HARMONY HELPS OUT
Minimum Safe Distance 4
By Annie
Rated: PG (yes, still)
Disclaimer: Not mine to do with as I please; so sad.
Feedback: crehnert@ptd.net
He blanked things out of his mind deliberately as he sped toward his crypt. Never in a million nights had he ever thought he would be carrying the Slayer in his arms. Not with helpful intentions anyway.
Spike ran right over to his 'bed' with her, laying her there gently, removing his leather coat from around her and replacing it with a comforter. He ran to a corner, where he had an old chest with a few more comforters stored, and put them on her as well. For once, Harmony's love of luxury had come in handy.
Buffy was still shaking, although this appeared to have stabilized somewhat. At least it didn't seem to be getting any worse.
Spike was at a total loss. Other than keeping a person warm, he had no idea how to treat shock. If that was indeed the problem. For one horrible second, the thought crossed his mind that this was some kind of cosmic mistake, that Buffy would now disintegrate before his eyes, simply because this wasn't supposed to be happening.
Oh, well, they did live in the Hellmouth, and she was the Slayer. Who knew?
He had a barrel of room temperature rainwater over in a corner. It looked a little stale - smelled it, too - but it would have to do. He grabbed a shirt and ripped a piece of material from it, dipping it in the water and running back over to her.
She had her eyes closed, and was groaning softly; "Come back, Summers - Come back, Summers," over and over.
Spike frowned, even as he leaned over her and began to dab her face gently with the wet cloth. Could she have heard him, somehow?
She was still shaking, but at least she felt like she was the right temperature. Burning hot on Spike's hand as he ran the back of it gently down the side of her face.
He crawled up next to her and pulled her in close to try to warm her, some long-dead instinct taking over before he remembered that he had no warmth to give. This realization only caused him more pain, made him aware of the vast space between the Slayer and himself.
He sighed resignedly and kept up his ministrations, speaking to her softly, calling her Buffy instead of Pet or Slayer. He wanted her to come to herself.
The shaking had almost subsided, and she was laying quietly with her eyes closed, trying, Spike assumed, to assimilate what had happened in the last half hour.
He had just stood up to go and re-wet the cloth when the door to his crypt burst open and a blonde figure raced in, closing it again behind her.
Harmony - returned from who-knew-where.
"Spikey," she gushed, and then stopped when she saw the carefully- bundled Slayer in his bed.
"Perfect," Spike muttered, "just bloody perfect."
"Oh, Spike! You've got her!" Harmony cried in elation. "Isn't she supposed to be dead? Finally, no more hiding out! How did you do it? Is she drugged? Did someone help you? Can I have a taste, too?"
She was rushing over to see the captured Slayer. As she passed him, Spike reached out and stopped her very effectively by grabbing her by the throat. (Déjà vu - hadn't he done this once or twice before?)
Harmony gasped in pain and surprise. The look of hatred on Spike's face scared her more than the hand on her throat.
"Spike," she tried to speak.
He only squeezed harder. "Shut. Up." He commanded her harshly, leaving no room for argument. He went on then, making sure his tone of voice told her he meant business.
"Listen to me. I won't leave her here alone, and I don't have the time to explain things to any bleedin' idiot who happens to walk in the door. I am just going to tell you what to do, and you are going to do it, immediately, without uttering so much as one more word. Understand? Just nod."
Harmony did, not trusting him to refrain from ripping off her head right there on the spot. He seemed a bit frantic.
"Good then. You will go and find the witch. Willow. Tell her she has to come here as fast as her little feet will carry her. Alone. Understand?"
Harmony nodded again, still petrified. Over on the bed, Buffy was mumbling, something about coming back.
"And one more thing," Spike said before he let go of her, "Don't even think of touching any of the Slayer's friends. Deliver your message, and then go back to whatever Hellhole you've been hiding out in. If you don't do exactly as I said, I will find you. Got it, Pet?"
Spike smiled coldly and flung her in the general direction of the door, through which she scampered in fright.
Help would come now. In the meantime, he wanted to take care of her the best he could. With Harm out the door, he turned his full attention back to Buffy. She had totally stopped shaking now, and was almost sleeping peacefully, still mumbling under her breath. He heard his name and leaned in closer to listen.
"Spike,' she was whispering. "Spike brought me, called me." Then she was muttering incoherently.
He touched her forehead briefly. "Oh, Slayer. How could I have not known it was you all along?" He felt an uncontrollable desire to crawl back up there with her, touch her lingeringly, kiss her face - with his cold lips.
Spike's heart dropped painfully. He laid his cool cheek against her warm one and then stepped outside reluctantly to wait for the witch.
