Breathe

By Annie

Rated: R, to be on the safe side. Summary: Buffy needs some rest. Spoilers: General Season 7, mostly Never Leave Me. Disclaimer: Still not mine; if they were, that basement scene would have been longer. Feedback: crehnert@ptd.net



Breathe



The house was a wreck, which seemed to be a chronic situation lately. Buffy looked around resignedly, as her brain tried to fathom a place for them to have taken Spike. The Hellmouth would be the most obvious place, and she was far from eager to venture back into the basement of the high school. She had to. They all had to. Whatever they needed Spike for would have to be stopped. Disturbing memories of Dawn as the Key, opening all the dimensions, plagued her as she tried to gather her thoughts and formulate a viable plan of attack.

She needed Giles.

She needed Spike.

She was tired. And thank the goddesses she knew a carpenter who would repair her house for cost.

"Okay," she began. "We need some kind of plan. While we try to come up with one, gather all the weapons we have in the house. Anya, look in on Andrew and see if he's okay. He'll be coming along with us. Don't give him any options."

She turned and headed to her room without another word, intending to find all the special weapons she kept hidden there. They would need everything. They would need everyone. She closed the door to her room and leaned against it heavily. She felt like she was on the verge of a panic attack, and almost laughed. Where the hell was Giles, anyway, and was he still alive and safe? She didn't expect Travers to actually ever call her back. She so wanted to punch his lights out.

She crossed the room and lay across the bed, reaching down to the floor on the opposite side, arm groping for the crossbow she knew was there. She stopped a second, breathing deeply, conquering the fear inside as she always did. Fear for Spike, for Giles, for her friends, especially for Dawn. She didn't even want to think about harm to Dawn, and the thought that the First Evil would use Spike as a sacrificial offering was too much to contemplate.

"Buffy," Willow asked tentatively from the doorway.

Got it. Reaching for something else now. "What?" she asked distractedly, thinking Will should be downstairs gathering weapons as well.

"Xander has a bunch more weapons at his place. He went to get them. He'll be back in a jiff. Anya and Dawn are with Andrew. She's fine."

Buffy didn't ask which 'she' Willow was referring to; they all knew she was always needing to know if Dawn was safe.

"Has anyone come up with a plan?" Buffy asked, righting herself, and pulling a few choice sharp objects out from under the bed as she did so.

"Not yet. We will. Why don't you close your eyes for a few minutes till Xander gets back. Get yourself ready."

Buffy shook her head tiredly. "I can't. We have to get him away from them before it's too late."

"You can't save everyone, Buffy." Willow said softly. "But no matter what, we're all with you in this. Even Xander, inexplicably." The witch smiled slightly at that.

"It's my job to save everyone." Buffy told her seriously.

Willow pushed her gently against the pillows. "Well, then, in the meantime, for the ten minutes it will take Xander to get back here, you need to conserve your energy and refuel the battery. Cleanse your mind, come up with a plan."

Buffy closed her eyes, briefly.



She was really having a panic attack, she had to be, because the fear inside her, deep down inside where no one was allowed to be, that fear was choking her. She'd left. She'd run from the basement and headed upstairs to Dawn, when all along she should have already figured out it was Spike they wanted. Why else would he have been residing in the school basement, all but on top of the Hellmouth? Why else would they have taken control of him, made him do the horrendous things he so recently despised himself for? She was The Slayer. She should have known, should have figured it out long ago. And now, now they could be doing anything to him, using him to awaken anything, destroying him in the process.her breath hitched hurtfully in her sleep, little blackness in her head, telling her she couldn't breathe. No one else there to hear, Willow had already gone to check on the other girls and Andrew, satisfied that the ten-minute nap she would get would be enough to clear Buffy's mind, point to a plan. Willow knew, even if the others didn't, how much Spike meant to Buffy lately. Even Xander wasn't as anxious to stake him as he had always been. She sighed, it was kind of like getting used to a pet one hadn't wanted at first.

In her quiet room, Buffy's breathing was ragged and worried, the sleep fitful and painful. She froze suddenly, inhaled even more sharply as she felt the cool almost-touch ghost down her arm. Cool air near her ear, and a whispered word, "Breathe."

But she was holding her breath in her sleep, and the chill touch came again, tracing her jawline this time. Still the whisper of air near her ear. "Easy. Just breathe."

The cold velvet tracked along the artery in her throat, and she couldn't breathe at all, something stopping the necessary muscles from working. Can't breathe, she thought, somewhere in the back of her tired mind.

"Yes, you can. Breathe," the cool air told her, caressing across the definition of her collarbone. No, you can't, the thing in her mind said, gripping tightly, and her chest hitched again, painfully, withholding the movement needed to draw in the oxygen.

Brush of phantom movement down her chest, hardening nipples, urging her lungs to relax, stop their struggling, take in the warm air.

"Breathe," softly, against the smooth skin between her breasts.

Another painful grab of her lungs. You can't breathe, the black voice in her head insisted.

Waft of cool air across her abdomen, contracting her muscles, warming inside. "Breathe, Buffy." And she almost knew, almost knew she was dreaming, almost knew she could breathe.

No breath, pain radiating from her empty lungs, up into her throat, keeping her silent.

Cool breeze like hands moving down her stomach and splayed open between her legs, cool shock of pleasure, familiar touch, familiar voice in her head. "You can breathe. Breathe for me." Pushing the blackness from inside her head.

You can't breathe. Black voice, weaker now, fighting to stay with her, chased by the cool commands caressing her warm skin.

"She can breathe." Icy satin covering her, moving against her weightlessly, crushingly. Can't breathe. Tiny blackness in her head, fading too slowly. Coolness still moving against her, making her heart beat faster, making her lungs reach out painfully for air. Cool-yet-warm not-lips, touching and not touching, breathing and not breathing into her, chill of soft air filling her shockingly.

Can't breathe, stop breathing, tiny black glitter in her head, fading to nothing and she couldn't hear it anymore, could only feel the cool not- there weight against her body, pushing, urging, forcing her muscles to move and respond, demanding ache in her body, commanding voice in her ear. "Breathe. Breathe for me, Slayer. Come for me."

Gone. All gone in a final agonizing pull of bedroom air into tortured lungs. Breathing urgently, and Buffy was wide awake now, sitting bolt upright on her bed, cool feel of the phantom savior still on her, all around her.

Willow in the doorway again, looking frightened, asking.

"A dream," Buffy insisted. "Just a dream."

She got to her feet abruptly, collecting the weapons she had pulled out from under the bed scant minutes ago. No one was going to get away with trying to destroy her in her sleep. And no one was going to kill Spike, either. Not as long as she was breathing.