Buffy knew it wasn’t Xander’s fault they weren’t back from Bakersfield yet. She knew it wasn’t Tara’s fault she couldn’t afford a new alternator right now. And it wasn’t anyone’s fault there was only twelve dollars and thirty-seven cents left in the chequing account to last until the end of the month. And yet in her heart it all just felt like so much betrayal.
 
She could still hardly believe she’d asked him – without prompting from Dawn, even. But he wasn’t supposed to have agreed! Her walking cast appointment was in the middle of the day and while Buffy knew the point of the blacked-out windows was so he could drive in daylight, she hadn’t ever really believed he’d agree to drive her. Just because she had no other choices…..
 
How did Spike get to be the dependable one?
 
Bastard.
 
And why wasn’t there ever anything she could go out and kill mid-morning? This whole creature-of-the-night thing was way, way overrated.
 
 
 
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He hadn’t driven in daylight since … well, not since he’d taken Dru out of Sunnydale. That, at least, had felt like an emergency.
 
Spike could already feel the places where his scarf didn’t quite meet his goggles and he wasn’t even at Buffy’s house yet.
 
What the hell had possessed him, agreeing to this?
 
Stupid question.
 
His cock had commandeered higher brain function. Again. He really needed to stop letting that happen. No sex was worth burning his face off.
 
Second degree burns might be just about okay, though. Especially if she did that thing with her tongue.… Slayer muscles really were something else.
 
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
 
 
“Slow down!” Buffy screeched.
 
“Shut your fuckin’ gob! ‘M tryin’ not to crash!”
 
Buffy squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t actually see anything outside the car with them open, but it made her feel better. Sort of.
 
The holes of streaming daylight Spike claimed to be able to see through blinked out just as the car went down a steep ramp.
 
“There,” Spike snapped. “Hospital garage. Safe an’ sound.”
 
Buffy rolled down her (painted) window and stuck her head out for a breath of air. The stale, slightly sweet smell of car exhaust seemed downright healthy in comparison to the smoky stench of burning meat inside the car.
 
Spike yanked the duct-taped garbage bags off the centre of the windshield before manoeuvring the car through the narrow gangways of the garage. After far too long careening wildly through residential areas at seventy plus miles an hour, forty felt almost leisurely, even with all the near-misses of concrete pillars.
 
As soon as Spike parked, he tore off his goggles and scarf. His face looked awful – there were untouched sections, but somehow they only made the patchwork of blisters and peeling yellow and red skin seem worse. Buffy found herself feeling something akin to remorse.
 
Their eyes met. “Still hurts,” Spike said gruffly. “Hasn’t hit deep tissue.”
 
She nodded. “I’ll, um, I mean, we can wait until after dark to leave. I probably won’t be done for a while, anyway.”
 
He nodded. “Get you settled then find somethin’ to sort all this out.”
 
“Oh, you don’t need to—” She stopped short at the look on his face.
 
“Quit playin’ the bloody martyr, you daft bitch. Wouldn’t’ve rung me if you weren’t desperate.”
 
“Fine,” she said dully. “Just don’t steal all their blood.”
 
He snorted. “Was thinkin’ more along the lines of burn cream. Hospital blood’s chock-full of chemicals to stop it clotting – tastes like shite an’ smells even worse.”
 
Buffy sighed. “Whatever. Just – don’t tell them I’m your wife again, or I swear to God, I really will stake you this time.”
 
“Fine,” he sneered. He’d forgotten he’d done that…. Bloody good laugh it was, too. Smiling to himself, Spike got out and went round to her side of the car. Then he picked her up and slung her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
 
Buffy immediately started spluttering and wriggling at the indignity of being upside down with his hand casually fondling her ass.
 
He sighed. “You can’t walk an’ If I carry you any other way, you’re gonna bang your head or your foot on every doorway we go through. Your choice, Slayer.”
 
She let out a disgruntled huff of frustration. But she stopped struggling.
 
Just her luck, the receptionist on the floor she wanted was the same one who’d been there the last time.
 
“Mr and Mrs Summers! Welcome back.”
 
Spike snickered while Buffy stifled a groan.
 
The receptionist’s welcoming grin disappeared when he saw Spike’s scorched face peeping out from behind Buffy’s shoulder.
 
Sadly, the doctor was also the same one they’d seen last time. So she was terrified of Spike, and kept surreptitiously trying to ask Buffy if her husband was abusing her. As tempting as it was for Buffy to say yes, she knew it would be a bad idea: Spike getting arrested might be funny as all get-out, but having to talk to the police afterwards wouldn’t be. So Buffy smiled brightly at the nice doctor, and shunted her “husband” off as quickly as possible to see about treating his burns. Thankfully, Dr Charles’ concerns over Buffy’s home life distracted her from the abnormally fast healing ankle, so Buffy escaped with a Domestic Violence Hotline card and a walking cast that could come off completely in another week. Cue smiles all round. Some of them were even genuine.
 
