Series: Mortal Allies

Story Title: Episode 4, My Turn

By: Passion4Spike

Chapter 28: Say Something

Chapter Notes:

Thanks to all of you for reading! It means so much to me, like buttery popcorn for my muse! Sending all the sloppy, joyful doggie kisses to everyone who has left a note, a like or a kudo. I'm working on replying to all your lovely comments and treasure every one of them.

Thanks also to my other wonderful beta readers and friends: All4Spike, Paganbaby, and TeamEricNSookie. Holi117 has switched to a pre-reader, which I'm so happy she's finding time for that. All mistakes are mine because I keep fiddling with stuff. If you see any, PM me and I'll fix it.

Chapter 28: Say Something

Say something, I'm giving up on you

I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you

Anywhere, I would've followed you

Say something, I'm giving up on you

And I am feeling so small

It was over my head

I know nothing at all

And I will stumble and fall

I'm still learning to love

Just starting to crawl

~A Great Big World, Christina Aguilera - Say Something

* X-X *

The big dog settled onto the floor next to the vampire as Buffy set the mug of blood down on the coffee table. She silently lowered herself onto the couch, watching the blond as he slept. He'd been sitting up earlier when she'd stopped in, but now he was back down on the floor on his side, curled around a pillow. Everyone had gone home—Willow, Oz, Xander, and Giles—and her mom had gone to bed. The house was shadowy and quiet. She'd spent the entire day trying to get blood for Spike. Human blood had been her initial goal, but both the blood bank and the hospital were running low. That gave her pause. Was it really fair to take blood that people needed—human people—and give it to Spike? She'd been firmly against it when he'd first arrived, but then had softened her stance after he'd saved her mom. If there hadn't been a shortage, she wouldn't've thought twice, but there was, and she did.

Spike was 'people' now. She supposed he'd been 'people' for a while, but this moral quandary brought that fact home to her. Spike hadn't been inflicting any neck trauma while he'd been in town. By not taking any straight from the tap, didn't he deserve some from the human donations? On the other hand, he could live on non-human blood, while humans needing blood couldn't get transfusions from pigs or cows.

So, because of the shortage, Buffy had changed tack. She'd checked at the butcher shop in town to see if they had any pig's blood that was fresher than their normal fare, but they didn't. She remembered that Spike had done well on the fresh animal blood she'd gotten him on their road trip after the bear had ripped him open. It had come from an actual butcher/meat processor—a place where hunters took their prizes for cutting and packaging—rather than a meat cutter and reseller like they had in Sunnydale. With that in mind, she'd gotten Oz to drive her and her furry companion east, past the desert and into the mountains and forests, through small agricultural towns that dotted the interior of the state.

After their first stop, she'd learned that January wasn't a big hunting season, so there were no deer or elk being brought in by hunters. The only thing anyone had were wild boars, which apparently were fair game any time of the year. Unfortunately, no one had brought one in to be dressed in the last few days. They got lucky at the third place they'd stopped though. A farmer had brought in a steer to be butchered—the thing was standing there in a small paddock mooing and chomping grass.

After a few suspicious questions from the butcher, 'This isn't some 'Carrie' thing, is it? Because I'm not fond o' that sort of chicanery,' and Oz explaining it was for their Advanced Bio class at UC Sunnydale, the grizzled old man was more than happy to sell them the blood.

There was a LOT of blood! More than Buffy had been prepared to deal with—almost ten gallons. But Oz, once again, saved the day by running to the store and clearing the shelves of Ziploc freezer bags while the butcher took care of the unfortunate steer.

Now, not only was Buffy's freezer full of blood, but so was Xander's, Giles', Willow's, and Oz's. She'd even dropped some off at Angel's, replacing the human blood she'd taken that morning.

Buffy hated to wake Spike up for the blood, but she knew he needed it to heal. He'd need even more of it than he would human blood. 'Or Slayer blood,' she added with a sigh. But that couldn't happen again. That way led to near-kisses and badness. With a determination she hadn't known she'd had, Buffy had kept her distance from him all day, relying on her mom to bring him what he needed. But there was no one else up now that she could pawn this off on. It was up to her to keep her emotional distance while being un-distant in the physical sense.

Buffy took a deep breath to calm her nerves. 'Detach, detach, detach,' she reminded herself before standing up and going over to the slumbering blond. She touched his shoulder lightly. "Spike, wake up a minute. I got you some blood."

The vampire burrowed his face deeper into the pillow, shrugging off her touch.

She tried again a little harder. "Spike, you need to eat something," Buffy admonished, shaking him, but trying to be careful not to jar him too roughly.

His eyes blinked open, the light from the foyer catching the blue as he turned toward her.

"Hey," Buffy said softly, giving him a small smile. "I got you some blood."

