Chapter Six

Buffy let herself into the house, taking the blood to the kitchen and putting all but one container of it away.  Faint tingles on the back of her neck told her that the vampire she’d left in the cellar was not dust and still in the house, so she poured a large mug full of blood and put it in the microwave. While it spun around, she found the note Dawn had left and read it quickly.

Hi – Bob was very quiet. I didn’t check, so I don’t know if that means he’s sleeping or dust. I’ll be staying at the school tonight, so don’t worry about dinner for me.  TTS, Dawn.

Setting the note down, Buffy took the cup from the oven and walked over to the door to the basement. She opened the door, hit the light switch, and started down the stairs, thanking her slayer coordination for her ability to carry the very full mug without slopping blood all over her hand.

She walked around the corner and found Bob lying on his side and staring at the cup in her hand with hungry yellow eyes.

“Hey,” she said softly. “Can you hold this yourself yet?”

“Tired of coddling the old vamp?” he rasped, struggling to a sitting position. 

“I just thought maybe you’d rather be in charge of pouring it down your throat.”

“Sorry, pet,” he said, holding out one shaking hand. “Seems like being hungry makes me cranky in a way that starving never did.”

Buffy handed him the cup, not letting go until she was sure he had a good grip on it. When it appeared as if he wasn’t going to be able to lift to his mouth, she sat down beside him and put her hand around it.

“Here, let me," she said, allowing him to guide the cup, but using her own strength to lift it.  As it reached his lips, she noticed that they seemed marginally fuller and less raw than before.  With Buffy’s help, he drained the cup in one go and sighed in relief.

“More?” she asked, taking the cup and edging away from him.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” he said. “The more I eat, the faster I’ll be out of your hair.”

“I think…” She thought better of telling him about Giles’s idea of using him to help train slayers, and changed to, “It’s not a problem. You can stay until we both know you’re well enough to take care of yourself.  I don’t want to go into the shed three weeks from now and find you curled up with Roscoe again.”

“Wouldn’t do that to you, luv. Once I’m gone, I promise you’ll never see me again.”

“I’m not finding that as reassuring as you probably meant it to be,” she said, standing up. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”

He was already lying down, eyes closed and face relaxed. “Be right here,” he mumbled.

Three mugs of blood later, he shook his head when she asked if he wanted more. “Want, yes. Be able to hold onto? I doubt it.  Just let me absorb this good old Hampshire hog’s gift of life for a while.”

Buffy nodded and cocked her head at him. “You look… okay, you don’t actually look better, ‘cause…” She waved her hand at his burns and scars. “But you seem to be stronger.  How do you feel?”

“Like a kind, beautiful woman has been spending way too much of her time taking care of something so far beneath her she ought to be wiping it off her shoes.”

Buffy stared at him, mouth open and face turning red. At a loss for a reply, she just ran upstairs and began washing the cup out in the sink. As she put it on the drainer to dry, she shook her head at herself. “Get a grip, Buffy. He’s grateful. Deal with it.” Pushing away memories of another vampire who had thought she was beautiful and too good for him, she marched back down the stairs and around the corner. She found him sitting on the edge of the bed, hands dangling between his knees, as if contemplating standing up.

“You better not be thinking what I think you’re thinking,” she said, hands on hips and belligerent glare on her face.

“I embarrassed you. I’m sorry,” he said, ignoring her words.

Buffy sighed. “You didn’t embarrass me. You just reminded me of some… somebody else. I should have been able to deal with it better than that.”

He turned his head to the side and looked up at her. “Before I leave here, you’re going to have to tell me about that other vampire you used to take care of.”

Buffy made a non-committal sound and walked closer. “It’s ancient history,” she said. “Really nothing to tell.”

“Uh huh.” His ragged voice dripped skepticism. There was silence for few seconds, then, suddenly, “Is that why you’re helping me? Do I remind you of him?”