By the time Buffy left the exam room, Spike was back and lounging in the waiting room doorway, playing with an unlit cigarette. Being able to walk without help felt so good she even forgot to hate him for a minute. He looked better – probably from a visit to the hospital’s blood stores, whatever he might say about the taste. Most of the yellow had reddened and the blisters were looking less blister-y. When she reached him, Buffy found her fingers tracing over the areas of smooth, un-charred skin on his face before she even realised what she was doing. She came back to herself when she saw his eyelids fluttering shut as he leaned into her hand.
 
The burn ointment making his face glisten had also made her fingers sticky. Buffy backed away from him awkwardly, wiping her hands on her skirt.
 
“While yet ‘til sunset,” Spike said quietly. He looked around the waiting room. “May ask you to stake me if we have to sit here watchin’ Maury all that time.”
 
“It’d be murder-suicide.”
 
His lips twitched. “That a joke, Summers?”
 
Buffy shrugged. “I’m feeling all world-loving now I can get around by myself.”
 
“Right.” He straightened up, watching her.
 
He was totally giving her bedroom eyes.
 
Buffy let her mouth drop open ostentatiously. “Seriously? You’re getting all come-hither on me when you’re gross and oozing and without half the skin on your face?”
 
Spike stiffened, disappointment warring with pride. “How much d’you want that lift home?”
 
“You’re demanding sex as payment now?” Buffy’s eyes blazed with righteous indignation.  “My god, you’re disgusting!” Her voice was loud enough to start drawing attention.
 
“Ungrateful bitch!” Spike roared.
 
Heads were poking out of doorways now – including a very worried Dr Charles.
 
“Fine. Go! See if I care,” Buffy hissed. “I don’t need you anyway.”
 
“Oh for fuck’s—” Spike bit off his own curse and tossed a smile towards the onlookers – wide and fake and half-crazed – before dragging Buffy off towards a vacant exam room.
 
She wasn’t yet steady enough on her feet to fight him off properly, but she managed to get in a couple of decent body hits before he shoved her inside and slammed the door behind them.
 
“Don’t you fucking put this on me!” he yelled. “Only reason I’m without half my face is drivin’ you here.”
 
She laughed. “Don’t even try to tell me you’re not getting off on me needing you. God, I hate you!”
 
“Oh, how I want to hate you!” He let out a frustrated half-growl, half-yell. Standing very stiffly at the door, he said, “You called and I came.” He laughed. “More fool me. Learned my lesson now. Shan’t happen again.”
 
He turned and flung open the door.
 
“Wait,” Buffy said. She squeezed her eyes shut, hating herself for saying it.
 
He closed the door with a soft click, but kept his back to her.
 
“I can’t afford a cab,” she bit out. “I’ll have to walk home if you won’t drive me.” Her voice didn’t break or waver, not once, and she was very proud of that.
 
He turned around and slouched against the door. Her strong, calm voice couldn’t hide the racing of her heart or the stink of her fear. “How bad is it?”
 
Buffy shrugged stiffly.
 
You got enough to eat?” he asked softly.
 
The last bit of fight seemed to run out of her. “Aunt Lolly gave us all the leftovers from Thanksgiving. If I’m careful, we should be okay.”
 
“Does ‘careful’ mean you live off fumes while Dawn eats proper?”
 
“No,” she said petulantly.
 
He sighed, pretty sure that meant ‘yes’. He went back to where Buffy was perched on the edge of the exam table. She looked all-in, her skin grey with exhaustion. Moving slowly and carefully he let the tips of his fingers brush against her shoulders. “You sleepin’?”
 
“Not really.”
 
He stepped in a little closer, letting his fingers trace along the planes of her back.
 
She bowed her head and let her forehead rest against his chest. More than he’d hoped. Better still was when she moved her legs so he could step in and hold her. She didn’t reciprocate – her arms just lay limply at her sides – but that was okay. He wasn’t the one who was only hanging on by a thread.
 
“Could sleep here, for a bit,” he said, pulling away just far enough to be able to look at her.
 
Buffy shrugged dully against him.
 
“Rest, Love. I’ll make sure no one disturbs you.”
 
To her shock and his, Buffy lay down on the exam table, facing the wall.
 
Spike considered pulling over a chair and sitting down, but all the chairs looked hard and uncomfortable. He shrugged out of his coat and hopped up beside her on the exam table.
 
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Buffy snapped, twisting in on herself even tighter.
 
He curled himself around her and draped the coat over them both. “Could use a bit of kip myself.”
 
Buffy seriously considered fighting him off, but she was just too damn tired. And it was warm, here. Quiet and dark. Maybe it would be okay….