Chapter 3 : Healing Hearts and Souls
Hey everybody. I am so so sorry for not updating until now. I know what it's like to wait for chapters but I've been through a whole lot since I wrote and posted the last chapter. Now, it's vacation time, and in only 4 hours, I wrote this chapter so the rest should follow soon. I want to thank everyone who reviewed because honestly I had given up writing a while back and when I checked this fic, wondering what I should do, I saw that there were 19 reviews for only 2 chapters. My heart soared you guys!
So thanks to : southern cross, Vaan_Silverbane, Anne Rose, Lux1, msu, Katie94, Simple Confusion, Night Slayer, slayer, kili-2, Spuffy, LittleDrusilla, lady z and JoeB1451 for your reviews!! Seriously, thank you soooo much, you've all saved my will to write. Now enough with the mushies, please read on. As I promised, lots of Spuffiness ahead. Please review, you know how much it means to me, and if you have any requests or ideas, please let me know. *I also have another story on the way. Major Spikey goodness!*
********************************************* LAST CHAPTER
Willow nodded and said goodnight, smiling inside at the obvious reason she had been advised to get some sleep. She crept up the stairs and into the kitchen, giving a small smile to the Scooby Gang assembled there as she closed the basement door behind her thus leaving Buffy and Spike alone together.
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As Willow closed the door behind her, Buffy let out a sigh. Healing and cleaning a wound could be really painful and looking at the canvas Spike's body had become courtesy of the First and its minions, it probably wouldn't make much difference if she were cleaning him with Holy water rather than tap. The lump in her throat that had formed itself back in the cave, when she first laid eyes on him, hadn't left since and it was threatening to explode as the Niagara of all waterworks.
"Let's get started then," she said picking up the cloth and water bucket Willow must have brought down.
She crouched down in front of Spike and gently picked up his hand. She laid it on her own, palm-to-palm, and ran the cloth over the bruises, split skin and dried blood as lightly as possible. Spike said nothing; he just stared at her with those expressive eyes, displaying unrestrained amazement at the love of his life who had not only rescued him but was now patching him up with such tenderness. When Buffy got to his wrists, she realized she'd need a knife or some scissors to get the leather manacles off.
"Oh right, I have to go get some scissors or something for those, okay? Hold on, I'll be right back," Buffy told him, replacing the cloth in the bucket and standing up to make her way to her tools' shelf.
She hadn't made it two steps when a cold – but now clean – hand clamped down on her wrist, effectively stopping her.
"Spike?" she questioned.
A moment or two passed where their eyes were locked and neither could pull away.
"You...you came," he croaked, his throat still sore but his eyes shining with joy.
Buffy was floored with disbelief and remorse. *How could he think I'd just leave him there!? Probably 'cuz not too long ago, I might have,* she thought miserably. She couldn't find the words, her heart felt heavy with guilt and it didn't get better when her eyes caught the few tears silently trekking their way down Spike's previously flawless face. She could feel her own eyes becoming misty and was about to reply when he continued.
"She.. – IT said ... you wouldn't come ... no one woul- ... they hate me ... 'told 'er different I did...told her..." his voice was soft and he stared at the ground. "'Told her ... you came."
He looked at her again and smiled weakly, giving the hand he held a small squeeze.
"Thank you," he whispered.
"Oh my god, Spike."
She practically flew the couple of steps to him, wrapping her arms around him and holding him to her as tightly as she could without aggravating his wounds.
"Of course I came, Spike. Of course I came," she whispered and pulled back slightly to look at his face, but not removing her arms. "I couldn't leave you there, Spike."
"I knew," he responded with a sad smile. "You need me up and about for the battle and what not. I know."
This is where she wanted to slap him, or rather, herself, since it was her fault he thought this way. She had decided though, that she wouldn't use that anymore; it was words that Spike needed, so damn if she was gonna give him otherwise. Her hand cupped the side of his face, bringing his eyes to meet her.
"No Spike, I do need you to fight with us when the time comes, but I need you here for me. I need you."