Minimum safe distance.
Minimum Safe Distance 4
By Annie
Rated: PG (yes, still)
Disclaimer: Not mine to do with as I please; so sad.
Feedback: crehnert@ptd.net
He blanked things out of his mind deliberately as he sped toward his crypt. Never in a million nights had he ever thought he would be carrying the Slayer in his arms. Not with helpful intentions anyway.
Spike ran right over to his 'bed' with her, laying her there gently, removing his leather coat from around her and replacing it with a comforter. He ran to a corner, where he had an old chest with a few more comforters stored, and put them on her as well. For once, Harmony's love of luxury had come in handy.
Buffy was still shaking, although this appeared to have stabilized somewhat. At least it didn't seem to be getting any worse.
Spike was at a total loss. Other than keeping a person warm, he had no idea how to treat shock. If that was indeed the problem. For one horrible second, the thought crossed his mind that this was some kind of cosmic mistake, that Buffy would now disintegrate before his eyes, simply because this wasn't supposed to be happening.
Oh, well, they did live in the Hellmouth, and she was the Slayer. Who knew?
He had a barrel of room temperature rainwater over in a corner. It looked a little stale - smelled it, too - but it would have to do. He grabbed a shirt and ripped a piece of material from it, dipping it in the water and running back over to her.
She had her eyes closed, and was groaning softly; "Come back, Summers - Come back, Summers," over and over.
Spike frowned, even as he leaned over her and began to dab her face gently with the wet cloth. Could she have heard him, somehow?
She was still shaking, but at least she felt like she was the right temperature. Burning hot on Spike's hand as he ran the back of it gently down the side of her face.
He crawled up next to her and pulled her in close to try to warm her, some long-dead instinct taking over before he remembered that he had no warmth to give. This realization only caused him more pain, made him aware of the vast space between the Slayer and himself.
He sighed resignedly and kept up his ministrations, speaking to her softly, calling her Buffy instead of Pet or Slayer. He wanted her to come to herself.
The shaking had almost subsided, and she was laying quietly with her eyes closed, trying, Spike assumed, to assimilate what had happened in the last half hour.
He had just stood up to go and re-wet the cloth when the door to his crypt burst open and a blonde figure raced in, closing it again behind her.
Harmony - returned from who-knew-where.
"Spikey," she gushed, and then stopped when she saw the carefully- bundled Slayer in his bed.
"Perfect," Spike muttered, "just bloody perfect."
"Oh, Spike! You've got her!" Harmony cried in elation. "Isn't she supposed to be dead? Finally, no more hiding out! How did you do it? Is she drugged? Did someone help you? Can I have a taste, too?"
She was rushing over to see the captured Slayer. As she passed him, Spike reached out and stopped her very effectively by grabbing her by the throat. (Déjà vu - hadn't he done this once or twice before?)
Harmony gasped in pain and surprise. The look of hatred on Spike's face scared her more than the hand on her throat.
"Spike," she tried to speak.
He only squeezed harder. "Shut. Up." He commanded her harshly, leaving no room for argument. He went on then, making sure his tone of voice told her he meant business.
"Listen to me. I won't leave her here alone, and I don't have the time to explain things to any bleedin' idiot who happens to walk in the door. I am just going to tell you what to do, and you are going to do it, immediately, without uttering so much as one more word. Understand? Just nod."
Harmony did, not trusting him to refrain from ripping off her head right there on the spot. He seemed a bit frantic.
"Good then. You will go and find the witch. Willow. Tell her she has to come here as fast as her little feet will carry her. Alone. Understand?"
Harmony nodded again, still petrified. Over on the bed, Buffy was mumbling, something about coming back.
"And one more thing," Spike said before he let go of her, "Don't even think of touching any of the Slayer's friends. Deliver your message, and then go back to whatever Hellhole you've been hiding out in. If you don't do exactly as I said, I will find you. Got it, Pet?"
Spike smiled coldly and flung her in the general direction of the door, through which she scampered in fright.
Help would come now. In the meantime, he wanted to take care of her the best he could. With Harm out the door, he turned his full attention back to Buffy. She had totally stopped shaking now, and was almost sleeping peacefully, still mumbling under her breath. He heard his name and leaned in closer to listen.
"Spike,' she was whispering. "Spike brought me, called me." Then she was muttering incoherently.
He touched her forehead briefly. "Oh, Slayer. How could I have not known it was you all along?" He felt an uncontrollable desire to crawl back up there with her, touch her lingeringly, kiss her face - with his cold lips.
Spike's heart dropped painfully. He laid his cool cheek against her warm one and then stepped outside reluctantly to wait for the witch.
Minimum safe distance.