-U2, "So Cruel"

The teddy bear was cut into five hundred jagged little bits. Picking up the puzzle box again, I looked at it, trying to figure out where the handful of light blue pieces belonged. There wasn’t any blue in the picture anywhere. I knocked over the glass I had propped against my leg and cold water poured across my thigh.

"Help!" I yelled, pressing down the intercom button.

Rapid-fire steps thudded up the stairs, and Spike burst in, looking ready to kick some ass. "What’s the matter?" he asked, his eyes scanning the room for a threat.

"I spilled water," I explained. "It’s cold as hell and it soaked my bandage." God, it was freezing, seeping across my lap and down my legs.

Hell for leather Spike switched gears before my eyes. He became smaller somehow, the fire and sparks filtering away into calm and controlled. "Not to worry. We’ll get you tidied up."

He took away the tray, pushed the covers aside and helped me up. I held on to the headboard as he stripped off the wet sheets and blankets. I’d bled through the bandage and the water had spread a pool of scarlet across the snowy white cotton of my gown. "Good times for you," I said. "Lots of tasty Slayer blood being spilled."

Spike looked at me with disgust. "You bleeding to death really doesn’t get my motor humming. No matter what you may think."

"I was just kidding." Sort of.

He took a clean set of sheets out of the closet and made up the bed again, then pulled a clean nightgown out of the drawer. "How do you know where all of my stuff is?"

"Snooped around this house quite a bit, once upon a time," he said. I remembered the shrine he’d made to me in his crypt, with my stakes and clothes. God, that had been twisted.

He handed me the nightgown and slowly I turned around. I couldn’t get it on and get the other one off while I was holding on to my bed frame.

"I need you to hold on to me so I won’t fall," I said.

"Where do you want me to hold you?" he asked, his voice neutral.

"Put your hands on my waist." He moved his hands underneath my nightgown, his familiar fingers sliding along my body.

I pulled the dirty gown off and tossed it aside. I was totally naked, except for the bandage that covered my thigh. Spike shifted his hands, holding me in place with the merest touch of his fingertips.

Lifting the nightshirt over my head, I pulled it on. As soon as the clean flannel fell over his hands he slowly turned me to face him. He stared in my eyes as he leaned me back on the bed. "Am I hurting you?" he asked. "Am I being gentle enough?"

"I feel fine," I replied. He looked at me with care and concern, his eyes a soft blue. I’d rarely looked him in the eyes when we were this close together. A flood of warmth swept over me, a feeling of attraction and homecoming. I’d missed being intimate like this.

He turned away to fetch the basket that Giles had made up, filled with thick gauze pads, peroxide, rolls of bandages and first aid tape. He set it down next to my bed and looked at me. "I don’t think that I can do this," he said.

"How many times have you fixed me up after a fight?" I asked. "This is no different. Yes, it will hurt. But I can take it. I’m a Slayer."

He didn’t look so sure. "Take some more pain medication and then I’ll do it."

"If I wait that long, the bandage will dry and my stitches will be stuck to it," I told him. "This will hurt, but it will hurt a lot less than that."

He just stared at me, blank. What the hell was his problem? "I need you to do this for me," I told him. "No one else is around to do it."

"I don’t want to hurt you," he said. "After what happened, I promised myself. I would never hurt you again, never."

Slipping along the tile floor, his hand grabbed my thigh roughly, pulling my legs apart. His eyes were wild and frantic as he ripped open my robe. "This is nothing like that, Spike," I said. "This is taking care of me, helping me to heal and not hurt." I pulled up my nightshirt, baring the wet, stained bandage. "Please. I need you."

He leaned over and slid one hand under my thigh. With the other, he unclipped the metal clasp that fastened the bandage and unwound it. I hissed at his touch, the gentle pressure more than I could bear.

In one swift motion, he ripped off the white tape that held the gauze. I screamed as agonizing pain enveloped my thigh. "Oh," I gasped, "oh Spike." The tears rolled down my face as I sobbed. I twisted the sheets between my fingers into the mattress. I didn’t even recognize the noises that I was making; they sounded like a wounded animal. He pulled away the gauze pad that covered the stitches, and my back arched.

"Hold on, Slayer, hold on, hold on," he said, as he wiped the stitches with peroxide.

"Make it stop," I said. "Stop, please, stop."

He ripped open a sterile pad and pressed it on the wound, quickly winding the gauze over it. The pain started to lessen as the pressure increased, and by the time he was pinning the Ace bandage into place, the pain was bearable again. "Thank you," I said. I looked up and he was turned away from me. "Spike?"

"When I close my eyes, I’m back there in it," he said. "Seeing your tears, feeling you pummel my flesh, hearing you scream as you fight to get away from me." He turned and looked at me, and his face was bone white. For the first time, he truly looked dead to me. "How did you make it stop? How did you stop seeing it in your head?"

He was stuck in that hellish moment, tormenting himself with it. "I forgave you," I said softly. "I forgave you because I know you never meant to hurt me."

"I thought you loved me," he said. "I was so wrong." He wrung his hands, rocking back and forth.

"Stop beating yourself up over this, please." It was so hard to see him this way, and it made me feel horribly guilty. For love of me, he had been broken. "It was a terrible thing that happened to both of us. It could never happen again. Just let it go."

