Chapter Eight: Question Everything
For the second time, Buffy awoke to find herself in a lot of pain. She mentally assessed the situation, deciding that she felt even worse than the time before, but at least now she wasn't standing upright. That was a start, but she couldn't help a whimper of pain as she tried to roll over in the bed.
"Bad move, Buffy," she berated herself out loud, having discovered that trying to move made the room spin madly.
"You shouldn't be moving at all, Slayer." Spike warned, leaning against the doorframe. Unbeknownst to her, he had been sprawled out in the hallway with a book, waiting for any sign of life. "You've lost a lot of blood."
"Yeah, I can sorta see I'm caked in it," she agreed, wryly indicating the mess she was. Then she started, seeming to remember the circumstances of her injuries. "What happened? I saw Angel."
"Neither of them are a threat anymore," the vampire told her roughly, omitting details. However, his demeanor softened just a little when she winced at the tone of his voice. "Everyone's OK right now.except you, luv."
"I think I'll get better." Buffy said decisively, trying to prop herself up on her elbows and failing miserably as a cramp shot through her arm. Spike came over and helped her sit up with her back against the headboard. She watched him carefully but could see nothing more than helpful indifference. "Thanks. For everything, the Book."
He acknowledged her sputtered gratitude with a curt nod of the head, still adjusting to the fact that he would be alone after all this. His family was dead, and certainly he had no place in Buffy's life. The Slayer would move on, considering their alliance complete now that Angelus was dead. Whatever they had was mere lust, their working relationship more important than even that. She was the Slayer, out of his reach, that very brightness that Dru had spoken of. But by jumping into the sun in a moment of sentiment, she unintentionally had cemented Spike where he was, even if it was a form of hell. How could he move on and up with the memory of what she had given up for him?
Buffy was confused at the vampire's rapid mood change. Gone completely were his teasing kisses and the dangerous light in his eyes as he protected her from Angelus. She had never taken time to think about what they would do after the fight was over. The solace they had found in each other's lips had apparently been to ease the pain of their significant others leaving them. She had thought that for a moment that night in the crypt, seeing him sit inches from her and wonder if he possibly felt the way she did about being left behind. Then the kiss just happened, but obviously he was through seeking comfort. His face was completely blank even as he solicitously saw to her wounds. Not even lust then, but why did she half- wish it was that and more?
"Can I get cleaned up?" Buffy ventured when the uncomfortable silence had dragged on an eternity too long. He looked up from his examination of her arm.
"Can you move without throwing up?" the vampire countered, eyeing her dubiously.
"I want to try," she responded, hazel eyes determined. "In any case, I'm going to vomit if I don't get all this blood off."
"Point." Spike grinned suddenly, the most animated he had been since she woke up. "Not that it would bother me, but."
"Just go run me a bath!" Buffy interrupted imperiously, her lips quirking at the corners. "Please."
With a unreadable smile, he left the room and she could hear water running nearby. Nearby was good, because even thinking was giving her a headache. She hoped the water was really hot, because the muscles that weren't injured were incredibly tense, but she couldn't risk stretching them without aggravating something else. Soon enough, Spike came back in the room and she ceased her examination of the wallpaper.
"How do you want to do this?" he asked her, immediately distant. She couldn't blame him really, considering the task at hand. "Somehow I don't think you're up to being independent."
"I could just leave this sorry remainder of an outfit on," she offered seriously. "I don't think it matters if it gets wet."
"You aren't going to get clean that way," Spike pointed out, speaking to her as if she were a child. She supposed she should be grateful for that, because anything else would mean he was *trying* to get her naked. That didn't need to be brought up right now.
"Then I'll try myself.if I end up puking from the effort, you can help," the Slayer decided, fixing the vampire with a stern look for good measure. "No looking if you can help it."
"All modesty possible," the vampire assented with a teasing light in his tired blue eyes. "Don't think either of us are up to doing anything that exciting anyway."
She glared at him for that comment, but he ignored it, recognizing that extended argument was not going to get them anywhere. Working together, they managed to ease the torn skirt and panties off her legs. Buffy got the bra off alone, the t-shirt long gone since Angelus had torn it away in his frenzy to rape her. She shuddered with that memory. Spike, believing that she had grown uncomfortable with the situation, averted his eyes even more than they already had been. Scooping her up in his arms, he moved her to the edge of the bed and allowed her to put her feet on the floor.
They left the room as fast as Buffy could walk, although Spike carried most of her weight on the arm she clung to. Finally they got to the bathroom, and he lifted her up again. She was already shivering uncontrollably, so putting her feet on cold tile wouldn't help much. Knowing a small something about human body temperatures, he eased her into the bath, watching just her face to make sure she was adjusting to the boiling water.
"Wow, that stings." Buffy commented, as her face gradually relaxed. The wounds would have been intolerable a few hours ago, but the sleep she had taken was more beneficial then it seemed. The stinging went away quickly and she was overtaken by lassitude. Her eyelids grew heavy and she let them close.
Spike let her doze off for a minute, but then reminded her, "You should probably wash before it gets cold."
"Yeah." Buffy eyed him as she began to bathe, somewhat disconcerted by his business-like manner. It was very unlike her fighting partner to be so.distant. She was sitting naked in front of him, and he had only managed one borderline comment that was more about why they *wouldn't* do anything. Not that she wanted that attention, but this was below par for him, so she felt inclined to ask, "What's up?"
"Pardon?" the vampire said, having been lost in his own dark thoughts.
"What's with the brooding 'I'm-miles-away' thing?" she elaborated, and he realized she was genuinely concerned. Why did that startle him so? "What happened?"
"Maybe I'll tell you later." Spike sighed, realizing his attitude was preventing her from the conversation and semi-human contact she felt like she needed. So he easily returned to his old self and smirked at her, seeing wary relief fall over her features. "Why, feeling neglected?"
Her only answer to that was an unladylike snort, and she gingerly reached for more soap. The movement finally drew his attention, his heavy gaze paradoxical in that it made her uncomfortable though he wasn't looking directly at her. She glared back at him meaningfully as she lathered her hands. He looked completely different than he had a minute ago, his serious countenance replaced by unruly cerulean eyes and a mischievous slant on his lips. Buffy didn't know whether to be disgusted or excited that he was wreaking havoc on her senses again. But as his perusal focused from something indistinct to the vicinity of her chest, she covered her breasts out of habit.
