Catastrophe
by
Princess McPhee
Disclaimer: I don't claim. Not mine. Bow to Joss Whedon.
Author's Note: Feedback may decide whether I finish this, so please tell me if you loved it, hated it, or somewhere in between!
Summary: An AU version of the events after the 5/15/01 BtVS episode. (Right after 'Spiral')
Rating: PG, so far.
Spike couldn't wait to see Angel's face when he learned that his grand-childe was to be the Slayer's nursemaid. He was sincere in his interests, he really did want to help Buffy, but he also didn't think there was anything wrong with gloating a little. After all, Angelus had spent centuries lording over Spike. It was only fair that the tables got turned once in a millennium, or so.
He glanced over at Buffy, who was sitting in her wheelchair, staring dazedly into space. They had been waiting for Dawn to come out of surgery for hours, and he couldn't blame the Slayer for being bored. They weren't really concerned, because the surgeon had come out several minutes ago to assure them that things had gone well, but the younger girl was in recovery, and wouldn't be out for a while.
But it was hell for a Slayer who was used to burning excess energy by pounding things, having to sit in a chair and wait, and not much better for Spike, who though had had more than a hundred years in which to practice, still had not learned patience. Standing up and starting to pace, he only managed to keep quiet for ten minutes or so before exploding.
"When the bloody hell is she going to back!"
Buffy didn't respond, used to his attacks. Several other patrons looked over at him, and a nurse shushed him, but Spike paid them no mind. Collapsing on the couch next to Buffy's wheelchair, he sprawled out over every part of the furniture possible. "This is hell, pet."
Buffy only nodded mutely, a sure sign of how bored and/or annoyed she was, Spike thought. But a quick look her way proved otherwise. The Slayer was deep in memories, and was almost sure to be thinking about those who had been so loyal to her, and hadn't survived to see this day. Scooting closer to her, Spike tentatively stroked her hair with a hand once, and then put it over her delicate wrist. "I'm sorry about them, love, really."
Buffy looked up at him, and Spike waited as she searched his gaze. Looking, he knew, for any sign that the vampire wasn't sincere, for any sign that Spike was only drawing out her self-imposed torture. But he held himself open to her stare because he knew she would find no fault, and wasn't surprised when she simply nodded a moment later. "I know you are."
They sat in silence until a long while later when the doctor came to get them and told them Dawn was awake, if not very coherent. They only spent a little while visiting her because she was so out of it, but they were staying with her that night, in the next room, so they told her that they'd be there in the morning.
Wheeling Buffy's chair into their room for the night, Spike picked up the sleepy Slayer and deposited her on the bed. Swiftly undressing her and trying not to think, he slid a nightshirt over her nearly-bare form and tucked her into the bed. Then he pushed two chairs together next to the bed, grabbed an extra blanket, and tried to sleep.
About two hours into the night, when he'd long-since realized that the rumor about hospital chairs was all-too true and he wasn't going to get any sleep, the vampire sat up as stealthily as possible, trying not to wake the gently snoring Slayer. It was of no use however, years and years of training had put Buffy on the alert, and she awoke the second Spike stirred.
He looked down at her, something almost akin to tenderness in his eyes, he knew. "Go back to sleep, pet. I'm just getting something to eat."
Buffy looked at him suspiciously. "Angel brought you blood barely four hours ago," She told him. "Couldn't sleep in those chairs?"
Spike shrugged, found out. "Even the dead can't sleep in hospital chairs, pet." He pointed at the door. "I'm gonna go see if there's a better place to sleep in reception."
Buffy then made the last move Spike had expected to see in his unlife. "Come sleep in the bed. It's big enough for both of us." She paused, then glared at him, making Spike wonder what he'd done. "If you keep your hands... and all other body parts to yourself."
Spike smiled, and sat down on the edge of the bed. Buffy stopped him with one little cough. He looked at her, puzzled.
"Not with those grungy things on, you don't."
Spike was genuinely puzzled. "Which grungy things?" He asked.
Buffy looked him up and down appraisingly. "Well, I guess you have a point," She said. "They're all grungy things. But I was talking about the boots that have been through hell and the jeans you haven't changed since 1950."
"I've changed my bloody pants in the last fifty years!"
She smiled achingly sweetly. "But have you ever washed them?"
"Yes! I have bloody well washed my pants since 1950!"
Buffy smiled. "You're still not getting into bed with them."