"It’s not that simple," he said.

"Just make it that simple," I said, exasperated. "I’m over it, Spike. Over it. If I’m over it, you should be too."

Without another word, he gave me back my bed tray and puzzle and left. No matter how many times I hit the intercom that afternoon, he wouldn’t come back.

I was really worried. Obviously, getting out of the basement wasn’t going to be the cure all for what was wrong with him. I wanted to talk to someone, get some advice on how to help him get through this. But what could I say? "I need help convincing my attempted rapist that he needs to forgive himself?"

With a sigh, I started again on the puzzle. There had to be a place for the blue pieces, somewhere. I’d figure it out eventually.

*******

Spike was the perfect nursemaid. He brought food, fetched drinks, and dispensed pills. But he wouldn’t talk beyond monosyllables.

After three days of dealing with Mr. Mute, I’d had it. I never would have imagined missing his yammering about Passions, the last fight he was in, his game of cards with his demon buddies. But I hated his silence, the distant and detached way he moved around my room. "Why are you mad at me?" I asked.

"I’m not," he said. He slipped a clean case on my pillow and I leaned forward as he slid it underneath my head.

"Why won’t you talk to me then?"

"Nothing to say," he replied. He shook pills out into his palm and placed them in my hand.

It was eerie. Chatterbox "pay attention to me" Spike completely blowing me off. "Well, you could be more entertaining." I swallowed the pills with a mouthful of juice.

He picked up a spoon, a cereal bowl and a banana and juggled them with one hand. He was amazingly good; he did a few more circuits, throwing in a granola bar and a cup of yogurt before catching each object and putting it back on my tray. Then he bowed. "I can stand on my head as well. And balance a ball on my nose. Would that please you, Slayer?"

"Very funny, smart ass."

He made a strangled noise of frustration and clenched his fists. "What the hell do you want from me, Buffy?"

"I want to be your friend. I want you to sit and talk with me, like we used to."

He crossed his arms. "We’re not friends. We’ll never be friends," he said, enunciating each syllable as if talking to a pet or a small child.

"Why not?" I said. "You’ve got a soul-"

He walked out, slamming the door. A framed picture on my wall fell to the floor with a bang.

What the hell was his problem? I didn’t get it.

******

The next day, Spike brought me a potpie and some apple juice for lunch. He covered my lap with a napkin and set down the tray, turning to leave again.

"Why did you save my life?" I asked.

He looked at me, startled. "What?"

"Why did you bring me to the hospital when the demon broke my leg? Why didn’t you just leave me there to bleed to death?"

He raised his eyebrows. "What the hell kind of idiot question is that, Slayer?"

"You don’t want to be my friend, you act like you hate me," I said. "Obviously you don’t care if I’m alive or dead."

He walked over to my bed and looked down at me for a long moment. "I hope that you live a long and happy life," he said softly. His thumb ran over the back of my hand, a gentle, fleeting touch.

"A long and happy life in which you won’t condescend to speak with me. I don’t understand why you’re acting this way."

"I’m sorry if I’m hurting your feelings," he said. "But it’s better to just have it be what it is. I’m here to take care of you, that’s all. You have your Scoobies and your Watcher and your sis, and I’m just the muscle. Same as always." He turned away and moved to the dresser, closing the tops and tightening the lids of the toiletries that were placed on the top of it.

"But I don’t want that," I protested. "I want you to talk to me. I want to know where you went, how you got the soul, how you wound up in the basement, how you knew where to find me when I was hurt." And when, exactly, you stopped loving me.

"I’m not interested in sharing," he said, lining all my stuffed animals in a perfect row on their shelf.

"What can I do to make you stop being mad at me?" I said. He walked over to my nightstand, stacking up books and magazines and tossing away tissues. I closed my hand over his, and he looked up at me with surprise. "How can I make things right between us?"

He smiled, a thin glimmer of his real one. "You could do what you’re supposed to do, Slayer, and stake me."

"You don’t really want that," I said. Did he?

He didn’t answer, just shook off my hold and kept straightening up my room. My fingers itched to throw something at him, do something to make him see me.

******

Spike brought me two chocolate croissants and a tall glass of milk for breakfast the next day. "I can’t eat these," I protested.

"Why not?" he asked, setting down the tray in front of me.

Duh. "Because they have a gazillion grams of fat, each."

"You’re a scrawny little stick girl, Slayer." He held up my wrist like he was sizing me up as a snack, and I was failing the taste test. "You haven’t been eating anything."

"I’m just not hungry." My appetite hadn’t been that great to begin with, for the last couple of years.

"Eat it," he commanded, hands on his hips.

He was acting bossy, but he was standing close to me, talking to me. "I’ll have a piece of one, a little piece, but that’s it."

"You’ll eat it all," he said sternly.

"Or what? You’ll spank me?"

He smirked. There he was- the old Spike. My Spike. "Just eat the nice pastries, bane."

"What’s a bane?" I asked.

"Bane of my sodding existence, that’s what you are."

"So it’s not a compliment, then?"

He laughed. "No, not a compliment."

"I thought it was a new one. Rather than love or pet or Goldilocks or one of your other little gems."

"Those aren’t compliments, exactly. More like terms of affection."

"And you don’t call me any of them any more." And there’s no affection in sight, either.

