Chapter Thirteen

The silence left behind lasted only as long as it took for the slayers to snap out of their shock and start babbling.  In front of their eyes, the dead demons and the gore and ichor began to dissolve into liquid that then turned to smoke and wafted away.  While everyone looked on with open mouths, they were soon standing in an area that showed no signs of the recent activities except a rudely-constructed trebuchet on the roof of the garage, some ruined landscaping, and dented concrete on one of the lower walls.

“Let’s go!” Buffy shouted as the sound of approaching sirens reached them. The uninjured slayers began to fade away into the shadows, moving with super speed to get as far away as they could before the emergency vehicles arrived. Willow and the other witches jumped into one of the two vans carrying injured or dead slayers, throwing temporary glamours around them.  With Xander and a watcher driving, both vans were safely away, having passed only one police car as they hurried back to the Council compound.

Spike and Buffy watched from the roof of one of the buildings.  They’d easily dodged the night watchman, who was now busy waving his arms around and telling the police about bright lights, monsters, screams, and disappearing holes in the air.  “I’d feel sorry for him if this wasn’t so funny,” Spike said, leaning heavily on the sword, using it as a crutch.

In spite of trying for a disapproving look, Buffy had to giggle. “Yeah. He’s going to be regretting that phone call for a long time.”

By unspoken agreement, they had waited, hidden on the roof, just to be sure nothing scaly and deadly had survived the slayers and missed the trip back through the portal. Spike was leaning on the sword, trying not to look as exhausted and beat up as he really was. Buffy, although in better shape than the vampire she was watching carefully when she thought he wouldn’t notice, was also tired and bruised.  She was very grateful when she saw that not only were there no demons visible anywhere, but that at least one of the police vehicles contained armed men.

“Okay,” she said after they’d watched for several minutes. “I think they’ll be fine without us hovering.  Let’s go.”

They quickly went down the fire stairs and out the door Spike had opened while the watchman was distracted, wondering where all the bodies had gone and how he was going to justify his frantic emergency call. Buffy tried to watch Spike’s limping progress without letting on she was monitoring it. They spotted one lesser demon, making its way back to the vicinity of the portal, nodding when the distant sound of gunshots indicated it was not likely to be a problem any more.

“Awww. Now the watchman won’t be fired for dreaming it all up,” Buffy said. She’d taken her eyes off Spike to stop and listen to the reception the stray demon got. “He’ll just have to explain how one dissolving monster did all the stuff he was describing.”

“Buffy?”  Spike’s voice was much softer than she expected and she whirled to find him swaying on his feet.  “I think I might need to sit for a bit….” Her arm was under his shoulder before he could hit the ground, and she lowered him gently.  “Sorry, love. I’d tell you you were right and I wasn’t ready, but then you’d be trying to tell me what to do all the bloody time.”

She snorted. “And we both know how well that works.” She sighed and sat down beside him. “I’m not all that gung ho about carrying you all the way home. We should have thought of this before and stashed a car somewhere.”  She pulled out her phone and dialed the Council offices, surprised when Giles answered the phone himself.

“Where are you?” he said.  “The girls are back, Willow’s back, but no one seems to know what happened to the two of you.”

“We hung out for a while just in case, but it looks like I might have overestimated our stamina.  Any chance you can send somebody to pick us up?  I think we’re near…” She looked around. “Some kind of stadium.”

“Check your phone.” Xander’s voice came on the line. “It’ll tell you exactly where you are.”

“Oh yeah, hold on.”  Buffy checked her location, rattled off the nearest streets and hung up after being assured someone would be there soon.  She sank back against the wall Spike was leaning on and put her head on his shoulder. 

“Your friend, Illyria, is pretty interesting…” she said. “Was that her real body?”

“Got no idea, love. May have been. Her world or time was a pretty nasty place, as I understand it – and she was one of the head nasties. Should be right up her alley – lots of violence, ugly things to worship her.  I hope she’s happy there.”

“Is she a she?” Buffy lifted her head and glanced at his profile, watching him frown in thought.

“Buggered if I know. I don’t know if the Old Ones had sexes. They just are. But since she was wearing Fred’s body, we just called her ‘she’ all the time. Can’t say she ever complained about it.”

“I think she had a little thing for you,” Buffy said, bumping his shoulder. “Should I be jealous?”

He snorted and bumped her back. “Can’t help it if I’m irresistible, Slayer. But you know I’m a one-woman man. Always have been.”

“Good thing for you,” she said, putting her head back on his shoulder.

“Not stupid, love. Know when I’ve got it good, don’t I?”

