and the emotional aftermath of the last five hours, and thins strings of her hair had fallen loose from her ponytail to hang lank and dead around her face. She looked terrible.

She realised with an unsettling lurch of her stomach that if it wasn’t for Spike... Spike, who thought of her as nothing more than violent way to relieve the boredom, she wouldn’t be making these observations. Instead, she’d be the one sitting on the bed, or on Giles’ couch, bloody and blind... or worse. Her stomach tightened almost painfully. She could be lying, broken and bloody in the graveyard, unable to call for help, unable to protect herself from any blood thirsty vamp or demon that sniffed her out. She could be dead.

If it wasn’t for Spike, she could be dead.

Grabbing a cloth, she stuck a bowl under the faucet and ran warm water, testing the temperature with her hand.

As the bowl reached halfway full, she burst into tears.