He stood up and turned to leave. "Just eat your food."

"I’ll make a deal with you," I offered. "If I eat everything on the tray, you have to tell me about what happened to you while you were gone."

Amazingly, he nodded. "You win," he said. "I’ll take that bet."

Spike sat next to me on the bed and watched me eat. I felt incredibly awkward with him staring at me, but I didn’t want to send him into another insano moment by asking him to stop. The croissants were so decadent, flaky and buttery and chocolaty. "God, this is good."

"Knew you’d like it," he said, looking pleased.

"Spikey knows best," I said. "There’s a scary concept." I licked my fingers, feeling full and mellow. "Wow, that was good."

"You need to take care of yourself. Living off bagged salad, getting no sleep, no wonder you’re slipping a bit with the Slaying."

"I’m not slipping," I said defensively. "It was an accident."

"No, you had two accidents in one day," he pointed out. "That’s not like you. The Bot is doing fine with the Slaying. Take the time to relax and rest, because you need a break."

"I don’t have time for a vacation," I reminded him.

"Your friends and I have the patrols covered," he said. "Just be Buffy." He frowned. "Drink your milk. You need calcium to mend that leg."

I finished the glass of milk and rested back on the pillows, smiling. "I win the bet, Mr. I Want To Make Buffy Big and Fat." I patted the pillow next to me. "Now you have to stay and talk to me."

"No I don’t," he said, as he stood up.

"We had a deal, " I said. "I ate everything on the tray!"

Spike bent down, picked up the empty glass and plate, and waved them at me. With a smirk, he lifted the tray and left the room. "That’s cheating!" I called after him.

******

Spike sat, cross-legged, at the foot of my bed. He held my foot on his lap as he stuffed cotton balls between my toes.

"I want you to tell me what happened to you," I said.

"You promised that if I did this, you’d stop nagging me," he replied, as he shook a bottle of Copacabana Red polish.

"I’m not nagging. I’m expressing an interest in you as a person," I explained as he deftly painted my pinky nail.

"No wonder I was confused." He blew on my toe to dry the polish, and it made me giggle. He looked up, surprised. "Never heard that noise before."

"Ticklish feet."

"Really now?" He looked down at my feet, apparently thinking evil thoughts. "Slayer’s got an Achilles heel. Literally." He leaned forward and blew, making me giggle again. "God, that’s the cutest sound I’ve ever heard."

"I’m not cute," I argued.

"Big bad Slayer," he teased. "Putty in my hands, now."

It was true; he’d turned me into a little pool of Buffy goo between his soft hands on my feet and the tickling. I had to save face. "I bet I could break your nose with one kick. Want to find out?"

"You’d smear the polish," he commented as he painted my next toenail vivid crimson.

"So, we were talking about the whole ensouling process. Was it Gypsies?" Like Angel.

"You have a seriously one track mind."

"You never used to complain about that." Up against the wall. On the floor. Over a tombstone…

"Well, at that time it was working to my advantage." He finished my left foot and began to work on my right.

"Tell me about the soul, Spike." How could he not understand that I needed to hear about it?

"Got a soul, went a little nuts, came back to Sunnydale, became a driveling Looney Tune," he said in blasé voice.

I gritted my teeth, the urge to smack him one hard to resist. "You want to elaborate on any of that?"

"No."

He had to be the most annoying person on the planet. "Why won’t you tell me?"

"Because as your savagely dumped ex as well as the despicable bastard that tried to rape you, you shouldn’t care." He gingerly wiped away excess polish from my skin, his brow furrowing in concentration.

"But I do," I said. "I care, a lot."

"Sounds like a personal problem. Better work on that." He finished off my right foot with a flourish.

"Why are you such a total asshole? You make me want to beat the crap out of you, Spike."

"Another good reason not to open up to you, don’t you think?" He screwed the cap on the bottle of polish and left.

***********

The next day, he brought in a wooden stand and set it up in front of my dresser. "What’s that for?" I asked.

"Be patient," he said, and then left the room. He returned carrying a television. He set it up, plugged it in, and left again. He came back with a DVD player and another appliance that looked similar. He fiddled with cords and wires, and then handed me a keyboard, a manual, and a remote.

"Five movies in the DVD carousel, Web TV so you can surf the Internet and instant message." He flicked a button and Jerry Springer came on. "And here’s a real freak show for you."

"I don’t like computers and I don’t watch cheesy daytime TV."

"We’ll see." He left, leaving the door open.

"You’re not the baby’s momma, Linda!" screamed a gigantic woman, sporting truly frightening feathered hair. "You got no right to criticize me!"

"You got no right to call yourself a momma," countered an equally massive redhaired woman who sat on the other side of the stage. "You’re nothing but a trailer park slut. You don’t even know who the daddy is!"

The audience oooed.

"I know who the daddy is!" the blonde screamed. "Your husband, that’s who!"

Oooh. I turned up the volume as the redhead picked up a chair and the bouncers rushed the stage. I heard a chime and a message window popped up. "Accept a message from WillowWicca?"

I pressed Enter on the keyboard. "You’ve got to turn on Springer!" read the message.

"I’m watching it now," I typed. "Where are you?"

"Student Lounge. Killing time before chem lab."

"Was this your bright idea?" I asked. "Dragging me kicking and screaming into bed potatodom?"

