40. Grounded
On the walk back Buffy alternated between crying and vomiting. Spike had held her hair back gently, as she threw-up on the sidewalk, at the Sunny-D gates, and on the path leading to her cabin. When they finally reached the back door of Revello, he walked ahead to open it for her. When Buffy didn't move, he looked at her questioningly.
Buffy's eyes focused on the ground and she whimpered softly. "Can I stay with you tonight? I really don't want to deal with Anya. . . and being with you makes me feel. . ." Her voice trailed off before saying the last word.
Spike paused for a moment before nodding. Taking her small hand in his, he led them to The Crypt.
Spike opened the door a crack and peered inside. Everything seemed quiet so he opened the door wider to allow Buffy entrance.
Buffy stepped inside and followed closely behind Spike. The distance from the front door of The Crypt to his room was not far, but being too far away from him made her nervous. The way the soccer player had attacked Warren had frightened her, but not nearly as much as when that creep had her pinned against the brick wall.
Spike closed the door behind them and glanced over to his companion, who was now standing in the middle of the room, his duster wrapped tightly around her still trembling body. He took a deep, steadying breath and walked over to his dresser, pulling a black t-shirt from one of the drawers. "Come here," he beckoned softly, waving her over to his side.
Buffy silently approached him, avoiding his gaze. When she finally reached him, he removed the duster from her small frame and offered her the t-shirt he'd taken from his dresser.
"You get changed, I'm going to go wash up," he said quietly, indicating the bathroom.
Buffy nodded in response and examined the soft material in her hands. When the click of the latch to the bathroom door echoed through the room, she raised the material to her face and inhaled deeply. The scent of fabric softener did little to mask the residual Spike scent that always calmed her nerves. She pulled off her own shirt, then put on the tee, smoothing it with still-shaky hands. She then approached the bathroom, knocking tentatively before peering inside. Her eyes immediately lit on Spike, who was washing dried blood from his knuckles. Until now she hadn't realized just how much he'd cut up his hand when he'd pounded on Warren's face. "Your hand is hurt," she said softly, trying not to startle him.
Spike turned around, drying his hands with a washcloth, then discarding it in the wastebasket. "Same to you," he said indicating where she had scraped her hand against the bricks.
Buffy glanced down to her hand then quickly moved it behind her back. "Right."
"I'll take care of you. C'mere." He pulled her slowly towards the sink, and turned on the water. Gingerly taking her hand, he held it under the warm stream, concern evident in his eyes when she winced from the sting. "You'll be alright. It's just a scrape."
Buffy nodded and lifted her eyes to the mirror. "I'm a mess," she said softly, tears filling her eyes.
Spike took another washcloth and dampened it with warm water. Sitting her down on the edge of the tub, he began removing the mascara that had run down her cheeks. "Better?"
Buffy nodded again and looked down at her bare knees. Her eyes returned to his face. "Spike, I'm - " she cut off, bolting toward the toilet and emptying the contents of her stomach. Spike rushed to her side and pulled back her hair with one hand, using the other to rub soothing circles into her upper back. When a sob escaped her throat between dry-heaves, he shushed her tears, murmuring words of comfort. As her back shuddered underneath his hand, he chanced speaking again. "All finished?"
Buffy rolled back to sit on her heels and flushed the toilet. "God, I hope so."
Taking her hand, he lifted her to her feet, and led her back over to the sink. "Here." Spike handed her a cup of mouthwash and watched as she gurgled it then spit it into the sink. "Now I won't have to worry about you breathing on me," he said with a smirk. When she didn't respond, he turned his attentions back to the sink, rinsing the basin and filling it with warm water. He moved behind her, smoothing her hair back into a low ponytail. "Close your eyes," he said to her reflection, "and hold your breath."
Buffy did as she was told and relaxed as Spike gently nudged her face into the water. When she came up, he turned her to face him. Her eyes remained closed, as he padded her face dry with a fresh towel.
"You can open your eyes now," he said softly, tucking her hair behind her ears. "Take these." He handed her two Aspirin and a glass of water, watching as she quickly gulped them down.