Spike blinked again, raising one hand to rub at his swollen eyes. "Buffy?"

"No, it's the blood fairy," she corrected lightly. "Can you sit up?"

Spike shook his head to clear the sleep from his brain, but had already started pushing up. He winced and stopped when he got about halfway, daggers of fire searing into his abdomen with the motion as barely healed muscles and tendons were wrenched apart again.

"Here, let me help you," Buffy offered, pressing her hands against the tight muscles of his upper back, and gently raising him to an upright position. She pulled the chair around so that it provided a backrest for him again and stepped back.

Spike squinted up at her, still trying to clear the fuzz from his brain and the goo from his eyes. "Where ya been all day?"

"Getting you blood," she replied, retrieving the mug from the coffee table and turning to offer it to him. "I couldn't get any more human blood," she excused apologetically. "They're running low and—"

"I heard," he interrupted her, taking the warm cup from her. His fingers brushed over Buffy's as she passed off the mug. Spike heard her heart rate jump as she yanked her hand back as if he'd burned her. His brows furrowed. Was she… afraid of him?

Joyce's voice rang in his mind, 'But, really, he's quite dangerous, don't you think?' Was that what this was all about? Were they afraid of him? Is that why they all wanted him out?

"Not gonna hurt you, pet," Spike assured her, his eyes tracking her every move. "Got a truce… not gonna break it."

Buffy nodded. "Yeah, no. I mean… I know," she agreed, though she wrung her hands together nervously and moved back, well out of reach. "How is it?" she asked, releasing her hands to wave one at the mug.

Spike sniffed the blood. Bovine. He took a sip.

"I, umm… it's really super-fresh, like… I mean… I saw the cow being all… cow-y and then… not so much," Buffy stammered, watching for his reaction.

"You killed a cow?" Spike questioned, arching a brow at her.

"Me?" she squeaked. "No… not so much with the killing of farm animals. I'm more the demon slaying type of girl. But, uh, I was there-ish… not right there, cos… ewww, but, you know, near enough to make me question my dietary choices."

Spike raised his brows. She was rambling. Why was she rambling?

"So, uh, is it okay?" Buffy repeated. "I didn't put anything in it, you know, like peppers or anything. Do you want me to? Cos I totally can."

Spike took another sip and nodded. "Can tell it's fresh," he admitted. "Better than the pig swill they sell around here." He took another, longer pull of it, and nodded again. "Not bad. Not human, but tolerable." He downed the rest in a few long swallows, not because it was distasteful, but because he'd just realized how hungry he was. The demon needed blood to heal him, and lots of it.

Buffy gave him a relieved smile. "Good, because we have ten gallons of it."

Spike's brows raised again as he handed the empty mug back to her. Ten gallons? Even healing, just how much blood did she reckon he could down in a day or three? Cos isn't that what they all wanted? Him outta here lickety-split? What the bloody fuck was going on?

"Well, maybe not ten whole gallons," Buffy continued at his look, taking the mug, carefully not touching his fingers. "I dropped some of it off at Angel's."

Spike schooled his face into neutrality, though the borrowed blood in his veins was seething. Angel. So, not just for him, then… for sodding Angel.

"We need t' have a little chat, Slayer," Spike insisted, trying to keep his voice neutral.

"Yeah, sure! Just let me go rinse this out and I'll make you a thermos, so if you wake up you can have it right there, all warm and… you know, bloody," Buffy chirped, already hurrying from the room.

Spike looked down at the dog, a brow arched in question. "What the bloody fuck is going on around here?" he asked his furry friend.

The Guardian huffed out a heavy sigh, his chin never raising up from the pillow of his paws.

Spike sighed too and rubbed at his tired eyes. He was starting to wonder if this was one of his nightmares. 'Probably not,' he reasoned. 'Otherwise the mutt would be talking about cheezeburgers.'

* X-X *

Spike was gonna ask Buffy when she came back. He was going to ask her point-blank about everything. He was going to ask her if she really wanted him to leave. He was going to ask her about the just-barely kiss. He was going to ask her what had changed between last night and today.

He was gonna ask, he really was.

But then, he didn't.

Because what if she said the kiss didn't mean anything? What if she said she wanted him gone? What if she said they weren't friends, after all? What if she said he was beneath her, nothing but a soulless vampire who'd outstayed his welcome? What if she'd just been playing him all along so he'd help her with this Council bollocks and now… now it was over? What if she'd played him for a bloody fool?

All his fears and insecurities choked off his demands for answers, for real answers. He was too afraid of what she'd say.

Instead, when she returned with the thermos, he asked, "How're ya feeling? Your strength coming back?"

Buffy nodded, curling one hand into a fist. "Little by little. I'm not quite Popeye yet, but I'm not Olive Oyl either."

