A/N: Thank you to Slaymesoftly for starting to beta!

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Chapter 75 - Intentions

Spike was off her in an instant, and out of the room the moment after that. Buffy lay in bed a second, stunned, before she jumped up and went after him.

He was in the bathroom, slurping water out of his cupped hand.

Buffy flipped the lights on. Spike spit in the sink.

“Thanks so much,” she said.

“Don’t start with that. You’re a bloody delicacy.” He spit again.

“Uh-huh.”

She was not going to be insulted that he wasn’t drinking her blood. Because that was gross and wrong on so many levels.

Spike turned off the water and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. He was still completely naked.

Well, so was she. But she was cold. Buffy reached for her robe, which was hanging on the back of the door.

“What’s that?” he asked suddenly, voice sharp.

Crap. She’d forgotten about the bruise on her arm. “What’s what?”

She quickly pulled the robe off the hook and wrapped it around herself.

“Turn around,” he ordered.

Buffy did so, tying the belt. She stared at him challengingly.

Spike crossed the bathroom in a single stride, reaching for her collar. Buffy slapped his hand away. Ignoring her, he carefully but firmly took hold of her wrist and pulled the robe off her shoulder with his other hand.

He froze, staring at her arm. Buffy could see the instant he put it all together, even though he must have suspected from the very moment he’d glimpsed it.

Spike gaped at her, horrified. He abruptly took a step back, like he was afraid he might injure her by sheer proximity.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Buffy looked at her arm. The bruise was large and dark now, and obviously hand-shaped. “Because I knew you’d just freak out about it.” She sighed, pulling her robe back up and retying the belt.

He ran a hand through his hair. “Fuck, Buffy, I could’ve killed you.”

“It’s a bruise. And no, you couldn’t have.”

“Yeah? What if we’d started out different, jumped right in? God, what if I’d—”

“Now who’s playing the what if game? No what if games, remember?”

Spike sank down on the edge of the bathtub, hands on the side of his head.

“We’re not doing this,” Buffy said firmly. She stood over him, hands on her hips. “We’re not making a big thing over this. You’re not going to spend an hour beating yourself up and apologizing to me.”

Spike’s hands dropped as he looked up. “I hurt you.”

He said it like it was the greatest crime he could commit.

“You didn’t know I was going to go all breakable Buffy. No one could have.”

His eyes were locked on her arm again, as if he could see through the material of her sleeve. He looked haunted.

Buffy snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Can we get back to just a minute ago?”

Spike stared at her blankly.

“Hello? What do you mean I’ve been drugged?”

He looked at her a moment more before he stood. “There’s somethin’ in you that shouldn’t be.”

“What?”

“Not sure, exactly.”

“How can you tell?”

He raised a brow. “Blood with drugs always tastes different. Common ones, I could pick out. Some of ’em will give you a nice buzz. That’s different, though.”

Buffy glanced down at herself, like she could see inside her body. “I don’t remember being drugged,” she said, as if that took care of it. “How could it have happened?”

Spike hesitantly stepped toward her. “I don’t know, love.”

“I haven’t been anywhere, seen anyone. And I’m with you all night. It doesn’t make any sense.” Except that it was making a sort of horrible sense, as explanations for missing strength went.

Spike met her gaze. “We’ll figure it out, Buffy.” Then he looked down. “Here, pet, let me clean that off.”

Buffy turned to glance in the mirror. There was still blood on her neck. Blood that Spike usually licked off.

He grabbed a wad of toilet paper and carefully dabbed at the blood that had dripped down her throat.

“Here,” Buffy said, wetting a washcloth.

Spike took it from her.

“See?” she asked lightly. “I told you that you needed washcloths.”

Neither of them commented on the fact that the holes in her neck were a bit rougher than usual. He’d removed his teeth a bit hastier than usual.

Afterward, they stood awkwardly for a moment before Spike moved, going into the kitchen. Buffy followed him.

She watched while he took a bag of blood from the fridge and popped it in the microwave. The timer dinged and he took it out, slipping into game face. She watched as he (still completely naked) drained the bag.

Buffy stood between the kitchen and the living room, her toes lined up at the edge of the carpet just before the linoleum started. She wrapped her arms around herself.