Buffy gazed up at him, as she returned the glass. Their fingers touched for a split second, causing Spike to jump.
He cleared his throat and placed the glass on the sink. "You should get some sleep." He led her out of the bathroom, nodding at the bed. "You go ahead, I'm going to stay up awhile longer."
"Okay," she said softly, climbing onto the bed.
Spike squatted next to the alarm clock, setting it to six a.m. "So we can get you out of here before the boys catch you half naked in my bed," he explained.
Buffy giggled quietly and pulled the covers up under her chin. Disappointment flashed across her face when he moved over to the desk. She closed her eyes, and sighed, enjoying the feeling of the soft pillow beneath her pounding head. "Spike," she said softly.
"Yeah?"
After a long pause she spoke up again. "Why is the room spinning?"
Spike chuckled low in his throat and took a seat on the chair. "That would be from the Jäger, pet."
"Oh," she said, turning over to her back, gazing towards the ceiling. "Can you make it stop?"
He walked over to her and kneeled beside the bed. He took hold of one of her hands and dangled it over one side of the bed, repeating the action with one of her legs. "That should ground you for awhile."
Buffy closed her eyes again, testing his theory. When she realized he was right, a small smile spread across her face. "Thank you."
Spike clicked off the light and made his way back over to the large recliner. Resting his cheek against his hand, he gazed at the young woman in his bed. Things needed to be said, but now was not the right time. They'd have a talk in the morning. His eyes drifted closed, and he shifted in the chair, trying to get comfortable.
"This bed is big enough for two, you know," a quiet voice said from across the room.
"Buffy, I don't think . . ."
"I insist," she said softly, her eyes still closed.
Spike sighed and rose to his feet, walking over to the dresser. He pulled out a pair of soccer shorts and draped them over the back of the chair, then stripped. Considering he usually slept in the nude, it was probably a good idea to put something on, if he was going to be sharing his bed. As soon as the shorts were in place he climbed into the bed next to her.
Buffy let out a small, contented sigh, when she felt the mattress sink down. She rolled towards him and rested her head against his bare chest.
"Buffy, maybe we should . . ."
"Shhh," she murmured against his chest, snuggling closer. "Just go to sleep." She tugged on one of his arms, then wrapped it about her shoulders.
"Fine." He let out the deep breath he was holding and pulled her tightly against him. "Just don't heave on me in the middle of the night."
"I'll try my best," she said with a soft giggle, before drifting off to sleep.
------------------
Buffy awoke as the first rays of daylight filtered through Spike's window. She was snuggled close to his hard-muscled body, her limbs intertwined with his own. One of her legs was thrown over Spike's hip, and she couldn't help but notice the erection pressing against her inner thigh. Opening her eyes she gazed at the sleeping man. 'How could I even think that he would get involved with Drusilla? I'm such an idiot,' she thought sheepishly.
Buffy gently removed her arm from around Spike's back, trying not to wake him, and wormed it between their bodies. Slowly she ran her fingertips up his chest, down his arm, across his jaw, over the scar on his eyebrow, before finally reaching his lips. She gasped when he murmured her name softly, and his hands unconsciously took hold of her ass, pulling her against his erection. Buffy mewled and ignored the pounding in her skull, focusing instead on the delicious sensations building within her.
Lifting her head slightly she placed a feather-light kiss against his lips. With a small groan, his lips parted, allowing her room to deepen the kiss. "Mmmm, Buffy," he moaned again between kisses, rolling to his back so she could lie on top of him. Buffy straddled his hips and leaned over to capture his lips once more, sliding her hands beneath his shoulders. She let out a deep moan when she felt his fingers slip inside her panties, kneading the flesh of her naked buttocks. Suddenly, she was on her back, her thighs pressed against his hips. As he thrust against her, Buffy bit one lip, trying to suppress her moans.
Spike's head fell next to hers, his face in her neck. "Oh Buffy," he whispered, between kisses and nibbles.
