The Fall of William
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns Btvs
A/N: Hi all. This is a flashback chapter. There is a point to this chapter and the next one will be a continuation of this chapter. Got too long to continue. So well, enjoy and thank you again for all the reviews.
~*~
Ch:9
Willow cautiously looked up from her laptop and met Oz's eyes. He blinked once before he looked away to the floor.
Willow bit her lip and then abruptly rose.
"Listen I'm sure Spike told you we weren't supposed to go anywhere but we're hungry. We could go to the kitchen ourselves but since there are knives and other types of utensils that could be used as weapons I suggest you all get us something to eat," Willow said more as a statement than a request.
The guards looked at one another.
"He's staying here," one of them, said jabbing a beefy finger at the guard in the shadows of the room.
Willow shrugged and sat back down.
Her eyes met Oz's again briefly, before she looked away.
Oz rose and wandered towards Gunn who had watched the little display with bored eyes or so it had seemed.
Their eyes met.
Willow was certain it would only be a matter of minutes before the tables would be turned and they would be back in control and they could go upstairs and rescue Buffy. They were all trained professionals even Anya and a situation like this was one they knew how to get out of.
You just had to wait for the right moment.
~*~
Flashback....
Spike shifted nervously in the back of the hired taxi as it made slow progress through the damp streets of London. H e stared blankly out the window and let the scenery pass by in a blur. His thoughts were miles away.
He couldn't believe he was back here again. He had vowed as soon as he had booked the cheapest tickets he could on a boat sailing for America that he would never come back here. Of course, he had been a young 16 when he'd made the vow but he'd managed to stick to it for the last twelve years. Scowling he pulled himself from his bleak thoughts and eyed the bald cabbie's head.
"Pull over," he ordered abruptly.
The cabbie's eyes met his in the rearview mirror and did as he was told.
Pulling over he let the car idle as Spike hesitated staring at the sidewalk intensely, regretting ever having come here again.
"Sir?"
Spike lifted his head, eyes cold and clenched his jaw.
"Here," he said abruptly as he dug around in his pocket and handed him a handful of bills.
Shoving open the door he slid out and shut the door behind him. Striding away from the curb, he hunched his shoulders, and thrust his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket.
His eyes were narrowed to slits as he walked his aura one of undeniable repressed fury. Inside his pockets, his hands clenched and unclenched.
He wasn't sure where he was going, he knew it was around here somewhere though and the longer it took to get there the better off he would be, Spike thought dimly.
The neighborhood in which he walked was a middle class one. Nice houses and nice people. The total opposite of how he had grown up. Abject poverty on the streets of Suffolk. Resentment flared briefly before he tamped it down and focused. He was here for a reason. He had a purpose.
His eyes caught the sign and automatically his feet froze as he stared at the glass door.
He'd left London to get away from this, he thought bleakly. He left to get a way to help her...
Instead, she'd ended up in the same place; he had tried so hard to keep her from.
Bringing his hands from his pockets, he reached out and pulled open the door to Sinclair's Mortuary.
Gritting his teeth, he stepped in.
~*~
Buffy stepped into the small antique shop on one of the side streets of London and smiled softly.
Places like these made it a pleasure to come here in the middle of winter. To put up with the hassle Quentin Travers had made when he heard she'd be wandering around London for a week on William the Bloody via Angel's orders. He'd wanted to send a team with her.
She lost her smile as she thought of him. Quentin Travers had been someone she'd respected and had hoped to emulate. Of course, that had been before she met him.
Before she got to know him.
The man was an anal control freak who bordered on psychotic. He was crazy and everyone knew it. But that was what made him so brilliant. He had the mind to see the bigger picture, to succeed where others had failed. He hired and groomed some of the best agents in the field.
Everyone put up with his eccentric ways because he was top dog and he could crush you if he chose to without lifting a finger.
Buffy shook her head; she didn't want to think about Quentin Travers. He was her boss and though he'd made his dislike for her apparent at every turn, she respected the power he wielded and the foresight he had to use it. Besides, once she bagged William she was sure he'd offer her, her own department just to get her out of his hair.
If all went well then-
"May I help you ma'am?" the soft voice jarred her from her thoughts and she glanced up with a slight frown.
"Oh," she exclaimed softly and shook her head. "I'd like to look around if you don't mind," she said as she glanced around then at the small man before her.