Hope flickered in his eyes but was soon transformed into skeptical confusion.
"I'm sorry, Spike," she said sincerely and cringed as he was visibly blown away. *It shouldn't be like this* she thought.
She was afraid she wasn't ready to say the things he needed to hear but she was even more afraid of leaving things as they were: with them still Grand Canyons apart. He deserved to hear it but thinking back on all she was about to apologize for, she couldn't bear to look at him while she did.
"I'm sorry for the words, the beatings, the constant rejections, for playing with your emotions," she started as her tears too started their plunge, surrendering to gravity.
"I'm sorry for using you, making you feel...worthless, for...using your love for me against you."
He wiped her tears away with his thumbs but they kept coming.
"I was scared, and angry with everyone, and I wasn't ready," she continued.
"What weren't you ready for, luv?" he asked gently, letting the pet name slip.
"I wasn't ready to live again, I wasn't ready to take responsibility, I didn't want it. I'm so sorry for everything. Please believe me. I'm sorry."
She held him closer, crying months' worth of guilt and remorse.
Spike was torn between elation – at knowing she actually cared enough to apologize even though he'd forgiven her when it happened – and sadness because his love was crying over him. His right hand sifted soothingly through her hair while his left held her to him despite the protests from his ribs and collarbone.
"Slayer," he called, not wanting to slip again and call her anything too familiar. It was a little hard though since she wasn't responding.
"Slayer... Buffy, luv," he tried again and was rewarded when she reluctantly pulled away to look at him.
"It's alright, luv. It's forgotten. It was all forgiven a long time ago," he reassured her.
"How can you forgive me so easily? Everything I put you through..." she protested but he cut her off before she could continue.
"I knew what you were going through, Buffy, I knew how hard it was for you. You needed an outlet. Besides, it's nothing compared to what I-" he couldn't finish. He stared at the ground thinking back to the night where he destroyed everything, the night in the bathroom.
She knew what he was thinking of and wondered at how, in his mind, that single act, that single almost act could so outweigh months if not years of mental and physical abuse. She didn't think for a second that what he did was okay but she had done her share of damage and he hardly gave that a second thought.
"Spike," she called, her tears in check and her breathing under control once more, she grabbed his face with both hand to assure eye contact and clarity of words.
"I forgive you, Spike."
He opened his mouth to protest against such easy forgiveness but Buffy forged on.
"I've forgiven you Spike, it's been a long time. Let's start over, okay? Let's have that friendship again, let's talk again, let's have what we had before I died. And maybe, we can build our way from there, one day."
"Buffy..."
The way he looked at her, as though she had given him the world and more, made her heart swell. Finally she had done something to make him happy. Spike, on the other hand, couldn't believe what was happening. She was giving him...them... a second chance? He didn't understand exactly why but it wasn't something he was about to pass up. He gave her the biggest smile he could, given the givens, and, when she returned it, he was certain he had died back in that cave and someone up there screwed up cuz he was in heaven. Eventually, though reluctantly, they moved out of each other's arms; Buffy still had her patient to mend.
She got up to get the scissors knowing full well that Spike's eyes never left her and felt better than she had in a really long time. Despite the impending doom the First Evil had undoubtedly planned for her and her gang, she felt almost...at peace. She returned to her task, cut off the manacles, tended the wounds, set the broken bones, cleaned the blood, stitched the deep wounds and wrapped all wounds on his arms with the gauze. The silence that now hung over them was completely comfortable.
Halfway through a particularly difficult stitching, Spike passed out with his back leaning against the wall. Buffy was very grateful; his torso wounds would be so much more painful than those on his arms were. As she ran the cloth over his sculpted chest of once-smooth marble, but now a painful mural of blue, black and red, she remembered the times when she had fallen into a light sleep on this very chest. When she was exhausted after having scratched another itch at Spike's expense, she remembered waking and dressing quickly, desperate to get home before anyone discovered she had gone. Now, she was determined to make sure that the next time she fell asleep on this powerful, yet safe-feeling chest, she would stay until its owner awoke, which meant that she had to fight the temptation now since the gang was still waiting upstairs waiting for their little chat; if she fell asleep here and now, she would not be waking any time soon. It surprised her, not the fact that she wanted there to be a 'next time' but that she was so willing to admit it, even if only to herself, for the moment.