Buffy used her feet to push his shorts down his legs, and he kicked them off. As his penis prodded her opening, she whispered in his ear. "I've missed you so much."
"Missed you too," he said, lifting himself onto his forearms, preparing to slip into her body.
"Look at me," she insisted, gulping for air. "I need you to look at me," she repeated, taking hold of his strong arms.
Spike's eyes fluttered open and he looked at the trembling woman below him through hazy eyes. "Oh god Buffy." His hips twitched against hers, teasing her entrance.
"Spike . . .please," she begged, tightening her grip on his biceps.
Suddenly, Spike snapped to attention and leapt off the bed, taking the comforter with him.
Buffy rose to her knees, and gazed at the shaking man before her, wrapped protectively in the blanket. "Baby, what's wrong?"
"Buffy?" he asked questioningly, as if he were assessing her presence for the first time.
"Spike, are you okay?" Buffy swung her legs around, her feet coming in contact with the cold floor, and she rose to her feet, taking a few tentative steps in his direction. "If you want to wait, that's fine," she said softly, reaching one hand towards him.
Spike shook his head and looked to the ground. One moment he'd been dreaming of making love to Buffy, and the next he'd awoken nude and between her legs. "I'm so confused."
"That's okay, just come back to bed," she whispered, taking his hand. "Let's just sleep."
"That's what I was doing," he said softly.
"What?"
Spike looked up at her face and tried to explain. "I was dreaming. . .I thought it was. . .I didn't know . . ."
Buffy's eyes went wide with realization. "Oh. . .ok," she said softly, trying to mask the hurt in her voice.
"Yeah, so I don't think I should get back in that bed with you," he said pointing towards the mattress and rumpled sheets.
"Why? I thought we were kind of together. Sleeping in the same bed is ok now, remember?"
Spike took a deep breath and sat on the end of the bed. "Maybe we shouldn't be."
"What do you mean?" Buffy asked, voice wavering with fear.
"I think we jumped the gun. We're not ready yet - atleast you're not."
Buffy dropped to her knees before him and placed her hands on his. "No, I am. . .I swear."
Spike lifted his head to look in her eyes. "No. . .you're not. I thought we had finally reached a point where we could trust each other - be together without the constant drama." Spike sighed when he heard Buffy sniffle back her tears. "One day back and you think I'm with Dru? Shame on you, Buffy."
"I know," she whimpered softly, "and I'm sorry. She set me up and I completely fell for it. She made me think. . .," Buffy took a deep breath and paused momentarily before continuing. "I overreacted and-"
"Overreacted? I'd say," he said shaking his head. "And look where it got you? Plastered and about to be raped."
Buffy's eyes snapped up to his, flashing with anger. "I seem to remember about a week ago, someone getting pretty 'pissed' and working out his issues through some kind of new Karaoke therapy." She forced out a strained laugh, and continued to glare at him. "Not to mention, that another certain someone helped him off his ass to go win a soccer match. I wonder who that was Spike?"
"You're right," he said softly, closing his eyes. "I shouldn't have said that. I was out of line." When he sensed that she'd relaxed he opened his eyes once more. "But my Karaoke-antics were a week ago. Things are supposed to be different now. I can't take this constant hot and cold with you. I need to know that we're on the same page," he paused and gulped down the knot that had formed in his throat. "And right now, I don't think we are."
Buffy shook her head rapidly. "You're wrong. There were things that she said . . .and did-" she choked down the sob that was waiting to break free. "Just give me a chance . . .please."
Spike sniffed back his own tears, wanting desperately to cave into her wishes; but he knew, if things were ever going to work between them, the line had to be drawn. "It's not her. It's you. You don't trust me Buffy. How can we be together if I don't have your trust?"
"That's fair. I can't blame her for my mistakes," she said, nodding in agreement. "But I do trust you," she pleaded, tears rolling down her cheeks. "I trust you with my life." She lifted his injured hand and held it to her cheek, kissing his scabbed knuckles lightly.
Spike pulled his hand away. "I don't want your gratitude. I want you," he said, staring deeply into her tear-filled eyes.