She suddenly felt like crying. Nothing made any sense.

Spike threw the bag in the trash.

“Is someone poisoning me?” she said. “Is this it, or will I just get weaker and weaker? Will I even be able to get out of bed tomorrow?” Her voice cracked. “Is someone trying to kill me? Is it Angelus? Maybe this is what he’s been doing.”

He stopped in front of her, still in game face. “I won’t,” he said, “let anything happen to you.”

Buffy looked down, blinking back tears. “What if you can’t stop it?”

“I promise you we’ll figure it out.”

“How?”

“Hit some places, see if anyone knows anything, heard anything. Get the Watcher and the little witch on it. Know it’s not magical, now.”

“I’m sure it will look better tomorrow,” she said dully. Buffy half-suspected that she was right. Bad as things were, they would seem different after sleep and with a clear head.

Spike was still just standing there, staring down at her. She thought he could at least be comforting her or something.

“Touch me,” she suddenly said.

He didn’t move.

Buffy raised an eyebrow. “You won’t hurt me.”

“I already did.”

“Accidentally. It doesn’t count.”

Spike didn’t say anything.

“It doesn’t,” Buffy repeated. “And you know what? Not that hurt, here. And it won’t happen again. You know now, and I know you wouldn’t do anything that would hurt me, even unintentionally.”

She put her hands on his chest, meeting his eyes. “Of all the things I’m worried about right now, you’re not one of them. There’s not going to be another accident.”

For a moment, Spike remained frozen.

Then he reached for the belt of her robe, slowly untying it without looking. His hands moved up to her neck, and he slid the robe off her shoulders. It fell to the floor, a pile of material.

Spike wrapped his arms around her, pressing his body to hers as he rested his head on her shoulder. “I’m still sorry.”

Buffy didn’t say that he didn’t need to be. She sensed that he just needed to say it.

They stood together for over a minute.

She felt Spike’s face change back as he rubbed his cheek against hers. “You wanna go back to bed?” he asked.

“I kind of feel like taking a bath, actually.”

“All right,” he said, moving back slightly.

Buffy went into the bathroom and started the water. Soaking in a tub always helped her relax.

Spike was hovering by the doorway. “Guess I’ll leave you to it.”

“You could stay. Or, um, join me? But I’m not up for anything,” she added. “Just so you know.”

He shut the door. “That’s fine, pet.”

“It’s just that the whole ‘I’ve been drugged’ thing is sort of a mood killer.”

Buffy pulled two towels out of the cabinet, slinging them over the top of the frosted glass doors of the tub.

She turned to see Spike staring at her arm. Her other arm.

There was a faint bruise there, too. Just the imprints of fingertips and a thumb—from when he’d grabbed her and held her in front of him with both hands.

She could see that that was his mood killer.

Spike got in the tub when it was half full, and after a moment, Buffy turned out the lights and joined him. The tub was not that big, but he settled against the back of it and she sat at the other end.

She slid the glass doors closed and turned to the faucet, running her hands underneath it and splashing water over her face. Buffy shut off the tap when it began to cool and dipped her head beneath the surface, wetting her hair.

She sat back up and she heard Spike move behind her, the water sloshing against the tub. She was surprised when she felt his fingers push her hair to the side before he began to gently rub her back. Spike’s hands smoothly traveled over her shoulders and her back. They slowly traced downward along her spine and then went up her sides, lingering to tenderly work her shoulders before starting back down.

It seemed to last forever.

Then his fingers slid up once more, gliding over her shoulders and carefully going down her arms. So carefully down her arms that he barely touched her. Spike pressed his palms to the backs of her hands and threaded his fingers through hers. He folded her arms inward, crossing them over her chest and crossing his in turn.

Then he let go, stretching to reach around her. In the dark, she couldn’t see what he did, but a moment later she felt the cold gel of shampoo on her head. He began to rub it in.

“All this pretty hair,” he murmured.

Buffy sighed as he massaged her scalp. Having someone else wash her hair was relaxing on a level she couldn’t even begin to describe.

He added more shampoo, more than was really necessary, as he worked her hair into a sudsy mess. A relaxing, sudsy mess.