"Spike’s," she replied. "He thought it would keep you out of trouble."

"I think he got it so he could ignore me. He doesn’t seem to want to hang with me."

"Why is that a problem?" typed Willow. "You don’t want to encourage him."

"I don’t think he loves me any more. He’s non talky."

"That’s good. Better that he’s accepted it and moved on. You should be happy."

But I wasn’t. I missed him even more than when he was gone. It was ten times worse, knowing that he was here and avoiding me.

*****

I hit the intercom. "Spike?"

"Yes?"

"I’m bored."

"Sorry to hear that."

"Come keep me company."

"No."

"I’m lonely." God, I sounded pathetic.

"I’ll send the Bot up. That’ll make you nostalgic for the silence."

How could I get him up here? I thought of a topic that could generally keep him going for hours, if I didn’t distract him. "Passions is on. I want you to explain to me who all these people are and what they’re doing."

"That is a flagrant bribe, Slayer. You’d sooner swallow a sword than watch my soap opera."

"Well, grab a rapier and hoof it on up here, because I really want to see Passions." And you.

"When hell freezes over." He paused. "It’s snowing again outside; just our luck that hell may actually be freezing over."

I turned on the show. The witch lady was talking about how much she missed Timmy. "What happened to Timmy?"

He sighed. "I’ll be right up."

"Bring me a Diet Coke and some Doritos."

"You need to eat good food, not crap."

The guy was obsessed with nutrition. He was nearing Riley levels of boring lectures about my food intake. "The Doritos are cheese flavored. That counts as calcium, right?"

He came into the room, carrying a tray laden with milk, beer, Doritos, and some HoHos. Woo hoo! I nearly applauded. I tossed him a pillow. "Get comfy. You’re not leaving until I understand what the hell is going on with this show."

He settled back against the wall, his long legs dangling over the side of the bed. "This is going to take a while."

Three hours later, he’d resorted to drawing a family tree on some poster board left over from Dawn’s science fair project to explain the population of Harmony.

Dawn came in. "Hey! I got an A on my paper on Prohibition."

"Well done," Spike said approvingly.

Dawn turned to me. "Can I have dinner with Spike?"

"What?" What with who?

"Spike said if I got an A on this paper, then I could ask you if I could go with him to his restaurant," Dawn explained.

Spike laughed. "Not my restaurant, sleigh bell. I’m a total peon." He turned to me. "However, I am a peon who can score a free meal, so I thought I’d take Dawn for some spaghetti Bolognese before patrol tonight."

"Please, Buffy?" Dawn pleaded.

"If you do your homework now," I responded.

"Cool," she said happily. "It’s a date then." She flounced out of the room, humming happily.

Spike and I exchanged a look. "I’m sure it’s just a figure of speech," I said.

He raised his eyebrows. "One can only hope."

"How’s she doing out on patrol?" I asked. "She kind of gives me the shruggy no big deal thing, so I figured maybe she was having problems." He looked away. "It’s hard when you’re just starting out," I explained. "It takes time to get really good."

"She did a two for one last night, Buffy," he said. "Two vamps, one stake." He smiled. "It was a sight to see, truly."

"Really?" Wow.

"I should get going now," he said. "See you in the morning." He picked up the tray and tossed all the empty cans and wrappers on it, and left the room.

Dawn, completely kicking vamp ass. Patrolling with Spike. Having dinner with him.

I was totally jealous of my baby sister.

******

I heard everyone come in from patrol, laughing, talking loud, weapons clanking and the trunk slamming shut downstairs. I heard thumping and doors closing.

The Bot and Willow walked upstairs. "Who taught you that word?" Willow said angrily.

"Spike said it-"

"Don’t say it," Willow said. "It’s not a nice word."

"But Spike said it," the Bot protested.

"You can’t be a good role model for Dawn if you use inappropriate language," Willow admonished.

"If I can’t call them motherfucking nimrods, then what can I call them?" the Bot said anxiously.

"Just call them- bad monsters," Willow said, opening the door to her room.

"Die, you bad monsters!" the Bot said loudly.

"Come sit and I’ll adjust your programming," Willow said, and her door closed.

Poor Willow. I really needed to do something nice for her, to thank her for putting up with the bot. I turned on the Web TV and searched on Google. "Wicca gifts," I typed in.

I was scrolling through an assortment of incense holders, goddess statues and beeswax candles when the intercom popped on.. "-because I don’t want to discuss it, Giles," Spike said.

"Spike, what has happened to you is one of the most pivotal, tremendous events that has ever occurred. You were rewarded with a soul, and you must explain what you did to earn it."

"Found it in a box of Cracker Jack. Really surprised me, I was actually rooting for the temporary tattoos."

"Why do you insist on being so flip?" Giles asked angrily. "How are we supposed to help you through this transition if you refuse to let us be part of the process?"

"There is no process, Watcher. No soul, soul. Aside from the mind splitting headaches and the constant, terrifying visions, not much has changed."

"We need to hear about what you went through, and the way you are feeling now," Giles said. "The soul must have significantly altered your world view, your sense of self. We must determine what your purpose is, the destiny that you have been blessed with."

"The way I feel, there is no blessing in it," he said. "And I don’t fancy splitting my head open so you gits can take a peek. If you really must know-"

The intercom popped off, leaving me in ringing silence. Really must know what? God, this was frustrating.