The man nodded and left her with a smile.
Looking around she spotted items she found charming and then a particular picture caught her attention.
It was an oil-based picture of a woman in Victorian clothing and a little boy. The woman was caught halfway between the door of her house. The boy small, tow headed and all eyes clung to her legs. Tears streaked down his chubby cheeks.
It tugged at something inside of her and she reached out hesitantly.
"Pretty no?" the man she'd spoken to earlier spoke from beside her.
Buffy turned her head slightly.
"Yes. I'd like to buy it," she commented.
She'd give it to her mother, she decided. Having it in her house she was sure, would not be a wise thing. The picture disturbed her.
Her mom as an art dealer loved all kinds of art and would appreciate this one.
"Of course. Shall I wrap it?"
Buffy nodded and he took the small picture from the wall and strolled away.
Buffy slowly continue her search.
~*~
Searching the foyer he felt his right eyelid begin to twitch as his level of agitation rose and he became quite uncomfortable. Striding to the desk, he pressed his hand down on the bell that sat there. He leaned on it.
The irritating noise rang through the room and echoed loudly.
"Where the bloody hell are these people?!" he asked aloud.
"Yes," a thin voice snapped out.
Turning Spike narrowed his eyes at the large man who'd come from the back. His eyes racked up and down the large man's frame.
Settled on his mottled face and resisted the urge to sneer.
"Mr. Sinclair," he gritted out.
"May I help you?" Mr. Sinclair asked.
"What the fuck do you think?" Spike snarled as he let his hand clench around the bell and he barely resisted the urge to throw it at the man.
"W-well," the man stammered as he met Spike's cold contemptuous eyes.
"Spike's m'name," Spike muttered as he forced his body to relax and he inhaled deeply before he spoke again.
He watched as Sinclair blanched and scurried forward.
"I'm here for what we talked about," he added before the man could speak.
"Yes. Yes of course. Come," the man, gushed out as he hurried forward, and glancing over his shoulder to see if Spike was following.
Spike followed slowly.
His heart grew heavier with every step he took. He felt the first stirrings of nausea form in the pit of his stomach.
They passed a number of coffins, and other odds and ends that came with preparing for a funeral.
Then Sinclair pause outside a door and he smiled at Spike.
Completely forgetting in his excitement at having Spike here why exactly he was here, with all the money Spike had offered to make arrangements swiftly.
"Here you go sir," he opened the door grinning.
Spike glared at Sinclair and his anger snapped.
Roughly, he shoved Sinclair into the wall and held him by the throat.
"What're you smilin' 'bout?!" he raged. "You think this is funny? Better, show her some fucking respect. Get the hell out of my sight you filthy little prick!"
He released him and strode into the room. Closed the door behind him and stood transfixed at the sight before his eyes.
Tears blurred his vision as he took a stumbling step forward. His head lowered and he sniffed as he tried to keep his tears at bay.
"Mum...Mummy," he whispered raggedly as he stared at his mother's still, dead face.
He stepped closer, reached out and touched her cold flesh. He let a finger skim her cheek and he bent over, placing a soft kiss on her forehead.
"All I ever wanted," he began hoarsely. "Was for you to be happy. To live the life you deserved. I gave you everything....but you wouldn't take it. Now...now look at you! Look at you! You told me...you told me he'd been comin' around and I knew I should of come then. Taken care of it personally Mum. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he moaned, bending over.
He could count the number of times he'd cried in his life on one hand. When he felt the tears begin to fall, he couldn't hold them back.
Spike stood in the rain, staring straight ahead, as his mother's body was lowered into the ground. It pounded down on him; fitting his mood at the moment as he watched the raindrops fall on the lowering casket.
He knew he didn't have to do this alone. In fact when he'd gotten the news last night he'd been with Dru out at lunch. She'd made the offer to come. However, he knew as much as she'd tried to sound sincere she hadn't been that saddened by the loss of his Mum.
In fact, testament to that very fact, he stood alone at her funeral. No one else had come, couldn't be bothered. She'd died alone and he knew it was his fault.
Having Dru here or even Angel would have compounded the grief and the fury he felt with himself.
They'd never understand how he felt about her. She'd been a loving mother that was until she'd gotten hooked on drugs and then...things had gone to hell.