"Then why can't we be together?" she asked through her tears, placing her hands to his knees.
He inhaled deeply, searching desperately for a way to make her comprehend what he was feeling. "Because I shouldn't have to beat some guy's head in to prove myself to you. That's not real. That's not trust." He paused again to gather his thoughts before continuing. "Trust is something that is unspoken; it isn't dependent on actions. Do you understand?" he asked, running one hand through her hair. "Without that trust, I don't really have you."
Buffy nodded and rose to her feet, looking down at him. "I understand. But you're wrong." She walked over to her pile of clothes on the floor and stepped into her black skirt. "Not about trust, and what it means. But about me." She looked at him sadly, and shook her head. "I just hope you realize that soon." Buffy pulled off Spike's t-shirt and discarded it to the floor before slipping on her tanktop. "Do you see that clock over there?" Buffy asked, pointing to the alarm clock on Spike's nightstand.
Spike quirked an eyebrow in her direction, confused by the question.
Buffy shook her head and walked over to the doorway. "Time doesn't stand still while you try to figure things out Spike - it just keeps ticking away." She looked at him pointedly as she reached for the doorknob. "And there's not much left."
Spike's gaze followed her retreating form. When the door clicked shut he glanced over to the alarm clock, before falling back on the bed. He stared up at the ceiling while he mulled over her words. Suddenly, the awful beeping of the alarm clock filled the room. He shot up, smacking the snooze button to silence the horrid noise. His eyes locked on the clock, before slowly moving over to the door, realization finally hitting him. "Bloody hell!" He ran towards the door, flinging it open. He looked up and down the hallway, but she was already gone. He closed the door again and let his forehead fall against the wood. "Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks," he ground out as he banged his head repeatedly against the door. 'You stupid wanker. Here you are lecturing the girl about trust, and you're doubting every word out of her mouth!' Spike turned around and rested his back against the door, facing into his room. 'Stupid git! You WILL make this up to her.' He glanced over to the clock once more. 'And fast.'
On the walk back Buffy alternated between crying and vomiting. Spike had held her hair back gently, as she threw-up on the sidewalk, at the Sunny-D gates, and on the path leading to her cabin. When they finally reached the back door of Revello, he walked ahead to open it for her. When Buffy didn't move, he looked at her questioningly.
Buffy's eyes focused on the ground and she whimpered softly. "Can I stay with you tonight? I really don't want to deal with Anya. . . and being with you makes me feel. . ." Her voice trailed off before saying the last word.
Spike paused for a moment before nodding. Taking her small hand in his, he led them to The Crypt.
Spike opened the door a crack and peered inside. Everything seemed quiet so he opened the door wider to allow Buffy entrance.
Buffy stepped inside and followed closely behind Spike. The distance from the front door of The Crypt to his room was not far, but being too far away from him made her nervous. The way the soccer player had attacked Warren had frightened her, but not nearly as much as when that creep had her pinned against the brick wall.
Spike closed the door behind them and glanced over to his companion, who was now standing in the middle of the room, his duster wrapped tightly around her still trembling body. He took a deep, steadying breath and walked over to his dresser, pulling a black t-shirt from one of the drawers. "Come here," he beckoned softly, waving her over to his side.
Buffy silently approached him, avoiding his gaze. When she finally reached him, he removed the duster from her small frame and offered her the t-shirt he'd taken from his dresser.
"You get changed, I'm going to go wash up," he said quietly, indicating the bathroom.
Buffy nodded in response and examined the soft material in her hands. When the click of the latch to the bathroom door echoed through the room, she raised the material to her face and inhaled deeply. The scent of fabric softener did little to mask the residual Spike scent that always calmed her nerves. She pulled off her own shirt, then put on the tee, smoothing it with still-shaky hands. She then approached the bathroom, knocking tentatively before peering inside. Her eyes immediately lit on Spike, who was washing dried blood from his knuckles. Until now she hadn't realized just how much he'd cut up his hand when he'd pounded on Warren's face. "Your hand is hurt," she said softly, trying not to startle him.
