Chapter Seven

And as you grow, each thread of life that you lead
Will spin around your deeds and dictate your needs
As you sell your soul and you sow your seeds

It was mid morning when Buffy forced herself out of bed, and even then she could have gone another couple of hours. Even when asleep she could sense Spike, a niggling tingle that had invaded her dreams with its associations and left her feeling less than well rested. No hope either that she'd dreamed the whole experience, as her slippered feet padded down the stairs there was a flurry of activity and by the time she got to the bottom the vampire was standing in the kitchen, ostentatiously doing nothing and looking guilty as hell.

"What have you been up to?" she snapped, harsher than she'd intended. Buffy really wasn't a morning person. And it didn't bear thinking about what her Spike might have been doing in her house unsupervised; hopefully this version didn't come complete with his own Slayer underwear fetish. He took a small step back as she marched into the kitchen but at least he was meeting her eye this morning.

"I'm sorry," he started nervously. "I haven't been in a house... I didn't mean to wake you."

Oh yeah. It was going to be another long, long day. At her frown Spike's expression went from guilty to out and out miserable, he stood his ground as Buffy stalked towards him but it obviously took some courage. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "I didn't intend to abuse your hospitality."

"What. Have. You. Done?" Buffy enunciated clearly, trying to keep the accusation from her voice.

"I was watching telly, didn't you hear it?"

"Telly? The TV?"

"Yes."

Buffy closed her eyes and shook her head, because it would be so wrong to laugh at this weird anti-Spike when he was virtually cowering. She'd thought cocky Spike was irritating but at least she knew how to deal with him, punching this one would hardly help anything but her grumpiness. She poked him in the chest instead.

"I don't torture people! I think I mentioned that last night. I don't care if you watch TV and if I did I'd only yell at you. You annoy me enough and I might hit you 'cause I'm kinda short tempered like that but I'm not gonna... Stop being scared of me, okay?"

"Wasn't scared," said the vampire, though his wary eyes never left hers and he still looked like he wanted to flee. "Didn't want you to think me ungrateful. Didn't want to disturb you."

"Well you've got your very existence against you," said the Slayer dryly. "And you're not helping, I thought you were sacrificing goats in the basement at the very least. Can you kill goats?"

Spike looked a little bemused, it was a step up from scared. "Can't say as I've ever tried."

"I never thought about it before," mused Buffy. "There were the kittens, but I never actually saw you eat one. I think you just gambled them away again. I suppose you wouldn't have mentioned it to me if you were out draining people's pets. It was a thing," she added off the vampire's confused look. "Sounded stupid to me too. I mean if you wanted kittens why didn't you just gamble for money and then buy kittens? Or have kitten chips, like Vegas? See you're making me nervous now. I'll stop rambling if you stop jumping out of your skin whenever I come into a room, okay?"

He nodded, did that almost smiling thing again, as if he wasn't ready to let loose with a whole facial expression or had forgotten how. Buffy stepped out of his personal space in the hope he'd relax some and busied herself making coffee, even with her back to him she could feel eyes watching her every movement. There must have been a thousand questions the vampire wanted to ask but he stayed silent, the questions Buffy had she already knew he couldn't answer so she went with the mundane.

"You're looking a bit more person shaped this morning."

And he was. It didn't seem possible that three mugs of blood could have started putting the weight back on his face but he definitely looked less hollow this morning, eyes and cheeks where they should be instead of shrunken back into his face. He still looked ridiculous but that was probably the toga; for a moment Buffy diverted her mind with the simple problem of where she could find something less silly for him to wear.

"That'll be the blood," said the vampire quietly. "Thank you."

Buffy shrugged uncomfortably. "It was Anya that put it there. I'll get some more later. Did you sleep okay? Did your back keep you awake?"

Spike shook his head, opened his mouth, waited a long second before speaking. "Just you."

With a blush Buffy remembered her not entirely dreamless sleep. "I snore that loud?"

"No, I mean... Had a lot to think about, is all. Didn't want to sleep." He pushed off the counter, unconsciously straightening as he spoke. There was a hint of defiance in his voice as he continued. "Didn't want to wake up and find I'd dreamt you."

"Funny, 'cause I was hoping just the opposite."

The quip was automatic, a defence against letting the conversation slip into sappier territory. Buffy needed to be the Slayer today, rallying the troops and solving the evil mysteries because if she thought too much about what had happened to Spike she'd just have to hug him and that would be all kinds of wrong. The vampire was still a pathetic enough sight to tug at the stiffest of heart strings, and now that she'd found out he wasn't her vampire, she didn't even have legitimate reasons to hate him and maintain the distance. So she drummed her fingers on the kitchen counter as she waited for the water to boil and planned her phone call to Giles. He was certain to want to know what on earth had been happening in Sunnydale and Buffy suspected he would not be commending her actions.

