Part 3 Spike
I sit here watching the slayer sleep and wonder just exactly what I'm doing.
She's sick, injured, and thanks to Kathy of Wolfman and Hart she's drugged to the gills.
Helpless.
Yet all I can think about is how much I loathe using that high priced rip joint, Wolfman and Hart. But, I saw no other option. They could either give me or knew of someone who could get me everything I needed-from the enspelled drugs for the slayer, to human blood for me-I had to use the over priced bastards. They asked no questions. They never ask any questions, they just supply what I need.
They nearly cleaned out my American bank account but, as I see the slayer getting better, I think it was worth it. And I still have my Swiss, German, and UK accounts that total a great deal more than the American one. I'm sure if I get too low on funds the good OLE W and H wouldn't mind pulling a few strings for a price.
Bloody bastards taking advantage of the undead! We ought to have some bloody bleeding civil rights.
Buffy turns restlessly in her drugged sleep and my attention is drawn back to her. I vaguely notice that it's night, which means she's been out of it for nearly four days. I never expected it to take her four days to heal from the concussion and broken ribs that the fledgling gave her. I knew she was exhausted before the attack but I didn't realize that she was still recovering from other injures too.
I detest tying her down. I never got into the games that Dru and Angelus liked to play and having the slayer tied to the bed brings back too many unwanted memories.
Just what the Hell am I thinking?
"Bloody Hell!" I nearly shout and I jump to my feet to start pacing the room.
I have the slayer at my mercy, The Slayer, At. My. Mercy! And all I can think about is getting her better so I can see the light awake in her bright green eyes.
"Spike?" She mumbles in her sleep and I turn back towards her afraid that my outburst woke her up. This is the longest and quietest she's been asleep since her attack. She mumbles again and I can see the fading bruises on her face under the wet hair. I am amazed at how many different shades her hair is: when it's wet, like it is now from her fevered sweat-it's a dark gold. Dry, her hair is the color of honey, in the sunlight it's a bright yellow that forms a halo around her head.
Oh, and how I long to watch her eyes change color.
The slayer pulls tightly on her bonds and I can tell that she's waking up. I prepare another injection of the cocktail W and H's doctor fixed up for me to give her. It's a combination of two different drugs and the doctor said it would keep her out of pain without the magic for several hours-with the magic it would work on her like she was a normal human-not the slayer.
I always keep it handy and ready to go since the first time she woke in such agony. As the doctor said it's a cocktail of two different drugs: one drug is supposed to keep her calm and disassociated, the other is strictly a strong narcotic for the pain.
Angelus would have loved the cocktail-it keeps the patient confused, compliant, nearly child like. I could tell that the first few times the slayer woke she had no idea where she was or who taking care of her. All she wanted to do was please me.
I let out a heavy sigh as she stirs. Even though the only light in the room is from one low candle I put the wash cloth I'd soaked in ice water over her eyes. Concussions are bitch to suffer through as a human. I remember being thrown from a horse as a child, hitting my head-I was sick for a week. It felt like every little shaft of light pierced my brain like a knife.
I watch her as she struggles weakly with the bonds tying her wrists to the bed. After nearly four days I can tell when she's awake enough to talk, to comprehend what's going around her, and when she's just semi-conscious. Or when the slayer is in control of her actions.
The Slayer: for some reason I thought of Buffy as just the slayer, never as a separate person. After watching over her, listening to her delirious rants, I'm beginning to be able to tell the difference. I can tell when one or the other is in charge.
The slayer always wakes first; her instincts screaming at her to try to escape the hurt or to attack me. Or maybe it's both? Buffy follows and is the confused child that has no idea of why she hurts; she just wants it to go away.
It's almost like two beings sharing one body.
The slayer exhausts herself trying to break the bonds and I can tell it will just be a few more moments before the Buffy part of the personality appears. It's these few moments that I cherish-when both the slayer and Buffy merge-the control the girl has over the beast not quite complete.
Then intellect drives the color of her eyes, even delirious from fever, drugs designed to create compliance, and pain the girl tries to think everything through.
Total control.
I wonder if she fights so hard for it because she knows just how dangerous she could be without it-without control?
"Spike." The girl croaks outs out, the venom clearly sounding in her weak whispered voice. She's looking at me, having shaken off the wash cloth. Her eyes are so dilated from the drugs that they appear black.
"Slayer." I answer, slowly sitting, waiting for her head to clear a little more before I pose my question. I see her struggle to remember the past few day in the emotions that fly across her face.
She lightly tugs on the ropes that tie her to the bed. I'm left sitting here wondering what she remembers.
"How did I get here?" She whispers to me, refusing to look me in the eyes.
'A fledging clubbed you in an alley...." I start.
"So you couldn't resist having a little fun by capturing me? What sick game are you playing at Spike?" I feel the anger rising up in her, she's using it for two reasons, one it will chase away the last of the fogginess the drugs caused and two it keeps her from being afraid.
"No games love," I try to answer truthfully.
She snorts, "yeah right." She sarcastically tugs again on the ropes. Buffy turns her head to stare at me. I watch as her eyes begin to clear and turn that beautiful bright green I love so much.
It's like she has green fire burning in the depths of her soul.
"So you just decide to 'rescue' me from a fledgling, take me to your layer and fill me up with drug for I don't know how long..." She pauses to breathe, "to do what, Spike? Two archenemies," she pauses again, this time I can tell that she's running out of steam. Her injuries overwhelming her anger, "what do you want Spike?" She finally asks simply.
"I...I," I realize the truth won't work. I quickly stumble mentally around for a lie.
"Something happen to Dru." Buffy quietly states. It's my turn to break the eye contact, according to Angelus the Slayer possesses an insight that would burn lesser fools. I don't want her to see the truth of her words because it would be a lie.
"Yeah, whatever..." the slayer sighs. I look at her as she winces. The pain returning full force. The red flush that covered her neck and face from her anger fading to a sickly white. I realize that I could use this excuse to hide from her, inject her full of drugs giving me the time to think up a reasonable lie since I now know the truth would be rejected.
I get an idea. I feel like one of those cartoon characters that have a light bulb go on over their head when they figure out an answer to a hard question.
I stand and assume my most arrogant pose, "yeah slayer something happened to Dru and I need your help." Angelus also told me that the Slayer could never resist someone asking her for help-I hope he was right.
She stares through me, trying to read me to find out if what I just said was true. I confidently pull out my fags and light up.
"Okay, what's the deal?" That's Buffy, not the slayer talking-intellect, not instinct.
I turn my back on her and walk to the other side of the room-I'm trying to play the game of the big bad she expects. Plus, the room's exhaust vent will pull the smoke out so she doesn't get sick again.
Bloody hell I'm worse than the poofter!
"I let you live." I say in my most menacing tone.
She barks a laugh and then regrets it when her head hurts. I can tell I don't have much time before the pain overwhelms her and I have to give her more of the cocktail.
"There is an entire nest of demons, I can't take them on my own!" I plead, playing the part I did when we got together to defeat Angelus. "I bloody well saved your life!" I shout at her.
I immediately regret it when she winces; she's still noise sensitive from her concussion. I put my fag out, walk back over to where I placed the injection.
"You think it over slayer." I tell her as I walk over to her bed. She tries to hold my gaze but her eyes are going in and out of focus as the pain grows.
"I give you my word though, that no harm will come to you in my home." I give her the medication and then sit down to watch as the chemical relief flows through her. Relaxing her face first and then all the other muscles in her body.
"You have a deal, Spike...." She mumbles the words so faintly it takes my mind a moment to register them.
I nearly shout with joy, instead I calmly untie the unconscious slayer.