The Morning After
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Just playing with the lovely characters of a creative mastermind we all know as Joss.
When he woke, the sun was already burning high in the sky, the light filtering through the curtains giving the room a dusky hue. Sometime in the night he had removed his boots and socks, hoping to get comfortable enough to sleep. His shirt though, had twisted around him and gotten stuck between the cushions as he tossed and turned. So much for sleeping like the dead. At least there hadn't been another nightmare. With a yawn, Spike pushed himself up on one elbow and rubbed a hand across his scratchy eyes. He listened for sounds of movement, but the house was still. No heartbeats, no breath. They must have taken off somewhere. Groaning, he rose from the couch and padded into the kitchen, the wound on his stomach sending lovely stinging sensations over his skin. He lifted the hem of his shirt and found the gash red and angry, the skin surrounding it enflamed. Blood, need blood. Apparently someone heard him, because when he opened the fridge looking for something to drink, three large packets of blood sat on the top shelf, with a note taped haphazardly to them.
Spike,
Thought you could use something to eat. Went out, but we shouldn't be gone long. Don't go anywhere. I still want to talk about what happened last night. And don't go poking around in my room. Feel free to take a shower or watch television or whatever, though. See you soon.
He folded the note and slipped it in his pocket with a smile. Rummaging through the cabinets he turned up one of Joyce's old coffee mugs, one of those double-size ones, and poured his breakfast into it. Spike pushed a few buttons on the microwave and waited for the blood to heat, drumming his fingers against the counter impatiently. Next to the stove there was a spice rack and he twirled it around, inspecting the contents. Hmm, he thought, paprika...never tried that one. The bell on the microwave went off and he uncapped the jar, turning to remove his mug. With a shrug he upended half of it into the blood and stirred with his finger. He couldn't help but chuckle as he licked it off. Standing in the Slayer's kitchen, eating a breakfast she bought me. Never thought that could happen. He gulped it down, enjoying the sweet bite of spice as the blood slid down his throat. Grimacing, he turned to rinse the cup. Never get used to the taste of packaged pig's blood though, he thought. Bloody crime.
He roamed around downstairs for a few minutes, toying with some of Joyce's knickknacks, looking at the pictures scattered around the living room.
"Who the hell am I trying to kid?" he muttered quietly and made for the steps, taking them two at a time until he was just outside Buffy's bedroom. With a deep breath he laid his hand on the door and pushed inside. Almost immediately, her scent surrounded him, drowning him. The curtains were still drawn, and it lent everything a soft, ethereal glow.
Hesitantly, he entered her inner sanctum. With light fingertips, he drew his hand across the cool cotton of her pillowcase and then clutched it to his nose, inhaling deeply. For a moment, he listened...searching for any indication they had returned. No human sounds, only the tidy mechanical tick of a clock and the quiet hum of air conditioning. He returned her pillow to its place at the head of the bed and stretched out on top of her comforter, wrapping himself not in blankets, but the warmth of her life. Turning on his side, he pressed his cheek into it, gazing out the window he had stared up at for so long. A sparkling bauble caught his eye, a prism hanging there, dancing in the light breaking each sunbeam into a thousand thin rays - each a different color. Transfixed, he followed each line to its termination, where they left small bright spots on the carpet and walls. He didn't hear Buffy call to him as she and Dawn tumbled through the door weighed down by shopping bags.
"Maybe he left." Dawn reasoned, as she dropped her burdens in the living room. But then she saw his boots still sitting at the end of the coffee table and his duster draped across the arm of the couch. "Or maybe not."
"Spike?" Buffy cried again, depositing the bags in her arms next to her sister's.
"Weird." Dawn murmured. "In the shower?"
Her sister just shook her head, "We'd hear the water." Without a second thought, she mounted the stairs, taking slow deliberate steps. She could see a shaft of light where her bedroom door stood ajar. A low growl escaped her lips.
"He just never listens, does he?" She pushed the door open, finding him curled up atop her bedclothes. "Spike, what the hell do you think you're doing?" He didn't turn at the sound of her voice, didn't even twitch. "Spike..." No one could mistake the threat in her words as she stomped around to the other side of the bed. "If you want to stay non-dusty, I'd suggest..." She trailed off, seeing the empty look stretched across his features.
"Buffy?" Spike's eyes were still unfocused and his voice faraway. "I have to, don't you see pet? And soon. Now I understand."