He'd loved her through it all. Angel had called her what everyone called her. A slut, a whore, a junkie who'd do anything for a fix. Why did he love her still?
How could he not?
He'd left London to make a name for himself, to make enough money to take care of her. To help her kick the habit and live the life he had always dreamed for her. And he had. Except instead of putting her up in a mansion and pampering her, she'd declined almost all of his money.
She'd only allowed him to move her closer to him in the Sates and set her up in a condo.
She'd been drug free for the past five years.
Until a month ago.
She had moved back to London.
Now here she lay and here she would stay.
Swiping a hand across his wet face, he rubbed his chin, stepped forward and dropped the bouquet of Queens Anne Lace onto the coffin. They were her favorite. His hands trembled slightly as he stared into the hole his mother would now reside.
It shouldn't have turned out like this. She shouldn't have been buried in a cheap casket and have no one attend her funeral. But it was what she had wanted and he'd respected her wishes.
His thoughts drifted, and his heart hurt as it pounded in his chest.
Turning on his heel, he left the cemetery only wanting to drown his sorrows.
~*~
Buffy was startled out of pondering the impulse purchase she'd made earlier in the day. She'd spotted it and had immediately-
Getting up she pulled her robe tighter around her as she wandered out from the bedroom to the livingroom and peeked through the peephole.
Speak of the devil, she thought bemusedly as she unlocked the door and swung it open.
A smile formed and something sarcastic and cutting about stalking was on the tip of her tongue when she gazed up at Spike who leaned against the doorframe, head lowered and soaking wet.
When he lifted his head and his eyes met hers all thoughts of teasing him and having one of their banter filled conversation left her.
Concern jumped through her and she wondered where it had come from. After all, she'd admitted the fact she didn't like Spike. He was so annoying and egotistical and everything she'd never want.
She didn't like him right?
His usually ocean blue eyes were dark, almost black as he stared at her. And the pain they held...
"What happened?" she asked gently.
She watched as he gave a lifeless shrug and his head lowered again.
She was thinking furiously as she reached out, shoving aside all doubts and took his larger hand in her own and tugged his willing body into her room and softly shut the door behind them.
She could tell he wasn't going to say much and with that in mind, she began to speak. She'd never been one to offer comfort, she was more the type to take action and do what had to be done. So this was new to her.
But she knew without a doubt that Spike here needed a lot of comfort.
"Well this is a surprise Spike," she muttered as she began to tug his suit jacket off his shoulders.
He remained quiet and let her discard the jacket.
"If I didn't know any better I'd think you were stalking me Spike. I know I'm irresistible but don't you think this is a bit extreme? Not that I mind. Cuz seriously I was kinda getting' bored. I've finished the job and well....I've actual seen the sights of London. Can you believe that? It's always been flitting around from one job to another when I've flown in."
She paused. Studied his shirt, the way it clung to the hard contours of his body and narrowed her eyes.
Comfort Buffy, she told herself.
"Why were you walking around in the rain? You'll catch a cold! Worse pneumonia and then where will you be? For someone who claims to be so smart....Lift your arms," she ordered softly as she finished unbuttoning his shirt.
He obediently lifted his arms and she peeled the shirt off him and tossed it with his suit jacket.
"Well....I bet you never figured this in the equation when you've thought of me undressing you huh?" she laughed slightly as she tackled his belt and glanced up at him through her lashes.
He was gazing at her with a mixture of pain, sorrow and curiosity.
It made her smile falter and she lowered her eyes again.
"To be honest neither did I. In fact, it was always the other way around. Instead of me undressing you, you'd do it yourself. Instead of a strip tease, it would be sort of a slow sensual dance. Hence the bet. Now I'm no blushing virgin but if you want me to stop you can take off the rest. By all means go ahead."
Buffy paused again as she waited for him to take control of the situation and handle the rest.
Buffy let out a quick breath and realized that for the first time in like forever she was free to do, as she wanted. He was being so docile and submissive; a jumbled mass of possibilities came to mind that she shoved aside as she dragged down his pants.
She was fairly certain this was if not the first but one of the few times he'd let someone have control of him and do as they pleased.
She wasn't going to scare him by manhandling him and tying him to her bed and having her way with him. No matter how much she might like to.
She pouted slightly as she thought this.
"Commando," she commented briefly letting her eyes skim his lower extremities.