"Think yer mum's getting a bit tired o' the eau de rancid vampire fillin' her lounge. Suggested maybe I could get a shower, but not sure I can make it up the stairs," Spike went on.

Buffy hesitated, looking at the stairs, her heart jumping in her chest then tripping all over itself, as if trying to escape. She swallowed hard before looking back at him. "I'm not sure I can… I mean I don't think I could carry you—maybe in a few days."

"Don't need ya to carry me, just lend a shoulder or whatnot," Spike clarified, his eyes narrowed, watching her curiously.

She arched a brow, crossing her arms protectively over her chest. "You can't even sit up on your own, how are you going to walk?"

"Way I been healing, should be walking, or at least limping, by tomorrow," Spike insisted, still trying to suss out her reaction.

Buffy bit her lip. The way he'd been healing had been on human blood and Slayer blood, not cow's blood—no matter how fresh. "I could drag you out into the yard and hose you down," she suggested.

"You don't even wash the fleabag in the sodding yard," Spike complained, making the dog beside him let out a small rumble of a growl. "Not asking ya to join me in the bath," he assured her. Then, lowering his voice to a velvety rumble, "Unless you wanted to, o' course."

Buffy scoffed at him, rolling her eyes, her arms still firmly crossed over her chest. "Don't be piggy," she scolded, the familiar chant coming out like a recorded message. "I'll help you, but not tonight. I'm exhausted." She yawned dramatically and on cue. "We'll talk about it tomorrow… after school."

Spike pursed his lips, but nodded. What other choice did he really have?

Buffy yawned again, even wider, and headed for the stairs. "You comin', boy?" she called back, looking at the dog.

The Guardian looked from Buffy to Spike and back again, clearly conflicted. For a moment the vampire thought the hound was gonna stay with him—male solidarity and all—but then he heaved himself to his feet to follow his master.

"Turncoat," Spike muttered under his breath as the furball tagged along behind the Slayer, heading up the stairs. Not that Spike could blame him. He was half tempted to try and crawl after her himself, grovel and beg and promise anything if she'd just tell him what he'd done wrong, say that she was still his friend, that she didn't want him to go, that he was her vampire and she was his Slayer.

Spike clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists against his thighs. 'Sod that!' he admonished himself. Hadn't he had enough of trailing behind a woman waiting for crumbs, only to be kicked in the balls at every turn? Not anymore. He wouldn't do it again. As soon as he was able, he'd be gone. Better to be alone than give everything to someone only to be treated like a simpering fool. Been there, done that two too many times.

* X-X *

Buffy closed the door to her room and leaned back against it heavily, her eyes closing. The sigh that came from deep inside her filled the room with relief. Spike hadn't asked about the kiss. Thank goodness! Maybe he didn't even remember it—he had been on painkillers, maybe he thought it was a dream or something. She'd been running all her arguments around and around in her head all day, and she'd come back to 'detachment' as being the prudent course of action. It would keep everyone safe from the curse of the Slayer, including her.

Buffy had also spent most of the day practicing what she was going to say to him, how the kiss didn't mean anything, and if that's what he called a kiss then no wonder Dru cheated on him. She cringed at that, knowing how cruel it would be to say, especially since, as fleeting as it had been, she'd had a hard time putting that kiss out of her mind.

Thankfully, she hadn't had to say any of it. She'd managed to have a conversation with him and remain firmly planted in the detachment camp.

Well, except for that millisecond when his fingers had skimmed over hers. That had triggered too many feelings to name; they zinged through her, turning her into a tingling lust-bunny and a hopeless romantic all in one fell swoop. There was a definite disembarkation from the detached boat in that moment, but she'd clawed her way back aboard, albeit with plenty of rambling.

And now he wanted to drape himself against her to get upstairs for a shower? Buffy shook her head at the thought. If just that simple touch had her diving overboard back into the dangerous and muddy waters of attachment, what would having his whole body against hers do? And then what if he needed help getting out of his jeans, and into the tub? Her whole body flamed at the thought.

She pushed off the door and began stripping out of her clothes as the dog took his place in the big, soft bed in the corner, turning around three times before flopping down with a thud.

"Maybe you can drag him up the stairs," she suggested to her friend as she tossed her clothes onto the floor of her closet.

Spike tilted his head, as if considering, then sneezed heartily before setting back down onto the cushion.

"Fat lotta help you are," Buffy grumbled, pulling on her PJs and climbing into bed. She'd just have to figure out an excuse tomorrow—she had all day. It wasn't like she actually paid attention in class, anyway.

As true exhaustion pulled her under, Buffy wondered why even the most impossible task always seemed like they would be possible to do 'tomorrow'.