They waited in comfortable silence until one of the Council’s vans pulled up. Buffy pushed herself to her feet and extended a hand to Spike who willingly allowed her to help him up.  He continued to lean on the sword as he walked to the car under her watchful eye, but without assistance. Once they were in, she said, “I could have helped, you know.”

“Could have. Didn’t need to. You’re about as tired and beat up as I am, Slayer. Admit it.”

“I’ll admit I could use a hot bath and about two days’ of sleep,” she said. “That’s all I’m admitting to.”

“Forgot you had someone with you who can smell blood and sense weakness?”

“Ewwww! Thanks for that reminder, Spike.”

She shook her head at him and leaned forward to thank the driver who had delivered them to her front door.  The short walk from the street was a contest to see who could appear the least injured – a contest which Buffy won as she was able to navigate without relying on her weapon for support. Putting her key into the lock, she opened it, waited for Spike to limp in, and locked it behind them.

By mutual agreement, they went only as far as the couch before collapsing together in a heap of exhausted supernatural strength.  In the dim glow coming from the kitchen, they were soon asleep while their bodies began the mending and recovery process.

Hours later, Buffy awoke, temporarily disoriented at finding herself in the living room with a man wrapped around her. It took only a few seconds for memory to return and she snuggled into Spike, preparing to doze for a while longer.

“Are you awake?”

“Trying not to be,” she mumbled, keeping her head buried against his chest. She felt it shake with laughter and resigned herself to being up for at least long enough to go to bed.  “But I am.”

“As nice as this is, just lying here with you in my arms, I think we’d both be better off if we did something to repair the damage.”

“I guess you’re right,” she sighed, poking him when he pretended to be surprised.  “Let’s get you some more blood, and I’m going to get into a hot bath.”

“You need to eat too,” he said. “Don’t think I don’t know you did all that tonight on yogurt and leftover pizza.”

“Pizza is the new super food,” she said, sitting up and stretching. “But you need blood, and I really need that bath.”  She got up and held out her hand for him.

“Stop tryin’ to help me,” he grumbled, even as he allowed her to pull him to his feet. They were both glad he had when his bad leg buckled under him.  Buffy was able to keep him from falling, and she put his arm around her shoulders.

“Let’s go. As soon as you’ve got some blood, I’m going to get something for you.”

They made their way to the kitchen and Buffy led him to a stool.  “Just stay there,” she said as she went to the refrigerator and pulled out the last container of blood. “Guess I need to go shopping again. This is the last of it.”

“This isn’t right,” he muttered. “Should be taking care of myself, or taking care of you, not letting you keep me.”

“You can owe me,” she said as she watched the microwave.  “I’ll start running a tab.”

“Gonna hold you to that, Slayer.”

“Uh huh. You do that.”  She set the cup in front of him and said, “Drink up. I’ll be right back.”

She ran out of the room before he could ask where she was going, so he shrugged and began sipping his blood, trying to make it last.  He could hear her footsteps as she ran up to the next floor, frowning when they continued on to the third floor, and then to the attic.  He could hear her rustling around up there, then her footsteps as she made her way back down, using the back stairs this time and popping out into the kitchen.

“Here, I knew I remember seeing this.”  She proudly held out an old wooden cane that, cleaned up and polished, would probably have been worth a lot of money.  Spike just stared at it for several minutes, then held out a trembling hand.

“This was my father’s,” he said, awe in his voice. “I knew my mum kept it for a long time, but had no idea it was still around.  Just assumed it was long gone along with everything else.”

Buffy shook her head. “There’s a bunch of stuff up in the attic. I guess your relatives didn’t want to be bothered going through it, and none of the renters were willing to walk all the way up there.”

Spike turned the cane over in his hands, thumping it on the floor and smiling.  He reached back and pulled a dishtowel off the sink, beginning to rub the wood until a beautiful warm color emerged.  He glanced up at Buffy, smiling at the pleased expression on her face.  He took her hand and pulled her closer.

“Have I mentioned lately that you are one hell of a woman?” he murmured into her neck.

“I think Bob might have said something about it,” she responded, arching her neck and making sounds of approval even as she tried to push herself away.

“Smart man, Bob was,” he said, nipping at her neck before letting her go.  “Go take your bath, love.  I’ll just finish up my midnight snack and….” His voice trailed off, as he suddenly realized he hadn’t been invited to join her upstairs. “…and just clean out my cup before I tuck myself in,” he finished, not meeting her incredulous eyes.

Buffy stared at him, comprehension coming to her slowly.  She stepped back to the stool and turned his chin so he was looking at her.  She gazed into his eyes until she could read the happy understanding growing in them.  “I expect to find you ‘tucked in’ when I get out of the tub.  Unless I find myself in need of some help scrubbing my back…” She moved away before he could turn the moment into something more than verbal foreplay, flipping her hand at him as she left the kitchen by way of the back stairs.