Spike turned around, drying his hands with a washcloth, then discarding it in the wastebasket. "Same to you," he said indicating where she had scraped her hand against the bricks.
Buffy glanced down to her hand then quickly moved it behind her back. "Right."
"I'll take care of you. C'mere." He pulled her slowly towards the sink, and turned on the water. Gingerly taking her hand, he held it under the warm stream, concern evident in his eyes when she winced from the sting. "You'll be alright. It's just a scrape."
Buffy nodded and lifted her eyes to the mirror. "I'm a mess," she said softly, tears filling her eyes.
Spike took another washcloth and dampened it with warm water. Sitting her down on the edge of the tub, he began removing the mascara that had run down her cheeks. "Better?"
Buffy nodded again and looked down at her bare knees. Her eyes returned to his face. "Spike, I'm - " she cut off, bolting toward the toilet and emptying the contents of her stomach. Spike rushed to her side and pulled back her hair with one hand, using the other to rub soothing circles into her upper back. When a sob escaped her throat between dry-heaves, he shushed her tears, murmuring words of comfort. As her back shuddered underneath his hand, he chanced speaking again. "All finished?"
Buffy rolled back to sit on her heels and flushed the toilet. "God, I hope so."
Taking her hand, he lifted her to her feet, and led her back over to the sink. "Here." Spike handed her a cup of mouthwash and watched as she gurgled it then spit it into the sink. "Now I won't have to worry about you breathing on me," he said with a smirk. When she didn't respond, he turned his attentions back to the sink, rinsing the basin and filling it with warm water. He moved behind her, smoothing her hair back into a low ponytail. "Close your eyes," he said to her reflection, "and hold your breath."
Buffy did as she was told and relaxed as Spike gently nudged her face into the water. When she came up, he turned her to face him. Her eyes remained closed, as he padded her face dry with a fresh towel.
"You can open your eyes now," he said softly, tucking her hair behind her ears. "Take these." He handed her two Aspirin and a glass of water, watching as she quickly gulped them down.
Buffy gazed up at him, as she returned the glass. Their fingers touched for a split second, causing Spike to jump.
He cleared his throat and placed the glass on the sink. "You should get some sleep." He led her out of the bathroom, nodding at the bed. "You go ahead, I'm going to stay up awhile longer."
"Okay," she said softly, climbing onto the bed.
Spike squatted next to the alarm clock, setting it to six a.m. "So we can get you out of here before the boys catch you half naked in my bed," he explained.
Buffy giggled quietly and pulled the covers up under her chin. Disappointment flashed across her face when he moved over to the desk. She closed her eyes, and sighed, enjoying the feeling of the soft pillow beneath her pounding head. "Spike," she said softly.
"Yeah?"
After a long pause she spoke up again. "Why is the room spinning?"
Spike chuckled low in his throat and took a seat on the chair. "That would be from the Jäger, pet."
"Oh," she said, turning over to her back, gazing towards the ceiling. "Can you make it stop?"
He walked over to her and kneeled beside the bed. He took hold of one of her hands and dangled it over one side of the bed, repeating the action with one of her legs. "That should ground you for awhile."
Buffy closed her eyes again, testing his theory. When she realized he was right, a small smile spread across her face. "Thank you."
Spike clicked off the light and made his way back over to the large recliner. Resting his cheek against his hand, he gazed at the young woman in his bed. Things needed to be said, but now was not the right time. They'd have a talk in the morning. His eyes drifted closed, and he shifted in the chair, trying to get comfortable.
"This bed is big enough for two, you know," a quiet voice said from across the room.
"Buffy, I don't think . . ."
"I insist," she said softly, her eyes still closed.
Spike sighed and rose to his feet, walking over to the dresser. He pulled out a pair of soccer shorts and draped them over the back of the chair, then stripped. Considering he usually slept in the nude, it was probably a good idea to put something on, if he was going to be sharing his bed. As soon as the shorts were in place he climbed into the bed next to her.