She wrapped his battered ribs – most of them broken – and stitched up the deep cuts, hoping the original ritualistic wounds didn't scar. *Neat design, but really really bad memories* she thought. She was wringing the bloody water out of the cloth when he came around.
"Hey," she called softly, "How are you feeling?"
His answer what a small smirk and the raising of his mildly painful eyebrow to convey a look that clearly said, though good-humoredly: "Are you serious? Luv, I'll give you three guesses and 2.5 of those don't count."
"Right," she chuckled. "Well, I've finished your arms and chest, I need to do your legs, back and head."
She took a deep breath. "Do you think you can help me with your pants?"
She knew all too well that Spike went commando and she prayed that things didn't get awkward. He knew, as he always did, what she was thinking and thought up a better plan.
"She didn't get many shots there, luv. I think m'leg might be broken but nothin' else too serious. All the blood there's from things above the waist," he reassured.
"Are you sure?" she asked doubtfully.
"'M sure, pet. Nothin' a nice shower in the mornin' won't fix, 'cept for m'budgered leg o'course."
"Okay, let's set that leg then," she suggested.
With the scissors, she cut up Spike's left pant leg and hated herself every moment while she had to set his severely broken leg. It had been broken in at least three obvious places and hurt like a bitch, judging by Spike's even paler complexion to set. Finally, the job was done and they took a little breather before continuing.
"Can you lie down on your stomach? I'll get to your back," she asked.
"'Can always try," he replied.
And try they did but even with Buffy's help, he couldn't manage it without his ribs scraping each other in all the wrong places. In the end, he just scooted up further off the cot so that Buffy could sit behind him with her back to the wall.
Spike couldn't believe how gently she was caring for him and that they were starting their second chance. He would be more than happy to stay like this forever, in this little bubble to which the rest of the world didn't know the password. Buffy was feeling similarly free but something was distinctly nagging at her, picking at her brain.
"Spike," she began softly and a soft hum told her he was listening. "Spike, when you talked of the First, you referred to it as 'she'. Whose form did it take?"
He took a while to answer and Buffy was regretting asking the question; it must be painful for him to think of and she had a feeling she might not want to know. Finally, she thought he wasn't going to answer her and opened her mouth to tell him to forget about it but a single shattering word stopped her.
"Yours," he murmured and felt her stop her ministrations to his back.
That single word sent waves of guilt crashing into her. *It was my face he saw torturing him. It was my body taunting him. He saw me trying to break him, destroy his soul, his spirit. I tortured him. * she thought.
"I'm sorry," Spike said softly after a while. He didn't know what he was apologizing for, but the First had violated her image, it seemed only right.
"Spike!" she sighed heavily.
She put the cloth and the wraps beside her on the cot and pulled him towards her so that his back was resting against her chest. She wrapped her arms around him from behind and rested her hands on his, her thumbs stroking the back of his hands, her arms keeping him to her firmly.
"You have nothing to be sorry for. Do you hear me? Nothing! You were tortured for god's sake. You have nothing to be sorry for anymore, neither of us does remember? It's our fresh start," she told him firmly.
Her left hand stayed on his while her right one strayed to his upper-arm, lightly tracing an undecipherable pattern on a patch of skin that wasn't bruised. Eventually, he spoke.
"I didn't tell 'er anything," he told her quietly needing to feel that she had reason to trust him.
Buffy startled him by chuckling. A satisfied smile played at her lips, pleased with herself that her next words could be spoken truthfully.
"I never thought you had," she replied.