"You made your point. Stop it," she ordered with hauteur and no small amount of anger. "I'm sorry I brought up your bad mood."
"Well, in any case you're getting angry with me. Gives you a reason to want to get better.can't defend your honor until you can hit me," Spike snickered casually, nonetheless averting his eyes to a light fixture. "I knew your infernal stubbornness had to be good for something."
"It's not helping me get all clean." Buffy grumbled, aware of the awkward situation this presented. Out of pure tenacity, she had managed to ignore the pain radiating through her body and get the front half scrubbed. But her arms couldn't bend in order to get her back, and she remembered the blood running down her spine there from a shallow cut Drusilla had given her.
"Your back, eh?" the vampire realized with a quick assessment of the red- tinted water. She had gotten most of it off, but obviously couldn't get the rest. "I'll help if you want. No more staring."
"Right now, I'm too tired to care," the Slayer confessed recklessly, gripping the side of the tub and painstakingly turning over. For the most part, he had been a gentleman, and fatigue had set in. Obviously she would need more time to regain strength.
She spoke truly, for five minutes of scrubbing later, Spike had finished and she was sound asleep in the marble tub. Drawing a long terrycloth robe out from a convenient cabinet, he wrapped her up quickly and carried her back to her room. Soon enough he managed to find clean sheets (the previous owner had been neurotically organized) and get the Slayer in bed. Choosing to forget that she was dead to the world and that he could have looked his fill, Spike sauntered from the room to go hunting. He hadn't eaten for about a day or so, and his stomach was complaining loudly, claiming his attention as arrogantly as any Slayer.
**********
Later that night, the vampire lay in his own room, bloodlust sated after only one quick kill. He flipped the telly on, but could not select a program to watch. It was satellite television, meaning there were far too many choices for him to make. Finally, he settled on some violent action movie, watching with a bemused interest as the hero delivered a set of blows obviously choreographed. A truly exhilarating battle may look like your attacks had been planned ahead, but the fighters can feel the spontaneity of their actions. He had at least learned that over the years.
Spike watched a wince pass over the rugged face of the actor on screen as the villain threatened his love interest, a terrified brunette. The dark- clad man had a knife held at her petite throat, and to her credit the bint didn't scream, but didn't offer any resistance either. Buffy would have had to be severely distracted or incapacitated by something else to even let the bastard get close enough to draw a blade.
As if on cue, the Slayer in question began screaming like a madwoman, the sudden noise startling him. His immediate reaction had been to stare at the television to see if it was part of the show, but that chit was trying to reason with her captor. 'As if that ever worked!' he scoffed as he shut the program off and ran lightly down the hall to Buffy's room.
"Slayer, pet, what is it?" he asked immediately when he rushed inside to see her huddled in a tangle of sheets, pale and clammy.
"Bad dream, I think." Buffy said hoarsely, but her voice was shaky and unconvincing.
"About what?" Spike questioned carefully, his voice quiet as he sat down on the bed.
"Angel," she revealed with a little bit of the fright that had caused her to waken. She faltered but managed to continue the narrative. "He was killing me, and then it changed to me killing him, over and over. But throughout the whole thing, he kept laughing. I tried to get him to stop but the sound only got worse.hearing that was just."
The Slayer trembled and stopped her description, having lost words to describe the nightmare that had bled into her sleep from real life. Unable to stand hearing the raw pain in her tone, the vampire eased closer and pulled her into his arms, offering nothing more than a soothing embrace. Her silent tears soaked the fabric of his shirt but he ignored that, rocking her back and forth.
"You know, I haven't gotten one good night of sleep since you came back to town." Buffy told him, her rasping voice muffled by his shoulder.
He didn't answer, knowing she wasn't speaking of him but of Angelus. What was he supposed to say to that? A witty innuendo was the last thing she needed, and he cursed inwardly that only those type of comments were coming to mind. He had never been one of tender words. Then she pulled back, leaving him worried. Now the regret and fear were gone from her watery eyes, replaced by some amount of pain and anger.
"Talk to me for once!" she screamed again, rough around the edges. "Don't you ever let anyone close enough to understand you? Ever since the fight you haven't really been here."
That was all the invitation he needed to lie down and pull her with him until they were spooning and comfortably settled into the mattress. She had a point-since the end of the fight he had been distant and uncommunicative because he had lost everything. Even if he hadn't been able to be around them for hate and jealousy, Dru and Angelus were the only family he had ever had. How was he going to explain that to Buffy? She would always have her friends to fall back on in hard times, and he'd never be part of that. But right now he'd try his best to make her believe everything was OK.it would be for her, at least.
"This close enough, luv?" Spike crooned, his voice low and tonic to her panicked state. The feeling of his strong body resting protectively near her did more to calm her than even his voice, and so she relaxed as his arms circled her waist.
"Cheater." Buffy murmured, but they both ignored the flirting factor of that comment. She continued with a concerned edge to her stern words. "Tell me exactly what happened in the fight."
"I dusted Angelus," he said succinctly, dismissing his chivalry easily. But he couldn't be so direct with talking about Drusilla. "And Dru went outside, didn't come back."
"You let her leave?" Buffy griped. He groaned, wishing she had gotten the hint before.
"Went outside when the sun was out." Spike elaborated, thankful that she couldn't see the deep hurt in his eyes.
Buffy lay there in the circle of his arms and was amazed he had been talking to her at all. And she had been upset that he hadn't been completely open! She could vividly hear the pain in his voice, and didn't try to look at him. Maybe he had moved on, but there had still been feelings there for Drusilla. She should know, because those same emotions had been there even when Angel had left for Los Angeles. And when he had turned evil again, they had overwhelmed her the more for the fact that she shouldn't be experiencing them.
"I know it's stupid, but I'm sorry," she apologized, feeling the most absurd urge to cry for his sake.
"It's not, and why are you sorry?" the vampire asked her gruffly. "You didn't have anything to do with it."
"Being whiny when you were upset." Buffy explained abashedly. "I wasn't used to Moody-Spike, so I overreacted a little."
"I figured you didn't really want me paying attention to you in the bath," chuckled Spike, tightening his grip on her body pointedly.
"Yeah," the blonde replied absently, and the conversation trailed off the second it ventured into the territory of their feelings for each other.
"Something's still bothering you, Slayer," the platinum-blonde insisted a few minutes of silence later. She sighed, wondering how he got his uncanny ability to be so perceptive. "Ask away."