Spike leered at her, not one to pass up an opportunity being handed to him. "Oh. So that's what it's all about, pet. You just want to see what I have to offer before you decide."
Buffy shook her head. "One, you're dangerously close to being back in the plastic back-breakers. And two, there's nothing to decide. Except whether you'd like to keep your jeans on or actually get some sleep tonight more."
Spike shed his pants and boots and climbed into bed.
The next morning, a rather overweight nurse pushed open the door only long enough to say in a totally indifferent tone, "Seven o'clock." Then she disappeared once more.
Spike pushed up off the bed and stretched slowly, cat-style. Putting one foot through the slats of the metal bedframe, he then raised the other leg straight in the air until it came to rest on his shoulder. Moaning gently with the tension his stretch released, he simply sat there for several moments.
Without stirring, the Slayer opened her eyes. "Impressive."
Spike let go of his leg and let it fall back against the mattress. "Only way to beat up the baddies, pet. Bet you can do it, too."
Buffy shrugged. "Sure. But that's not the point."
Spike looked at her, a funny expression on his face. "Pet, what is the point?"
Buffy threw her hands in the air dramatically. "How should I know?"
"Because you started this bloody conversation!"
Suddenly, Buffy started laughing semi-hysterically. It took Spike a moment longer to see what was so funny, but then he got it, and a slow grin started to spread out across his face. "We're pretty funny first thing in morning, huh, love?"
Buffy just nodded, still laughing.
Standing up and getting dressed quickly, Spike opened the door and jumped back, ready to avoid any direct sunlight that might come through the now-open portal to the hallway. Luckily, there was none, though it was bright in a way that the vampire hadn't seen in a long time, causing him to blink rather hard. "I'm gonna get us breakfast, pet. What do you want?"
Without thinking, she replied. "A roll. And orange juice." Spike nodded, and stood up from where he was putting his boots on.
"One roll and an orange juice for the Slayer."
Buffy suddenly realized what she'd said and looked at him sharply. "Where are you getting breakfast, Spike?" She asked.
He shrugged. "Sure there's something around here, love."
"Spike..."
"What?"
"Do not go near the blood bank."
The vampire flashed his mouth-watering grin. "Wouldn't dream of it, Slayer. I'll just get myself some of that delicious food from the cafeteria, and come join you."
Buffy snorted and let him leave this time.
Dawn was more awake that morning, and they spoke to her for a while before Spike insisted that they leave and get Buffy settled at Angel's hotel. Xander and Anya waved good-bye to them as well, planning to stay with the youngest Scooby for a while longer.
Pushing Buffy's wheelchair, Spike got them to the elevator and then down to the parking garage. Not for the first time, he silently thanked the designers of underground parking lots. They made things so much easier for vampires. Not that he'd ever used them in this manner before, but just the same...
Angel's car, with a handsome young black man at the wheel, was waiting for them. Picking up Buffy effortlessly and positioning her in the front seat of the car, he stored her wheelchair in the trunk, then climbed into the back, closing the door and the blacked-out windows behind him.
The ride to Angel's was short, and when the pulled up, the black man, who had introduced himself as Charles Gunn, tossed a large blanket into the backseat. Spike grabbed it and covered himself hurriedly, then opened the door and made a dash for the front of the hotel.
Wesley appeared in the lobby, and Spike groaned. The ex-watched ignored the blond vampire, and walked by him into the sun, pulling Buffy's wheelchair from the trunk and closing up the car. Gunn pulled the Slayer from the front seat and settled her in the wheelchair, which he then pushed into the hotel.
Angel appeared at the top of the stairs then, his expression guarded. "Buffy. Spike."
"Sire."
"Angel."
The three-way stare continued for long moments until Cordelia came bursting from the door to their left. "Buffy!"
Buffy's face lit up. "Cordy!"
The brunette raced towards Buffy and bent down to pull her into a hug. When the Seer pulled away, her expression was somber. "I'm sorry about the others, Buffy," She said sincerely. "I didn't know them that well, but I'll miss them."
Buffy nodded. "Thanks."
Chatting quietly about nothing, Cordelia showed Buffy to her room. It was Wesley's office, redecorated because there were no bedrooms on the first floor, but Buffy said that it seemed homey, and she was glad to be here. Cordy beamed, telling Buffy that the posters had been her idea, and that 'the guys' had been going to put plain white sheets on the bed before she insisted on the flower patterned ones. She wrinkled her nose a little as she told the slayer this.