When the coffee was brewed and she turned back around, Spike was still staring at her. Buffy really couldn't adjust to a Spike that could go whole minutes without opening his mouth. Not Spike, she had to remind herself. And it was easy enough to remember when she was looking at him; only the platinum of his hair had been recognisable as Spike at first glance and even that was being pushed out by a good inch of darker blonde and matted to his head with grease and blood. The dress, the posture, even his silhouette radically different from the vampire she remembered. But with her back turned, her only view of him was that sixth sense that came with the Slayer package, and he looked exactly the same.

"D'you want coffee?"

Spike seemed more thrown by this little question than the issue of not actually existing, transferred his gaze to the coffee pot as if it might tell him the answer.

"I don't know," he said eventually.

Buffy poured out two mugs with a snort, pushed one toward him. "Why don't you find out? I'll drink this and then I'll pick up some blood, then we can start in on the research. I suppose we should compare notes, see what you remember differently. Phone Giles. Do you remember Giles?"

He nodded. Spike was dying to ask what they would be researching, exactly, and what the end results might mean for his continued wellbeing, but as he didn't find the courage to voice these questions Buffy remained oblivious.

"But you don't smoke?" she asked.

The pack she'd bought the night before was still sitting unopened on the kitchen island. Spike shook his head. "I did. Just not had one for a couple of years. Thought I'd best wait-"

The vampire broke off so suddenly for a second Buffy thought he was reacting to something she couldn't hear. "Wait for what?" she prodded gently, when he didn't go on. His eyes darted away shiftily.

"I didn't mean... It's all out of my system now, isn't it? I ain't jonesing for 'em anymore."

"Wait till you know I'm not going to take them away from you again," Buffy realised out loud.

"Well yeah."

Buffy shrugged. "Up to you. The porch is in shade, if you do. And you could maybe stand to shower if you don't mind me saying. There're towels and stuff up there, and I could find you some clothes I guess, though they might be a bit girly."

The way his eyes lit up made Buffy feel guilty for not thinking of such details the night before. He downed his coffee as he'd done with the blood, apparently oblivious to the scalding heat. "Now?" Spike asked eagerly.

"When. You. Choose. To." Reiterated Buffy firmly.

Spike did that incredible vampire trick of getting to the door without seeming to move, pausing briefly in the doorway to give her a smile. An actual, whole, unreserved, genuine smile.

"Thank you."

********

Spike hesitated uncertainly at the top of the stairs. Obviously in this world he'd somehow ended up in the Slayer's bathroom at some point because she didn't think to give directions but all he knew of the upstairs of her house right now was several unfamiliar and firmly closed doors. He picked one at random and found himself looking into an airy double room with a faintly musty smell. Whatever had happened to the Slayer's mother was obviously permanent and not recent; there was no trace of her scent even in the master bedroom, only the stale lingering tang of cleaning fluids.

He quickly shut the door and next time struck lucky, a white tiled bathroom bursting with fruity smells and girly lotions. A fancy shower unit of the kind Spike vaguely remembered from the days of happily killing desk clerks and making himself at home in hotel rooms. He stripped off the sheet, picked up a bottle of papaya and kiwi essence shampoo and laughed at the absurdity of it. He was looking forward to standing under hot water so much the anticipation made him hard, and he couldn't care less if he came out of it smelling like a pansy. Maybe the Slayer was right, he really wasn't Spike at all. Or maybe it was just a natural reaction to three years of being hosed down in public.

Buffy would have been shocked at the sight of his naked rear view as he stepped into the shower but Spike had grown used to his scrawny body. Couldn't remember what he looked like unmarked, with actual flesh between skin and bone, couldn't remember the last time he felt clean, come to that, and it was going to be nice. The only thing nicer was going to be stepping outside in the afternoon shade and having himself the first cigarette in three years.

The first blast of hot water on his marred back stung, but it was the good kind of pain, like picking a scab or muscle ache after an active day. The skin was tender and red but no longer raw, even the deepest gashes well scabbed over. Spike doused himself liberally from a bottle of eau de something girly and relaxed into the self indulgence of washing.

The vampire hadn't lied earlier, he'd spent the rest of the night, or more accurately morning, pondering the Slayer and second guessing his own grasp of reality until finally lured from his own thoughts by the forbidden luxury of daytime television. Strangely the sleepless night had left him feeling buoyant. Not enough yet to think about being the vampire he once was, not enough to restore his self confidence, but enough for him to start placing his confidence in her. And trust was big scary thing that he wasn't used to, had never been used to, but strangely enough Spike was feeling less scared by the minute.

He'd trusted Drusilla to carry on being Drusilla, but even in the wildest delusions of romantic love he'd never kidded himself that he could trust her further. Beyond that he'd never put the slightest iota of trust in the people or vampires around him since the night his own mother had turned on him - until that first uneasy truce with the Slayer. He'd known with certainty she'd keep her end of the deal and then a part of Spike had held her in contempt for it. Now, she had absolute control over his life and he trusted her with that power on the basis of twelve hours real acquaintance and the memory of a girl who'd made a deal with a vampire to save the world. It should have been terrifying, and a part of Spike was still terrified that it would be snatched away. But she'd promised he wouldn't be going back to that place and he believed her.