"Why didn't you tell me what Angelus had planned?" she wondered, grateful for the topic change. Still, she couldn't help her accusatory tone. "Were you trying to get me killed?"
"Calm down!" Spike snapped right back, and she could sense that he was confused, but more angry that she was shoving the blame in his face. "You were standing right outside the window when the poof said it, so don't fault me!"
"No, I wasn't." Buffy said with dawning comprehension. She wriggled out of his tight hold to look him in the eye, showing him both apology and embarrassment. "I, um. Fell down and left. I didn't want to get caught."
"He didn't send anyone out," he disclosed, but noticed the sheepish blush creeping up her face. Her decision to run had nearly cost her everything and she knew it. "So you've been misinterpreting everything I said."
"Angelus is out for your blood," she whispered, a echo of his words to her that had gone unnoticed but now made sense. She looked up swiftly at him. "I thought you were breaking our alliance by letting me get caught."
"And this didn't help," the vampire admitted, tracing the scar on her neck with one finger. Goosebumps raised on her skin and he stopped.
"I'm sorry I doubted you." Buffy said, honestly repentant. Even with him caring for her like an invalid, she had still not trusted him completely, but she did now.
"Let's just forget the whole thing." Spike suggested reassuringly, his voice assigning no blame to anyone. "I should have been more direct and you should have stuck it out. Leave it there."
"Sounds fine," the petite blonde agreed, snuggling back into the mattress, and closer to him, that secure force that she had somehow reached friendship with. It wouldn't hurt her chances of avoiding nightmares if he was there, and oddly the thought didn't bother her. "Stay with me?"
"Mhm," was his only mumbled response to her proposition as he stretched out to full length and yawned widely .
Curled around each other, he patiently waited as she fell asleep, her even breaths the only sound in the room. He let his eyes close only when Buffy was no longer awake.
********** Buffy opened her eyes tiredly, swathed in dark blue sheets that made her feel like she was swimming in a cotton ocean. Stretching out to test the strength of her limbs, she found not only that movement was easier but that she was alone in the bed again. Evidently Spike had stayed for awhile because she could still smell a faint trace of cigarette smoke, leather, and something distinctly him.sort of like death warmed over, if you could give that a scent. Nonetheless it was comforting to some small part of her.
Crawling out of bed, she explored the bureau dresser and was relieved to find several large t-shirts and even a pair of cotton shorts that looked like they would fit. Whoever had lived here before must have been an exercise buff. The thought that the individual whose hospitality she was currently enjoying was dead sobered her, but she was practical and knew she couldn't save everyone. It was a matter of stopping the murderers before they could kill more. That reminded her that Spike might still be feeding on humans, and she made a mental note to ask as she pulled the forest green shirt over her head.
She found him down the hall in a blackened room with only the flickering lights of the television illuminating the sensible beige carpet. Of course the drapes weren't open, because it was day and he was sequestered by the sun. Padding cautiously around the door and into his line of vision, she was greeted with a smile.
"Have a seat, luv." Spike offered, indicating the bed. Wordlessly, she did so, folding her legs beneath her.
"What are you watching?" she asked quietly, observing the TV.
"Not sure, just woke up myself," the vampire replied, eyeing the romantic comedy with a sneer. "I had it on last night after I left your room and must have dozed off."
"Oh," was Buffy's only response, not willing to delve into why he hadn't stayed. Not that it should have mattered after she had fallen asleep! Spike cannily seemed to read the thoughts flitting across her face.
"Sorry I had to slink off, but I was getting hungry," he explained quickly, his face growing stricken as he realized what he had just told her.
"You're still killing." Buffy said matter-of-factly, her voice weary. Spurred on by her lack of emotion, the platinum-haired vampire continued.
"Gotta kill to live, same as you, Slayer," he rationalized with wary blue eyes. "Didn't figure you were keen about the idea of me staying in Sunnydale much longer, so why change my diet?"
"What if I let you stay?" the blonde woman proposed, for once not meeting his eyes.
"Stay and do what, pet?" he questioned her flippantly, but her answer held a lot of weight. Just maybe he had somewhere to belong, a future at least for the span of her lifetime.
"I don't know. Help my friends, maybe," the Slayer mumbled, unsure how to tell him *she* wanted him to stay. "Since you've taken a crime-fighting turn and all."
"Speaking of that, shouldn't you be calling the witch or your mum?" Spike reminded her gently, blatantly changing the topic. "They're probably all worried about you, Buffy."
"I don't want to tell them I'm here," she said testily, and the vehemence behind her words flattered him a little, but he didn't show it. Who knew what her motives were anyway?
"At least tell them you're alright," the vampire insisted, pointing out the bedside phone. Acquiescing with a irritated flash of her eyes, Buffy dialed a number with sure fingers.
"Mom? It's me," she greeted. A long silence ensued, in which time Joyce was likely talking her daughter's ear off. Finally Buffy managed to reply. "I'm fine, and alive, I promise. We stopped Angel, but I need a few days to rest."
A long-suffering look came over the blonde's face and she glared at Spike for forcing her to make the call, but he just shrugged.
"I can't tell you where I am, Mom." Buffy insisted. "I just need to be alone for a while, that's all. I'll call before I come home. Tell Giles and the gang, would you?"
A few minutes later, she managed to hang up, without giving her mother any more details. Burying her head in her hands, Buffy sighed deeply, back into despondence.
"Alone for a while?" Spike teased, getting her to look up and see his mock hurt. He was stunned by the lost look in her eyes, not expecting that kind of response.
"I didn't mean it that way," the blonde Slayer explained, her voice broken. "Here I can feel the way I want to. When I go back to my life, my friends.then I'm not allowed to be scared or sad. I'm the Slayer, weakness isn't allowed."
He let that statement stand where it was, knowing she meant that he allowed her to expose that uncertainty and fear.it wasn't so much that she wanted solitude but that he offered unconditional comfort. She scooted over to sprawl on top of the covers while the vampire, still under them, reached out and rubbed her back in slow circles. They stayed like that for a long time, Buffy watching the happy ending of the TV movie with eyes more cynical than they had a right to be.
Long after the television station had switched to infomercials, causing them to shut it off, they still were lying awake, speaking of any topic that would come to mind. Both just poured out their pasts, the words warming the bed with truth and even new revelations. Nothing was off limits. He haltingly spoke of Drusilla, crushing a century of devotion into a little series of anecdotes. For her part, Buffy talked about her experiences as a Slayer, the confusion she had felt when she realized she loved Angel. This compromised her entire being-she had feelings for someone who was supposed to be her enemy.