Smirked.
"Ah, Spike you're making this har-"she cut herself off as she realized what she'd been about to say.
Color formed in her cheeks as she glanced at Spike to see if he'd noticed. The faint upward tilt of his mouth told her he had indeed.
"Never mind. You're shivering, go and take a shower," she instructed.
She wasn't sure what else she was supposed to do for him. She would call room service when he was in the shower and order up some hot soup and tea. That would warm him up and then maybe he'd be more prone to talk, she thought.
She realized Spike hadn't moved. His gaze was unfocused and....she was uncomfortable to realize they were glazed with unshed tears.
Oh my God, she thought. She was so ill equipped to deal with this! Put her in any life or death situation she'd always find a way to get out of it alive but this....
"Come on," she urged gently, took his hand again and led him to the bedroom and to the en suite bathroom.
He seemed so lost at that moment...
So sad, it touched her heart and it hurt her to look at him as he was. He was usually so lively, upbeat, annoying alive.
His almost corpse like presence was more than she could bear.
She didn't speak as she ran the water for a bath.
She didn't speak as she poured a good amount of her favorite bubble bath in.
She didn't speak as she waited for him to climb into the tub.
Slipping out of her robe, naked as the day she was born she settled into the tub herself and let out a sigh as she offered a hand to Spike.
They settled on opposite ends of the large claw foot tub.
She studied him.
He studied her.
She watched the slow procession of tears trail down his cheeks, and felt her chest tighten at the sight.
"What happened?" she finally whispered again.
He lowered his gaze quickly, talked into his heaving chest as he struggled not to bawl like a baby in front of her.
"My Mum died," he mumbled.
He couldn't look at her and knew if he did, he'd lose it as he had at the Mortuary and he didn't want to do that especially in front of her.
He was in control.
He was a man he didn't lose control.
He was-
He felt her arms slip around his waist and he found himself burying his head in the crook of her shoulder and sobbing.
~*~
A/N: I hope this didn't offend anyone. I haven't lost a parent and I wrote this, as I would respond to the death of my Mom. So sorry if I have offended you or made light of a serious situation. Although I know, I'd be devastated if I lost my mom.
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns Btvs
A/N: Hi all. This is a flashback chapter. There is a point to this chapter and the next one will be a continuation of this chapter. Got too long to continue. So well, enjoy and thank you again for all the reviews.
~*~
Ch:9
Willow cautiously looked up from her laptop and met Oz's eyes. He blinked once before he looked away to the floor.
Willow bit her lip and then abruptly rose.
"Listen I'm sure Spike told you we weren't supposed to go anywhere but we're hungry. We could go to the kitchen ourselves but since there are knives and other types of utensils that could be used as weapons I suggest you all get us something to eat," Willow said more as a statement than a request.
The guards looked at one another.
"He's staying here," one of them, said jabbing a beefy finger at the guard in the shadows of the room.
Willow shrugged and sat back down.
Her eyes met Oz's again briefly, before she looked away.
Oz rose and wandered towards Gunn who had watched the little display with bored eyes or so it had seemed.
Their eyes met.
Willow was certain it would only be a matter of minutes before the tables would be turned and they would be back in control and they could go upstairs and rescue Buffy. They were all trained professionals even Anya and a situation like this was one they knew how to get out of.
You just had to wait for the right moment.
~*~
Flashback....
Spike shifted nervously in the back of the hired taxi as it made slow progress through the damp streets of London. H e stared blankly out the window and let the scenery pass by in a blur. His thoughts were miles away.
He couldn't believe he was back here again. He had vowed as soon as he had booked the cheapest tickets he could on a boat sailing for America that he would never come back here. Of course, he had been a young 16 when he'd made the vow but he'd managed to stick to it for the last twelve years. Scowling he pulled himself from his bleak thoughts and eyed the bald cabbie's head.
"Pull over," he ordered abruptly.
The cabbie's eyes met his in the rearview mirror and did as he was told.
Pulling over he let the car idle as Spike hesitated staring at the sidewalk intensely, regretting ever having come here again.
"Sir?"
Spike lifted his head, eyes cold and clenched his jaw.
"Here," he said abruptly as he dug around in his pocket and handed him a handful of bills.
Shoving open the door he slid out and shut the door behind him. Striding away from the curb, he hunched his shoulders, and thrust his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket.
