Note: Thanks to my beta t_geyer for her unending patience, perseverance and support.

SECTION 6 - Healer in your Heart

For the universe and the stars are around you now.
But the healer in your heart is only a breath away.
For there's silence and there's blindness in a raging world.
But the healer in your heart is only a moment away.


(Runrig Album - The Big Wheel Composer Calum MacDonald)




Chapter 6.01
Monday, June 17th, 2002


"Dawnie?" Brandon's voice called out after her as she left the changing rooms at the end of the afternoon training session. Of course, it made perfect sense that with about a tenth of the competition for the facilities in the male changing rooms that he'd be finished way before her and able to hang around in wait. Like it wasn't enough that he was already teacher's pet with Buffy. Hey, if she'd been doing martial arts since she was about four or something she'd be able to kick butt, too. Suck up!

"Dawn?" Amanda sounded dubious about her attempt to ignore her former boyfriend.

"Yeah?"

"Aren't you at least going to talk to him?"

"Nope! I've got better things to do than listen to him make pathetic attempts at telling me why he told Buffy and Spike his dad was going out of town and arranged it all with them that he could stay here but he not only doesn't consult me, he doesn't even tell me about it."

Amanda tilted her head on one side. "And these better things would be like what? 'Cause the only thing to do here is raid the library and it's like real hard to even find a book that's in English in there, and mostly, they're kinda scary. I mean it's kinda like finding out that you're living in the middle of an H.P. Lovecraft novel and they never end well... Unless you think becoming a giant squid is like a good thing. Mostly, I'd rather not know all the different boogey men that are waiting to kill whoever gets to be slayer. Not that any of us are going to become slayer, 'cause that would mean like your sister or Faith would have to die again."

"Chill! Buffy's already been replaced. Even if she died again we don't think there would be another one called. At least, all the watchers seem to think there wasn't one called the last time she died. It's just Faith who's got to worry about the whole dead man's shoes thing. And I've got a date." Dawn added, raising her voice. "Youngish guy, quite cute, name of Ian. Gotta catch Buffy and get her to take me or I'll be late."

Brandon flinched as Spike's hand clapped down on his shoulder. "Wouldn't worry too much, Mikey. It's a pretty fair bet that when a chit makes goin' to Bible class sound like dinner an' a movie, then she's doin' it to try an' make you jealous."

"And this Ian?"

"That would be the minister as is doin' the marryin' for me an' Buffy. I could be wrong, but I get the impression that the main reason Niblet got an invite was to avoid it lookin' as if Buffy and him might be up to somethin' if they had lessons alone, rather than for her undoubted feminine charms. Of course, we all know if there was any impropriety Buffy would probably pull off whatever part was bein' inappropriate an' then I'd drain dry whatever was left, but I hear insurance companies can be funny about stuff like that these days."

 

---

 

"I still don't get why we're all with the martial arts all of a sudden," Xander whined as Giles used one of his feet to nudge Xander's slightly wider apart, correcting his stance.

"I would have thought that was obvious," the watcher replied, but since Xander still showed no sign of comprehension as the Englishman pulled his shoulders back into a less hunched position Giles had to continue. "We are facing a sustained campaign against an enemy that our friend downstairs apparently believes has the capacity to become more numerous than humankind. We will be fighting on a scale heretofore unknown to us. Buffy, Spike and Faith will have to devote themselves to leading their respective units. They aren't going to have the time or energy to try to baby sit any individuals, no matter how personally important those individuals may be to them."

"Like I have the energy for this?" Xander complained as Giles moved on to Anya, casting a critical gaze over her form, but finding nothing to correct. "I've been shifting lumber all day."

Anya gave a slight snort.

"Okay, I've been supervising the guys who've been shifting the lumber, but I carried some ."

Giles diplomatically pretended that he thought this was a private conversation between husband and wife. "Very good, Anya!" he commented quietly, and gave a nod to Marie, who was also in the correct position thanks to some gentle sotto voce prompting from Wes, who was next in line to her. Bee had also come along, partially as moral support for Marie, and partially because she and Wes knew that they wouldn't be able to continue to attend the daytime sessions indefinitely without it causing detriment to their PI business. If they wanted the business to be a success they needed to clear more cases in the near future.

Wes was, of course, familiar with the moves that Giles was trying to teach and, while the style was different, Bee's experience of Tae Kwon Do meant she was used to learning new manoeuvres and picked up quickly on Giles' cues.