"But I realized eventually that it isn't the demon that defines Angel-he was something more than that. The soul gives him the chance to be something else." she explained, wryly finishing. "Xander still doesn't get that."
"Seems you've told me something along those lines before, pet." Spike pointed out, remembering the argument they had had about *his* soul, and why he couldn't feel like Angel could. Had she already come to a conclusion about him then?
"How Xander hates you too?" Buffy said, smiling up at him sweetly.
Inwardly, she realized she had almost defined Spike with the same words she had given to Angel. But he couldn't know that, because he obviously was different. He might as well not have the soul, for all the freedom it allowed him.
"Does he really?" the bleached blonde replied sarcastically, wondering if she was deliberately avoiding the topic. "But I was talking about your concept of a soul."
"I take back everything I said that night," she informed him, confirming she did know what he was driving at. In her prideful way, she was apologizing for telling him he was incapable of emotion. Then she quirked an eyebrow at him. "Except that part where you have to stop eating humans."
"Duly noted." Spike told her solemnly, just as hesitant as she was to discuss specifics of his ability to feel.with the way he was acting towards her right now, it could only lead to her getting the wrong idea and staking him where he lay.
"Tell me about your scar," the blonde Slayer asked, tracing a finger along his eyebrow. He exhaled, sensing that their awkward moment had passed.
"When I was younger.human younger," he started agreeably.
********** The next night, the same thing happened. Buffy shuffled, almost ashamedly, into his room, looking to him like she didn't want to feel drawn there. Yet her discomfort went away rapidly when he didn't judge her, didn't force her to do anything. He had a strong suspicion that as she healed, she was beginning to see him as a bad habit, but the fact remained that she sought his companionship often.
"Ambitious, aren't you?" he had mentioned that second time when she had settled down on the bed and showed no sign of returning to the other bedroom. She looked up rapidly, something akin to fear on her features, perhaps fear that he was beginning to place demands on her, but the tiny quirk of his lips reassured her he was joking.
"Any objections?" she grinned back, showing that spark of life that she usually had hidden since their ordeal.
Part of her healing process, it seemed, was restoring her emotional state as well as her body, and both seemed to be steadily recovering. He was getting there too, no longer brooding for hours about his actions and Dru's death. Emotional wrecks, the both of them.that was probably why they had such a strong connection. Helping each other through everything had accomplished that much.
"Not if I get hungry," the vampire smirked, lazily baring his human teeth. Her face became a study in feigned horror.
"Keep those fangs to yourself!" Buffy admonished, noticing how his shit- eating grin only got wider as she played along with his joke. "A steady diet of pig's blood is all you're getting from now on."
"Is that so?" Spike challenged her, responding to her ultimatum admirably by catching and pinning her arms and moving slowly towards her neck, avoiding the side that he had cut.
Buffy squirmed and tried to roll off the bed, but her attempts were half- hearted at best. A week ago she wouldn't have trusted Spike to even look cross-eyed at her without getting suspicious and putting a weapon at the ready. Now, it seemed, he would do no wrong. At least it had seemed that way.even before the unwanted soul he hadn't been sadistic enough to play with his victims this long. He was an hardened opportunist, and had not taken advantage of perfect chances.
The times she was sleeping and sorely wounded would have been ideal for him to kill her, and for some reason he hadn't. Even if he had been in the mood for a fight, he could have taunted her into battling anyway.knowing how insulting he could be when he felt like it. But instead he had helped her recover. That had to mean something, but she couldn't figure out what.
"Let me up.stop it!" the Slayer half-giggled, her words having no effect as he drew closer to her jugular, a teasing smile dancing over his lips. Candidly, she remarked, "Your eyes look better when they're blue."
"Flattery will get you nowhere," he told her, the mischievous glow in said eyes showing that he had recognized a honest compliment.but still intended to 'bite' her neck.
She was feverishly wondering exactly what he was going to do when he got there, but just as his mouth was millimeters away from her skin, her stomach growled noisily. Buffy flushed, feeling like a complete idiot even though hunger was natural.he should know that more than anyone. So why did it have to choose the worst time to make its grievances known?
"When was the last time you ate, Buffy?" Spike was saying, having pulled back without letting her wrists go. His eyes were still laughing, but it wasn't at her so much as trying to get her to see the humor of the situation.
"Not for awhile," the petite Slayer sheepishly admitted, realizing she didn't remember. "I never managed to find the kitchen. So maybe you could?"
"If you insist," the bleached-blonde sighed dramatically, releasing her reluctantly from his grip and leading the way. Good thing he had happened to be in jeans.
"Nice place," she mentioned as they walked through the carpeted hallway and it's antique decorating scheme. She was pleased to find that she didn't have to take a snail's pace when trying to walk. Everything had diminished to a dull ache, making movement somewhat less agonizing.
"Posh, isn't it?" Spike agreed as they got to the kitchen, nervous at the prospect she would remember he had killed to get into the place. Happily, she didn't make any such observations, her mind distracted by the exploration of the pantry.
"You should have made me breakfast," Buffy scolded mildly as she emerged with basic food supplies, happily munching on a handful of cereal. "I know you haven't had to cook for a century, but toast and OJ aren't *that* complicated to throw together."
"See if you have that opinion when I accidentally burn the house down," the vampire retorted with an undignified snort.
The thought of her ally rushing around the kitchen frantically trying to put out a electrical fire was rather amusing, and absurdly domestic.in other words, nothing he'd ever do. Somehow, she doubted this vampire would let himself become housetrained.
"Fine, fine, let me starve," the blonde conceded, contradicting herself by sitting down at the table with the aforementioned toast and a bowl of instant oatmeal.
"You can't get much skinnier!" Spike chuckled, his sparkling cerulean eyes unrepentant when she glared at his appraisal. Still, he tacked a hasty amendment on the end. "..which is good because if you did, you wouldn't be nearly as fetching."
"Uh-huh." Buffy said sarcastically, raising her brow in disdain and the spoon to her mouth.
"Are you going to finish that?" he asked, dismissing her bad mood with a glance at the crusts of her toast.
Giving in with a small smile, she shoved the plate to his side of the table. Her appetite wasn't that large yet, and she didn't like the crusts. Her mother had always made her eat them as a little girl, claiming that they were full of nutrition. Bull.it was just the burned part of the bread. Or the most burnt part, in the case of toast. And it wasn't like she could resist those blue eyes.