"What?" Buffy turned to notice Dawn standing in the doorway, her hand gripping the knob with white knuckles.
With a heavy sigh, he sat up, staring at his hands now instead of nothing. His voice was shaky, almost a whisper, at first when he finally spoke.
"Last night, I saw you...die." He choked on the last word and ran a hand through his hair nervously, striving to maintain what little composure he had left. "That was what set me off like that. Couldn't bear it, love."
"Spike..."
"Just let me finish, Slayer." She nodded and sat at the foot of the bed, listening.
"All the little nasties swimming around in my head, all the possibilities. They're all there." He turned to look at her, his fist twisting in the covers when a sudden flash revealed the sightless eyes he had seen last night, and then another showed streaks of gray in her golden hair and smile lines creasing her eyes. Spike blinked and shook off the visions, standing to cross to the window. Oblivious to the sun, he reached out to toy with the trinket hanging there.
"It's like this...prism. Right now I've got the beginning and the end, but I can't find the sodding middle." He rolled the warm glass between his fingers, finally noticing that they were smoking.
For her part, Buffy was lost. "What?"
Head lowered, he turned his back on the window. "See all those dancing little points of light out there? On the walls and such?"
"Yeah, so?"
"That's the future. Little specks of light. And the sun...well, that's the past. So bleeding constant, it always rises and sets."
She gave him a blank look, and Dawn crept in to sit beside her sister on the bed. His voice grew stronger, more assured with every word.
"Right now, there is no prism. No present to take the past and bend it into the future. And it hurts. I can't find the line, can't see which one is the right path without it." He chuckled bitterly, rubbing his temples. "Can't protect you or the 'Bit"
"You're going to have to help me out here, Spike. I don't get what any of this has to do with anything...especially not what you're doing in my room when I..."
He interrupted her rant, his voice low and more solemn than she'd ever heard it. "Listen a second, alright?"
Buffy's mouth opened.
"Please." The earnest request made her jaw snap shut as she nodded.
"They already tortured me but good over the past. And last night...well, that was a twisted version of the future I'd rather not live." He turned away from them, staring out the window again. "Only remember bits and pieces of it, but I think that's what I was going on about...the connection. I guess I came to terms with this all-knowing gig. If that's the way things have to go, fine. If it means I have the slightest chance of preventing what I saw, I'll do it...in a heartbeat." Spike looked back over his shoulder at the two girls sitting beside each other on the bed, Buffy confused, Dawn scared, and took a deep breath. "Couldn't live with myself...if something happened to either of you, and I knew I could've done something about it." His gaze shifted back out the window, thoughtful but unyielding.
Silence engulfed them, and Dawn turned pleading eyes on her sister. She knew she had to do this, Spike knew she had to do this, now it was just a matter of convincing Buffy. It wouldn't be easy, that much she knew. She would probably have had better luck winning over a brick wall, as stubbornas her sister was. Tears glittered softly on the older girl's cheeks as she tugged her sister into a tight hug. Buffy's lips settled close to her ear, and she spoke with a whisper so faint, Dawn almost didn't hear.
"Give us a few minutes, okay?"
Confused, she pulled out of the embrace and searched her sister's face for answers. Nothing but the glistening on her cheeks and a firm set to her mouth, so she shrugged and stood to leave, closing the door behind her.
As usual, Buffy's feelings were a complete mess. Willow's words replayed in her head.
"This denial thing? It's part of it"
And her mind traveled back over the past several months, trying to find a time when Spike had let her down, or done anything but help her...even though he didn't have to. Well, there was that time in the crypt. But she sincerely hoped that was an act of desperation. She thought it was, and he had apologized for it. Then she saw his face, not a month later, bloodied and torn. And he'd done it for her, and for Dawn...even though he had no reason to. She had literally shut him out of her life, and deliberately broken his heart. Told him he didn't have a chance. He hadn't given them up that day, as easy as it would have been. Her lips tingled as the memory of kissing him washed over her. Where did that come from? Maybe Willow had a point. And she remembered all the good he'd done, especially the thing with Glory. He was the reason her sister was still here. Well, that's not entirely true, she mused. He was the reason she was still here. Spike had no idea that it was her life he had saved that night. Didn't know the decision she had already made before the battle...and he should. Something clicked and a slow, wide smile slipped across her face. The bed springs creaked softly as she rolled over on her stomach to search beneath her mattress. Her hand closed around the handle of her favorite dagger and she pulled it free. When she sat up again, he was looking at her, his pain displayed openly in red-rimmed eyes. For a second, she saw the lost little boy that had sat on her couch last night and her resolve solidified. She fingered the knife's blade lightly, watching it shimmer in the low light.