Spike sat on the stool, a silly grin on his face as he finished the blood and listened to her moving around upstairs. He heard the tub begin to fill and imagined Buffy stripping out of her clothes, dropping them on the floor as she did so.  In spite of his depleted strength and the long evening, he could feel his cock pressing against the fabric of his pants. The elastic in the material and the tightness of the jeans made it almost as visible as it had been when he wore sweatpants.

“Down, boy,” he said, addressing his unheeding body part. “The poor chit’s had a rough night and she’s hurt and tired.  We’re not gonna be asking for anything she doesn’t want to give.”  His cock continued to ignore him, remaining firmly convinced that he needed to get upstairs before Buffy could emerge from the tub and get dressed again.  With a sigh, he put his cup in the sink and turned out the lights. He grabbed his cane, using it to support his bad leg as he followed Buffy’s scent up the stairs.


He limped into Buffy’s bedroom to find a trail of clothing leading from just inside the room to the slightly ajar bathroom door. Relying more heavily on the cane than he cared to admit to, he made his way across the room and leaned against the doorjamb.  Buffy was lying in the tub, bubbles up to her chin, her eyes shut and a blissful expression on her face.  Without opening her eyes, she said, “Are you going to just stand there, or are you going to join me?”

“Wasn’t sure you really wanted that, love,” he said. “As much as some parts of me are eager to be allowed out.”

She opened one eye and zeroed in on the unmistakable bulge in his pants. “That thing has no conscience,” she said, her voice not holding any real note of complaint.  “Or you have no sense.”

“Bit of both, I s’pect,” he chuckled.  “I can wait for you out here.” He turned to go back into the bedroom.

“No. Come on, get in with me. Trust me, it feels really good in here.”

“My memory’s not that bad,” he said as he began pulling off his shoes and socks. “Know exactly how good it feels in there.”

Buffy blushed and sputtered. “I meant, doofus, that the hot water feels really good on sore muscles and… stuff.”

She looked up at him, frowning when he wouldn’t meet her eyes. Unlike the Spike she remembered, who had been just as comfortable naked as he was wearing clothes, this one seemed ashamed to be seen.  He didn’t go so far as to try to cover himself, but his entire posture said he didn’t want her seeing his scarred and battered body.

“Hey,” she said softly. “I won’t look if you don’t want me to, but trust me when I tell you that you looked a lot worse when we found you. Come on,” she added when he didn’t move, “get in with me.”

Still without looking at her, he stepped into the deep tub and slid down behind her when she scooted forward. He couldn’t control his sigh when his tired, aching body was immersed in the hot water. He closed his eyes and rested his head on the back of the tub, putting his arms around Buffy as she leaned back against him.

“See? Didn’t I tell you it would feel good?”

“It’s brilliant,” he murmured. “I may never leave here.”

“Is that a promise?” she said, twisting her head until she could look up at his face. “’Cause, never leaving really works for me.”

He opened his eyes and looked down at her. Even with the scars, it was easy to see the emotions flickering across his face. His eyes were full of wonder and the unconditional love she’d not realized how much she depended upon until she no longer had it. Their eyes held a silent conversation in which they each pledged things their voices were afraid to say.

“Alright then,” he finally breathed into her hair.  “Alright then.” 

Satisfied, Buffy closed her eyes again and relaxed against him, savoring both the therapeutic effects of the hot water and the strange/familiar sensation of the arms wrapped around her.  She almost dozed off, only moving when the cooling water no longer encased her in warm comfort.

“Hey,” she said, touching Spike on one leg. “Are you ready to get out?”

“Whenever you are, pet.”

“I’m ready. I feel a lot better, but now I want to sleep for a week.”

He snorted. “You do that, and the Watcher’ll be sure I’ve done you in.”

To his surprise, Buffy didn’t defend Giles, just stood up and stepped out on the bath mat.  She took a towel off the bar, handing it to him when he stepped out behind her before taking her own towel off the lid of the toilet.

“You always keep two towels in here?” he asked, then sniffed the one she’d handed him. “Or did you get the one I’ve been using out of the other bath?”

“You can tell it’s yours. Don’t pretend you can’t.  And yes, I brought it in here. So what?”  She gave him a glare that dared him to say she’d been too sure of herself, but her expression softened immediately when he just smiled, saying, “So nothing, Buffy. I’m just chuffed you wanted it in here with yours.” He kept smiling as she wrapped herself in a towel which covered her from knees to shoulders.

