By the time Spike drove back to his lair, Buffy had passed out in the seat beside him. He gently shook her. "C'mon, Slayer, wake up." She didn't move, and Spike began to grow concerned. He wasn't sure what kind of drugs she'd been given, how much she'd taken, really anything. He checked her breathing. It seemed good, slow but not too slow and very steady. Those were positive signs. Spike was used to his victims having rapid heartbeats, but he'd spent enough time stalking humans to know how they behaved in repose. Buffy seemed normal enough, as far as he could make out. Anyway, she was the Slayer. She should be able to shake off any problems with relative ease.
Having reassured himself, Spike carefully picked Buffy up and carried her up to the abandoned warehouse. The vampire sentry opened the door for him and then returned to his post, all without Spike saying a word. He'd been working on training his servants, and only the smart ones had survived.
Inside, the few vampires that weren't out hunting stared as Spike carried the human past them. It was the first time he had brought a live person into the base. Ignoring their obvious curiosity, Spike mounted the stairs and proceeded down the hall to his room. He nudged open the door, then deposited Buffy on the silk sheets of the bed. After assuring himself that she wasn't likely to stir anytime soon, Spike went back downstairs.
"You." He indicated the nearest minion. "Angie. Go tell everyone except the sentries to get out of here and not come back till tomorrow night."
She stared at him. "Master, where are we supposed to go during the day?"
"I'm sure you'll figure something out. Hurry up. I want this place cleared out within five minutes." While the minion scurried off to relay his orders, Spike went and instructed each of the sentries to allow no one inside for the remainder of the night. The guards would be allowed to leave a half hour before sunrise to seek shelter elsewhere.
Satisfied that his instructions would be followed, Spike returned to his room and surveyed his surroundings. The place *was* a little dark and ancient-looking, and definitely not good enough for Buffy. Maybe he should have taken her to a nice hotel instead?... No, she would have to accept him as he was. Spike wasn't ashamed of his home base. He did plan to upgrade eventually, but so far he'd been too busy with other pursuits. The Slayer would just have to understand how things were.
Having decided to stay put, Spike set about making Buffy more comfortable. All those clothes--surely she wouldn't miss some of them? Even most of them? Of course not. Spike helpfully stripped Buffy down to her underwear, but he didn't take advantage of the situation even by looking...too much. Instead, he covered Buffy with a blanket to make sure she wouldn't get too cold.
Spike couldn't help feeling a little sorry for himself. He finally had the Slayer where he wanted her, but he couldn't do anything fun with her because she was passed out. He was evil, but he wasn't that evil. On the other hand, he reminded himself, she would be sure to warm up to him when she woke up and saw what good care he'd taken of her. He was in a can't-lose situation.
Finished with his tasks, Spike stood and stared at the sleeping girl. He wondered if he could put down his feelings for her on paper. He hadn't felt the urge to write poetry in quite some time, but now he had inspiration. Yeah, he'd give it a try. He pulled up a chair next to the bed and settled down with pen and paper. Over the next few hours, he started and scrapped numerous efforts. None of them seemed to express the magnitude of his feelings toward the Slayer. But Spike persevered, and eventually came up with a piece that seemed worthy. He then painstakingly copied the final version onto a fresh sheet of paper and set it aside on the mahogany desk in the corner.
It was very late, and he needed to get some sleep. Spike gently shifted Buffy toward the right side of the bed and slid into the space next to her.
*****
Dawn came and passed with no interruptions. So did mid-morning, and noon. At about half past 1, Spike finally stirred and awakened. He felt the unmoving warmth next to him and immediately knew Buffy was still there.
Quietly, Spike crept out of bed and moved around, getting ready for the day and straightening up. Buffy didn't so much as stir. Figuring he had some time yet, Spike went downstairs to have lunch. After he'd taken his fill of stored blood, he considered what to do about Buffy's meal. The kitchen did contain small amounts of human food, since some of the vampires enjoyed it. Although not sure what Buffy liked or when she would wake up, Spike decided to prepare her a tray. He loaded it with an assortment of fruits, cheeses, and candies and toted the food upstairs.