For the second time, Buffy awoke to find herself in a lot of pain. She mentally assessed the situation, deciding that she felt even worse than the time before, but at least now she wasn't standing upright. That was a start, but she couldn't help a whimper of pain as she tried to roll over in the bed.
"Bad move, Buffy," she berated herself out loud, having discovered that trying to move made the room spin madly.
"You shouldn't be moving at all, Slayer." Spike warned, leaning against the doorframe. Unbeknownst to her, he had been sprawled out in the hallway with a book, waiting for any sign of life. "You've lost a lot of blood."
"Yeah, I can sorta see I'm caked in it," she agreed, wryly indicating the mess she was. Then she started, seeming to remember the circumstances of her injuries. "What happened? I saw Angel."
"Neither of them are a threat anymore," the vampire told her roughly, omitting details. However, his demeanor softened just a little when she winced at the tone of his voice. "Everyone's OK right now.except you, luv."
"I think I'll get better." Buffy said decisively, trying to prop herself up on her elbows and failing miserably as a cramp shot through her arm. Spike came over and helped her sit up with her back against the headboard. She watched him carefully but could see nothing more than helpful indifference. "Thanks. For everything, the Book."
He acknowledged her sputtered gratitude with a curt nod of the head, still adjusting to the fact that he would be alone after all this. His family was dead, and certainly he had no place in Buffy's life. The Slayer would move on, considering their alliance complete now that Angelus was dead. Whatever they had was mere lust, their working relationship more important than even that. She was the Slayer, out of his reach, that very brightness that Dru had spoken of. But by jumping into the sun in a moment of sentiment, she unintentionally had cemented Spike where he was, even if it was a form of hell. How could he move on and up with the memory of what she had given up for him?
Buffy was confused at the vampire's rapid mood change. Gone completely were his teasing kisses and the dangerous light in his eyes as he protected her from Angelus. She had never taken time to think about what they would do after the fight was over. The solace they had found in each other's lips had apparently been to ease the pain of their significant others leaving them. She had thought that for a moment that night in the crypt, seeing him sit inches from her and wonder if he possibly felt the way she did about being left behind. Then the kiss just happened, but obviously he was through seeking comfort. His face was completely blank even as he solicitously saw to her wounds. Not even lust then, but why did she half- wish it was that and more?
"Can I get cleaned up?" Buffy ventured when the uncomfortable silence had dragged on an eternity too long. He looked up from his examination of her arm.
"Can you move without throwing up?" the vampire countered, eyeing her dubiously.
"I want to try," she responded, hazel eyes determined. "In any case, I'm going to vomit if I don't get all this blood off."
"Point." Spike grinned suddenly, the most animated he had been since she woke up. "Not that it would bother me, but."
"Just go run me a bath!" Buffy interrupted imperiously, her lips quirking at the corners. "Please."
With a unreadable smile, he left the room and she could hear water running nearby. Nearby was good, because even thinking was giving her a headache. She hoped the water was really hot, because the muscles that weren't injured were incredibly tense, but she couldn't risk stretching them without aggravating something else. Soon enough, Spike came back in the room and she ceased her examination of the wallpaper.
"How do you want to do this?" he asked her, immediately distant. She couldn't blame him really, considering the task at hand. "Somehow I don't think you're up to being independent."
"I could just leave this sorry remainder of an outfit on," she offered seriously. "I don't think it matters if it gets wet."
"You aren't going to get clean that way," Spike pointed out, speaking to her as if she were a child. She supposed she should be grateful for that, because anything else would mean he was *trying* to get her naked. That didn't need to be brought up right now.
"Then I'll try myself.if I end up puking from the effort, you can help," the Slayer decided, fixing the vampire with a stern look for good measure. "No looking if you can help it."
"All modesty possible," the vampire assented with a teasing light in his tired blue eyes. "Don't think either of us are up to doing anything that exciting anyway."
She glared at him for that comment, but he ignored it, recognizing that extended argument was not going to get them anywhere. Working together, they managed to ease the torn skirt and panties off her legs. Buffy got the bra off alone, the t-shirt long gone since Angelus had torn it away in his frenzy to rape her. She shuddered with that memory. Spike, believing that she had grown uncomfortable with the situation, averted his eyes even more than they already had been. Scooping her up in his arms, he moved her to the edge of the bed and allowed her to put her feet on the floor.
They left the room as fast as Buffy could walk, although Spike carried most of her weight on the arm she clung to. Finally they got to the bathroom, and he lifted her up again. She was already shivering uncontrollably, so putting her feet on cold tile wouldn't help much. Knowing a small something about human body temperatures, he eased her into the bath, watching just her face to make sure she was adjusting to the boiling water.
"Wow, that stings." Buffy commented, as her face gradually relaxed. The wounds would have been intolerable a few hours ago, but the sleep she had taken was more beneficial then it seemed. The stinging went away quickly and she was overtaken by lassitude. Her eyelids grew heavy and she let them close.
Spike let her doze off for a minute, but then reminded her, "You should probably wash before it gets cold."
"Yeah." Buffy eyed him as she began to bathe, somewhat disconcerted by his business-like manner. It was very unlike her fighting partner to be so.distant. She was sitting naked in front of him, and he had only managed one borderline comment that was more about why they *wouldn't* do anything. Not that she wanted that attention, but this was below par for him, so she felt inclined to ask, "What's up?"
"Pardon?" the vampire said, having been lost in his own dark thoughts.
"What's with the brooding 'I'm-miles-away' thing?" she elaborated, and he realized she was genuinely concerned. Why did that startle him so? "What happened?"
"Maybe I'll tell you later." Spike sighed, realizing his attitude was preventing her from the conversation and semi-human contact she felt like she needed. So he easily returned to his old self and smirked at her, seeing wary relief fall over her features. "Why, feeling neglected?"
Her only answer to that was an unladylike snort, and she gingerly reached for more soap. The movement finally drew his attention, his heavy gaze paradoxical in that it made her uncomfortable though he wasn't looking directly at her. She glared back at him meaningfully as she lathered her hands. He looked completely different than he had a minute ago, his serious countenance replaced by unruly cerulean eyes and a mischievous slant on his lips. Buffy didn't know whether to be disgusted or excited that he was wreaking havoc on her senses again. But as his perusal focused from something indistinct to the vicinity of her chest, she covered her breasts out of habit.
"You made your point. Stop it," she ordered with hauteur and no small amount of anger. "I'm sorry I brought up your bad mood."