She rinsed it as best she could when he was done, knowing she’d have to rinse it again at the end with non-soapy water.

Spike leaned against the back of the tub, and Buffy settled against him, lying with her back to his chest and resting her head on his shoulder. After a moment, his arms came up to encircle her. His body was warmed from the water. It was odd, after she had become so used to his being cool.

Her own body was nearly submerged. Everything was warm and dark, and the only noise was the quiet rippling of the water.

A minuscule amount of light came in from the tiny frosted window. It shone orange from the streetlights in the parking lot.

“You should get some candles,” she breathed.

“Yeah?”

“They’re relaxing. And moody.”

“Thought we didn’t have a mood.”

“Candles are good for any mood. And they make it homey.”

Spike was lightly running his hand over her fingers. He was so tactile, always kissing, always touching. Even now, when she was naked and against him, he still had to be touching her.

But his fingers now were so gentle and careful. She was aware that seeing the bruise on her arm had shaken him, but she knew he would never injure her on purpose. How reverently he was touching her attested to that fact.

Buffy sighed. “I feel better.”

“Good,” he whispered.

“Mm, I could fall asleep right here.”

“Better not.”

“I used to take such long baths, Mom would joke about having to come check on me to make sure I hadn’t drowned. I know she was kidding, but I think she actually worried about me going to sleep and slipping under.”

“I won’t let you slip under.”

She smiled. “I didn’t figure you would.”

-----

They both slept late the next day. The bedroom was always dark due to the blanket over the window, and it was rather easy to drift in and out of sleep until noon, particularly when she didn’t feel like getting up.

And it was always easy for a vampire to sleep until noon.

Buffy didn’t really wake up until she realized that she should probably at least go to the Magic Box and check in before it got dark.

She sleepily leaned over the edge of the bed, feeling around on the floor. Her hand found her phone, and she looked at the clock.

“Ugh, it’s one-thirty.”

“So?” Spike mumbled.

“I’ve got to see Willow sometime today.”

He shifted. “I’ll come with you.”

“You look tired.”

“So?”

“I’m just going to the Magic Box. I’ll be fine for an hour. It’s broad daylight, I’ll drive my car, and I’ll be back long before dark.”

For a second he looked like he was going to argue with her. Then he slumped back against the pillows. “Fine.”

Buffy got out of bed and quickly dug through the closet, pulling out a pair of jeans and a long-sleeve blue shirt.

“You’ll be fine for an hour,” he repeated as she left the room. “But I’ll be there after that.”

She started to protest, but reminded herself that they didn’t know what was going on. Buffy nodded as she closed the door behind her.

She went into the bathroom and put on her clothes. When she turned to the mirror, Buffy froze.

Crap.

While it was true that being the Slayer didn’t make Spike’s biting her hurt less, she had failed to remember that being the Slayer did come with nifty healing.

Which meant that today she was sporting a lovely jagged reminder of last night, complete with discolored skin and scabs.

Crap, crap, crap.

Buffy fixed her hair and quickly did her makeup. Then she used concealer on her neck.

It did not conceal.

There was nothing to do except go back to her house first and get something to cover her neck. Giles would notice a scarf. Maybe she could wear her beaded choker.

Sighing, Buffy grabbed her keys and left.

-----

She arrived at the Magic Box a short time later, choker firmly in place.

Willow practically jumped up when she came in. She was at the table, which was completely covered with open books. There were even books on the floor, a thing that Buffy was sure was some sort of research sacrilege.

“Buffy! I was just about to call you. I, uh, might have found something.”

“Well, it’s about time,” Anya said from behind the counter. “You’ve been here since dawn.” She looked at Buffy. “She’s been over there all morning, mumbling and making me bring her coffee.”

“You’ve been here since dawn?” Buffy echoed.

“Well, I was up all night anyway, and I wanted to cross reference something in a book Giles had—and I’ve got a key for Oz’s nights, so I came on down. Giles came in later to open up, but he left, said he had something to do.”

“You stayed up all night?”

“Uh-huh,” she said, overly chipper.

Buffy set her purse on the table. “Willow, when you said you’d keep working on it, I didn’t mean for you to stay up all night.”