For a while, they stayed like that, content in each other's arms, Spike's head resting on Buffy shoulder. She knew he had drifted off again when he stopped breathing and his body became heavier. She nimbly crawled out from behind him minding his leg and lay him down on his mostly bandaged back; she had started with the big wounds so the rest should be okay for now. A smile tugged at her lips and she let it come, happy just watching him rest, knowing he was safe with her once again. She started her final task of cleaning off his face.
Being careful not to wake him, she used the cloth to trace his cheekbones, the hollow of his cheek, his characteristic – though broken – nose, his largely swollen eye, his less swollen eye, his bloodied and creased forehead, his bruised chin and finally, his blistered lips. Even bloody and cracked those lips could call to her and she marveled that such simple things could hold such power.
Taking another moment to look at him, finally free of dust, dirt and blood save for his hair and other leg, she vowed that whatever relationship grew between them, it would be positive. The vampire who loved both herself and her sister, who would and had sacrificed so much for them, for her would not be left in the dust or shadows anymore. She hoped with all her heart that it was a promise she could fulfill. Spike's forehead creased in his sleep and she dreaded to know what he might be dreaming of, knowing it couldn't be pretty.
"I'm here Spike, I can protect you now. You're safe here. Sleep," she said.
She ran her fingers through his dirty hair, deciding that could be fixed tomorrow with that shower of his. She put everything away, moved the blood closer to the cot in case he woke up, covered him with a wool blanket even though she doubted the cold would bother him, and got up to leave. She turned to look at him and smiled at his now peaceful expression. She gave his smooth forehead a chaste but sincere kiss and smiled sadly.
"I do care for you, Spike. I don't know yet...how much, but I do care about you. You're important to me. I'll just have to start showing it more often. Maybe even dare to tell you all this when you're conscious," she finished as she stroked his hair once more before whispering her goodnight and making her way up the stairs to her awaiting public.
************************************
Hey, so Doc manager says that there are over 3400 words so I hope that the length might make up for a little bit of the huge delay. And again I'm really sorry. Anyway, please review and keep in mind that story ideas are welcome. Thanks. AoTianrong
************************************
Hey everybody. I am so so sorry for not updating until now. I know what it's like to wait for chapters but I've been through a whole lot since I wrote and posted the last chapter. Now, it's vacation time, and in only 4 hours, I wrote this chapter so the rest should follow soon. I want to thank everyone who reviewed because honestly I had given up writing a while back and when I checked this fic, wondering what I should do, I saw that there were 19 reviews for only 2 chapters. My heart soared you guys!
So thanks to : southern cross, Vaan_Silverbane, Anne Rose, Lux1, msu, Katie94, Simple Confusion, Night Slayer, slayer, kili-2, Spuffy, LittleDrusilla, lady z and JoeB1451 for your reviews!! Seriously, thank you soooo much, you've all saved my will to write. Now enough with the mushies, please read on. As I promised, lots of Spuffiness ahead. Please review, you know how much it means to me, and if you have any requests or ideas, please let me know. *I also have another story on the way. Major Spikey goodness!*
********************************************* LAST CHAPTER
Willow nodded and said goodnight, smiling inside at the obvious reason she had been advised to get some sleep. She crept up the stairs and into the kitchen, giving a small smile to the Scooby Gang assembled there as she closed the basement door behind her thus leaving Buffy and Spike alone together.
***********************************************
As Willow closed the door behind her, Buffy let out a sigh. Healing and cleaning a wound could be really painful and looking at the canvas Spike's body had become courtesy of the First and its minions, it probably wouldn't make much difference if she were cleaning him with Holy water rather than tap. The lump in her throat that had formed itself back in the cave, when she first laid eyes on him, hadn't left since and it was threatening to explode as the Niagara of all waterworks.
"Let's get started then," she said picking up the cloth and water bucket Willow must have brought down.
She crouched down in front of Spike and gently picked up his hand. She laid it on her own, palm-to-palm, and ran the cloth over the bruises, split skin and dried blood as lightly as possible. Spike said nothing; he just stared at her with those expressive eyes, displaying unrestrained amazement at the love of his life who had not only rescued him but was now patching him up with such tenderness. When Buffy got to his wrists, she realized she'd need a knife or some scissors to get the leather manacles off.