"Well, in any case you're getting angry with me. Gives you a reason to want to get better.can't defend your honor until you can hit me," Spike snickered casually, nonetheless averting his eyes to a light fixture. "I knew your infernal stubbornness had to be good for something."
"It's not helping me get all clean." Buffy grumbled, aware of the awkward situation this presented. Out of pure tenacity, she had managed to ignore the pain radiating through her body and get the front half scrubbed. But her arms couldn't bend in order to get her back, and she remembered the blood running down her spine there from a shallow cut Drusilla had given her.
"Your back, eh?" the vampire realized with a quick assessment of the red- tinted water. She had gotten most of it off, but obviously couldn't get the rest. "I'll help if you want. No more staring."
"Right now, I'm too tired to care," the Slayer confessed recklessly, gripping the side of the tub and painstakingly turning over. For the most part, he had been a gentleman, and fatigue had set in. Obviously she would need more time to regain strength.
She spoke truly, for five minutes of scrubbing later, Spike had finished and she was sound asleep in the marble tub. Drawing a long terrycloth robe out from a convenient cabinet, he wrapped her up quickly and carried her back to her room. Soon enough he managed to find clean sheets (the previous owner had been neurotically organized) and get the Slayer in bed. Choosing to forget that she was dead to the world and that he could have looked his fill, Spike sauntered from the room to go hunting. He hadn't eaten for about a day or so, and his stomach was complaining loudly, claiming his attention as arrogantly as any Slayer.
**********
Later that night, the vampire lay in his own room, bloodlust sated after only one quick kill. He flipped the telly on, but could not select a program to watch. It was satellite television, meaning there were far too many choices for him to make. Finally, he settled on some violent action movie, watching with a bemused interest as the hero delivered a set of blows obviously choreographed. A truly exhilarating battle may look like your attacks had been planned ahead, but the fighters can feel the spontaneity of their actions. He had at least learned that over the years.
Spike watched a wince pass over the rugged face of the actor on screen as the villain threatened his love interest, a terrified brunette. The dark- clad man had a knife held at her petite throat, and to her credit the bint didn't scream, but didn't offer any resistance either. Buffy would have had to be severely distracted or incapacitated by something else to even let the bastard get close enough to draw a blade.
As if on cue, the Slayer in question began screaming like a madwoman, the sudden noise startling him. His immediate reaction had been to stare at the television to see if it was part of the show, but that chit was trying to reason with her captor. 'As if that ever worked!' he scoffed as he shut the program off and ran lightly down the hall to Buffy's room.
"Slayer, pet, what is it?" he asked immediately when he rushed inside to see her huddled in a tangle of sheets, pale and clammy.
"Bad dream, I think." Buffy said hoarsely, but her voice was shaky and unconvincing.
"About what?" Spike questioned carefully, his voice quiet as he sat down on the bed.
"Angel," she revealed with a little bit of the fright that had caused her to waken. She faltered but managed to continue the narrative. "He was killing me, and then it changed to me killing him, over and over. But throughout the whole thing, he kept laughing. I tried to get him to stop but the sound only got worse.hearing that was just."
The Slayer trembled and stopped her description, having lost words to describe the nightmare that had bled into her sleep from real life. Unable to stand hearing the raw pain in her tone, the vampire eased closer and pulled her into his arms, offering nothing more than a soothing embrace. Her silent tears soaked the fabric of his shirt but he ignored that, rocking her back and forth.
"You know, I haven't gotten one good night of sleep since you came back to town." Buffy told him, her rasping voice muffled by his shoulder.
He didn't answer, knowing she wasn't speaking of him but of Angelus. What was he supposed to say to that? A witty innuendo was the last thing she needed, and he cursed inwardly that only those type of comments were coming to mind. He had never been one of tender words. Then she pulled back, leaving him worried. Now the regret and fear were gone from her watery eyes, replaced by some amount of pain and anger.
"Talk to me for once!" she screamed again, rough around the edges. "Don't you ever let anyone close enough to understand you? Ever since the fight you haven't really been here."
That was all the invitation he needed to lie down and pull her with him until they were spooning and comfortably settled into the mattress. She had a point-since the end of the fight he had been distant and uncommunicative because he had lost everything. Even if he hadn't been able to be around them for hate and jealousy, Dru and Angelus were the only family he had ever had. How was he going to explain that to Buffy? She would always have her friends to fall back on in hard times, and he'd never be part of that. But right now he'd try his best to make her believe everything was OK.it would be for her, at least.
"This close enough, luv?" Spike crooned, his voice low and tonic to her panicked state. The feeling of his strong body resting protectively near her did more to calm her than even his voice, and so she relaxed as his arms circled her waist.
"Cheater." Buffy murmured, but they both ignored the flirting factor of that comment. She continued with a concerned edge to her stern words. "Tell me exactly what happened in the fight."
"I dusted Angelus," he said succinctly, dismissing his chivalry easily. But he couldn't be so direct with talking about Drusilla. "And Dru went outside, didn't come back."
"You let her leave?" Buffy griped. He groaned, wishing she had gotten the hint before.
"Went outside when the sun was out." Spike elaborated, thankful that she couldn't see the deep hurt in his eyes.
Buffy lay there in the circle of his arms and was amazed he had been talking to her at all. And she had been upset that he hadn't been completely open! She could vividly hear the pain in his voice, and didn't try to look at him. Maybe he had moved on, but there had still been feelings there for Drusilla. She should know, because those same emotions had been there even when Angel had left for Los Angeles. And when he had turned evil again, they had overwhelmed her the more for the fact that she shouldn't be experiencing them.
"I know it's stupid, but I'm sorry," she apologized, feeling the most absurd urge to cry for his sake.
"It's not, and why are you sorry?" the vampire asked her gruffly. "You didn't have anything to do with it."
"Being whiny when you were upset." Buffy explained abashedly. "I wasn't used to Moody-Spike, so I overreacted a little."
"I figured you didn't really want me paying attention to you in the bath," chuckled Spike, tightening his grip on her body pointedly.
"Yeah," the blonde replied absently, and the conversation trailed off the second it ventured into the territory of their feelings for each other.
"Something's still bothering you, Slayer," the platinum-blonde insisted a few minutes of silence later. She sighed, wondering how he got his uncanny ability to be so perceptive. "Ask away."
"Why didn't you tell me what Angelus had planned?" she wondered, grateful for the topic change. Still, she couldn't help her accusatory tone. "Were you trying to get me killed?"