* X-X *

Next Day:

Faith sauntered down the hall and into the kitchen where Joyce was warming up more cow blood for Spike, as his thermos had been empty when she'd checked it.

"Hey, Mrs. S," the dark Slayer called in greeting as she leaned her elbows on the breakfast bar. Buffy's dog, who had accompanied her from the foyer, turned and headed back the way he'd come, apparently feeling his escort duty was complete.

"Faith!" Joyce exclaimed, startled, spinning around to face the newcomer. "I wish you wouldn't do that. I'm not as young as I used to be," she informed the girl as she patted a hand to her racing heart.

"Sorry." Faith shrugged. "I knocked but I guess you didn't hear me. The dog let me in." The girl tilted her head toward the radio that played on the windowsill. "Maybe the music was too loud."

Joyce rolled her eyes, reaching over to turn the radio down. "We were all starting to get a bit worried about you. Where have you been?" she asked, turning back to face the girl.

Faith shrugged again, studying the pattern of Formica on the counter. "Here and there," she answered elusively, doodling with her finger on the countertop. "Um, I know I've been gone a while, but did you know you have a vampire sleeping on your living room floor?" she wondered, finally looking up at Joyce.

Joyce smiled and turned back to the saucepan, taking it off the heat lest it scorch the blood. "Yes, that's Spike."

"Spike," Faith repeated thoughtfully. "The one Buffy ran off with?"

Joyce sighed. "She didn't run off with him, she went on a mission."

"Based on what I heard about all the shades of purple Giles turned when he found out, I'd say it was a doozy of a mission."

Joyce shrugged before pouring the blood into the thermos. "Mr. Giles can be… overly dramatic."

Faith snorted. "Yeah, huh?" she agreed. "So, what's the 411? What happened to your house and why's William the Bloody crashed in the living room?"

"It's a bit of a long story. Would you like some lunch?" Joyce offered, twisting the lid closed on Spike's sustenance. "Buffy's at school. She won't be back for a while."

Faith slid onto one of the stools. "I could eat."

* X-X *

Spike woke to voices. Voices saying the same words, in stereo. One on one side of him, one on the other. They were in near-perfect sync, even down to the mocking tone, "Come out to the coast, we'll get together, have a few laughs…" One of the voices chuckled, then continued in stereo, "Now I know what a TV dinner feels like."

Spike blinked, trying to get his bearings and identify the people in the room. One human, one dog, one… television? No, not human—Slayer. And not Buffy. He shot up to a seated position, his eyes wide, searching the dim room for the threat.

"So, you are alive… or, you know, undead. Wasn't sure there for a while," the Slayer said in greeting. She was on the couch, her chunky, black boots propped up on the coffee table, a bowl of popcorn in her lap.

"Who the bloody hell are you?" Spike demanded, turning to face her. His eyes scanned the area for a weapon, but all he saw was his thermos and the dog. The dog. Who was snoozing. 'Guardian, my sodding arse.'

"Faith," she replied, turning her attention back to the television.

Spike looked at the screen, recognizing the movie, then back to her. "You're the other one… the other Slayer they've been arsed about."

"And you're William the Bloody, saving Happy Meals from evil since 1998," Faith retorted, taking another bite of popcorn.

"Just go by 'Spike' now," the vampire told her, his brow creased, watching her closely.

Faith nodded absently, her focus on the movie. "Mrs. S. left you some blood," she relayed, tilting her chin at the thermos on the floor near him. "She said she put some hot peppers in it."

"Ta," Spike answered, still keeping a wary eye on her while he reached for it. Only then did it register that he had gotten himself into a seated position without help and without mind-numbing agony. He tested his abdomen, twisting a bit in place. Still had some daggers sticking here and there, but not like it had been. Should be able to get to his feet and get his arse into the shower with a bit of help today. Assuming Buffy would help him, of course. Which, based on how she'd hurried out of the house this morning without a word to him, and her standoffish behavior yesterday, he wasn't too sure about.

Faith started talking along with the movie again, her words and tones nearly perfectly in sync with the television.

Spike arched a brow as he opened the thermos. "You must be right popular in the cinema," he commented before taking a drink.

Faith grinned wolfishly. "What're they gonna do about it? Kick me out? Slayer, remember?"

Spike tilted his head in acknowledgement.

"Anyway, it's not like I know every line to every movie," she continued.

"Just 'Die Hard'?" Spike wondered.

"Best Christmas movie of all time," Faith declared, turning a dazzling smile on Spike before looking back at the screen.

"It's January," the vampire pointed out.

She shrugged. "Close enough. Oh, oh, wait! I love this part!" she exclaimed, shushing him with a raised finger.