"Oh right, I have to go get some scissors or something for those, okay? Hold on, I'll be right back," Buffy told him, replacing the cloth in the bucket and standing up to make her way to her tools' shelf.
She hadn't made it two steps when a cold – but now clean – hand clamped down on her wrist, effectively stopping her.
"Spike?" she questioned.
A moment or two passed where their eyes were locked and neither could pull away.
"You...you came," he croaked, his throat still sore but his eyes shining with joy.
Buffy was floored with disbelief and remorse. *How could he think I'd just leave him there!? Probably 'cuz not too long ago, I might have,* she thought miserably. She couldn't find the words, her heart felt heavy with guilt and it didn't get better when her eyes caught the few tears silently trekking their way down Spike's previously flawless face. She could feel her own eyes becoming misty and was about to reply when he continued.
"She.. – IT said ... you wouldn't come ... no one woul- ... they hate me ... 'told 'er different I did...told her..." his voice was soft and he stared at the ground. "'Told her ... you came."
He looked at her again and smiled weakly, giving the hand he held a small squeeze.
"Thank you," he whispered.
"Oh my god, Spike."
She practically flew the couple of steps to him, wrapping her arms around him and holding him to her as tightly as she could without aggravating his wounds.
"Of course I came, Spike. Of course I came," she whispered and pulled back slightly to look at his face, but not removing her arms. "I couldn't leave you there, Spike."
"I knew," he responded with a sad smile. "You need me up and about for the battle and what not. I know."
This is where she wanted to slap him, or rather, herself, since it was her fault he thought this way. She had decided though, that she wouldn't use that anymore; it was words that Spike needed, so damn if she was gonna give him otherwise. Her hand cupped the side of his face, bringing his eyes to meet her.
"No Spike, I do need you to fight with us when the time comes, but I need you here for me. I need you."
Hope flickered in his eyes but was soon transformed into skeptical confusion.
"I'm sorry, Spike," she said sincerely and cringed as he was visibly blown away. *It shouldn't be like this* she thought.
She was afraid she wasn't ready to say the things he needed to hear but she was even more afraid of leaving things as they were: with them still Grand Canyons apart. He deserved to hear it but thinking back on all she was about to apologize for, she couldn't bear to look at him while she did.
"I'm sorry for the words, the beatings, the constant rejections, for playing with your emotions," she started as her tears too started their plunge, surrendering to gravity.
"I'm sorry for using you, making you feel...worthless, for...using your love for me against you."
He wiped her tears away with his thumbs but they kept coming.
"I was scared, and angry with everyone, and I wasn't ready," she continued.
"What weren't you ready for, luv?" he asked gently, letting the pet name slip.
"I wasn't ready to live again, I wasn't ready to take responsibility, I didn't want it. I'm so sorry for everything. Please believe me. I'm sorry."
She held him closer, crying months' worth of guilt and remorse.
Spike was torn between elation – at knowing she actually cared enough to apologize even though he'd forgiven her when it happened – and sadness because his love was crying over him. His right hand sifted soothingly through her hair while his left held her to him despite the protests from his ribs and collarbone.
"Slayer," he called, not wanting to slip again and call her anything too familiar. It was a little hard though since she wasn't responding.
"Slayer... Buffy, luv," he tried again and was rewarded when she reluctantly pulled away to look at him.
"It's alright, luv. It's forgotten. It was all forgiven a long time ago," he reassured her.
"How can you forgive me so easily? Everything I put you through..." she protested but he cut her off before she could continue.
"I knew what you were going through, Buffy, I knew how hard it was for you. You needed an outlet. Besides, it's nothing compared to what I-" he couldn't finish. He stared at the ground thinking back to the night where he destroyed everything, the night in the bathroom.