His eyes were narrowed to slits as he walked his aura one of undeniable repressed fury. Inside his pockets, his hands clenched and unclenched.
He wasn't sure where he was going, he knew it was around here somewhere though and the longer it took to get there the better off he would be, Spike thought dimly.
The neighborhood in which he walked was a middle class one. Nice houses and nice people. The total opposite of how he had grown up. Abject poverty on the streets of Suffolk. Resentment flared briefly before he tamped it down and focused. He was here for a reason. He had a purpose.
His eyes caught the sign and automatically his feet froze as he stared at the glass door.
He'd left London to get away from this, he thought bleakly. He left to get a way to help her...
Instead, she'd ended up in the same place; he had tried so hard to keep her from.
Bringing his hands from his pockets, he reached out and pulled open the door to Sinclair's Mortuary.
Gritting his teeth, he stepped in.
~*~
Buffy stepped into the small antique shop on one of the side streets of London and smiled softly.
Places like these made it a pleasure to come here in the middle of winter. To put up with the hassle Quentin Travers had made when he heard she'd be wandering around London for a week on William the Bloody via Angel's orders. He'd wanted to send a team with her.
She lost her smile as she thought of him. Quentin Travers had been someone she'd respected and had hoped to emulate. Of course, that had been before she met him.
Before she got to know him.
The man was an anal control freak who bordered on psychotic. He was crazy and everyone knew it. But that was what made him so brilliant. He had the mind to see the bigger picture, to succeed where others had failed. He hired and groomed some of the best agents in the field.
Everyone put up with his eccentric ways because he was top dog and he could crush you if he chose to without lifting a finger.
Buffy shook her head; she didn't want to think about Quentin Travers. He was her boss and though he'd made his dislike for her apparent at every turn, she respected the power he wielded and the foresight he had to use it. Besides, once she bagged William she was sure he'd offer her, her own department just to get her out of his hair.
If all went well then-
"May I help you ma'am?" the soft voice jarred her from her thoughts and she glanced up with a slight frown.
"Oh," she exclaimed softly and shook her head. "I'd like to look around if you don't mind," she said as she glanced around then at the small man before her.
The man nodded and left her with a smile.
Looking around she spotted items she found charming and then a particular picture caught her attention.
It was an oil-based picture of a woman in Victorian clothing and a little boy. The woman was caught halfway between the door of her house. The boy small, tow headed and all eyes clung to her legs. Tears streaked down his chubby cheeks.
It tugged at something inside of her and she reached out hesitantly.
"Pretty no?" the man she'd spoken to earlier spoke from beside her.
Buffy turned her head slightly.
"Yes. I'd like to buy it," she commented.
She'd give it to her mother, she decided. Having it in her house she was sure, would not be a wise thing. The picture disturbed her.
Her mom as an art dealer loved all kinds of art and would appreciate this one.
"Of course. Shall I wrap it?"
Buffy nodded and he took the small picture from the wall and strolled away.
Buffy slowly continue her search.
~*~
Searching the foyer he felt his right eyelid begin to twitch as his level of agitation rose and he became quite uncomfortable. Striding to the desk, he pressed his hand down on the bell that sat there. He leaned on it.
The irritating noise rang through the room and echoed loudly.
"Where the bloody hell are these people?!" he asked aloud.
"Yes," a thin voice snapped out.
Turning Spike narrowed his eyes at the large man who'd come from the back. His eyes racked up and down the large man's frame.
Settled on his mottled face and resisted the urge to sneer.
"Mr. Sinclair," he gritted out.
"May I help you?" Mr. Sinclair asked.
"What the fuck do you think?" Spike snarled as he let his hand clench around the bell and he barely resisted the urge to throw it at the man.
"W-well," the man stammered as he met Spike's cold contemptuous eyes.
"Spike's m'name," Spike muttered as he forced his body to relax and he inhaled deeply before he spoke again.
He watched as Sinclair blanched and scurried forward.
"I'm here for what we talked about," he added before the man could speak.
"Yes. Yes of course. Come," the man, gushed out as he hurried forward, and glancing over his shoulder to see if Spike was following.
Spike followed slowly.
His heart grew heavier with every step he took. He felt the first stirrings of nausea form in the pit of his stomach.