Spike shook his head and drank more of his blood. The peppers gave it a nice tang, a bit better than cow's blood alone. When Faith took a break to munch on more popcorn, he asked, "Where's everyone else?"

"The good Slayer's still at school. Mrs. S. had her friend drive her to the mechanic's to pick up the Jeep… which I guess Buffy trashed. Sounds like I missed all the fun," Faith supplied, reaching for a soda on the table.

"Was a slap an' a tickle," Spike agreed, wincing a little as he repositioned himself so he could keep both the TV and the Slayer more easily in his line of sight.

Faith looked over at him. "Looks like you got the slap part of that equation," she observed. "What was it like getting shot?"

Spike snorted. "Not as much of a dodle as you'd think," he mocked, lifting the thermos to his lips again.

"Yeah, huh?" the girl agreed. "I've never been shot," she admitted.

"I'd advise against it, as a general rule."

Faith snorted. "I'll keep it in mind," she agreed. "Popcorn?" she offered, extending the bowl out toward Spike.

"Don't mind if I do." Spike shifted again, this time sliding over so he could rest his back against the couch, facing the TV. Moving was definitely getting easier, less painful.

Faith shifted over a bit too, still on the couch, but close enough that they could both reach the popcorn.

Spike took a handful, dropping a few kernels into his blood before popping the rest into this mouth. He waited for the 'Ewww!' exclamation from the girl, but it never came. He looked up at her, but Faith was already engrossed in the movie again, her lips moving, the words coming out in more of a whisper. He shook his head, finding himself missing his Slayer's indignation and the eventual snarking that ensued.

As they watched the movie and snacked, he looked down at his grimy jeans. The rank odor coming from them was starting to curl his nose hairs. What were the chances that Buffy would actually give him a hand getting cleaned up? Hell, she might not even come home until late, like she had yesterday, then feign exhaustion, leaving him stewing in blood and mud another day.

Then his mind clicked. Was a Slayer right here, wasn't there? Didn't need the one that kept whacking him about like a pinball. A wicked grin spread his lips as he reached for another handful of popcorn. "This part's brilliant," he commented, waving a hand at the TV.

"I know, right?" Faith replied enthusiastically, her dark eyes sparkling. "Did you know when they dropped Gruber down the side of the building, that shocked look wasn't a total act?" she asked. "They were supposed to drop him onto an airbag on the count of three, right? But the director changed it to drop on one, instead. Is that dope, or what?"

Spike smirked. "Bloody brilliant," he agreed, biding his time, settling in to enjoy the movie and this new Slayer's enthusiasm for the violence and dark comedy.

* X-X *

Spike leaned heavily on the counter in the bathroom, breathing through the pain that twisted his guts into pretzels. He knew the chit would help him get up here, and he'd been right. There hadn't been any hesitation after the movie ended. This Slayer certainly didn't have Buffy's delicate touch, more like a bull in a Victoria's Secret, but he'd survived, and he wasn't even bleeding.

"You gonna be all right?" Faith asked, eying him dubiously as she backed toward the door. "I'd hate to break Buffy's latest toy. She's sort of a bitch about that."

Spike's body stiffened and he turned to scowl at her over his shoulder, his eyes glittering with flecks of gold. "Not the Slayer's sodding toy," he growled.

"Oooo, he has fangs," she mocked in faux terror. "You tellin' me you and she aren't doing the dirty?"

Spiked turned away from her, arms still propped on the counter. "Just friends," he admitted.

"That right?" she asked, her tone turning thick and sultry.

"Or enemies… depending on the day," Spike added as he lifted his hands from the counter, testing his balance. His abs ached with the strain of staying upright, and fires erupted beneath his skin, but he only wavered a bit and didn't fall. Still facing the counter, Spike tugged at his belt, letting the ends fall and hang loose, the buckle jangling. He struggled for a moment with the top button of the jeans. They'd gotten stiff from being wet and caked in mud, and the hole seemed to have shrunk around the brass button. After a few moments battling with the uncooperative fastener, he finally managed to get it undone.

He only then noticed Faith still standing near the open door, unabashedly watching him. He turned his entire body to face her, one brow cocked. "Staying for the show?"

She shrugged one shoulder, arms crossed, a cocky smirk on her lips. "If you're offerin'."

Spike bobbed his head in a 'whatever' gesture and reached for the zipper. As his fingers closed over the brass pull an uncomfortable feeling settled in his gut—one that had nothing to do with bullets. It only took a moment to recognize the sensation. Standing here with this Slayer, about to drop trou, he felt like he was cheating on Dru. Not that he was in any condition to actually do much cheating… though he supposed if the chit did most of the work…

Just the thought of it made his insides tighten further, wringing them in a painful spasm of guilt. He snorted at how ridiculous that was. It wasn't anything Dru hadn't done to him a million times. And they were quits, anyway, what the bloody difference—

And then it hit him.