She knew what he was thinking of and wondered at how, in his mind, that single act, that single almost act could so outweigh months if not years of mental and physical abuse. She didn't think for a second that what he did was okay but she had done her share of damage and he hardly gave that a second thought.
"Spike," she called, her tears in check and her breathing under control once more, she grabbed his face with both hand to assure eye contact and clarity of words.
"I forgive you, Spike."
He opened his mouth to protest against such easy forgiveness but Buffy forged on.
"I've forgiven you Spike, it's been a long time. Let's start over, okay? Let's have that friendship again, let's talk again, let's have what we had before I died. And maybe, we can build our way from there, one day."
"Buffy..."
The way he looked at her, as though she had given him the world and more, made her heart swell. Finally she had done something to make him happy. Spike, on the other hand, couldn't believe what was happening. She was giving him...them... a second chance? He didn't understand exactly why but it wasn't something he was about to pass up. He gave her the biggest smile he could, given the givens, and, when she returned it, he was certain he had died back in that cave and someone up there screwed up cuz he was in heaven. Eventually, though reluctantly, they moved out of each other's arms; Buffy still had her patient to mend.
She got up to get the scissors knowing full well that Spike's eyes never left her and felt better than she had in a really long time. Despite the impending doom the First Evil had undoubtedly planned for her and her gang, she felt almost...at peace. She returned to her task, cut off the manacles, tended the wounds, set the broken bones, cleaned the blood, stitched the deep wounds and wrapped all wounds on his arms with the gauze. The silence that now hung over them was completely comfortable.
Halfway through a particularly difficult stitching, Spike passed out with his back leaning against the wall. Buffy was very grateful; his torso wounds would be so much more painful than those on his arms were. As she ran the cloth over his sculpted chest of once-smooth marble, but now a painful mural of blue, black and red, she remembered the times when she had fallen into a light sleep on this very chest. When she was exhausted after having scratched another itch at Spike's expense, she remembered waking and dressing quickly, desperate to get home before anyone discovered she had gone. Now, she was determined to make sure that the next time she fell asleep on this powerful, yet safe-feeling chest, she would stay until its owner awoke, which meant that she had to fight the temptation now since the gang was still waiting upstairs waiting for their little chat; if she fell asleep here and now, she would not be waking any time soon. It surprised her, not the fact that she wanted there to be a 'next time' but that she was so willing to admit it, even if only to herself, for the moment.
She wrapped his battered ribs – most of them broken – and stitched up the deep cuts, hoping the original ritualistic wounds didn't scar. *Neat design, but really really bad memories* she thought. She was wringing the bloody water out of the cloth when he came around.
"Hey," she called softly, "How are you feeling?"
His answer what a small smirk and the raising of his mildly painful eyebrow to convey a look that clearly said, though good-humoredly: "Are you serious? Luv, I'll give you three guesses and 2.5 of those don't count."
"Right," she chuckled. "Well, I've finished your arms and chest, I need to do your legs, back and head."
She took a deep breath. "Do you think you can help me with your pants?"
She knew all too well that Spike went commando and she prayed that things didn't get awkward. He knew, as he always did, what she was thinking and thought up a better plan.
"She didn't get many shots there, luv. I think m'leg might be broken but nothin' else too serious. All the blood there's from things above the waist," he reassured.
"Are you sure?" she asked doubtfully.
"'M sure, pet. Nothin' a nice shower in the mornin' won't fix, 'cept for m'budgered leg o'course."
"Okay, let's set that leg then," she suggested.
With the scissors, she cut up Spike's left pant leg and hated herself every moment while she had to set his severely broken leg. It had been broken in at least three obvious places and hurt like a bitch, judging by Spike's even paler complexion to set. Finally, the job was done and they took a little breather before continuing.
"Can you lie down on your stomach? I'll get to your back," she asked.
"'Can always try," he replied.
And try they did but even with Buffy's help, he couldn't manage it without his ribs scraping each other in all the wrong places. In the end, he just scooted up further off the cot so that Buffy could sit behind him with her back to the wall.