“Well, don’t get any ideas,” she said with a sniff. “Just because we got naked together doesn’t mean you can bring that thing back out.” She pointed at his now flaccid cock. “We still have some getting to know each other to do… and some healing.”

“You want it to stay like that, you’d best take your pretty little eyes off it,” he said, draping his towel around his waist. “And find me something to wear to bed.”

“I knew I should have bought that underwear,” she muttered.  “Wait here.” She went into the bedroom, grabbed her pajama bottoms and pulled them on under the towel, then dropped it to pull on the top. She pulled it over her head and glanced up to find Spike staring at her from the bathroom doorway, his face wearing a look that was both familiar and warming. “I’ll be right back,” she said, blushing at the unabashed admiration on his face.

She ran downstairs, all the way to the basement, where she snatched his sweatpants and a tee shirt off the makeshift bed.  She turned to leave, then stopped and grabbed the jar of salve. She looked around, but could see nothing else that Spike was likely to want or need.

When she got back to her room, she found Spike standing where she’d left him, towel still around his waist.  It took her a second to notice that his attempt to be casual about leaning against the doorjamb was actually an effort to remain upright.  Without commenting, she dropped his clothes on the bed and walked past him, picking his cane up from where he’d left it in the bathroom and handing it to him. Still without speaking, she began to brush her teeth, keeping one eye on Spike as he hobbled over to the bed and sat down heavily.

By the time she finished her nightly ritual and returned to the bedroom, he’d pulled on the sweat pants and was lying on his back staring at the ceiling. She turned off the light and made her way to the bed, sitting down beside him and touching him lightly on his chest.

“Did you re-injure that stake wound?” she asked, moving her hand to his ribs, flinching when he hissed.

“A bit. Got pulled some. It didn’t open, but hurts like a bastard. I’ll be fine by tomorrow,” he added hastily.  “You ought to see the other guy.”

She gave a silent huff of laughter and leaned down to press her mouth to the scar.  “Maybe I can make it better,” she said, brushing her lips over it and leaving light kisses all along the length of it.

He groaned and put one hand on her head, stroking her hair.  “Could make me forget all about it; that’s for bloody sure,” he said.  “Thought you wanted to take things slow, see how we get along, get all healed and healthy?”

“I do. I just…” She sat up and climbed over him to get into the bed.  She squirmed around until she was lying under the covers, facing him in the dark. “Does this mean I can’t touch you unless I want to have sex?”

“You know it doesn’t.  Just means, when you put your mouth on me, certain things are gonna happen that I’ve got no control over.  You need to tell me where we stand, love. I don’t want to push you, but if you don’t tell me what you want, I won’t know if it’s pushing when I follow my dick over to your side of the bed.”

Buffy nodded, knowing he could see it. Before she could respond, her mouth opened in a yawn she couldn’t hide.  They both laughed and Spike put his arm around her.  “Think that’s my answer,” he murmured, pulling her back against his chest and spooning her.  “You’re hurt and tired. I’m hurt and tired. Got the rest of our lives to make love all night if that’s what we want. Tonight’s for resting and healing.”

“There’s always the morning,” Buffy said through another yawn. She was already asleep by the time Spike said, “And I’ll be right here….”


AN:
For those of you who think I'm (or Buffy is) being a tease... *shrugs* It's been a long time, she's glad he's alive, she's happy he's there, she's got a semi-apocalypse going on, and he's still injured. If we don't assume they had sex just before Sunnydale collapsed around him, then it wasn't a part of their relationship the last time they saw each other. I think some clinging and tentative steps in that direction would be quite likely, but I don't know that I think they would be ripping each other's clothes off (metaphorically speaking) right away. So, for those readers anxiously awaiting the sex (which, in case no one's noticed, I don't write as often or as graphically as I did at one time), all I can say is, I don't think it's time yet.

On the other hand, it's not like they aren't thinking about it, is it? Especially Spike, LOL

Which brings me to the next AN: Chapter Fourteen, as it stands now, is just short of 5000 words - and it isn't quite completed. Although, unless they decide to have more sex while we watch, it's pretty close to complete. Is that too much for one chapter? Even if it does pretty much wrap up the story to this point? (And, yes, I know. I've created one of those future worlds where there could be more fics - perhaps featuring other characters with S/B in the background or whatever - but let's not go there just now). Thoughts? Ideas? I've consistently written long chapters for this story, but I don't know if 5000 + words might be too many for some readers. Personally, I'd rather read long, meaty chapters than a bunch of short choppy ones, but I know not everyone enjoys the same things I do when it comes to reading, so I'm open to suggestions. Making no promises I'll do what you suggest, but opinions are welcome and will be given due consideration.