It wasn't Dru he was worried about. It was Buffy. Buffy—who had barely kissed him, then run off, virtue fluttering. Buffy, who did nothing but bat him around like a cricket ball. Buffy, who he'd vowed just last night to not follow about like a lovelorn poet waiting for her to notice.

'Balls!'

Spike ground his teeth together and turned away from the smirking brunette. "Not offerin'," he growled, pulling the zipper down with an effort. Sand and grit clogged the teeth, making it impossible to get it more than halfway down. He pulled it back up and tried again, but it stopped sooner than it had the first time. "Fuck's sake…" he muttered under his breath, trying a third time with no better luck.

Spike hooked his thumbs beneath the shrunken, stiff waistband on either side of his hips and tried to push the jeans down. He pushed harder, getting more brassed off with every passing moment, and something in his stomach tore. "Fuck!" he snarled, doubling over as knives of fire danced through his stomach, threatening to engulf him.

"Dude… what did you do?" Faith asked, stepping back into the bathroom.

"Sodding zipper's clogged, bloody things won't come off," Spike ground out, checking his hands for blood to see if he'd opened up one of the gashes in his stomach. "Bugger me," he snarled when his palm glistened red in the bright bathroom light.

"Anyone tell you you're kinda high-maintenance for a boy-toy?" Faith inquired as she grabbed a washcloth and pressed it into his hand. "Hold that over it and let me see the zipper."

Spike took the cloth and pressed it against the open tear in his stomach, trying to staunch the blood flow. Faith had already come around to the front and was reaching for the zipper. "Watch the goods," he warned, grimacing as he tried to stand up straighter. "Don't need anything else bleedin'."

Faith snorted, rolling her eyes. "This isn't my first rodeo, buckaroo. Unlike some blonde, one trick wonders who shall remain nameless, I know my way around a man's pants."

* X-X *

"This isn't my first rodeo, buckaroo. Unlike some blonde, one trick wonders who shall remain nameless, I know my way around a man's pants."

Buffy's brows furrowed as she closed the front door behind her, looking up the stairs toward the source of the familiar voice.

"Just have a care, will you? Know how you Slayers are—yank first and worry 'bout Hoovering up the damage later."

"Shift a little to the right."

"There?"

"Mmm-hmm, yeah. Wow, your skin is really soft."

"I moisturize. Get back to business, would you?"

"It's harder than I thought."

"Did ya think I was just blowing smoke 'bout that?"

"Also, totally stuck."

"Think I saw some baby oil above the sink 'ere… that help?"

"Just hand me the soap. You want to lather it up, or shall I?"

"Well, seein's how your down there and all…"

"Wait, I think it's moving. Just a little bit more…"

"What the hell is going on in here?" Buffy demanded from the open bathroom door. Spike was facing away from her, Faith was kneeling in front of him, her hands and face… well, Buffy didn't want to think about where her hands and face were.

Spike and Faith both jumped at the sound. Faith falling onto her butt on the cool tiles, while Spike jerked back away from her. More daggers of molten steel ripped through him with the movement, and he bent over with a howl and a spurt of blood from the new tear in his abdomen.

"Christ, B!" Faith cursed, recovering first and scrambling back to her feet. "Ever heard of knocking?"

"The door was open! I could hear you two all the way from downstairs! What the hell—?" Buffy demanded, stepping into the room. She glared daggers at the brunette, then trained those green lasers on Spike.

"Not what you're thinkin'," Spike defended, lifting his head to look up at her from his stooped position, still pressing the now blood-soaked washcloth against his stomach. Why was he defending himself? Sodding bitch had no claim on him.

Buffy's voice dripped with disdain and sarcasm, "Really? Well, please explain… I can't wait for this one."

"I was trying to get his pants off—the zipper's stuck," Faith explained.

"Oh, well… yeah, nothing at all like I imagined," Buffy continued acerbically, crossing her arms over her chest as she glared between the two of them.

"Was trying t' take a sodding shower," Spike tried. He winced inwardly, annoyed with himself for feeling like he needed to explain anything to Buffy.

"I'm glad to see you two getting along so well—showering together is a wonderful way to get to know people, I guess. Clearly, I've been doing it all wrong, being all chatty-Buffy. I guess I should've been using my mouth for other things."

Spike clenched his jaw, the muscles in his cheek twitching as he stood up straighter, looking Buffy in the eye. "Not. Showering. With. Her," he ground out. "Was just trying to clean up… couldn't get my sodding jeans off." He waved his free hand at the offending clothing. "Die Hard here was just trying to help so I could get a fucking shower." He stopped realizing what he said. "Not a fucking shower… just a shower. Alone. With no fucking."