“But I had to figure it out. I’d tell myself I was just going to read one more thing or check one more thing, and then poof! It was sunrise. Reminded me of my final project last semester for Psych.”

“I didn’t think you’d be the type to wait until the last minute.”

“Oh, it wasn’t the last minute,” Willow assured her. “But I just got so into it that I couldn’t stop.”

Anya had already gone back to writing in the account book.

Buffy leaned in closer to Willow. “Spike said someone drugged me,” she said in a low voice.

She brightened. “Really?” Then her brow furrowed. “I mean, uh, that’s not good.”

“No kidding.”

“But that means I’m on the right track. Which is good. Though bad,” she clarified. “How did he know?”

“He could, um, tell. He said something was off with me. So you said you found something?” Buffy asked, moving right along with the subject changing.

“Well, not something as in the answer, but something as in something. Look at this,” Willow said. She proudly flipped to a bookmark that was stuck in the pages of one of the volumes.

Buffy looked at the page intently for a moment, and then glanced to Willow, who was watching with anticipation. “This isn’t English,” Buffy finally said.

“Oh. Uh, right. Well, okay, this sentence here is talking about the Slayer,” she said, pointing. “It mentions some sort of loss. And this is the verb.” Willow tapped the page. “Now, the way the ending is conjugated—this is a statement, but the ending has like a nuance. And this one implies that something caused the thing to happen, that it was a result of something, not like it just happened.”

“Okay.”

Willow moved around the table, flipping to another book. “And here, it talks about a test, but not a test of strength. And this, I just found this.” She pointed to another book. “I’m not sure what it says yet, but I think it references the first book.”

“The one about the losing.”

She nodded. “The thing is…I mean, I’ve got to be wrong, right? Or…”

“Or what?”

Willow put her hand on the third book. “This is about the see-ers.”

Buffy frowned. “The seers?”

“No, the see-ers. The ones who see. It could be several different words in English—see, observe, witness.” She paused. “Watch.”

“Watch?” Buffy was still for a moment. “The Watchers? Why would they do that?”

Willow sighed. “I know, right?”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

There was silence.

“Unless it really is some sort of test,” Anya spoke up. She was apparently listening again. “You wouldn’t believe some of the coming of age tests I’ve seen. Those were human, though. Very barbaric. But a nice spectator sport.” She shrugged.

Buffy exchanged a glance with Willow.

“A test.” Willow said. “It says a test.”

“I guess,” Buffy said slowly. “Maybe.”

“Giles really didn’t seem that enthusiastic about helping research yesterday.”

“Maybe he knows,” Anya said.

“He couldn’t,” Willow said. “Could he?”

“This is crazy. This is all crazy.” But Buffy suddenly had a horrible feeling creep over her. She didn’t know exactly what was going on, but she knew something was going on.

Suddenly, the bell above the door rang and Giles walked in. “Good afternoon.” He paused in the middle of the room. “Good Lord, why are you all looking like that?”

“Willow thinks the Council took away Buffy’s powers,” Anya stated.

“Why, that’s absurd.” He adjusted his glasses. “Preposterous.” Giles looked at Willow and all the books that she had spread out.

“I have every right to read these,” she said defensively. “They’re on the shelf. Nothing like the time I took that one before you could lock the case back.”

“Willow’s wrong,” Buffy said. “Right?”

“Of c-course.” He seemed to be searching for something else to say.

“They why didn’t you help research? Why didn’t you seem very concerned yesterday?”

Giles paused a second too long.

“Oh, God.” Buffy felt her whole body deflate. “The Council did this? And you knew? How could you let them do that to me?”

Giles gradually sat down. Buffy remained standing.

“It’s a test,” he said slowly, “called the Cruciamentum. It’s a ritual that every Slayer must pass through to prove that she is more than her physical strength. It’s tradition.”

“Tradition,” she echoed hollowly.

“On her eighteenth birthday, a Slayer’s powers and strength are suppressed and she is entrapped with a vampire that she must defeat using skill and cunning alone. A Slayer must be smart and creative, must be self-reliant, or she won’t pass the test.”

How was this even happening? Buffy suddenly felt like she was watching the scene play out before her, like she was an observer of her life instead of a participant.

“What happens if she doesn’t pass the test?” she asked.

Giles said nothing.