Dawn came into the room, bearing a Healthy Choice meal on a tray, some cookies and a glass of milk. "How was patrol?" I asked.

She shrugged. "The ice and snow seem to have forced the vamps into panic mode. They’re all holing up in warehouses, and if you find one, you get yourself a dozen vamps."

"Are you sure that you can handle that many vamps at once?" I asked worriedly.

"Spike could probably take them all out by himself," Dawn remarked. "He’s a total animal during a fight." She set down the tray on my bed. "He’s very efficient, but sometimes I worry that he’s enjoying the slaying a tad too much."

"That’s vamps for you," I said. "They do like their daily spot of violence."

"It’s the happiest that he ever seems," she said. "Laughing, smiling." She took a cookie off my tray and took a bite. "Although he was laughing a lot earlier tonight, with Chloe."

"Who is Chloe?" I asked.

"She’s Spike’s friend," she explained. "She ate dinner with us, and said she’s heard a lot about me."

"Spike doesn’t have any friends," I said.

"He has me," Dawn said. "And he has Chloe." She pulled something out of her pocket. It was an origami swan, silver paper intricately folded and tucked into a graceful neck and pointed wings. "She brought me this as a present. Isn’t it pretty?"

Who cared about the stupid paper bird? "What kind of a friend is she?" I asked. "Like a girlfriend?"

She nodded her head. "He didn’t say so, but they seemed kind of vibey, liked they enjoyed being together." She looked at me thoughtfully. "Don’t you think it would be nice for Spike to have a girlfriend? He seems really lonely."

"No."

"No he doesn’t seem lonely, or no he shouldn’t have a girlfriend?" Dawn asked, sipping my milk.

"No, I don’t want him to have a girlfriend," I said.

"Would it make you feel jealous?" Dawn asked.

Yes, and kind of like someone put a concrete block on my chest. "No, not at all," I said lightly. "So I was picking out a present for Willow."

I scrolled through the gallery, and we talked about which things we thought she’d like. But all the time all I was thinking was: it’s really over. He doesn’t love me any more. He’ll never look at me again, the way that he used to.

Early the next morning, I woke up in a panic, my heart racing. I stumbled into the bathroom and splashed my face with water. My image in the mirror showed a reflection as pale as snow.

I loved him. I’d fallen, hard. For Spike.

*******

The next day, Giles brought me my breakfast tray. "Where’s Spike?" I asked.

Giles smiled at me. "He won’t be coming during the days any longer, Buffy. It’s time for you to start moving up and about, using your muscles." He buttered a scone and handed it to me. "There’s quite a surprise for you downstairs."

"What is it?" I asked.

"You’ll see shortly," he said. "Eat your breakfast, take a shower and dress, and carefully come downstairs to the basement. Use your crutches."

Under twenty minutes later, I descended into the basement. It was transformed. Drywall had been put up, creating a main area and closing off the laundry room. It looked just like my training room had at the Magic Box. Giles and a tall black guy I’d never seen before stood waiting. "Giles? What is all this?" I asked, leaning my crutches against the wall.

"Do you like it?" Giles asked, his eyes shining. "Xander provided the construction and I purchased the equipment."

I threw myself into his arms, and he held me in a tight hug. Ah, the arms of Giles. I’d missed them. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Giles said. "I’m so pleased to see you restored, back to your old self."

We broke the embrace, and I turned to the man. "I’m Buffy," I introduced myself.

"I’m Ralph," he said in a deep rumbling voice. "I’m your physical therapist."

"There’s been some kind of mistake. I can’t afford that," I protested.

"It’s taken care of," he said, smiling. "Just focus on your recovery. We’ve got a lot of work to do."

"I’ll be upstairs if you need me," Giles said. "Please be careful not to overtax yourself. You had a titanium rod inserted into your leg; don’t forget that."

"I’ll be careful, " I promised.

Ralph turned to me with a smile. "Let’s get to work."

*****

I was waiting for the guys to get back from patrolling. Another snowstorm had hit, and there were now several feet of snow on the ground.

I was doing leg lifts, weights strapped to my ankles. My left leg burned horribly when I did the reps, and I worked through the pain, knowing that it was an inevitable part of getting back into shape.

A loud crack hit my window. I stood up and saw my sister waving. "You've got to get out here!" she yelled. "We’re going to-"

Suddenly, a large snowball slammed into the side of her face, exploding into a shower of white powder.

She whirled around. "Hey!"

Xander picked up another handful of snow. "You snooze you lose, Summ-" he began, before a snowball decked him from behind.

"You were saying?" Spike said, coming up behind him. My souled, demanding, difficult, moody love.

"You’re dead meat," Xander said, and Spike took off running. Dawn squealed loudly, chasing after them both.

Snowball fight! I pulled on a pair of sneakers and grabbed my jacket from the closet. I walked down the hall, still limping slightly, and carefully made my way down the stairs. The Bot was looking out the window. "I want to play too. I promise not to rust."

I walked outside. The piles of snow glimmered underneath the streetlights, piled up on the curbs in a town where no one had ever needed the streets plowed. I heard the sound of giggling and the swoosh of people running through snow, and went around to the back of the house.