"That night...with Glory. I came to a kind of decision." Buffy was whispering, and he took a few steps closer so he wouldn't have to strain his ears. She shifted a few inches over and patted the bed beside her. When he sat, he left space between them, knowing she wouldn't want to be crowded, no matter how long he had waited for this moment. Not exactly the way I pictured being in the Slayer's bed, he thought, but it'll do. When he settled, Buffy continued.
"I knew the monks made Dawn out of me. My blood. If you hadn't...if we had...if the portal had opened, I would have been the one closing it."
"Buffy, I..."
"No Spike. I listened to you, now it's your turn." She paused, drawing a deep breath. "I would have done anything to protect her, even if I had to sacrifice myself. Just like you. The others...they, well you heard them. Giles practically told me to kill her. I couldn't do that. So I made a decision."
"Look pet, I know all this, and I know how painful it is for you to relive it all by telling me about it. So, just let it rest."
Her brow crinkled as she turned to him, "How?"
Spike sighed. She's definitely not going to like this. "The past. I got a very up-close-and-personal tour of yours the other day, love. Suppose they thought it would be funny."
"Oh." Buffy paused for a moment, watching the blade flip over and over in her hands. She cleared her throat and looked at him, searching his face for some sign of what he was thinking. She came up empty. "This...prophecy thing. It's between you and Dawn. I have no right to interfere, even if I am her sister."
"Buffy, you worry about her...don't want to see her hurt, you have every right to..."
"Really, I don't. Especially not in the way I'm about to." She sliced the dagger across her palm, leaving a growing trail of blood behind. The look on her face remained unchanged as she watched the thick red liquid pool. The demon danced in Spike, trying to force its way out, and he covered his face with unsteady hands, perhaps thinking he could shove it back if he applied enough pressure.
Buffy touched his forehead lightly, feeling the ridges under her fingers. She leaned close to his ear and whispered.
"Let it come. I know what you are. This..." She held her bloodied palm beneath his nose and watched his nostrils flare. "This is my gift to you. That you don't have to drink from Dawn again. And a promise. That you'll never be the only one willing to give up everything to protect her."
His hands dropped from his face, revealing amber eyes clouded with confusion. Buffy looped her other arm behind his neck and pushed her palm closer to his mouth. Blinking once, and then twice he lowered his head, pressing a gentle kiss against her wrist where the blood pulsed beneath the skin. Then his tongue appeared between moistened lips, lapping at the liquid gathered in her hand with unbridled fervor. She watched, fascinated. And she saw the cut had already healed as he cleaned the last drops of blood from her skin. He could feel her power coursing through him, the sweet tang of her still tingling on his taste buds and his face shifted back to its human guise.
"Why?" he asked quietly.
"Because I can." She paused, searching for the right words. Spike still had a firm grasp on her wrist, and he drew her hand to his lips again and kissed the cut on her palm. A blush rose in her cheeks and crept down her neck as she worked her arm free.
"Spike..." she warned as she clutched her hand to her chest. He acted as if he hadn't heard her and reached out to brush a lock of hair off her forehead and tuck it behind her ear.
"Did I ever tell you how much I love you, pet?"
Buffy groaned and rolled her eyes, standing abruptly to stare out the window in an effort to put some distance between them.
"Once or twice...you know, when you had me chained up." She glanced back at him over her shoulder, saw the shame and sorrow shining in his eyes, and then returned her gaze to the window. "Look, Spike. I don't love you. I'm not even sure that I can love you. But at least now..." Buffy took a deep breath. "Now I'm willing to try."
She waited for his reaction. A few minutes passed, and still he didn't rush to her side, didn't say anything. Buffy felt vulnerable and exposed, and with a sigh she turned around to face him. Her breath caught in her throat.
He lay half on, half off her bed, his eyes screwed shut, head tossing side-to-side violently. Grabbing his ankles, she swung his legs up and stood back trying to figure out what to do. After a second's deliberation she picked up the phone and dialed.
"Giles...yeah, something's wrong. It's Spike. Just get here, okay?"
