CHAPTER SIX

“Spike? I’m back.” Buffy whispered as she entered the room, setting her supplies down on the dresser and shutting the door with a quiet click.

“Hey, pet.” Spike greeted her softly, his eyes staring straight ahead at the wall in front of him. If he could see, he would have seen the collage of photos she had up, of her family, of the gang. Of her life.
“How... How are you doing?”

Stupid question, she reprimanded herself almost immediately, closing her eyes. How the hell do you think he’s doing, you idiot?

“As well as can be expected, I guess.” Spike shrugged a shoulder and groaned as it sent shocks of pain through his body. Taking a heavy breath as he touched his hand to his side, he added with difficulty: “No bloody problem.”

“Bloody being the operative word.” Buffy muttered to herself. “I’ve got some stuff to clean you up.” She gathered it up and brought it over to him, placing it on the floor and kneeling in front of him. “It’ll help.”

“Disinfectant isn’t gonna exactly be a help, pet. Vampire, remember?”

Don’t remind me, Buffy thought grimly, her Slayer instincts flaring at the reminder that a vampire was in her house... in her bedroom. Every Slayer centred nerve ending screamed at her, telling her to destroy, to remove the threat, the same way it had when she’d discovered Angel’s true being. She pushed past the instinct forcefully, sorting through her supplies pointedly.

“Like you need more peroxide, anyway.” Buffy huffed jokingly, and Spike tried for a smirk. The smallest twitch of his lips was all he could manage. Buffy sighed, “I know disinfecting isn’t going to do anything, but cleaning up some of the blood and bandaging anything that needs it might help speed up the healing process.”

Spike said nothing and Buffy bit her lip. Wetting the cloth in the bowl she reached up and gently touched it to his cheek. He hissed, but didn’t pull away. Taking that as permission to continue, Buffy studied his face as she worked, dipping the cloth into water every few moments.

Spike’s usually sharp, clear features were obscured by blood and burnt skin, what wasn’t covered in blood was charred or raw, bloody pink. She knew she should probably try to cover some of the worst of it in gauze, but short of a full face mask, she wasn’t really sure what she could do. She couldn’t exactly stick tape to the injured skin, and she didn’t think he’d let her mummify him in bandages. Then she focused on his eyes.

She’d always noticed (though she’d never admit it to anyone or even herself most days) that Spike’s eyes were uncommonly blue- a bright cerulean that shone with abrasive humour and quick wit. Now, they were different. They were swollen, almost in the way they would be if they were black eyes, and red. She could barely make out the pupil between his lids. He was lucky, she supposed, that whatever had been spat at him... at her... hadn’t burned his eyes completely away.

She carefully touched light fingertips to his right eyelid. He flinched, and she pulled away. “Does it hurt to keep them open?”

“Yeah,” Spike sighed, “It... it feels strange to keep them closed.”

Buffy reached up, and with more feather-light touches, slid his eyelids carefully closed.

“I think we should cover them.”

Spike exhaled, his breathe cool on her hand before she dropped it. She carefully set two squares of gauze over his eyes and wound one of the bandages around his head, effectively holding the gauze in place. She secured it at the back of his head before returning to cleaning his face.

 A few moments passed until she spoke again, withdrawing her cloth. “I... I think I’ve done all I can tonight for your face, and I’ll talk to Willow tomorrow, see if she knows any spells to help reduce any scarring you might have.” Putting the bowl of water, now red with blood aside, she touched his arm.

“Now, I gotta check your leg, make sure there aren’t any breaks or anything.” She reached for the ankle of his jeans. She tried to tug it gently up his leg and frowned. “Figures you wear jeans too tight to roll, huh?”

Spike chuckled slightly, stopping suddenly when he felt her hand on his belt buckle. “Slayer... what are you doing?”

Buffy blushed, “Well, I can’t get too your knee from the bottom, so I’m going to have to go from the top.”

Spike tried to push himself away from her, but the muscles of his stomach seized up with the movement, and he clutched at his stomach. “I... I don’t think that’s a good idea... Slayer. I—“

“What’s the big deal?” Buffy frowned, leaning back. “It’s not like I haven’t seen a guy’s briefs before, hell, I’ve seen Xander in Speedos, it’s not like you—“ Buffy’s eyes widened. “Oh.”

Spike stayed silent, shifting uncomfortably. Usually, he wouldn’t have given a damn, but he didn’t want to upset the girl. She cared enough about him to help him, and he wasn’t going to chance that over a stupid little thrill in offending her.

“Well, okay... commando. Alright, then,” her cheeks reddened again. “I guess we won’t be going from the top then.”

Spike nodded, relaxing slightly.

“Okay, well... does it feel like there’s any breaks or blood? Anything?”
“No, pet. I think I must have hit some granite a little harder than I should have. It’s probably just bruised. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay... Uh, wait here, I’ll be back in a second.”

Spike heard the sound of her standing, the door opening and clicking closed, her movement and then, a few moments later, the door opening and closing again. He turned towards the sound.

“I’ve got ice,” Buffy explained uncertainly. “I’m going to strap it to your knee, alright? I figure it will help take the swelling down.”

“Alright, Summers. You’re the doc.”