Willow made a small, shocked noise.

“You mean she ends up dead,” Buffy said. “I end up dead.”

“Not if she is resourceful. Buffy, this has been done, and done again. The number of Slayers who don’t—but you should have no difficulties. It’s perfectly routine. I helped procure the vampire myself.”

“Oh, sure. I should have no problem slaying a vampire like this. I wonder why Slayers have powers at all. I mean, it’s so easy any girl can do it,” she finished with a fake smile.

“Buffy—”

“And by the way, not eighteen, here.”

“The Council saw no reason why you should be exempt simply because of an irregular later calling. After my reports of your abilities, they decided on the first month of the new year for your Cruciamentum.”

“Goody,” she muttered.

“This is important, Buffy,” Giles said sternly.

“Do I get a gold star and a cookie if I pass? Or just the satisfaction of living to slay another day?” She crossed her arms.

“It’s supposed to take place tonight,” he continued. “I’m to direct you to the old house on Pine Street. That’s where the vampire is, er, entrapped.”

“Don’t suppose I get to take a flamethrower with me?”

“The Slayer is allowed what she normally carries on her person. The point is to be re—”

“Resourceful. Right. And what resources am I supposed to use, huh? Being all entrapped up there?”

“Generally, there should be some items for your use. Wooden furniture—there’s often a rudimentary fire as well.”

Buffy just stared at him. How was she supposed to do this? How could they expect her to do this? “Rudimentary fire,” she repeated. “Furniture? I can’t break the leg off a chair like this! How does any of that help? Why not just send me in with toothpicks and matches?”

Giles looked at her seriously. “Buffy, this is important,” he repeated. “Because you know about the test, it would be invalidated. The Council cannot find out about this.”

“Oh, no,” she said flatly. “Wouldn’t want that.”

“I could be reassigned, for one. But more importantly, you wouldn’t escape the Cruciamentum, and would perhaps be forced to repeat it under less favorable conditions.”

The room was silent for a moment.

Willow was looking at Giles with a mixture of disbelief and uncertainty. Anya was leaning on the counter and readily awaiting the next exchange. Right now, Buffy didn’t care about either of them.

“How?” she asked quietly. “How did they do it? Take my power?”

Giles looked down, and then after what seemed like forever, he slowly pulled a thin box out of his briefcase. He laid it on the table and opened it. There was a syringe inside.

“During your meditation,” he said. “Once on Sunday night, and again yesterday. It’s an organic compound—temporary, of course—comprised of muscle relaxants and adrenal suppressants.” He paused. “You’ll—you’ll be yourself again in a few days.”

Buffy ran her hand over the case, feeling tears building in her eyes. “You did this to me?” she whispered.

Bad enough that he had known, but that he had done it—and then had silently watched while she tried to figure out what was happening to her body. Her anger turned into a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“I’m sorry, Buffy.” Giles looked up at her. “You have to understand that this wasn’t pleasant for me, either.”

“No! You don’t get to feel bad!” Buffy swallowed, backing away. “I thought that someone was poisoning me, that it was a plot, that maybe it wouldn’t stop with my Slayer strength and I’d just wither away. But no, it was you. You! I thought you were helping me, teaching me to focus my power. But that was just a convenient cover to get me out of it so you could inject me!”

“I did what every Watcher must—”

“Shut up.” She shook her head, willing herself not to cry. “Someone tried to kidnap me in L.A. Did you know that? They stuck a needle in me, drugged me up and tried to drag me off. How are you any different? Drug me so I can’t fight, take away what I have and then throw me to the vampires?”

“What do you intend to do about tonight?” Giles asked calmly, standing up.

“I don’t know! How am I supposed to kill a vampire? I don’t know. But don’t worry,” she spat. “You won’t lose your job.” Buffy wiped at the corner of her eye and then brushed her hair behind her ear.

“That’s hardly all I’m—” he cut himself off, looking at her and seeming to see her for the first time. “Were you bitten?” he asked with sudden concern.

Buffy laughed. “Yeah. I was.”

“You should—someone should dress it.”

“It’s fine now.”

“May I look?”

“Right, because I’m so letting you near me with a medical kit.”

She laughed again. Then she turned and left the store.