"Right, then, now that you have the correct stance, we're going to start with a straight punch and I want you to take care to rotate your wrist like so as you strike..." the older watcher began, performing the move in slow motion so that his trainees could see what he meant.

 

---

 

"You're not fit for patrol yet, slayer," Spike protested in a softly persuasive tone as he watched Buffy change into soft cotton leggings and a crop top style bra over which she zipped up a baggy sweatshirt top that covered her still bandaged midriff. "You might be able to stand at the front of a class an' use Bit's bloke as your dummy to demonstrate the moves, but you're in no condition to be making them yourself."

"Yeah, but we can't afford to let them know that, and you're healing even slower than I am." Buffy didn't need to remind Spike about the good witch's theory as to why neither of them were experiencing the accelerated healing that had seemed to become normal after their bond was established. Tara had suggested that when Buffy was healthy, Spike was able to "borrow" her untapped healing abilities and vice versa, thereby explaining Spike's rapid recovery from the poisoned blood and from his beating at Wood's hands. However, with both of them injured to the extent that Spike was adamant in his refusal to take Buffy's blood, each of them were dependent on their own abilities, leaving nothing to spare for their mate. So, to the frustrated vampire, that level of healing that had been the norm for over a century now seemed painfully slow, and if coping with his own injuries was something of a problem, watching Buffy deal with hers was torture.

"Which them? Them, the Big Bads, or them, the Amazon army? 'Cause keepin' that lot downstairs from twiggin' on ain't worth you gettin' hurt some more. Let her take her Jock."

"Them, both them, and you know we've got to do it. You agreed yesterday."

"That was before I knew you'd still have the smell of fresh blood on you by tonight."

Buffy stepped into the vampire's personal space and reached up to cradle his cheek with a tiny hand as she stood on tiptoe to brush her lips against his. "We'll play safe and I'll let Faith do all the fighting if I can, but you know that if we don't keep up the patrols, or if all of a sudden neither of us is going out, the bad guys will smell weakness."

Spike sighed. "'M not goin' to get you to change your mind, am I?"

"Like you'd be saying anything different if it was you that was the healthier one?" Buffy countered.

The vampire pulled the leather coat he had bought her from its hanger on the back of the room door and held it out for her. Buffy didn't think it fitted with the rest of her outfit, but slipped her arms inside it anyway, knowing that Spike offered it for her protection and as a symbol of both his reluctant acquiescence to her wishes and his affection.

"I'll find what's left of my new coat an' walk you downstairs, maybe have a fag or two when you head out."

The vampire's eyes were suspiciously bright when he returned from the attic's main room, which was where he last remembered leaving his duster. He held the coat draped over his outstretched hands, spreading it wide.

"You do this, love?" he asked, but Buffy's puzzled frown at the clothing's apparent wholeness was answer enough, even without the shake of her head.

Buffy took the coat from him, examining up close the microscopic stitching that was the only sign that there had ever been any rips in either the leather or lining, as if the skin had healed itself organically and the threads of the weft and warp had twined their frayed ends back into seamless strands. "Magic?" she asked, her hands checking the soft fabric of the lining for the telltale stiffness of dried blood and finding none.

Spike nodded. "Mordecai's magic, and it doesn't come cheap, 'specially not for a rush job."

Buffy smiled at his look of wonder. "Guess someone other than me must kinda like you, then," she told him.

 

---

 

Spike put down the book he'd been trying to read, yet again, and got off the cot where he'd theoretically been resting, if that were possible for someone as tense as he was. He pushed his feet back into his boots and put on his restored coat with a cinematic swirl of leather. He checked again on the number of cigarettes remaining in the packet and pulled one out, his hands feeling for his lighter, even as he opened his bedroom door. He hoped Buffy wasn't going to let her non-smoking principles interfere with picking up a carton for him on her way back from patrol, not that he would have asked if it had meant her going out of her way in her condition, but the Korean convenience store was right by Restfield. He tumbled the cigarette end over end between his fingers, making his way downstairs as silently as possible. Lily had already caught him on his way out twice this evening and herded him back to his room with admonitions that making himself smell stinky was not a good excuse for the damage that descending and then climbing several floors on a steep, narrow stairway would do to his recuperation.

