Buffy left the gang chatting over hot cocoa and meandered into the bathroom. The talk had gone better than she had expected. Most of the girls seemed willing to accept that Spike was a 'good, souled vampire' and not the evil nasty kind they were chosen to kill. She had explained his history, what little of it she knew, and translated his role in the First's plans for the apocalypse as the Scoobies understood it.
She turned the cold water tap on and scooped water onto her face. It stung her cheek where she still sported an open wound from her fight with the Ubervamp. Buffy watched the water drip off the tip of her nose and slide effortlessly towards the drain. Gravity was pulling it down to the black hole of the sewers. Why can't I be guided like that? Suddenly frustrated with her thought, she yanked a towel off the rack and dried her face. Take that, stupid gravity!
Carefully she began to unwind her bandaged wrist. Turning the water from cold to warm she thrust her wound beneath the steady stream and rubbed it. Satisfied that it was as clean as it would get, she opened the vanity and took out some healing supplies. Buffy dabbed her wrist with peroxide and then wrapped fresh bandages around it. Then she cleaned the wound on her cheek and taped it up with butterfly bandages. She knew it would be healed by tomorrow, but she figured open wounds might irk the newbies.
Finished with her ministrations she packed up the first aid kit and returned it to the vanity. When she closed its door she was greeted with her own reflection. Buffy gasped in shock at the woman staring back at her. She was bleary-eyed from lack of sleep, streaks of red shooting towards her irises. Her face was pale and drawn, probably from a combination of lack of appetite and the bloodletting that had occurred earlier. Her lips, usually soft and smooth, were thin pink lines, white where the skin was peeling from her lack of lip balm use.
Buffy could see her collarbones sticking out as she scrutinized her body. Buffy traced her fingers across the ridges she hadn't seen since she had been brought back from Heaven and wondered when the last time was she'd had a decent meal. It seemed even her clothes were not healthy - blood splatter covered her from head to toe, a mixture of her own and those of the two vampires she had tended to tonight. Another outfit on its way to the dump.
Feeling the sudden urge to find what else had changed about her body, she stripped down to her underwear and backed up to see herself better in the small mirror. There were small cuts and scratches littering her body. Along her arms, legs and torso bruises had begun to form. Some were faint and blue, others were large and green, but either way she knew they'd all eventually hurt.
She turned to the side and saw how her shoulder blades jutted out her back and ran her hands down her sides and counted each of her ribs. Buffy's waist was unusually tiny and her legs reminded her of those girls she'd watch on those talk shows who never ate. Anorexic, that's what they were. She looked anorexic.
Silently she stepped out of her thong and unhooked her bra, watching them lay together on the white tile floor. Her thoughts floated back to that night, so long ago; the turning point of things to come. She remembered screaming, the sound of ripped cloth, the feel of his cold hands on her body, trying to make her love him. "I could never trust you enough to love you."
But hadn't she? She had trusted him with her family and friends, trusted him to protect Dawn after she died, trusted him enough to tell him she'd been ripped from Heaven. She trusted him with her life. And he'd tried to rape her. Well, maybe it wasn't quite rape…he was angry, confused, and hurt. He was trying to make her see. But she hadn't seen the love, she'd seen the demon.
Buffy stepped into the shower and turned the water on. She closed her eyes as the wet heat washed over her, warming her to the bone. Sighing, she rested her head on the still cool wall tiles. Don't think about the past, think about the future. She tried to concentrate on a plan, some way to defeat the First. Train the girls to fight, help Willow get her mojo back, get Andrew to close that seal under the school, find out why Principal Wood had a shovel… Too tired, no thinking.
Slowly, Buffy squirted some shampoo onto her palm and began massaging it into her hair. This shower was the only thing separating herself from reality, and she was going to make it last. As her hair began to lather, her mind wandered off. "You hated yourself and took it out on me." Why was he always right? Damn him! Angry now, she turned her face up into the hot stream and let its pressure wash away the suds. She sighed as she felt the heat of the water begin to soothe her aching muscles.
Gently, ever so gently, a cold hand touched her back. Buffy shivered at the sensation, ice in the fire of the shower. The fingers traced lazy circles up to her neck, then dipped into her hair. Both hands began stroking her golden locks, easing out the last of the shampoo. Then they began meandering down her body, massaging her lightly with just the tips of the fingers. As the hands found her narrow waist, a cold body pressed against her back. She moaned as her skin jumped, coming alive at the touch.
The hands slipped around her and the fingers splayed across her stomach. She yearned for more, but kept silent, enjoying the unhurried display of affection. Slowly the hands made their way down her legs. Buffy felt her heart begin to race and a heat emanating from her core. Lips brushed against her earlobe and she gasped. "Oh, God…" she whispered. The fingers brushed her knees and began sliding back upwards. They danced along the inside of her thighs and she unconsciously spread her feet a little wider, anticipating their next move.
While the right hand continued up past her hip, the left stayed squeezing the leg just below her womanhood. Then, unexpectedly, a finger slid inside her. She hissed at the sudden feel of its coolness inside her heat, and leaned against the solid body behind her. The lips trailed down her neck and she felt blunt teeth nip at her as the fingers began pumping to their own beat. The other hand grasped her breast and alternated from kneading it to rolling her raised nipple between its fingers. A lustful moan escaped her lips as she felt the pressure building inside her.
Buffy reached over her shoulder and buried her fingers in wet hair. At her touch, the nibbling teeth bit down hard and she cried out, arching against the stroking fingers. Her breathing was now ragged, and she felt her legs begin to tremble with need. Once again, the lips found her ear, and a cold cheek rested against her shoulder. She twirled the short hair in her fingers, in rhythm with the thrusts. A tongue dipped quickly into her ear, and then a husky voice spoke. "Cor, love, you're so beautiful."
Buffy gasped as she woke. The water was freezing cold and her skin was unbelievably numb. She scrambled to turn the water off, and as it died down, she heard her laboured breathing echo in the bathroom. What the Hell was that?! Shaking, she stepped out of the shower and wrapped her fluffy cotton robe around her body. She realized that she must have been so tired that she'd fallen asleep while resting her head against the wall. And she hadn't even washed herself yet!
Roughly dragging her brush through her hair, she tried to concentrate on loosening the knots and not the throbbing between her legs. 'How does he keep doing this to me?' she asked herself. But before she could ponder the question any further, she heard glass breaking downstairs. Buffy froze, brush in mid-stroke, and focused all her Slayer senses on the sounds coming from downstairs.
Silently she emerged from the bathroom and made her way down the stairs. Was it the Bringers coming back for Spike? Well, she'd be damned if she let them take him again, and it had nothing to do with her feelings for him. Wait, feelings? Christ, what was wrong with her?! Giving herself a mental slap, she reached the bottom of the stairs and paused.
Buffy slipped a sword out of the umbrella stand and walked silently to the closed kitchen door. Cautiously, she raised the sword and pressed her palm against the solid wood, slowly sliding it open, watching it disappear into the wall. She crept forward, senses on alert, and reached for the light switch.