Buffy let out a small, contented sigh, when she felt the mattress sink down. She rolled towards him and rested her head against his bare chest.
"Buffy, maybe we should . . ."
"Shhh," she murmured against his chest, snuggling closer. "Just go to sleep." She tugged on one of his arms, then wrapped it about her shoulders.
"Fine." He let out the deep breath he was holding and pulled her tightly against him. "Just don't heave on me in the middle of the night."
"I'll try my best," she said with a soft giggle, before drifting off to sleep.
------------------
Buffy awoke as the first rays of daylight filtered through Spike's window. She was snuggled close to his hard-muscled body, her limbs intertwined with his own. One of her legs was thrown over Spike's hip, and she couldn't help but notice the erection pressing against her inner thigh. Opening her eyes she gazed at the sleeping man. 'How could I even think that he would get involved with Drusilla? I'm such an idiot,' she thought sheepishly.
Buffy gently removed her arm from around Spike's back, trying not to wake him, and wormed it between their bodies. Slowly she ran her fingertips up his chest, down his arm, across his jaw, over the scar on his eyebrow, before finally reaching his lips. She gasped when he murmured her name softly, and his hands unconsciously took hold of her ass, pulling her against his erection. Buffy mewled and ignored the pounding in her skull, focusing instead on the delicious sensations building within her.
Lifting her head slightly she placed a feather-light kiss against his lips. With a small groan, his lips parted, allowing her room to deepen the kiss. "Mmmm, Buffy," he moaned again between kisses, rolling to his back so she could lie on top of him. Buffy straddled his hips and leaned over to capture his lips once more, sliding her hands beneath his shoulders. She let out a deep moan when she felt his fingers slip inside her panties, kneading the flesh of her naked buttocks. Suddenly, she was on her back, her thighs pressed against his hips. As he thrust against her, Buffy bit one lip, trying to suppress her moans.
Spike's head fell next to hers, his face in her neck. "Oh Buffy," he whispered, between kisses and nibbles.
Buffy used her feet to push his shorts down his legs, and he kicked them off. As his penis prodded her opening, she whispered in his ear. "I've missed you so much."
"Missed you too," he said, lifting himself onto his forearms, preparing to slip into her body.
"Look at me," she insisted, gulping for air. "I need you to look at me," she repeated, taking hold of his strong arms.
Spike's eyes fluttered open and he looked at the trembling woman below him through hazy eyes. "Oh god Buffy." His hips twitched against hers, teasing her entrance.
"Spike . . .please," she begged, tightening her grip on his biceps.
Suddenly, Spike snapped to attention and leapt off the bed, taking the comforter with him.
Buffy rose to her knees, and gazed at the shaking man before her, wrapped protectively in the blanket. "Baby, what's wrong?"
"Buffy?" he asked questioningly, as if he were assessing her presence for the first time.
"Spike, are you okay?" Buffy swung her legs around, her feet coming in contact with the cold floor, and she rose to her feet, taking a few tentative steps in his direction. "If you want to wait, that's fine," she said softly, reaching one hand towards him.
Spike shook his head and looked to the ground. One moment he'd been dreaming of making love to Buffy, and the next he'd awoken nude and between her legs. "I'm so confused."
"That's okay, just come back to bed," she whispered, taking his hand. "Let's just sleep."
"That's what I was doing," he said softly.
"What?"
Spike looked up at her face and tried to explain. "I was dreaming. . .I thought it was. . .I didn't know . . ."
Buffy's eyes went wide with realization. "Oh. . .ok," she said softly, trying to mask the hurt in her voice.
"Yeah, so I don't think I should get back in that bed with you," he said pointing towards the mattress and rumpled sheets.
"Why? I thought we were kind of together. Sleeping in the same bed is ok now, remember?"
Spike took a deep breath and sat on the end of the bed. "Maybe we shouldn't be."
"What do you mean?" Buffy asked, voice wavering with fear.
"I think we jumped the gun. We're not ready yet - atleast you're not."
Buffy dropped to her knees before him and placed her hands on his. "No, I am. . .I swear."