They passed a number of coffins, and other odds and ends that came with preparing for a funeral.
Then Sinclair pause outside a door and he smiled at Spike.
Completely forgetting in his excitement at having Spike here why exactly he was here, with all the money Spike had offered to make arrangements swiftly.
"Here you go sir," he opened the door grinning.
Spike glared at Sinclair and his anger snapped.
Roughly, he shoved Sinclair into the wall and held him by the throat.
"What're you smilin' 'bout?!" he raged. "You think this is funny? Better, show her some fucking respect. Get the hell out of my sight you filthy little prick!"
He released him and strode into the room. Closed the door behind him and stood transfixed at the sight before his eyes.
Tears blurred his vision as he took a stumbling step forward. His head lowered and he sniffed as he tried to keep his tears at bay.
"Mum...Mummy," he whispered raggedly as he stared at his mother's still, dead face.
He stepped closer, reached out and touched her cold flesh. He let a finger skim her cheek and he bent over, placing a soft kiss on her forehead.
"All I ever wanted," he began hoarsely. "Was for you to be happy. To live the life you deserved. I gave you everything....but you wouldn't take it. Now...now look at you! Look at you! You told me...you told me he'd been comin' around and I knew I should of come then. Taken care of it personally Mum. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he moaned, bending over.
He could count the number of times he'd cried in his life on one hand. When he felt the tears begin to fall, he couldn't hold them back.
Spike stood in the rain, staring straight ahead, as his mother's body was lowered into the ground. It pounded down on him; fitting his mood at the moment as he watched the raindrops fall on the lowering casket.
He knew he didn't have to do this alone. In fact when he'd gotten the news last night he'd been with Dru out at lunch. She'd made the offer to come. However, he knew as much as she'd tried to sound sincere she hadn't been that saddened by the loss of his Mum.
In fact, testament to that very fact, he stood alone at her funeral. No one else had come, couldn't be bothered. She'd died alone and he knew it was his fault.
Having Dru here or even Angel would have compounded the grief and the fury he felt with himself.
They'd never understand how he felt about her. She'd been a loving mother that was until she'd gotten hooked on drugs and then...things had gone to hell.
He'd loved her through it all. Angel had called her what everyone called her. A slut, a whore, a junkie who'd do anything for a fix. Why did he love her still?
How could he not?
He'd left London to make a name for himself, to make enough money to take care of her. To help her kick the habit and live the life he had always dreamed for her. And he had. Except instead of putting her up in a mansion and pampering her, she'd declined almost all of his money.
She'd only allowed him to move her closer to him in the Sates and set her up in a condo.
She'd been drug free for the past five years.
Until a month ago.
She had moved back to London.
Now here she lay and here she would stay.
Swiping a hand across his wet face, he rubbed his chin, stepped forward and dropped the bouquet of Queens Anne Lace onto the coffin. They were her favorite. His hands trembled slightly as he stared into the hole his mother would now reside.
It shouldn't have turned out like this. She shouldn't have been buried in a cheap casket and have no one attend her funeral. But it was what she had wanted and he'd respected her wishes.
His thoughts drifted, and his heart hurt as it pounded in his chest.
Turning on his heel, he left the cemetery only wanting to drown his sorrows.
~*~
Buffy was startled out of pondering the impulse purchase she'd made earlier in the day. She'd spotted it and had immediately-
Getting up she pulled her robe tighter around her as she wandered out from the bedroom to the livingroom and peeked through the peephole.
Speak of the devil, she thought bemusedly as she unlocked the door and swung it open.
A smile formed and something sarcastic and cutting about stalking was on the tip of her tongue when she gazed up at Spike who leaned against the doorframe, head lowered and soaking wet.
When he lifted his head and his eyes met hers all thoughts of teasing him and having one of their banter filled conversation left her.
Concern jumped through her and she wondered where it had come from. After all, she'd admitted the fact she didn't like Spike. He was so annoying and egotistical and everything she'd never want.
She didn't like him right?
His usually ocean blue eyes were dark, almost black as he stared at her. And the pain they held...
"What happened?" she asked gently.
She watched as he gave a lifeless shrug and his head lowered again.
She was thinking furiously as she reached out, shoving aside all doubts and took his larger hand in her own and tugged his willing body into her room and softly shut the door behind them.
