Spike shifted on the couch until Buffy was balanced in his lap, and then came smoothly to his feet with her in his arms, cradled against him. He took the stairs slowly, afraid of disturbing his precious cargo. Behind him, Willow, Dawn and Tara began gathering their belongings, preparing for their trip to the Magic Box.
At the top of the stairs, Spike paused for a moment. He'd often pictured the day when he might actually enter Buffy's room at her invitation. Pushing the thought aside with some regret, he shouldered open the door. Although her bed was made, it was strewn with a variety of pillows, stuffed animals and clothing, leaving him to wonder how she ever made room to sleep in it. Dumping things unceremoniously to the floor, he laid her tenderly on the bed.
He unlaced first one shoe, then the other, slipping them from her feet like some contrary Prince Charming. Her socks were next, these he stuffed into the shoes where he had set them on the floor. He ran his hand slowly up one denim-clad leg, tracing the sinuous curve of the strong muscles in her calf and thigh until he reached the button at her waist. As he opened the fly of her jeans and slipped his hands under the waistband, he couldn't help but bring to mind the last time he'd had the opportunity to touch her so. He found it hard to believe that happy occasion had been little over a week ago.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Xander demanded from where he suddenly stood in the doorway.
"Making her comfortable," Spike replied evenly, drawing Buffy's jeans over her hips. He slipped them off, leaving her clad only in tank top and panties, then lifted her to bring the comforter out from under her and tuck her in. "Thought I explained that downstairs."
"You can't expect me to just stand here in her bedroom watching you take her clothes off," Xander protested.
"That's exactly what I expect, though a gentleman wouldn't watch," Spike replied. "What part of 'she's been sleeping with me' did you not understand? Aside from being here in her bedroom, none of this is exactly new territory for me." He drew the covers over her and plumped the pillow under her head. "She and I have been lovers for a few months, now." He saw no need to mention that Buffy had only recently called it off - in any case, he was certain she wouldn't have apologized about it if she didn't have some feelings for him - and it was certainly none of Harris's business. "I imagine I know things about her you've never dreamed of."
Xander's face flushed an embarrassed red; perhaps he could dream of those things, Spike thought. "Maybe you can fool the girls by spouting romantic drivel like that stuff downstairs; I know you've got some scheme in mind," Xander accused. "I'm not going to stand by and let you get your jollies while Buffy's unconscious."
"I'm here because Buffy needs someone to stay with her to keep her calm. And I'm only still speaking to you as though you might be civilized because she cares about what happens to you, though for what reason I'm having trouble comprehending," Spike snapped. "So take yourself off, before I throw you out."
"And how will you do that, Spike?" he retorted. "You so much as touch me and that chip in your head will leave you whimpering like a baby. "
"You're nothing but a schoolyard bully, aren't you Harris? Does it comfort you, knowing I can't hurt you? Let you act the man? I'd be more than happy to give it a try, you know."
"I don't need help from the chip to deal with you." Xander turned to Buffy's desk, where he knew she kept some of her weapons and other anti-vampire paraphernalia, and retrieved a simple wooden cross. Brandishing the cross in front of him, Xander advanced on Spike. "Get away from her."
Spike flinched at the cross, but didn't retreat. Keeping his face turned away, he moved forward slowly, instead. "You're the one who's getting married soon," he said. "You should know what it feels like to be in love. When you look at her, you can't imagine being without her. Everything you do takes on a different meaning when you know what she thinks of it.
"Or maybe you're not so sure anymore?" he probed, looking for weakness. "Because if you were in love, really in love, you'd know-" Moving faster than the eye could follow, Spike seized the cross, trapping Xander's hand as well. Behind him, Buffy moaned and began to thrash about in the bed. Acrid smoke rose between them as Spike's skin began to crisp and blacken, but he refused to relent. "-You'd know that nothing . . . else . . . matters." With each word, he tightened his grip, until the wood of the cross snapped and fell to the floor. "Now get out."
Clutching his own wounded hand, Xander backed to the door. His face bore the expression of a man who was being forced to contemplate unpleasant truths. "Spike, I-"
Spike dragged the armchair over to beside the bed and collapsed into it, cradling his now useless left hand in his lap. With the other, he reached for Buffy and encircled her wrist gently. She quieted against her pillow again and he felt her pulse slow somewhat, though it was still faster than he would like.
"She came to me," he said, not bothering to look up again. "Every time. You might want to ask yourself what she wasn't getting from her friends. Besides the great sex, I mean."
Xander left without another word, closing the door softly behind him. Spike threw his head back in the chair and let the pain of his hand wash over him, whiting out, however briefly, the sharper pain inside.