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Just playing with the lovely characters of a creative mastermind we all know as Joss.
When he woke, the sun was already burning high in the sky, the light filtering through the curtains giving the room a dusky hue. Sometime in the night he had removed his boots and socks, hoping to get comfortable enough to sleep. His shirt though, had twisted around him and gotten stuck between the cushions as he tossed and turned. So much for sleeping like the dead. At least there hadn't been another nightmare. With a yawn, Spike pushed himself up on one elbow and rubbed a hand across his scratchy eyes. He listened for sounds of movement, but the house was still. No heartbeats, no breath. They must have taken off somewhere. Groaning, he rose from the couch and padded into the kitchen, the wound on his stomach sending lovely stinging sensations over his skin. He lifted the hem of his shirt and found the gash red and angry, the skin surrounding it enflamed. Blood, need blood. Apparently someone heard him, because when he opened the fridge looking for something to drink, three large packets of blood sat on the top shelf, with a note taped haphazardly to them.
Spike,
Thought you could use something to eat. Went out, but we shouldn't be gone long. Don't go anywhere. I still want to talk about what happened last night. And don't go poking around in my room. Feel free to take a shower or watch television or whatever, though. See you soon.
He folded the note and slipped it in his pocket with a smile. Rummaging through the cabinets he turned up one of Joyce's old coffee mugs, one of those double-size ones, and poured his breakfast into it. Spike pushed a few buttons on the microwave and waited for the blood to heat, drumming his fingers against the counter impatiently. Next to the stove there was a spice rack and he twirled it around, inspecting the contents. Hmm, he thought, paprika...never tried that one. The bell on the microwave went off and he uncapped the jar, turning to remove his mug. With a shrug he upended half of it into the blood and stirred with his finger. He couldn't help but chuckle as he licked it off. Standing in the Slayer's kitchen, eating a breakfast she bought me. Never thought that could happen. He gulped it down, enjoying the sweet bite of spice as the blood slid down his throat. Grimacing, he turned to rinse the cup. Never get used to the taste of packaged pig's blood though, he thought. Bloody crime.
He roamed around downstairs for a few minutes, toying with some of Joyce's knickknacks, looking at the pictures scattered around the living room.
"Who the hell am I trying to kid?" he muttered quietly and made for the steps, taking them two at a time until he was just outside Buffy's bedroom. With a deep breath he laid his hand on the door and pushed inside. Almost immediately, her scent surrounded him, drowning him. The curtains were still drawn, and it lent everything a soft, ethereal glow.
Hesitantly, he entered her inner sanctum. With light fingertips, he drew his hand across the cool cotton of her pillowcase and then clutched it to his nose, inhaling deeply. For a moment, he listened...searching for any indication they had returned. No human sounds, only the tidy mechanical tick of a clock and the quiet hum of air conditioning. He returned her pillow to its place at the head of the bed and stretched out on top of her comforter, wrapping himself not in blankets, but the warmth of her life. Turning on his side, he pressed his cheek into it, gazing out the window he had stared up at for so long. A sparkling bauble caught his eye, a prism hanging there, dancing in the light breaking each sunbeam into a thousand thin rays - each a different color. Transfixed, he followed each line to its termination, where they left small bright spots on the carpet and walls. He didn't hear Buffy call to him as she and Dawn tumbled through the door weighed down by shopping bags.
"Maybe he left." Dawn reasoned, as she dropped her burdens in the living room. But then she saw his boots still sitting at the end of the coffee table and his duster draped across the arm of the couch. "Or maybe not."
"Spike?" Buffy cried again, depositing the bags in her arms next to her sister's.
"Weird." Dawn murmured. "In the shower?"
Her sister just shook her head, "We'd hear the water." Without a second thought, she mounted the stairs, taking slow deliberate steps. She could see a shaft of light where her bedroom door stood ajar. A low growl escaped her lips.
"He just never listens, does he?" She pushed the door open, finding him curled up atop her bedclothes. "Spike, what the hell do you think you're doing?" He didn't turn at the sound of her voice, didn't even twitch. "Spike..." No one could mistake the threat in her words as she stomped around to the other side of the bed. "If you want to stay non-dusty, I'd suggest..." She trailed off, seeing the empty look stretched across his features.
"Buffy?" Spike's eyes were still unfocused and his voice faraway. "I have to, don't you see pet? And soon. Now I understand."