Spike lifted his head to look in her eyes. "No. . .you're not. I thought we had finally reached a point where we could trust each other - be together without the constant drama." Spike sighed when he heard Buffy sniffle back her tears. "One day back and you think I'm with Dru? Shame on you, Buffy."
"I know," she whimpered softly, "and I'm sorry. She set me up and I completely fell for it. She made me think. . .," Buffy took a deep breath and paused momentarily before continuing. "I overreacted and-"
"Overreacted? I'd say," he said shaking his head. "And look where it got you? Plastered and about to be raped."
Buffy's eyes snapped up to his, flashing with anger. "I seem to remember about a week ago, someone getting pretty 'pissed' and working out his issues through some kind of new Karaoke therapy." She forced out a strained laugh, and continued to glare at him. "Not to mention, that another certain someone helped him off his ass to go win a soccer match. I wonder who that was Spike?"
"You're right," he said softly, closing his eyes. "I shouldn't have said that. I was out of line." When he sensed that she'd relaxed he opened his eyes once more. "But my Karaoke-antics were a week ago. Things are supposed to be different now. I can't take this constant hot and cold with you. I need to know that we're on the same page," he paused and gulped down the knot that had formed in his throat. "And right now, I don't think we are."
Buffy shook her head rapidly. "You're wrong. There were things that she said . . .and did-" she choked down the sob that was waiting to break free. "Just give me a chance . . .please."
Spike sniffed back his own tears, wanting desperately to cave into her wishes; but he knew, if things were ever going to work between them, the line had to be drawn. "It's not her. It's you. You don't trust me Buffy. How can we be together if I don't have your trust?"
"That's fair. I can't blame her for my mistakes," she said, nodding in agreement. "But I do trust you," she pleaded, tears rolling down her cheeks. "I trust you with my life." She lifted his injured hand and held it to her cheek, kissing his scabbed knuckles lightly.
Spike pulled his hand away. "I don't want your gratitude. I want you," he said, staring deeply into her tear-filled eyes.
"Then why can't we be together?" she asked through her tears, placing her hands to his knees.
He inhaled deeply, searching desperately for a way to make her comprehend what he was feeling. "Because I shouldn't have to beat some guy's head in to prove myself to you. That's not real. That's not trust." He paused again to gather his thoughts before continuing. "Trust is something that is unspoken; it isn't dependent on actions. Do you understand?" he asked, running one hand through her hair. "Without that trust, I don't really have you."
Buffy nodded and rose to her feet, looking down at him. "I understand. But you're wrong." She walked over to her pile of clothes on the floor and stepped into her black skirt. "Not about trust, and what it means. But about me." She looked at him sadly, and shook her head. "I just hope you realize that soon." Buffy pulled off Spike's t-shirt and discarded it to the floor before slipping on her tanktop. "Do you see that clock over there?" Buffy asked, pointing to the alarm clock on Spike's nightstand.
Spike quirked an eyebrow in her direction, confused by the question.
Buffy shook her head and walked over to the doorway. "Time doesn't stand still while you try to figure things out Spike - it just keeps ticking away." She looked at him pointedly as she reached for the doorknob. "And there's not much left."
Spike's gaze followed her retreating form. When the door clicked shut he glanced over to the alarm clock, before falling back on the bed. He stared up at the ceiling while he mulled over her words. Suddenly, the awful beeping of the alarm clock filled the room. He shot up, smacking the snooze button to silence the horrid noise. His eyes locked on the clock, before slowly moving over to the door, realization finally hitting him. "Bloody hell!" He ran towards the door, flinging it open. He looked up and down the hallway, but she was already gone. He closed the door again and let his forehead fall against the wood. "Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks," he ground out as he banged his head repeatedly against the door. 'You stupid wanker. Here you are lecturing the girl about trust, and you're doubting every word out of her mouth!' Spike turned around and rested his back against the door, facing into his room. 'Stupid git! You WILL make this up to her.' He glanced over to the clock once more. 'And fast.'