"I know, flowers, not really all butch and slayer-like," She rambled on. "But it was that, plain white, or Angel's favorite color. Black."
Buffy smiled. "Thanks, Cordy. I like it." The brunette stopped talking long enough to look down at the slayer, a sincere smile on her face.
"I'm glad."
Having followed the girls through this whole tour of Buffy's living quarters, Spike and Angel now intruded on their chatter. "Are you all settled in, Buffy?" Angel asked. The Slayer nodded. "Good. Then I'll just show Spike where he can stay, and I'll be right back."
The dark-haired vampire led Spike upstairs and to the second room by the staircase. Sensing the younger vampire's argument before he could utter a word, Angel held up a hand. "I know you want to be as close to Buffy as possible. But the first room is mine. I don't trust you."
Spike nodded. He wasn't wounded, the older vampire was smart enough to know not to trust his childe, and he wasn't offended by that. Couldn't be, not when he supposedly took pride in being the thing that Angel didn't trust. "Yes, sir!" He answered sarcastically.
Throwing the door open, Angel stood outside. "This is what you get to call home for a while, Will. Have fun." Then, a slight stalk in his movements, he turned away and walked back down the stairs.
Spike dumped his one bag of things in the corner, it contained a few books he'd rescued from the Magic Box and Giles's apartment, another pair of jeans, and the keys to his DeSoto, should he ever want to go back to Sunnydale on the off-chance it still ran. And wasn't hopelessly buried in rubble.
Looking around the room, he sighed. Obviously, Angel still didn't like him very much. There was nothing in the room besides the bed and a nightstand. There were dark, heavy drapes, but they weren't at all aesthetically pleasing. They were thick sheets of black material, pinned in place. The sheet had a white quilt, under which Spike was sure were starched and pressed white sheets, straight from the box. The carpet was very, very old pile, puke green. The walls were a stark white, and the light came from a bare lightbulb hung above the bed. Spike wouldn't have been surprised to find a pull-cord, but it turned out it was connected to the switch.
After turning three-hundred and sixty degrees, taking his 'room' in slowly once over, Spike flicked the switch off, closed the door behind him, and went downstairs to see if Angel had cable television.
Over the next few days, Spike and Angel pretty much stayed out of each other's way. When Angel was visiting Buffy, Spike would park himself in front of the television in the lobby and wait, when Spike was helping Buffy, the souled vampire would almost always forget that he had something pressing to do and would come back later. Buffy would have laughed if it wasn't so pathetic.
On the third day, Spike was preparing to help her into and out of the bath. Previously Cordy had done it, but today she had had a vision and was in no shape to help. So, nervously, the vampire reminded himself that there wasn't anything here he hadn't seen. Buffy had needed his help to dress and undress every morning and night. She'd been bared to him plenty of times before.
The argument didn't work particularly well on his nerves.
Then Spike realized what he'd been forgetting to tell himself. That Buffy trusted him, and he could not to abuse that trust. Setting her down on the closed toilet, his nerves calmed a little, though he didn't even notice his body sucking in a totally unnecessary breath out of anxiety.
Buffy did, though. "Are you okay?"
Spike silently cursed himself. "Yeah, fine, pet."
"Do you want me to get Angel to help?"
That did it. "No. I'm really fine, love." That said, Spike lifted her, one hip at a time, and slid her out of her pants and underwear, just as she finished undressing her top half, herself. He tried his best not to stare as he lowered her slowly into the bathtub, giving her a chance to wince and tell him to pull her out if it was too hot. Settling her on the bottom of the large tub, he handed her the soap. She handed it back to him.
Spike looked at the bar of soap in his hands and then at Buffy, who was either entirely calm or doing a remarkable approximation of it. His puzzled look must have given him away, because she took pity on him, and explained. "I don't think I can reach my feet," She said. "Can you wash them, and my lower legs, too?"
Spike just nodded, not trusting his voice at that moment. Rubbing the soap slowly between wet hands, he pulled one foot out of the water, and starting rubbing his hands over her smooth skin. Pressing between her toes and massaging her feet gently as he bathed them, his hands crept slightly nervously up her legs. They were rough with stubble from not being shaved, but he didn't mind.
The vampire repeated this with her other leg, and then, thoroughly shaken, handed the bar of soap back to Buffy and dried his hands. "Just... just call when you're ready to get out, right pet?"
Buffy nodded. "Thanks."
"No problem."
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