"What?" Buffy turned to notice Dawn standing in the doorway, her hand gripping the knob with white knuckles.
With a heavy sigh, he sat up, staring at his hands now instead of nothing. His voice was shaky, almost a whisper, at first when he finally spoke.
"Last night, I saw you...die." He choked on the last word and ran a hand through his hair nervously, striving to maintain what little composure he had left. "That was what set me off like that. Couldn't bear it, love."
"Spike..."
"Just let me finish, Slayer." She nodded and sat at the foot of the bed, listening.
"All the little nasties swimming around in my head, all the possibilities. They're all there." He turned to look at her, his fist twisting in the covers when a sudden flash revealed the sightless eyes he had seen last night, and then another showed streaks of gray in her golden hair and smile lines creasing her eyes. Spike blinked and shook off the visions, standing to cross to the window. Oblivious to the sun, he reached out to toy with the trinket hanging there.
"It's like this...prism. Right now I've got the beginning and the end, but I can't find the sodding middle." He rolled the warm glass between his fingers, finally noticing that they were smoking.
For her part, Buffy was lost. "What?"
Head lowered, he turned his back on the window. "See all those dancing little points of light out there? On the walls and such?"
"Yeah, so?"
"That's the future. Little specks of light. And the sun...well, that's the past. So bleeding constant, it always rises and sets."
She gave him a blank look, and Dawn crept in to sit beside her sister on the bed. His voice grew stronger, more assured with every word.
"Right now, there is no prism. No present to take the past and bend it into the future. And it hurts. I can't find the line, can't see which one is the right path without it." He chuckled bitterly, rubbing his temples. "Can't protect you or the 'Bit"
"You're going to have to help me out here, Spike. I don't get what any of this has to do with anything...especially not what you're doing in my room when I..."
He interrupted her rant, his voice low and more solemn than she'd ever heard it. "Listen a second, alright?"
Buffy's mouth opened.
"Please." The earnest request made her jaw snap shut as she nodded.
"They already tortured me but good over the past. And last night...well, that was a twisted version of the future I'd rather not live." He turned away from them, staring out the window again. "Only remember bits and pieces of it, but I think that's what I was going on about...the connection. I guess I came to terms with this all-knowing gig. If that's the way things have to go, fine. If it means I have the slightest chance of preventing what I saw, I'll do it...in a heartbeat." Spike looked back over his shoulder at the two girls sitting beside each other on the bed, Buffy confused, Dawn scared, and took a deep breath. "Couldn't live with myself...if something happened to either of you, and I knew I could've done something about it." His gaze shifted back out the window, thoughtful but unyielding.
Silence engulfed them, and Dawn turned pleading eyes on her sister. She knew she had to do this, Spike knew she had to do this, now it was just a matter of convincing Buffy. It wouldn't be easy, that much she knew. She would probably have had better luck winning over a brick wall, as stubbornas her sister was. Tears glittered softly on the older girl's cheeks as she tugged her sister into a tight hug. Buffy's lips settled close to her ear, and she spoke with a whisper so faint, Dawn almost didn't hear.
"Give us a few minutes, okay?"
Confused, she pulled out of the embrace and searched her sister's face for answers. Nothing but the glistening on her cheeks and a firm set to her mouth, so she shrugged and stood to leave, closing the door behind her.
As usual, Buffy's feelings were a complete mess. Willow's words replayed in her head.
"This denial thing? It's part of it"
And her mind traveled back over the past several months, trying to find a time when Spike had let her down, or done anything but help her...even though he didn't have to. Well, there was that time in the crypt. But she sincerely hoped that was an act of desperation. She thought it was, and he had apologized for it. Then she saw his face, not a month later, bloodied and torn. And he'd done it for her, and for Dawn...even though he had no reason to. She had literally shut him out of her life, and deliberately broken his heart. Told him he didn't have a chance. He hadn't given them up that day, as easy as it would have been. Her lips tingled as the memory of kissing him washed over her. Where did that come from? Maybe Willow had a point. And she remembered all the good he'd done, especially the thing with Glory. He was the reason her sister was still here. Well, that's not entirely true, she mused. He was the reason she was still here. Spike had no idea that it was her life he had saved that night. Didn't know the decision she had already made before the battle...and he should. Something clicked and a slow, wide smile slipped across her face. The bed springs creaked softly as she rolled over on her stomach to search beneath her mattress. Her hand closed around the handle of her favorite dagger and she pulled it free. When she sat up again, he was looking at her, his pain displayed openly in red-rimmed eyes. For a second, she saw the lost little boy that had sat on her couch last night and her resolve solidified. She fingered the knife's blade lightly, watching it shimmer in the low light.