Finally, he made it to the school's main doors and pushed them aside to take a deep breath of the night air before he put the cigarette to his lips and lit it. Faint metallic sounds drew his attention off to one side and he prowled around the side of the building, avoiding the gravel drive. His head told him that Tara and the watcher's wards would have been set off if there were an intruder, but Spike hadn't made it to over a century without his own brand of caution.

He relaxed, however, when he had moved far enough to see how one of the building's harsh security lights illuminated the form of a familiar watcher, lying on his back next to Wes's bike with an array of tools spread out on the blanket he was resting on and a tub full off black sump oil at his side. "Thought it was just vamps as did that sort of thing at this hour," Spike observed, leaning against the school's outer wall to watch as James tightened up the last bolts on the engine plate. Spike realised it was the first time he'd seen the watcher in jeans and a t-shirt, even if the t-shirt was so white apart from a few obvious oil smears that it looked as if it had been dirtied specially for a washing powder advert.

"It's a Zen thing," the Scot replied, wiping at his brow to shift a stray hair and leaving a black streak on his forehead to match those on his shirt.

"Kinda peaceful?" the vampire suggested, after exhaling a huge plume of smoke. "Personally, I normally go with maximum levels of nicotine an' caffeine an' beatin' up as many beasties as possible." Spike bounced nervously on the balls of his feet. "Watchers not included..." he added hastily. "Least not these days."

"Good to know," James replied. "I'd hate to have to try to hold you off with a tyre iron."

"You waitin' for the other slayer, then?"

James' eyes swept Spike's face. "That obvious, huh?"

"Only to someone as has been there." Spike paused, seeming to consider whether he should say more. He took another deep draw on his cigarette, letting the smoke drift slowly from his mouth before he continued. "Slayer can be a bit more work than yer average bint. Figure they get so used to the idea that when push comes to shove it's down to them, that they feel like they're always on their own. Have a hard time believin' that anyone can understand what they're livin' through an' from what I hear your one's like to be worse than most, what with fending for herself even back before she was called. S'pretty hard goin' to convince them any different but if you can carry it off..."

"It's worth it?" the watcher asked.

"It's the best rollercoaster ride in the world," Spike answered. He watched the man buff a couple of oily smears from the bike's gleaming chrome with a soft cloth. "Know yer way 'round a bike. What d'you ride?"

The Scot shrugged. "I've got a Fireblade, not that the weather's up to running' it for more than about half the year... and I do the work on dad's bikes, these days. His are all vintage; BSA, Indian, an old Norton."

Spike gave a nostalgic sigh at the mention of the old-fashioned British made motorcycles. "Had a Norton, myself, back in the fifties..." His gaze shifted to the far end of the drive and he pushed away from the wall until he realised that the distant footfalls were too heavy to be either of the girls they were awaiting, a supposition that was confirmed when they continued on past the gate rather than turning in. He drew once more on his cigarette. "Ran like a dream. What model's your dad got?"

 

---

 

Faith walked down the drive, struggling to keep her steps slow enough that Buffy could keep up without pulling open the wound in her stomach. Her mind wandered to thoughts of a huge pastrami and dill on rye and her stomach rumbled its approval of the idea. 'Hungry and horny!' she thought to herself, unable to prevent a knowing smile as her mind returned to the previous night's work out. 'It was just one of those things. That's all! Just a one-off, never to be repeated, night of hot delicious measured-on-the-Richter-scale sex."

She spotted a familiar white-blond head in the distance, the dull red glow of a cigarette confirming his identity as if it needed any confirmation and she wondered not for the first time what might have happened if Buffy's hold on the vampire didn't run so deep that to eliminate it would all but destroy the vamp himself. Then she realised with a surprise that the vampire wasn't alone. He had reached down to give someone a hand up and Faith couldn't help the groan she made when she saw, not only who it was, but his appearance. As if he knew he was being watched, which was ridiculous considering he stood in a pool of bright light that would blind him to everything beyond its scope, he pulled the soiled white tee over his head and used it to wipe at a smudge on his face and another on one of his arms. Faith felt her stomach tighten as she imagined the scent of his soap, engine oil and just a hint of fresh salty sweat.

'Who gave him the right to look like one of those damn calendar guys? Aw... What the hell does it matter if we maybe do it one more time? Or even three or four, maybe five? One more night can't make that much difference... Right?'