“Oh, God no!  I mean, yeah, you’re all with the English accent and stuff, but no, you’re nothing like him.” She stared at him. “At least, I don’t think you are,” she admitted. “It’s kind of hard to tell with you being all skinny and scarred up… But, no. I’m not doing this because you remind me of Spike, I’m doing it because… I… because… I don’t know why I’m doing it. Why don’t you just quit asking me?”

“Because I don’t understand.  The more I think about what I am—what I’m capable of—you should have dragged me out into the sun as soon as you found me.”

“You really don’t want me having second thoughts about this,” she said, the warning in her voice very clear. “If I were you, I’d shut up.”

Ignoring her, he continued. “I don’t know why you believed me when I told you I was staying away from people. You didn’t know me, had no reason to think a vampire could have that kind of control…”

“Look.” Buffy threw her arms up and began to pace. “It was stupid, okay? But it’s not like I was in any danger – trust me, even healthy, you aren’t going to take me on and win – you wouldn’t have been able to get in the house anyway; and you didn’t sound… you didn’t sound like the average vamp. And the city’s full of student slayers just looking for something to practice on. Letting you get away didn’t seem like anything to worry about.  And it kinda seems like maybe I was right – so quit trying to make a big deal out of it.”

“Don’t suppose you have any idea why I’m like this?” He sounded genuinely curious, and Buffy accepted how frustrating it must be for him not to remember anything about who he was... or who he had been before he was turned.

“Actually…” She studied him for a second, then shrugged. “I do. Or at least I have a possibility in mind.  Would you be willing to meet with a friend of mine?”

He shrugged. “Assuming she’d be willing to get anywhere near me. Is she another slayer?”

“No. She’s a witch. I want her to read your aura. To see if you have a… a soul.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Again, genuine lack of understanding was all she could read in his voice and eyes.

“Because you’re a vampire, remember? Vamps are demons. They don’t have souls. The soul leaves when the demon takes over.”

“Huh.”  He seemed unsure what to make of that, mulling it over for a while. “So, what makes you think I have one?”

“The whole not-eating people thing, trying not to hurt the slayers, saving Dawn from that definitely not-souled vamp even though you were half dead yourself… stop me when I get to something that sounds remotely demonic or evil.”

He cocked his head at her. “This vampire that’s ancient history, did he have a soul?”

“Eventually, he did.”

“But not all the time? When you knew him, he didn’t have a soul, but he was still a hero?”

“He… it was complicated. He was evil at first, and then he couldn’t…and he started helping, and after that he…” She glared at him. “He got his soul so he could be a better… better man.” She paused and took a deep breath.

“Why did he want to be better? Wasn’t he happy being a vampire?”

Buffy bit her lip and tried to come up with a way out of the trap she’d set for herself. Me. He did it for me. “He just wanted to be better.  And this is soooo none of your business!”

“So, he was able to do good things without the soul?” He gave no sign that he’d noticed her panicked reaction to his questioning.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore. As soon as you’re strong enough, I’ll get Willow over here and we’ll find out what’s up with you.”

“Whenever you want, Slayer,” he said, sudden exhaustion overtaking him. Buffy gave a guilty flinch when she realized how long he’d been talking.

“You should have shut up when I told you to – now look what you’ve done!” She watched him stretch out on the mattress, closing his eyes and going limp.

“I’ll be fine, Slayer. Just need to rest a bit.  Go on back upstairs into the light.” He spoke without opening his eyes, and without the usual gasping for enough air to speak.

“I’ll come down and check on you before I go to bed, ‘k?”

There was no response from the inert body on the bed, so Buffy turned around and left the damp basement.  She fixed herself a salad for dinner, putting tuna fish on it for protein, and rewarding herself with ice cream for dessert.  She called Willow’s number and left a message about setting up a time to read Bob, then watched TV for an hour or so.

Bored with the television, and too sleepy to go out and patrol, she went to the kitchen and fixed another mug of blood. She made her way downstairs and found Bob sitting up again and examining his wounds. He’d taken off the few tattered pieces of tee-shirt he’d been wearing and was feeling the scars and burns on his ribs when she came around the corner.