It was war. Giles, Willow and Dawn were pounding Spike and Xander with snowballs. "I want to play too," I called out. "No fair all of you having fun without me."

Spike turned and looked at me. "Bot’s on the loose, Willow," he said.

"She patrolled, she should be allowed to join the fight," Xander said. He picked up a snowball and threw it at me, hitting me in the chest.

"I’m-" I began, and Dawn hit me in the neck with a snowball.

I bent down and made a snowball and hit her in the leg. Soon, I was in the thick of it, beaning Willow in her arm, getting Giles right in the glasses. I lost track of time, and suddenly Giles was walking away, his entire body coated with snow. "I believe that cocoa is in order," he said. "I can no longer feel my fingers. Or my feet. " He looked thoughtful. "Or my face, now that I think of it."

"Cocoa and s'mores!" Dawn called, and everyone ran for the house.

I couldn’t run anywhere, not yet. I shook the snow from my hair and brushed off my legs. Spike walked past me, headed around the side of the house. "Good fight," I said.

"Good fight," he said, without turning around.

"Aren’t you going to stay?" I asked. "Join in the cocoa fun with the rest of them?"

He turned and looked at me. His shoulders were dusted with snow, his skin even paler than usual. Ice chips glittered in his hair, sparkling in the moonlight. "I don’t belong in there any more than you do," he said.

Same old song. "You still think I belong in the shadows with you," I said. "But I really don’t, Spike. I never did."

Something changed in his face, and he was on me in a flash, scooping me into his arms. "Spike!" I yelled, surprised.

Spike looked down at me, his face deadly. "I could kill you."

My heart pounded in my chest as he stalked towards the front of the house. "You’re scaring me."

His face softened, his grip loosening a bit. "I’m sorry. I'm just-" He swallowed hard. "I’m very angry with you."

He walked up the front steps and opened the door, carrying me up the stairs. I heard everyone laughing and talking in the kitchen, and Dawn was singing "Frosty the Snowman."

Spike set me down in my room. "What were you thinking?" he asked. "Going out in leggings, t-shirt, jacket open, no boots?"

"I was fine," I protested, as he took out thick socks, a flannel nightgown and a fleece robe from my dresser and set them on my bed.

"You’re not healed yet," he said. "So you decide to risk injury to your leg by running around in three feet of icy snow?"

"I was just having fun," I protested.

"You could have made yourself lame," he muttered. "Caught a chill. Taken a fall-"

I closed my hand around his and he looked up at me. "I’m fine. I’m sorry I scared you." He looked so lost, afraid and confused. I wrapped my arms around him, hugging him tightly.

He was still for a moment, and then his arms tightened around me. "I couldn’t stand it, something else happening to you," he whispered, burying his face in my hair.

"Nothing’s going to happen to me," I promised. I turned my head, and my lips ran across his.

We exploded. His arms tightened around me and I slipped my hands under his shirt, feeling his back. His tongue was in my mouth, his hands sliding down to cup my ass and we were both on fire, pressed tightly to each other as we kissed passionately.

God, it was so good. Touching him was as good as before but even better, because I knew what I’d be missing if this stopped. I knew every inch of his muscles, every place that made him gasp and cry, everything he wanted.

He pulled away, running his hands through his hair. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-" he broke off and turned to leave.

"Don’t go," I said. I reached out and grabbed his arm.

"This was a mistake. It’s better we’re apart," he said. "You’ll come to understand, you will."

"I don’t want to," I said. "I want you. I- miss you." It was so hard to say, to make myself vulnerable to him. "Spike, I think about you every day, and I wonder how you are, what’s going on with you. I hate being shut out, left out in the cold."

"I’m sorry I can’t be what you need," he said.

"You are what I need," I said. "You’re what I want." It was true. I’d missed him horribly, and it just kept getting worse, an ache in my chest that grew sharper each day he stayed away. "Spike, I lo-"

He waved his arms in the air and stepped back. "I’ll be there at your back in a fight," he said, his eyes closed. "I’d gladly die for you. But don’t ask me to try to love you, because I can’t."

In an instant, he was gone.

******

After three weeks of physical therapy, I was ready to slay again.

"We’ll see how you do in a practice session," Giles said cautiously. "I’m not letting you patrol again until I’m confident you can defend yourself."

My body sang with adrenaline. I so wanted to kick somebody’s ass. I tossed Giles a face mask and padding and pulled on a pair of boxing gloves. "Just try to keep up."

Twenty minutes later, Giles was flat on his back, winded and red-faced. "I think that’s enough for the day, Buffy."

"I’m just getting warmed up," I complained.

"I fear I have pulled a muscle," he said, wincing. "And- I really should get back to the school."

Bummer. "Okay," I said. I leaned down and helped him up.

"I’ll come back tomorrow," he promised. "We’ll pick it up where we left off."

He left, and I hopped up on my pommel horse. I wanted to keep going. I needed to keep going.

I walked over to the wall and dialed the phone.

*****

Spike walked downstairs. He was barefoot and in his sweats, and he looked totally amazing. Weeks without seeing him made me focus on all the little details: the slight scruff on his chin, two small dots of jet in his ears, a silver ring on his thumb. He smelled like Polo, and the scent of it made my skin tingle. "You sure you’re up for this?" he asked worriedly. "I can’t believe the Watcher got you up and about already."