"Calm down!" Spike snapped right back, and she could sense that he was confused, but more angry that she was shoving the blame in his face. "You were standing right outside the window when the poof said it, so don't fault me!"
"No, I wasn't." Buffy said with dawning comprehension. She wriggled out of his tight hold to look him in the eye, showing him both apology and embarrassment. "I, um. Fell down and left. I didn't want to get caught."
"He didn't send anyone out," he disclosed, but noticed the sheepish blush creeping up her face. Her decision to run had nearly cost her everything and she knew it. "So you've been misinterpreting everything I said."
"Angelus is out for your blood," she whispered, a echo of his words to her that had gone unnoticed but now made sense. She looked up swiftly at him. "I thought you were breaking our alliance by letting me get caught."
"And this didn't help," the vampire admitted, tracing the scar on her neck with one finger. Goosebumps raised on her skin and he stopped.
"I'm sorry I doubted you." Buffy said, honestly repentant. Even with him caring for her like an invalid, she had still not trusted him completely, but she did now.
"Let's just forget the whole thing." Spike suggested reassuringly, his voice assigning no blame to anyone. "I should have been more direct and you should have stuck it out. Leave it there."
"Sounds fine," the petite blonde agreed, snuggling back into the mattress, and closer to him, that secure force that she had somehow reached friendship with. It wouldn't hurt her chances of avoiding nightmares if he was there, and oddly the thought didn't bother her. "Stay with me?"
"Mhm," was his only mumbled response to her proposition as he stretched out to full length and yawned widely .
Curled around each other, he patiently waited as she fell asleep, her even breaths the only sound in the room. He let his eyes close only when Buffy was no longer awake.
********** Buffy opened her eyes tiredly, swathed in dark blue sheets that made her feel like she was swimming in a cotton ocean. Stretching out to test the strength of her limbs, she found not only that movement was easier but that she was alone in the bed again. Evidently Spike had stayed for awhile because she could still smell a faint trace of cigarette smoke, leather, and something distinctly him.sort of like death warmed over, if you could give that a scent. Nonetheless it was comforting to some small part of her.
Crawling out of bed, she explored the bureau dresser and was relieved to find several large t-shirts and even a pair of cotton shorts that looked like they would fit. Whoever had lived here before must have been an exercise buff. The thought that the individual whose hospitality she was currently enjoying was dead sobered her, but she was practical and knew she couldn't save everyone. It was a matter of stopping the murderers before they could kill more. That reminded her that Spike might still be feeding on humans, and she made a mental note to ask as she pulled the forest green shirt over her head.
She found him down the hall in a blackened room with only the flickering lights of the television illuminating the sensible beige carpet. Of course the drapes weren't open, because it was day and he was sequestered by the sun. Padding cautiously around the door and into his line of vision, she was greeted with a smile.
"Have a seat, luv." Spike offered, indicating the bed. Wordlessly, she did so, folding her legs beneath her.
"What are you watching?" she asked quietly, observing the TV.
"Not sure, just woke up myself," the vampire replied, eyeing the romantic comedy with a sneer. "I had it on last night after I left your room and must have dozed off."
"Oh," was Buffy's only response, not willing to delve into why he hadn't stayed. Not that it should have mattered after she had fallen asleep! Spike cannily seemed to read the thoughts flitting across her face.
"Sorry I had to slink off, but I was getting hungry," he explained quickly, his face growing stricken as he realized what he had just told her.
"You're still killing." Buffy said matter-of-factly, her voice weary. Spurred on by her lack of emotion, the platinum-haired vampire continued.
"Gotta kill to live, same as you, Slayer," he rationalized with wary blue eyes. "Didn't figure you were keen about the idea of me staying in Sunnydale much longer, so why change my diet?"
"What if I let you stay?" the blonde woman proposed, for once not meeting his eyes.
"Stay and do what, pet?" he questioned her flippantly, but her answer held a lot of weight. Just maybe he had somewhere to belong, a future at least for the span of her lifetime.
"I don't know. Help my friends, maybe," the Slayer mumbled, unsure how to tell him *she* wanted him to stay. "Since you've taken a crime-fighting turn and all."
"Speaking of that, shouldn't you be calling the witch or your mum?" Spike reminded her gently, blatantly changing the topic. "They're probably all worried about you, Buffy."
"I don't want to tell them I'm here," she said testily, and the vehemence behind her words flattered him a little, but he didn't show it. Who knew what her motives were anyway?
"At least tell them you're alright," the vampire insisted, pointing out the bedside phone. Acquiescing with a irritated flash of her eyes, Buffy dialed a number with sure fingers.
"Mom? It's me," she greeted. A long silence ensued, in which time Joyce was likely talking her daughter's ear off. Finally Buffy managed to reply. "I'm fine, and alive, I promise. We stopped Angel, but I need a few days to rest."
A long-suffering look came over the blonde's face and she glared at Spike for forcing her to make the call, but he just shrugged.
"I can't tell you where I am, Mom." Buffy insisted. "I just need to be alone for a while, that's all. I'll call before I come home. Tell Giles and the gang, would you?"
A few minutes later, she managed to hang up, without giving her mother any more details. Burying her head in her hands, Buffy sighed deeply, back into despondence.
"Alone for a while?" Spike teased, getting her to look up and see his mock hurt. He was stunned by the lost look in her eyes, not expecting that kind of response.
"I didn't mean it that way," the blonde Slayer explained, her voice broken. "Here I can feel the way I want to. When I go back to my life, my friends.then I'm not allowed to be scared or sad. I'm the Slayer, weakness isn't allowed."
He let that statement stand where it was, knowing she meant that he allowed her to expose that uncertainty and fear.it wasn't so much that she wanted solitude but that he offered unconditional comfort. She scooted over to sprawl on top of the covers while the vampire, still under them, reached out and rubbed her back in slow circles. They stayed like that for a long time, Buffy watching the happy ending of the TV movie with eyes more cynical than they had a right to be.
Long after the television station had switched to infomercials, causing them to shut it off, they still were lying awake, speaking of any topic that would come to mind. Both just poured out their pasts, the words warming the bed with truth and even new revelations. Nothing was off limits. He haltingly spoke of Drusilla, crushing a century of devotion into a little series of anecdotes. For her part, Buffy talked about her experiences as a Slayer, the confusion she had felt when she realized she loved Angel. This compromised her entire being-she had feelings for someone who was supposed to be her enemy.