"That night...with Glory. I came to a kind of decision." Buffy was whispering, and he took a few steps closer so he wouldn't have to strain his ears. She shifted a few inches over and patted the bed beside her. When he sat, he left space between them, knowing she wouldn't want to be crowded, no matter how long he had waited for this moment. Not exactly the way I pictured being in the Slayer's bed, he thought, but it'll do. When he settled, Buffy continued.
"I knew the monks made Dawn out of me. My blood. If you hadn't...if we had...if the portal had opened, I would have been the one closing it."
"Buffy, I..."
"No Spike. I listened to you, now it's your turn." She paused, drawing a deep breath. "I would have done anything to protect her, even if I had to sacrifice myself. Just like you. The others...they, well you heard them. Giles practically told me to kill her. I couldn't do that. So I made a decision."
"Look pet, I know all this, and I know how painful it is for you to relive it all by telling me about it. So, just let it rest."
Her brow crinkled as she turned to him, "How?"
Spike sighed. She's definitely not going to like this. "The past. I got a very up-close-and-personal tour of yours the other day, love. Suppose they thought it would be funny."
"Oh." Buffy paused for a moment, watching the blade flip over and over in her hands. She cleared her throat and looked at him, searching his face for some sign of what he was thinking. She came up empty. "This...prophecy thing. It's between you and Dawn. I have no right to interfere, even if I am her sister."
"Buffy, you worry about her...don't want to see her hurt, you have every right to..."
"Really, I don't. Especially not in the way I'm about to." She sliced the dagger across her palm, leaving a growing trail of blood behind. The look on her face remained unchanged as she watched the thick red liquid pool. The demon danced in Spike, trying to force its way out, and he covered his face with unsteady hands, perhaps thinking he could shove it back if he applied enough pressure.
Buffy touched his forehead lightly, feeling the ridges under her fingers. She leaned close to his ear and whispered.
"Let it come. I know what you are. This..." She held her bloodied palm beneath his nose and watched his nostrils flare. "This is my gift to you. That you don't have to drink from Dawn again. And a promise. That you'll never be the only one willing to give up everything to protect her."
His hands dropped from his face, revealing amber eyes clouded with confusion. Buffy looped her other arm behind his neck and pushed her palm closer to his mouth. Blinking once, and then twice he lowered his head, pressing a gentle kiss against her wrist where the blood pulsed beneath the skin. Then his tongue appeared between moistened lips, lapping at the liquid gathered in her hand with unbridled fervor. She watched, fascinated. And she saw the cut had already healed as he cleaned the last drops of blood from her skin. He could feel her power coursing through him, the sweet tang of her still tingling on his taste buds and his face shifted back to its human guise.
"Why?" he asked quietly.
"Because I can." She paused, searching for the right words. Spike still had a firm grasp on her wrist, and he drew her hand to his lips again and kissed the cut on her palm. A blush rose in her cheeks and crept down her neck as she worked her arm free.
"Spike..." she warned as she clutched her hand to her chest. He acted as if he hadn't heard her and reached out to brush a lock of hair off her forehead and tuck it behind her ear.
"Did I ever tell you how much I love you, pet?"
Buffy groaned and rolled her eyes, standing abruptly to stare out the window in an effort to put some distance between them.
"Once or twice...you know, when you had me chained up." She glanced back at him over her shoulder, saw the shame and sorrow shining in his eyes, and then returned her gaze to the window. "Look, Spike. I don't love you. I'm not even sure that I can love you. But at least now..." Buffy took a deep breath. "Now I'm willing to try."
She waited for his reaction. A few minutes passed, and still he didn't rush to her side, didn't say anything. Buffy felt vulnerable and exposed, and with a sigh she turned around to face him. Her breath caught in her throat.
He lay half on, half off her bed, his eyes screwed shut, head tossing side-to-side violently. Grabbing his ankles, she swung his legs up and stood back trying to figure out what to do. After a second's deliberation she picked up the phone and dialed.
"Giles...yeah, something's wrong. It's Spike. Just get here, okay?"