"Evil waits for no one," I said. "I miss the slaying, and I want to get back out there."

"If you’re not in top form, you’ll get yourself killed," he said.

"Then you’d better help me get back in the game." I tossed him a quarterstaff.

He made several pathetic jabs at me, which I easily blocked. Looking for some real action, I jabbed at his throat. Then we got into it; anticipating, blocking, cracking the wooden staffs against each other. I felt the nice healthy glow of a good workout, marred by a dull pulsing in my thigh.

I wasn’t paying attention. Spike caught me in the knee with the wooden pole and I cried out, bending over. He dropped his pole and ran over. "Buffy?" he said worriedly. "God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!" I clipped him in the ankles and he fell down on his back. Quick as a wink, I dropped my quarterstaff and pinned him to the ground, his wrists slamming back into the mat. He looked up at me, his eyes wide. Lust crashed over me in a wave. Too long, too long, since we’d been like this. He lay still beneath me, and I could see the need in his eyes.

I leaned down and bit his neck, in the high spot near his jaw that drove him nuts. "Unnh," he moaned, thrusting upwards. I moved my mouth up to his ear, tracing my tongue around his earlobe and sucking it. The stone earring in his lobe tasted cold and smooth in my mouth.

I let go of his hands, secure that I had him where I wanted him, and smiled down at him. He stared in my eyes for a long moment, and then shoved me away. I tipped off him, landing on my ass. "This is wrong," he announced.

"It’s not wrong," I said. "I care about you. I want to be with you." Wasn’t this what he’d wanted all along?

"How can you want me?" He looked lost and confused again, once more with the wiggins. "I tried to rape you. "

I really, really wished he would stop bringing it up. "What’s in the past doesn’t matter," I said. "It’s over and done. It was a mistake and you’re sorry-"

"You made me lose my mind," he said, his eyes wild. "I lost my mind, Buffy!"

I crawled over to him. "I’m sorry that you went through that, Spike. I wish I could make it go away." I wrapped my arms around his neck and gently kissed him. He was completely still for a moment, and then he rolled on top of me, kissing me hungrily. He moved his mouth to my neck and bit me. "Please," I gasped. "Please, I need you so much."

He pulled off my jeans and panties slowly and slipped his face between my thighs. I shuddered as his tongue pressed hard against my clit. I cupped my hand on the back of his neck. God he was good, he was so perfect at this. He licked gently for a long, long time. I was climbing, climbing, higher and higher. I felt dizzy, and realized that I was holding my breath. I let go, and then I was falling. Sparks of pleasure engulfed my body and I was on fire, burning up with the force of my release.

I opened my eyes, and looked up at the ceiling. I was drenched with sweat, and gasping for air. My heartbeat slowed and I looked down at Spike. His head was resting on my stomach, his eyes fixed on my face.

"More," he said, and slid back between my legs.

"Spike," I gasped, as I began to climb again. "I love you."

He froze and pulled away. "What?"

"I love you. I can love you now," I explained, admitting what I'd been fighting ever since he came back. "This is love, and not just because you’re doing what you’re doing with your tongue. Although I love that too."

"You love me?" He looked stunned, and scared, and hopeful, all at the same time.

"I do," I assure him. "And we can be together now, because you have a soul." Everything was going to be different, this time.

"Like Angel." His voice was heavy, dark and ominous. "Like your beloved, ensouled Angel." He smiled, the dark wicked smirk of the Big Bad. "The first vampire. The inconvenient vampire."

Oh, crap. "You’re getting it all wrong. I don’t love you because you’re like him," I explained. "I love you because you’re you, but only better."

"I’m out of my fucking mind, but that works better for you?" he said incredulously. With a look of disgust, he wiped his hand across his mouth and left me alone.

I wanted to call after him and say something to fix what I’d just done. But I just didn’t have the words.

*****

Spike came back the next day to train with me. My body tightened, craving more of what we’d started the day before.

He looked at me, and his eyes seemed emptier than they ever had been before. The passion that blazed in his eyes, the knowledge of his affect on me, was totally absent.

Spike picked up a quarterstaff and tossed it to me, swinging another with his hand. Predator and prey, just like always. "You’re going down," I challenged.

He smirked. "Thought that was yesterday," he said, and waggled his tongue.

I smacked him in the ribs with the edge of my quarterstaff. "Pervert."

"You weren’t complaining."

I went for his throat, and he blocked my shot. "Never did."

"So I can do something right after all," he said. "Bully for me."

"You can do lots of things right," I said.

"That may be the first nice thing you’ve ever said to me."

"Well, there was the telling you that I lo-"

"Shut up and fight, Slayer." The glacial look in his eyes and the set of his jaw signaled that chatting time was over.

Two hours of serious sweaty combat later he turned to leave. "I’m sorry about yesterday," I said. "I didn’t mean to upset you." Now that we’d stopped, the pain in my leg made itself known. I hadn’t noticed anything during the fight, my concentration fixed exclusively on Spike.

"Forget about it," he said, heading up the stairs.

"I don’t want to forget about it," I said. "I want us to make up."

"Make up?" he said, still walking. "Make up implies there’s some other way we could interact. As memory serves, we have fight mode or fuck mode. That’s it."

"That could change," I said. "If you’re willing to stop acting like an asshole and communicate with me."

