Chapter 20 - Opportunity
When Spike woke, it was still dark. There was no point in getting up, as their hosts would not be expecting them for breakfast for a couple of hours, and he had promised Buffy breakfast.
The thought was no sooner gone, than he was wondering just what sort of spell he was under. Since when had he worried about keeping a promise to a human? Since when had he bothered to speak to a human at all? Buffy was having an effect on him that he didn't understand. He lay and watched her for a while. He had been true to his word, he had stayed on his side of the bed all night. The Slayer, on the other hand, seemed determined to push him off altogether. No sooner had she been asleep, than she was snuggled against him. Pleasant though the feeling was, Spike had felt duty bound to move away from her touch, but, each time he had done so, she had followed. Now, he was perched on the edge of the bed, and Buffy's head was cradled on his arm. Her leg was thrown over his, and, in order to maintain his balance in such a precarious position, he had put his other arm around her.
Who was he kidding? Maintaining his balance was a good excuse, but the truth was, he was enjoying the closeness.
Vampires weren't supposed to need closeness. Sex, yes, but not closeness. But he missed it so much. His current lifestyle didn't leave much room for any sort of a relationship, and his memories flitted back to his early life, when he had loved, and his love had been taken from him. He'd steeled himself to feel nothing after that, avoiding anything that might have landed him in a position where he might start to care again. His current mission had seemed safe. Transporting a single human to her death? Not much opportunity for falling in love …
That thought brought him up short. He wasn't falling in love. He couldn't fall in love with a human, even if she's beautiful. No, she isn't beautiful. How could she be? She's human. She's a food source.
Annoyed at himself, Spike removed himself from her warm body and got up. Unsure what to do, he decided to make sure her injection had kicked in by the time they had to go down for breakfast, so he found what he needed, and pushed the needle into her arm.
Unlike the previous occasions, she didn't seem to notice. In fact, by the way her eyes were twitching, he knew she was dreaming, and by the expression on her face, it wasn't an unpleasant dream. In fact, from the sounds she was making, she seemed to be enjoying the dream a good deal. If there was one thing he had always envied women for, it was the fact that they could have that sort of dream without waking up in a wet bed.
The knowledge of what she was doing was having an effect on him, though, and he didn't think he'd be able to just get into bed and ignore it, so, as quietly as he could, he left the room and made his way downstairs to the privy shared by the family.
The pain in his leg was worse than he remembered from the day before. Although he could walk, he knew he had a problem which didn't look to be going away, but without knowing the nature of the poison, he had no idea of how to treat it.
He sighed as he entered the small dank room. One distinct advantage of being a vampire was the lack of need to use such places. Although it was basically clean, the smell assailed his enhanced senses. Still, tonight, it would be useful. He concentrated on his memory of Buffy, her pleasure suffused face, her quiet moaning as he did what he had to do. When release came, there was a distinct lack of satisfaction with it, but, that was the norm for him. He shrugged, cleaned himself up and headed back upstairs.
Buffy was still sleeping, but had moved towards the centre of the bed when he got back. She was quiet again, her eyes still, the dream apparently complete. Relieved, he got back into bed with her, and she quickly burrowed her head into him, giving a little sigh of satisfaction when she was comfortable.
The first tendrils of panic were fluttering in his head. He had a job to do, one which was important to his kind. So, why was he wishing this journey could never end? Why was he dreading the moment when he was successful, when he had both Slayers in his grasp, and was able to kill them?
The answer came to his mind unbidden. "Because you're a bloody pillock."
He heard the comment, one his human self had made more than once. As a human, he had made a habit of only falling for the unattainable. Come to think of it, he had done much the same as a vampire, which explained his reluctance to fall for anyone for a long time.
When she woke, Buffy knew it was already daylight. She was embarrassed to notice that she was practically lying on top of Spike, who was perched on the verge of falling off the bed. The space behind her was cold and coverless, but the body of her captor was warm and comfortable.