"But I realized eventually that it isn't the demon that defines Angel-he was something more than that. The soul gives him the chance to be something else." she explained, wryly finishing. "Xander still doesn't get that."
"Seems you've told me something along those lines before, pet." Spike pointed out, remembering the argument they had had about *his* soul, and why he couldn't feel like Angel could. Had she already come to a conclusion about him then?
"How Xander hates you too?" Buffy said, smiling up at him sweetly.
Inwardly, she realized she had almost defined Spike with the same words she had given to Angel. But he couldn't know that, because he obviously was different. He might as well not have the soul, for all the freedom it allowed him.
"Does he really?" the bleached blonde replied sarcastically, wondering if she was deliberately avoiding the topic. "But I was talking about your concept of a soul."
"I take back everything I said that night," she informed him, confirming she did know what he was driving at. In her prideful way, she was apologizing for telling him he was incapable of emotion. Then she quirked an eyebrow at him. "Except that part where you have to stop eating humans."
"Duly noted." Spike told her solemnly, just as hesitant as she was to discuss specifics of his ability to feel.with the way he was acting towards her right now, it could only lead to her getting the wrong idea and staking him where he lay.
"Tell me about your scar," the blonde Slayer asked, tracing a finger along his eyebrow. He exhaled, sensing that their awkward moment had passed.
"When I was younger.human younger," he started agreeably.
********** The next night, the same thing happened. Buffy shuffled, almost ashamedly, into his room, looking to him like she didn't want to feel drawn there. Yet her discomfort went away rapidly when he didn't judge her, didn't force her to do anything. He had a strong suspicion that as she healed, she was beginning to see him as a bad habit, but the fact remained that she sought his companionship often.
"Ambitious, aren't you?" he had mentioned that second time when she had settled down on the bed and showed no sign of returning to the other bedroom. She looked up rapidly, something akin to fear on her features, perhaps fear that he was beginning to place demands on her, but the tiny quirk of his lips reassured her he was joking.
"Any objections?" she grinned back, showing that spark of life that she usually had hidden since their ordeal.
Part of her healing process, it seemed, was restoring her emotional state as well as her body, and both seemed to be steadily recovering. He was getting there too, no longer brooding for hours about his actions and Dru's death. Emotional wrecks, the both of them.that was probably why they had such a strong connection. Helping each other through everything had accomplished that much.
"Not if I get hungry," the vampire smirked, lazily baring his human teeth. Her face became a study in feigned horror.
"Keep those fangs to yourself!" Buffy admonished, noticing how his shit- eating grin only got wider as she played along with his joke. "A steady diet of pig's blood is all you're getting from now on."
"Is that so?" Spike challenged her, responding to her ultimatum admirably by catching and pinning her arms and moving slowly towards her neck, avoiding the side that he had cut.
Buffy squirmed and tried to roll off the bed, but her attempts were half- hearted at best. A week ago she wouldn't have trusted Spike to even look cross-eyed at her without getting suspicious and putting a weapon at the ready. Now, it seemed, he would do no wrong. At least it had seemed that way.even before the unwanted soul he hadn't been sadistic enough to play with his victims this long. He was an hardened opportunist, and had not taken advantage of perfect chances.
The times she was sleeping and sorely wounded would have been ideal for him to kill her, and for some reason he hadn't. Even if he had been in the mood for a fight, he could have taunted her into battling anyway.knowing how insulting he could be when he felt like it. But instead he had helped her recover. That had to mean something, but she couldn't figure out what.
"Let me up.stop it!" the Slayer half-giggled, her words having no effect as he drew closer to her jugular, a teasing smile dancing over his lips. Candidly, she remarked, "Your eyes look better when they're blue."
"Flattery will get you nowhere," he told her, the mischievous glow in said eyes showing that he had recognized a honest compliment.but still intended to 'bite' her neck.
She was feverishly wondering exactly what he was going to do when he got there, but just as his mouth was millimeters away from her skin, her stomach growled noisily. Buffy flushed, feeling like a complete idiot even though hunger was natural.he should know that more than anyone. So why did it have to choose the worst time to make its grievances known?
"When was the last time you ate, Buffy?" Spike was saying, having pulled back without letting her wrists go. His eyes were still laughing, but it wasn't at her so much as trying to get her to see the humor of the situation.
"Not for awhile," the petite Slayer sheepishly admitted, realizing she didn't remember. "I never managed to find the kitchen. So maybe you could?"
"If you insist," the bleached-blonde sighed dramatically, releasing her reluctantly from his grip and leading the way. Good thing he had happened to be in jeans.
"Nice place," she mentioned as they walked through the carpeted hallway and it's antique decorating scheme. She was pleased to find that she didn't have to take a snail's pace when trying to walk. Everything had diminished to a dull ache, making movement somewhat less agonizing.
"Posh, isn't it?" Spike agreed as they got to the kitchen, nervous at the prospect she would remember he had killed to get into the place. Happily, she didn't make any such observations, her mind distracted by the exploration of the pantry.
"You should have made me breakfast," Buffy scolded mildly as she emerged with basic food supplies, happily munching on a handful of cereal. "I know you haven't had to cook for a century, but toast and OJ aren't *that* complicated to throw together."
"See if you have that opinion when I accidentally burn the house down," the vampire retorted with an undignified snort.
The thought of her ally rushing around the kitchen frantically trying to put out a electrical fire was rather amusing, and absurdly domestic.in other words, nothing he'd ever do. Somehow, she doubted this vampire would let himself become housetrained.
"Fine, fine, let me starve," the blonde conceded, contradicting herself by sitting down at the table with the aforementioned toast and a bowl of instant oatmeal.
"You can't get much skinnier!" Spike chuckled, his sparkling cerulean eyes unrepentant when she glared at his appraisal. Still, he tacked a hasty amendment on the end. "..which is good because if you did, you wouldn't be nearly as fetching."
"Uh-huh." Buffy said sarcastically, raising her brow in disdain and the spoon to her mouth.
"Are you going to finish that?" he asked, dismissing her bad mood with a glance at the crusts of her toast.
Giving in with a small smile, she shoved the plate to his side of the table. Her appetite wasn't that large yet, and she didn't like the crusts. Her mother had always made her eat them as a little girl, claiming that they were full of nutrition. Bull.it was just the burned part of the bread. Or the most burnt part, in the case of toast. And it wasn't like she could resist those blue eyes.