“Oh! Sorry,” she stuttered. “I didn’t think about knocking.”

He shrugged one bare shoulder. “Don’t need to knock, luv, it’s your house. And I heard you comin’ anyway. Just didn’t feature putting my rags back on to spare your dainty eyes.”

Buffy narrowed said eyes at him. “I think I liked you better when you thought they were pretty eyes,” she said. “What flew up your butt and bit you?”

He sighed. “Nothing. Everything. I’m sorry, Slayer. Guess I must be getting better; I’m starting to care about things like torn clothing and scars on my body.”  He looked up at her, fading out of his fangs and wrinkles. “What do I look like?” he asked, feeling his face and tracing the scars with his fingers.  When she didn’t reply, only stared, clearly unsure of what to say, he nodded. “Not so pretty, huh?”

“You’ll heal,” she said. “You’re a vampire. Vamps don’t usually have scars. Even if it takes a long time, they go away eventually. Usually.”

“Usually?”

Buffy looked uncomfortable. “Spike had one. But he got it from a slayer with a magical sword. Nothing else that ever happened to him left permanent scars.”

He nodded. “Guess I’d better hope whatever did this to me didn’t have any slayer magic then, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she responded.  “Here. Take this. I’m going to bed. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“You didn’t get any sleep last night. And that’s my fault.” He took the mug and inhaled the scent of the warm blood. “Go on, Slayer. This’ll do me just fine till tomorrow. I’ve already had more to eat in the past twenty-four hours than I can remember ever having before.”

“You sound a lot stronger,” she said. “But you still look like crap – no offense.”

“None taken,” he said with a short laugh. “My insides feel better. Doesn’t hurt so much to swallow or breath. My tongue is working better. Guess the vocal cords are healing too, although I still sound like somebody’s grandfather.”

“Spike told me one time that vampires heal from the inside out. Sometimes he’d still have bruises and scabs long after I would have expected them to be gone, but when I asked him why he wasn’t healing, he told me his insides were fine. The blood or energy or whatever, went there first.”  Now that she’d said Spike’s name, Buffy couldn’t think of any good reason not to use it in front of Bob. She’d already admitted to having known him well and for a long time; there was no sense pretending that he hadn’t been the source of much of her information about vampires.

“Sounds about right,” he agreed, sliding back to rest against the wall while he drank the blood.  He looked at her over the rim of the cup, his blue, human eyes peering at her with a warmth that made her uncomfortable. “Go, Slayer. Get some sleep.”

She nodded. “Okay. Good night, Bob.”

“Night, Buffy.”

                 By the time Willow arrived the following afternoon, Bob was sitting up and even attempting to stand from time to time. Only the pain of his not yet healing burns kept him from trying to walk around the cellar.

Buffy had run out that morning to the nearest discount store and bought a few soft tee shirts and a cheap buttoned shirt, hoping that one or the other of them might be soft enough to not irritate the raw skin on Bob’s torso. She’d also bought an inexpensive pair of sweat pants that she was sure would be less irritating to his legs than the stiff, blood-encrusted jeans he was still wearing.  The relief on his face at no longer having the tee-shirt rubbing against his skin hadn’t gone unnoticed, and she could only imagine what it must feel like to have denim sliding past the open wounds on his legs.

She presented him with her purchases when she got home, only to find him reluctant to take them.

“I appreciate the thought, Buffy. But I don’t want you spendin’ your money on me.”

“You need clothes. These were cheap. You can owe me, if it makes you feel better.”

He nodded and took the package, peering in and then back at her. “Tell me, Slayer,” he said with a twinkle in his eye, “is this really for me, or is it just to keep you from ogling my tight little body?”

Buffy gaped at him, then noticed the humor behind his comment. “You wish,” she said, tossing her hair. “If you could see yourself in a mirror, you’d know how dumb that question was.”

The humor vanished from his eyes as he said, “So, it’s to cover up the things you don’t want to look at, then?”  He glanced down at his scarred and burnt torso. “Can’t say I really blame you.”