As gently as she could, she moved back, shuddering at the cold as she did so, pulling the blankets with her. She prayed the whole time that he wouldn't waken until she had regained her position.
She turned her back on him, lying on her arm as she did so, and she felt a slight pain. Quickly looking, she realised she had had another injection, the small bead of blood which resulted from the injection already hardened into a tiny scab. She wondered first how she had slept through the injection. She hadn't before. What had been different this time? Then, she wondered, just where she had been when Spike had wakened. She hoped she hadn't been cuddled up to him as she had just found herself, but, judging by the coldness of the sheets on her side of the bed, they hadn't been used for quite a while. On the other hand, surely Spike would have done something if she had been like that? He would have moved her, wakened her roughly, or taken advantage of her. She instantly dismissed the last possibility. She didn't understand her reasoning, but she just knew Spike wouldn't, and she almost wished that wasn't the case.
No, she corrected herself. She just wished he found her as attractive as she did him. She couldn't deny the attraction any more. She was vaguely aware of the dream she'd had in the night. The details were gone, as dream details do when you waken, but, the impression remained. She felt a glow about herself, the feeling of being loved and cherished, and she just wished it was real. Spike was an unusual vampire, but she knew it could never be real. If ever they were together in that way, it wouldn't be gentle and love-filled. It would be violent and she would have no say in the matter, just like it had been at the castle. She shivered at the memory, so different from the impression left by her dream. She was on her way to die, and she had never been loved. Not really loved, not like she dreamed about. She knew physical pleasure, she knew friendship, she knew the love of her parents, but she had never experienced the feeling of being someone's everything, of knowing her feelings for a man were reciprocated and, unless she did something soon, she never would. But then, as a Slayer, it was never going to happen anyway.
She was surprised when her breathing hitched, and she realised a tear was running from her eye to the pillow below. She mentally shook herself, and was surprised when the thought was accompanied by a physical equivalent. The movement caused Spike to turn over and open his eyes. The expression on his face for one unguarded second as he moved towards consciousness took her breath away. The expression was so familiar, she knew it was the one she had imagined in her dream. As soon as she had spotted it, it was gone, replaced with the friendly but distant expression to which she was accustomed.
"Morning, Pet. Sleep well?" If he had spotted the tears, he gave no sign.
She nodded, unwilling to trust her voice at first.
"Time to get up," he added. "Just time for a quick wash and dress before breakfast."
With those words, he swung his legs out of the bed and made his way stiffly over to the basin. He poured half the water in, and made quick work of washing as much as he could without making himself indecent. Not that he would be embarrassed under normal circumstances, but, these were not normal circumstances, and it would be difficult to hide his feelings about her if he tried. So, he settled for a minimal wash, then returned to the bed to examine his leg.
Buffy washed quickly, then turned to help with his leg, careful to make sure the shirt didn't ride too far up her legs as she arranged herself on the bed.
"It looks worse," she commented.
"It'll be fine," he countered. "Just needs time. Didn't slow me up yesterday, and it won't today."
"If you say so," Buffy replied, unconvinced. She realised this was her chance, but, remembering his threat of the night before, she had to wait until they were clear of other humans before she tried anything.
Buffy cleaned and bandaged his leg as well as she could, and then they both went to opposite ends of the room to change.
By the time they were finished, the smell of cooking had risen to the bedroom, and Buffy was embarrassed to note that her stomach was making her feelings on the subject of food known to anyone in the vicinity.
Breakfast passed without incident, and when it was over, Buffy and Spike returned to their room to pick up their belongings. Before long, they were back on the road, both quiet, both busy with their own thoughts.
The morning passed without much conversation, and if either of them thought it strange after the previous day, neither mentioned the fact.
Buffy's thoughts were full of plans to get away. She knew she had to have a weapon of some kind, but she quickly discarded the possibility of an improvised stake. She was the Slayer, but the prospect of staking this particular vampire gave her a strange feeling, causing her stomach to contract painfully. She decided to just find something hard enough to hit him over the head, and knock him out. That would hopefully give her enough of a head start to get away.