"And I'm supposed to believe that… why?" Buffy wondered dubiously.

Spike's blood started to boil, anger with himself eclipsed by his anger with the glaring blonde. "Believe whatever the fuck you want, Slayer! What the hell do you care anyway, eh?"

"I don't!" Buffy contended, her anger flaring right along with Spike's. She took a step toward him, her eyes flashing, her hands down at her sides now, balled into deadly fists. "Do whatever you want… whoever you want! I'm sure Calamity Jane will be happy get your pants off for you and show you all her tricks, buckaroo," Buffy sneered before turning on her heel and stomping toward the door.

"Yo, B!" Faith called. "You got it all wrong, girlfriend. I'm not trying to poach your pet vampire," she insisted, hurrying after the other Slayer.

Buffy whirled back around, her anger the only thing holding back the tears that wanted to burst up from her heart. The words, 'He's not my vampire!' formed and rose, ready to explode out, but her throat closed over them, refusing to let them see the light of day. He was her vampire, goddammit. And she was his Slayer. Not Faith—her!

"Honest, B—was just trying to help the dude out. Your mom said he'd been all heroic and shit, and he kinda looked like he could use it, ya know? He's too beat up for any decent hijinks, anyway."

Buffy shifted her icy stare from one to the other of them, the atmosphere in the small room thick with the overheated emotions rolling off the two blondes in waves. "Then get the fuck outta here," Buffy ordered the other girl in a low, level tone, her gaze locked onto Spike.

"Totally gone." Faith held her hands up, shooting Spike a look that said, 'You are so screwed—and not in the good way,' before skirting around Buffy and leaving the room.

For a few moments, the only sounds were Buffy's ragged breathing and Faith's heavy boots clomping down the stairs. Buffy curled and uncurled her fists, trying her best to bring her rampaging emotions under control. Some wild, green-eyed monster had ripped the cage of detachment to shreds and taken over her body and mind. Buffy wanted to pummel Spike. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and kiss him. She wanted to heal him and protect him. She wanted to kill him. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. She wanted to say the three words that kept floating around in her head every time she was near him or thought of him. She wanted to scratch his eyes out for looking at Faith and rip Faith's fingers off for touching his soft skin. She just plain wanted him.

Buffy didn't do or say any of that. None of that would lead to anything good. There was no safe detachment there. So, she stood there, clenching and unclenching her fists, glaring at Spike, trying to get some semblance of control over the rampaging monster.

"Buffy," he began in a carefully moderated tone, one that you'd use with an unfamiliar dog or a Tasmanian devil.

She swallowed hard and blinked, lowering her eyes to his bleeding stomach. "Stupid vampire," she chastised. "I went to a lot of trouble to get that blood for you, and you just drip it all over the floor like you don't even need it." She was moving then, pulling open the cabinet door and dragging out the first-aid kit.

"Got no desire t' shag the little strumpet. Was just tryin' to get cleaned up," he continued speaking to her back as she pulled out supplies.

"I told you I'd help you when I got home tonight," she ground out, feeling a sharp stab of guilt for spending all day trying to think of a way to keep from helping him. "Oh! What am I doing?" she muttered, mostly to herself, tossing the gauze back into the box. "Spike! Spike, c'mere boy!" Buffy called, moving over to the door.

A flash of coppery fur appeared in the doorway within moments, the dog's big brown eyes expectant, his mouth hanging open.

"Got a job for you," she explained, waiving a hand at the blond. "Someone decided to screw up all our hard work."

The vampire rolled his eyes. "Didn't do it on purpose," he grumbled, looking down at the dripping rag in his hand.

The dog wasn't quite tall enough to reach the reopened wounds with Spike standing, so Buffy helped him sit down on the edge of the tub. Her hands were blazing against his cool skin, her anger still close to the surface. Spike studied her as the dog, once again, used his magic to seal the wounds. She repacked the first-aid kit with sharp, annoyed motions, her shoulders tense, her whole body a coiled wire, ready to spring. But just what was she angry about? Him not waiting for her to help? Him opening up the wounds? Or the compromising position she'd found him and Faith in?

"Do you believe me?" Spike asked her as the dog worked to stop the bleeding.

Buffy pulled out a pair of safety scissors from the kit and set them on the counter next to her before turning around to face him. She leaned her butt against the sink, her arms folded over her chest, still fighting back the avalanche of emotions that swarmed inside her. "That you didn't rip your stomach open on purpose? Yeah, pretty sure spurting blood is a turn-off even for Faith." She stopped, screwing up her face in thought, then shrugged. "Or not … honestly, I'm not sure she even has an 'off' button."

Spike scowled. "Nooo," he drawled out through clenched teeth. "The other bit—that I got no desire to shag her."