“I didn’t… I don’t….” She rolled her eyes.  “That’s not it either. Are you always this irritating?”

“You trying to tell me you like looking at this mess?” He gestured with one hand, encompassing himself from head to toe. “And how the bloody hell would I know what I’m always like?”

“No. I’m not saying that. But I’m not trying to cover it up so I don’t have to look at it either. It is what it is. I can deal.  But Willow’s coming over this afternoon and I just thought….  You know what? Do whatever you want. If you want to meet her covered in rags and oozing sores, knock yourself out.  She’ll deal too. And Dawn’s already seen you, so she won’t care either.”

Buffy turned and flounced up the stairs, muttering to herself the whole time. “I should have staked him when he laughed at me for being afraid of a rat. Stupid vampire.”

              Willow had arrived accompanied by Dawn, who admitted to being curious about their guest now that he was conscious and talking, Buffy fixed another mug of blood and led them to what she was now silently thinking of as “Bob’s room”.

When he met them in front of his little alcove, standing up, one hand on the wall in barely noticeable support, he was wearing the sweat pants and one of the tee shirts.  Buffy had purchased fairly large sizes in hopes that the extra fabric would mean less rubbing on the wounds, so she frowned when she noticed that blood or some other fluid had leaked through the pants leg over his wounded thigh.

Following her gaze, Bob shook his head. “No worries, Slayer. The flesh is growing over the bone and there are blood vessels leaking. I’m sorry it stained my new clothes, but—”

“No, it’s okay. I should have expected….” She shook her head. “I don’t know why I didn’t think to bandage you.  I’m stupid.”

He shrugged, then gave up pretending he was more recovered than he actually was and sat down. “Pretty hard to put bandages on stuff like this,” he said. “Wouldn’t expect it of you, anyway.”

“I probably wouldn’t have expected it of me either,” she sighed. “Good thing I never went into nursing, I guess.”

Willow and Dawn cleared their throats and Buffy hastened to move aside so they could see the vampire.

“Bob, this is Dawn – my sister – she’s the one you saved the other night.  And this is Willow. She’s my friend, and an awesome witch.”

He raised his eyes to the strangers, the color flickering back and forth between blue and yellow.  “Ladies,” he said in a voice that Buffy was pleased to find sounded more and more like he wasn’t forcing the words out through shards of glass.

“Hi.” Willow waved, her eyes running over him from the still-burned and bald head to his bare feet. They paused briefly at the stained area on his leg, then went up to meet his eyes. “Wow,” she said. “And, owie!”

He twisted his mouth into some semblance of a grin, and nodded. “Very owie,” he agreed.

Dawn moved toward him, seemingly unafraid about getting too close to a potentially dangerous vampire.  She held out her hand and waited for the surprised vamp to take it. “Thank you,” she said, squeezing it just enough to be sincere, but not so much as to hurt him. “For saving me, I mean.”

“You’re welcome, pet. Don’t know that I remember much about it, but if you say I saved you, well, good on me, I guess.”

“You did. So good for you.”

She dropped his hand and stepped out of the way as Willow and Buffy moved closer.  Willow placed a small bowl of herbs on the floor and lit them. As she inhaled the fumes, she reached for the hand Dawn had just released and held it over the smoke. Bob flinched as his hand neared the small fire and Buffy stepped to his side, saying, “She isn’t going to hurt you. I promise.”

Willow shot Buffy an irritated glance, then sighed. “She’s right. I’m not going to hurt you, but I need for your hand to be with mine inside the smoke. Is that okay? We’re not going to touch the flames, I swear.”

Buffy rested a comforting hand on his shoulder and he nodded, relaxing his arm and allowing Willow to hold it where she wanted it.  She closed her eyes and chanted a few soft words, holding his hand lightly and trying not to rub the still burned flesh there.  She finished her chant, dropped her head to her chest for a second, then gasped. Her eyes flew to him, then to Buffy, then back to Bob.