Spike's thoughts were remarkably similar, considering their different circumstances. He was desperately trying to steel himself for what he knew he had to do - kill Buffy. The thought made him feel physically sick, an unusual feeling for a vampire. He found himself considering what would happen if he just didn't do it. That prospect didn't seem much better. Those who had entrusted him with the job, would hunt him down. In short, if he failed, the only thing he could do would be to stake himself, because when they caught up with him, they would make him suffer for a very long time.
As the walk continued, Spike found it harder and harder to think rationally. He seemed to be an uninterested observer of his own progress, the details of the countryside through which they travelled passing unnoticed. He managed to keep putting one leg in front of the other, the effort becoming more and more mechanical as he progressed.
Close to noon, he heard, as if from a distance, a suggestion from Buffy that they stop and eat. To Buffy's surprise, Spike simply flopped to the ground, pulling his pack off his back, and sitting against a tree. With a shrug, she set about pulling out the waxed sheet they used for sitting on, and found some food and water.
When she was at last settled, she allowed herself to look at him properly for the first time in a while. She had been avoiding looking at him all morning, desperate to steel herself for what she knew she had to do. She turned her eyes to watch him for a moment, and was shocked at what she saw. His face was even paler than before, and a fine sheen of sweat beaded his skin. All thoughts of finding a suitable rock were forgotten, as she scooted closer to him.
"Spike, what's wrong? You don't look well."
She lifted her hand to his brow and was surprised at the heat coming from him. It wasn't a normal, healthy, human heat, but a fevered heat. His breathing was becoming laboured, and he didn't seem to hear the question.
"Spike," she tried again, louder this time. He turned his head to her, shaking it gently.
"Don't know," he whispered. "T .. turn your back, for a moment, please."
The words got softer as he spoke. She was going to argue, but she found she couldn't. She did as he asked, and when she turned back, his breathing had stopped, but a hand on his brow showed his temperature seemed, if anything, to have increased.
"Better not to have to breathe," he managed, before pulling himself over to the ground sheet and flopping onto it. She followed him down, loosening the clothing around his neck, while wondering if that would even make a difference for a vampire.
"It's your leg, isn't it?" she asked, stroking his cheek.
If he was surprised by her action, he didn't show it, but just nodded.
"Guess the poison's worse than I thought. Been getting more painful as we walked, and I've been feeling kinda like it's not my body any more. Once we sat, it's like I don't feel I could get up again."
Ignoring his attempts to bat away her hands, Buffy undid and removed his trousers, grateful to find that he did wear some sort of underwear. The wound on his leg was very different from that morning. It seemed completely unreasonable that it could have deteriorated so much in such a short time. The whole calf was swollen and discoloured, and the discoloration had spread to part of the way up his thigh. He winced noticeably when she touched any part of it.
"Buffy, get gone. Just leave me, or, stake me if you like. Just realised what sort of poison it was. Joke really, but, it's all your fault. Know you didn't do it on purpose, but it's your fault it got worse. Cure's … complicated, and I'm not in any position to put it together. Go, leave me…"
Buffy looked shocked for a few moments before she moved. Stake him? No, she couldn't do it. She looked at a rock she'd considered using to render him unconscious, and smiled mirthlessly. She didn't need it any more.
She stood, and opened his pack. She found a skin of blood, and gave it to him. "Will it help?" she asked.
"A bit," he admitted. "But, it'll still get worse. What're you waiting for you stupid bint? Go!"
Stopping only to cover him in a blanket from his pack, Buffy picked up her own pack, hefted it and walked away. She couldn't help but stop and look back at the form on the ground. He was shaking noticeably now, and everything in her strained towards going back and helping him. Slayer instinct told her to leave, find help for herself, and find a way to get back into the war to defend her home. She had what she wanted. She was free again. So, why was she crying?