Buffy shrugged, managing to put on an air of nonchalance, masking the turmoil she was feeling inside. "I don't know why not—she's the fun-time Slayer. I'm sure she'll wax your knob or clean your chassis or whatever she does until you cry uncle."

The vampire growled, a threatening rumble that echoed off the tile walls of the small room. He was on his feet the next moment, shoving the dog away. Before Buffy could move, he had his hands pressed against the counter on either side of her, trapping her between his arms.

He hadn't touched her, but he was close enough to kiss. Close enough that she could feel the frustration and rage and a hundred other emotions bubbling beneath his skin, matching hers. Buffy swallowed, raising her eyes to his defiantly, both of them challenging the other to either look away or make the next move.

"I don't want her," Spike said again, the slight tremor in his voice a stark contrast to the forced calm he was putting into each word. He swallowed hard. The next words on this tongue were a painful admission, one that could get him staked or, at the very least, tossed out on his ear. "I want you."

Buffy's breath caught in her throat.

Spike's teeth closed over his lower lip, a moment too late to stop the words from spilling out.

The words hung in the air between them for endless moments, their gazes never wavering, their bodies not touching but both feeling the other like the hum of high-tension wires vibrating against their skin.

He wanted her. He wanted her. Buffy felt tingling fires erupt low in her belly and begin to spread, suffusing her with heat and desire. All she had to do was lean in. She could kiss him. She could be the one touching him. She could be the one making him cry uncle.

Her jaw clenched, tears burning her throat, threatening to spill from her eyes. He wanted her body. Nothing more. Not her foolish heart. 'I need more. Please, say more.' The plea echoed in her mind, bubbling up from the hopeful heart of the girl, the little bit of her that still believed in love, that still wished for a man who really saw her, who understood, who loved her unconditionally... a man who wouldn't abandon or betray her. It was, she thought ruefully, the same part of her that had believed in the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus… but maybe? Maybe even they existed somewhere, in some universe… right?

'Say something, Buffy,' Spike begged silently, his eyes locked on hers. The heated emotions behind the shades of jade and emerald danced and flickered in her impossibly beautiful eyes. She had so much light inside that she glowed with it, like an angel from heaven. He longed to touch it, to hold it in his hands, to feel it in his heart—even if it scorched him. He was drawn to it, like a moth to an inferno. He could hear her heart racing, smell her body's reaction to his words, sense the barely-bridled electricity jumping between them. 'Please, pet, say I'm not alone here. I'm begging you.'

Time stopped. The world fell away. There was nothing but them. Nothing but hope—hope for more, hope for reciprocation—in those moments that dragged on for an eternity.

The Slayer broke the trance first, lowering her eyes and shaking her head in a slow, negative motion. He wasn't going to say more. That was all. That was all he wanted, all he felt—a desire for her body. It wasn't enough. She didn't know how to make it enough. "I… that's not… I'm… sorry…" she stammered, her voice cracking with the strain of holding everything in check.

In a flash of flying golden tresses, she ducked beneath Spike's arm and slid away. With a quick gesture towards the dog, he followed her, once again looking back and forth between the two blondes, his gentle eyes worried.

Spike didn't move to stop her, but instead dropped his chin to his chest and let his eyes fall closed as he leaned even more heavily on the counter. The door shut with a soft click and he was alone. She'd told him before, hadn't she? Told him she just wanted to be friends, not anything more? But the other night with the near-kiss, and the way she'd taken care of him so tenderly, then the way she'd acted with the other Slayer, he thought… he thought there was room for more. That she'd felt more than just friendship… if she even felt that now.

The girl blew hot and cold worse than a dodgy boiler… or maybe that was him reading her wrong. Maybe that was his hopeful heart seeing what it wanted, not what was real. Like shapes in the clouds, a figment of his imagination, here for only a moment, then gone.

"You are such a bleedin' idiot," Spike groaned to himself, tossing the bloodied rag into the sink. "This time literally," he continued as he picked up the scissors and began cutting away his jeans. Scissors. Now that would'a been a handy thing to think of before everything had gone tits up with the Slayer.

End Notes:

Oh my gosh, will these two EVER just open up with each other? It's hard for them—so, so hard!—but they're getting closer!

References:

Regarding Die Hard: In order to maintain a level of authenticity, director John McTiernan decided that the best way to get emotion out of his actors was to take them by surprise. When Alan Rickman was harnessed for his 40-foot fall during the film's finale, McTiernan had him dropped one second before he was expecting to, eliciting a true look of horror that went on to become the film's most memorable scene.

Thank you so much for reading and for your patience as I try to catch up with your wonderful comments! I thought things would slow down a bit for me, but so far no luck with that. But I'll get there – I love reading all your notes! They keep me inspired!