She could tell he wasn't going to say much and with that in mind, she began to speak. She'd never been one to offer comfort, she was more the type to take action and do what had to be done. So this was new to her.
But she knew without a doubt that Spike here needed a lot of comfort.
"Well this is a surprise Spike," she muttered as she began to tug his suit jacket off his shoulders.
He remained quiet and let her discard the jacket.
"If I didn't know any better I'd think you were stalking me Spike. I know I'm irresistible but don't you think this is a bit extreme? Not that I mind. Cuz seriously I was kinda getting' bored. I've finished the job and well....I've actual seen the sights of London. Can you believe that? It's always been flitting around from one job to another when I've flown in."
She paused. Studied his shirt, the way it clung to the hard contours of his body and narrowed her eyes.
Comfort Buffy, she told herself.
"Why were you walking around in the rain? You'll catch a cold! Worse pneumonia and then where will you be? For someone who claims to be so smart....Lift your arms," she ordered softly as she finished unbuttoning his shirt.
He obediently lifted his arms and she peeled the shirt off him and tossed it with his suit jacket.
"Well....I bet you never figured this in the equation when you've thought of me undressing you huh?" she laughed slightly as she tackled his belt and glanced up at him through her lashes.
He was gazing at her with a mixture of pain, sorrow and curiosity.
It made her smile falter and she lowered her eyes again.
"To be honest neither did I. In fact, it was always the other way around. Instead of me undressing you, you'd do it yourself. Instead of a strip tease, it would be sort of a slow sensual dance. Hence the bet. Now I'm no blushing virgin but if you want me to stop you can take off the rest. By all means go ahead."
Buffy paused again as she waited for him to take control of the situation and handle the rest.
Buffy let out a quick breath and realized that for the first time in like forever she was free to do, as she wanted. He was being so docile and submissive; a jumbled mass of possibilities came to mind that she shoved aside as she dragged down his pants.
She was fairly certain this was if not the first but one of the few times he'd let someone have control of him and do as they pleased.
She wasn't going to scare him by manhandling him and tying him to her bed and having her way with him. No matter how much she might like to.
She pouted slightly as she thought this.
"Commando," she commented briefly letting her eyes skim his lower extremities.
Smirked.
"Ah, Spike you're making this har-"she cut herself off as she realized what she'd been about to say.
Color formed in her cheeks as she glanced at Spike to see if he'd noticed. The faint upward tilt of his mouth told her he had indeed.
"Never mind. You're shivering, go and take a shower," she instructed.
She wasn't sure what else she was supposed to do for him. She would call room service when he was in the shower and order up some hot soup and tea. That would warm him up and then maybe he'd be more prone to talk, she thought.
She realized Spike hadn't moved. His gaze was unfocused and....she was uncomfortable to realize they were glazed with unshed tears.
Oh my God, she thought. She was so ill equipped to deal with this! Put her in any life or death situation she'd always find a way to get out of it alive but this....
"Come on," she urged gently, took his hand again and led him to the bedroom and to the en suite bathroom.
He seemed so lost at that moment...
So sad, it touched her heart and it hurt her to look at him as he was. He was usually so lively, upbeat, annoying alive.
His almost corpse like presence was more than she could bear.
She didn't speak as she ran the water for a bath.
She didn't speak as she poured a good amount of her favorite bubble bath in.
She didn't speak as she waited for him to climb into the tub.
Slipping out of her robe, naked as the day she was born she settled into the tub herself and let out a sigh as she offered a hand to Spike.
They settled on opposite ends of the large claw foot tub.
She studied him.
He studied her.
She watched the slow procession of tears trail down his cheeks, and felt her chest tighten at the sight.
"What happened?" she finally whispered again.
He lowered his gaze quickly, talked into his heaving chest as he struggled not to bawl like a baby in front of her.
"My Mum died," he mumbled.
He couldn't look at her and knew if he did, he'd lose it as he had at the Mortuary and he didn't want to do that especially in front of her.
He was in control.
He was a man he didn't lose control.
He was-
He felt her arms slip around his waist and he found himself burying his head in the crook of her shoulder and sobbing.
~*~
A/N: I hope this didn't offend anyone. I haven't lost a parent and I wrote this, as I would respond to the death of my Mom. So sorry if I have offended you or made light of a serious situation. Although I know, I'd be devastated if I lost my mom.