As he reentered the bedroom, the tray loudly scraped against the door. Spike froze and watched helplessly as Buffy began to move about. Well, it was probably about time she woke up anyway. He deposited the tray on the desk, making sure to avoid his poem, and crossed over to the bed so he could reassure Buffy the second she realized she was waking up in a strange place.
Her eyelids fluttered and then opened fully. Seeing that she appeared aware of her surroundings, Spike greeted her. "Good afternoon, Buffy. I hope you're not feeling too badly after last night."
Buffy clutched a hand to her head and pushed herself up a few inches. "Wh..." She stopped to clear her throat, then tried speaking again with more success. "Where are we?"
"My...lair. Home. Temporary home," Spike corrected. "I'm in the market for a new place."
"*Why* are we here?"
Her voice sounded awful, like nails rasping over metal. "Do you want something to eat?" Spike motioned to the tray. "Or let me bring you a drink. Not blood, of course. I can get a glass of water from downstairs."
Buffy scrunched up her face. "Ew, no. I'd rather have nothing at all. Now tell me what's going on."
"Oh, yeah," Spike said, trying hard to keep from feeling offended. "You remember that little incident last night? Party? Parker? Yes, no?"
"Vaguely."
"You were in no shape to take care of yourself afterwards, so I lent a hand. No need to thank me. Well, unless you want to." Spike trailed off, at a loss as to what to say next. The conversation was hardly proceeding as he had imagined. Then a thought struck him. "Here, I have a little present for you." Spike hurried over to the desk to retrieve his masterpiece. "I wrote this poem while you were sleeping."
"Like I care?" Buffy shoved aside the covers, then realized she was nearly naked and yanked the blanket up to her chin. "I knew you were the type to molest me in my sleep!"
"Hey, I didn't lay a hand on you!" Spike paused to calm himself down. It wouldn't do to get into an argument with the Slayer and ruin things. He continued in a quieter tone. "Well, I *did* undress you, but that was completely innocent. Thought it would make you more comfortable."
"You took off almost all my clothes. I'm surprised you even left my watch." Buffy took a moment to glance at the watch, and promptly screamed, "Spike! Look at what time it is!"
He shrugged. "Maybe 'bout two thirty? Don't really care."
"Why the hell didn't you take me home instead of bringing me here?"
"I wanted to prove you could trust me."
"Yeah, trust you to make me miss three classes, including my psychology exam. Professor Walsh doesn't allow makeups for any reason. I'm going to get an F for the semester, and it's all your fault!"
Stung by Buffy's unrelentingly unreasonable attitude, Spike lost his tenuous grasp on his temper. "I made you miss class? I'm not the dozy bint who was thick enough to ignore me and take a drugged drink that caused her to pass out and sleep most of the next day away." Buffy opened her mouth, but Spike was on a roll. "As for trust, what have I done that's harmed you? Not a thing. In fact, I've been helping you all along. I warned you about your 'boyfriend' Parker, for one. By the way, you might try looking for him in hospital, where you apparently put him. I also took care of your demon roommate, and I dusted Sunday and her gang. Yeah, that's right. When you went hunting for them in their lair did you happen to notice the numerous little piles of dust scattered about the floor?" Buffy looked blank. "I thought not. Next time, try opening your eyes. Maybe then you'll figure out who you can really trust!"
Buffy turned an interesting shade of red. "I don't have to stay here and listen to this from a *vampire*!" She threw back the blanket and got to her feet with a wobbly effort. Still holding onto his righteous anger, Spike made no move to help her. He just watched as Buffy collected her clothes from the wooden chair he'd placed them on and got dressed. Finished, she stalked to the door and turned for a parting shot. "I don't want to see you around again, anywhere. If I do, I'll figure out a way to stake you, once and for all!"
"Fine, you do that," Spike retorted. He didn't move a muscle as Buffy left, slamming the door so that it rattled on its hinges. Only after she'd stormed from the building did he lower himself onto the bed and shake his head in confusion. "What'd I do wrong?" he said to the empty room.