This girl, tender hearted as she obviously was, might even let him go. She'd said herself she wouldn't stake him if he was still harmless and she'd forgiven his grandsire for far worse than trying to kill her. Spike wondered if he'd still know what to do with freedom, the longing that had gnawed at him had vanished in the night. Maybe he'd become institutionalized, although even Spike's confused inner monologue didn't really believe that. Far more likely he just wouldn't mind being the pet of this golden warrior with her endearing and comforting soft side, he was already overcome with the urge to kill things and lay them at her feet.

It was enough to decide he'd think no more on any subject and enjoy the moment. Maybe more a desperate coping mechanism than a resolution but freeing nonetheless, and it could almost be said that Spike was enjoying himself as he scrubbed at weeks’ worth of dirt and scabs and unmentionable fluids until the water ran clear.

His body grew as warm as the steam surrounded him; it was invigorating and soon Spike's attention wandered from personal hygiene to the almost forgotten idea of pleasure. His hand moved instinctively to his hard cock and his mind conjured up, unbidden, an image of a freshly showered blonde girl in yummy sushi pyjamas. He turned his head slightly and nearly jumped out of his skin to see that same blond girl standing at the end of the bathtub, arms folded, stance relaxed.

"It looks like we can rule out brain damage," said Buffy with a derisive nod in the direction of his privates. "Everything seems to be in working order."

Frozen in shock, it took Spike a moment to recollect what he was doing and move his hand away and turn the water off. Her mere appearance was surprising enough; Spike hadn't heard the bathroom door or any other sign of her approach. The way she casually disregarded both his privacy and his nudity shocked the vampire on another, more Victorian level. Not that anyone had extended courtesy or rights or privileges Spike's way for the past few years, but he'd just about decided for sure he could expect different here and though it was a small infraction it cut deep. He tried to pull himself together, the Slayer had every right to enter her own bathroom without knocking if she chose and making jokes about his todger was a long way from torture. He clung to the promise of no torture.

"Maybe I was wrong," continued the Slayer nastily, looking him up and down in a manner befitting a whole other kind of girl. "The skeletal look does give you a certain something, maybe feeding you was a mistake."

Struck almost physically by the force of her venom, the vampire was visibly wilting under her scathing gaze. He didn't step back, or try to cover himself up, long training prevented it. He just stood there wilting.

"Maybe I was a little hasty, throwing out that box. If you have trouble keeping your hands to yourself I could always cuff them to the wall."

Frantically, Spike tried to think up reasons for this sudden anger. They didn't seriously teach school kids that wanking was evil? Certainly walking in on him in the buff didn't sit with a puritanical upbringing. But he couldn't think of anything else he might have done to incur her displeasure, outside of the freedoms she'd permitted.

"I'm sorry," he said helplessly.

"Yeah? It was in here that it happened, you know."

He just couldn't ignore the obvious cue. "What happened?"

"You violated me," said the Slayer casually, as if the words weren't serious and Spike weren't naked and damp and standing in the bathtub. He could only stand and wait, with a sense of dread.

"I was injured. Running myself a bath. You threw me down on the floor right over there, held my wrists down, forced my legs open."

Spike opened and closed his mouth like a fish, only vaguely aware that the Slayer was smiling at him in malicious satisfaction.

"That's why you left town. You were afraid I'd come and stake you. And I would have. I so hoped you were dust."

An hour later Spike would have questions. How had he hurt her if he had a chip here? Why hadn't she just staked him in the car? How on earth had she managed to keep in all that hatred till this moment? But right then, for the second time in 24 hours, Spike's brain had completely shut down. He could just about make out the bare facts of her words - he'd raped her. Spike had raped her.

"What? You don't remember?"

And as if she knew just how much her tear-filled eyes affected him, the spiteful glee disappeared and her bottom lip wobbled. "I begged you to stop. You didn't even listen. I hate this room now - you ruined my home for me."

The vampire could no longer look at her. In years of being treated with contempt, he'd never been made to feel like it was so well deserved. "Kinda ironic," she continued, reading his mind again. "What happened to you. Did you beg them to stop too? As they held you down and took their pleasure of you? I'm the Slayer, I don't condone what happened to you, but I can't think of anyone who deserved it more."

Like the proverbial moth he couldn't help but glance at her again. Her expression was granite hard and the vampire simply couldn't stand it.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Well that's alright then," snapped the Slayer. There was a pause, Spike imagined she was glaring at him some more. "I wouldn't accept an apology from you if it was written in your dust." By the time Spike gathered enough courage to look again she was gone, as silently as she'd arrived, and Spike was reduced to just one clear thought. His benefactress wanted him dead.

A few minutes later he regained his senses and determined that she must have left the house, he couldn't feel her anywhere nearby. Only then did he dare move. Reached for a towel, opened the door to check his empty house assessment and found some old clothes left outside. Quickly he dressed, went downstairs to the empty kitchen and liberated his all-purpose slave owner’s kit from the wastebin. He couldn't oblige her with his dust, but if she wanted to chain him up he wasn't going to fight her on it.

The packet of cigarettes stayed unopened on the kitchen counter.