He turned and looked at me. "Fight or fuck. Pick one."

"Can we talk afterwards?"

"No."

"Fine. Fuck."

He raised his eyebrows with surprise. "Sunk that low, Slayer? Willing to abase yourself for a quick shag with someone who doesn’t even like you at the moment?"

I knew that it was just a matter of time until he gave in, and I could wait. "Yes."

"That’s pretty pathetic, Slayer. Didn’t think you were the kind of girl who’d take a pity fuck lying down."

"Worked for you, didn’t it?"

He grabbed my wrist and pulled me up the stairs. He threw me in the bathroom, my feet skidding across the floor. "How’s this working for you?" he asked. "Cozy little romantic spot, remind you of all the good times we had."

"I’m not scared of you," I said. "You’re the one that’s scared."

"Is that right? What am I scared of, pet?" He backed me into a corner, as close as he could be to me without touching.

"You’re scared of hurting me," I said, sliding my hands under his sweatshirt. "Don’t be." Swiftly I pulled up his shirt, skimming my thumbs across his nipples. He gasped and I bent my head to his chest, licking each of his nipples in turn. "If you hurt me, I’ll hunt you down and make you pay." I trailed sharp little bites down his stomach, and then licked along the waistband of his pants.

"Buffy," he whispered.

Pulling down his pants, I sucked him into my mouth, slowly and hard. His hands gripped the back of my head, and he was already moaning. Flickering my tongue over the slit in the head of his cock made him mutter something I couldn’t understand. I licked the vein that ran underneath his cock, back and forth, faster and faster, until he began to thrust rhythmically into my mouth. My nails clenched the cheeks of his ass, and I felt him trembling.

He started to chant, sliding fast towards orgasm. "Buffy. Buffy. Buffy."

I pulled away. "Finish with me."

His eyes were glazed, his control sketchy at best. "Fuck me, now."

I opened the door to my room and shoved him, and he stumbled into my bedroom, his pants twisted around his ankles. Shoving him again, he sprawled onto the bed. I pulled off my panties and jeans with one hand and straddled him.

Spike grabbed my hips in his hands and thrust upwards inside me. "Baby," he gasped, closing his eyes.

Leaning forward, I grabbed the headboard with both hands. "You feel so good," I told him, as I moved up and down. "God, I missed this, I missed you." He was so hard, so big. It had never been as good as this, and it had always been good. I was already starting to slide, my orgasm bubbling under the surface.

"Slayer," he said. He opened his eyes and stared up at me. "Buffy."

"Love you," I replied. "Love you so much." I bent down and kissed his lips gently, his eyelids, and trailed kisses across his face as we moved in rhythm.

"Ahh!" he groaned, and he came inside me in a liquid rush.

"Oh, yeah," I cried out, gripping the headboard hard as I was overcome by searing, molten pleasure.

I came back to myself, panting. I tried to move but realized I was stuck. The cast iron of my bed was a twisted mess, completely contorted by my hands. I jerked free and laughed as I rolled off of Spike.

"What’s so funny?" Spike said with a smile.

"You made me break the bed," I said, pointing upwards.

He looked up and laughed, then put his arm around me and drew me close. "I can’t wait to hear the story you concoct to explain away that one. "

"I think I’ll just say, "Spike was screwing me so mind-blowingly well that I lost all sense of reality and pulled a Hulk’."

"That would go over well with the Scoobies," he chuckled. "They’d be rushing for the pointy stakes."

"I won’t let them hurt you," I promised. "I’ll protect you." I pulled him close and kissed him deeply.

"Just want to save my ass so you can kick it yourself," he teased. He smiled, his eyes full of light, more relaxed than I’d ever seen him.

"I like kicking your ass," I said. "It’s a nice ass to kick." I moved my hand down his back, cupping his cheek. "You tired?"

He brushed away the hair that was stuck to my jaw. "Do you really care or is that Buffy speak for ‘I want more sex?’"

"I want more sex," I said. "Much sweaty sex. We have lots of lost time to make up for."

He frowned, and sat up, running a hand through his hair. "I really should get going."

"Work?"

He shook his head. "I have somewhere to be."

"What kind of a thing could you have?" I asked. "If you don’t have work tonight, what else do you need to do?"

"Something else planned," he said.

What the hell? It’s not like he had a full appointment calendar. "Well, can’t you cancel it? I mean, I tell you that I love you, and we go to bed, and now you just want to take off?"

"We fucked," he said. "What more do you want? I have to go." He rolled out of bed and pulled on his pants.

I fought off a wave of panic. This is what happens when you fall in love- everything falls apart. "Why are you being this way?" I asked. "I know that this is more than just getting off for you. We love each other." He pulled on his shirt, facing away from me. "Is it something I did? Is it something I didn’t do?" I thought of the girl that Dawn had told me about. "Do you love someone else?"

"If you want my body, you’re welcome to it," he said, fastening his belt. "I’m being honest about what you can expect from me. Some people appreciate that."

He left, and I walked across to the bathroom. I turned on the faucet and watched the hot water fill up the tub. I had really, really fucked up somewhere, and I didn’t know how to fix it. He still loved me, I knew it. I wasn’t fooling myself; I could feel it, sense it. But how could I make him show it?

-TBC-

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