Spike couldn't believe how gently she was caring for him and that they were starting their second chance. He would be more than happy to stay like this forever, in this little bubble to which the rest of the world didn't know the password. Buffy was feeling similarly free but something was distinctly nagging at her, picking at her brain.
"Spike," she began softly and a soft hum told her he was listening. "Spike, when you talked of the First, you referred to it as 'she'. Whose form did it take?"
He took a while to answer and Buffy was regretting asking the question; it must be painful for him to think of and she had a feeling she might not want to know. Finally, she thought he wasn't going to answer her and opened her mouth to tell him to forget about it but a single shattering word stopped her.
"Yours," he murmured and felt her stop her ministrations to his back.
That single word sent waves of guilt crashing into her. *It was my face he saw torturing him. It was my body taunting him. He saw me trying to break him, destroy his soul, his spirit. I tortured him. * she thought.
"I'm sorry," Spike said softly after a while. He didn't know what he was apologizing for, but the First had violated her image, it seemed only right.
"Spike!" she sighed heavily.
She put the cloth and the wraps beside her on the cot and pulled him towards her so that his back was resting against her chest. She wrapped her arms around him from behind and rested her hands on his, her thumbs stroking the back of his hands, her arms keeping him to her firmly.
"You have nothing to be sorry for. Do you hear me? Nothing! You were tortured for god's sake. You have nothing to be sorry for anymore, neither of us does remember? It's our fresh start," she told him firmly.
Her left hand stayed on his while her right one strayed to his upper-arm, lightly tracing an undecipherable pattern on a patch of skin that wasn't bruised. Eventually, he spoke.
"I didn't tell 'er anything," he told her quietly needing to feel that she had reason to trust him.
Buffy startled him by chuckling. A satisfied smile played at her lips, pleased with herself that her next words could be spoken truthfully.
"I never thought you had," she replied.
For a while, they stayed like that, content in each other's arms, Spike's head resting on Buffy shoulder. She knew he had drifted off again when he stopped breathing and his body became heavier. She nimbly crawled out from behind him minding his leg and lay him down on his mostly bandaged back; she had started with the big wounds so the rest should be okay for now. A smile tugged at her lips and she let it come, happy just watching him rest, knowing he was safe with her once again. She started her final task of cleaning off his face.
Being careful not to wake him, she used the cloth to trace his cheekbones, the hollow of his cheek, his characteristic – though broken – nose, his largely swollen eye, his less swollen eye, his bloodied and creased forehead, his bruised chin and finally, his blistered lips. Even bloody and cracked those lips could call to her and she marveled that such simple things could hold such power.
Taking another moment to look at him, finally free of dust, dirt and blood save for his hair and other leg, she vowed that whatever relationship grew between them, it would be positive. The vampire who loved both herself and her sister, who would and had sacrificed so much for them, for her would not be left in the dust or shadows anymore. She hoped with all her heart that it was a promise she could fulfill. Spike's forehead creased in his sleep and she dreaded to know what he might be dreaming of, knowing it couldn't be pretty.
"I'm here Spike, I can protect you now. You're safe here. Sleep," she said.
She ran her fingers through his dirty hair, deciding that could be fixed tomorrow with that shower of his. She put everything away, moved the blood closer to the cot in case he woke up, covered him with a wool blanket even though she doubted the cold would bother him, and got up to leave. She turned to look at him and smiled at his now peaceful expression. She gave his smooth forehead a chaste but sincere kiss and smiled sadly.
"I do care for you, Spike. I don't know yet...how much, but I do care about you. You're important to me. I'll just have to start showing it more often. Maybe even dare to tell you all this when you're conscious," she finished as she stroked his hair once more before whispering her goodnight and making her way up the stairs to her awaiting public.
************************************
Hey, so Doc manager says that there are over 3400 words so I hope that the length might make up for a little bit of the huge delay. And again I'm really sorry. Anyway, please review and keep in mind that story ideas are welcome. Thanks. AoTianrong
************************************