Spinning the Wheel 03 - Thin Ice

"So.. how was your hour in the proverbial lion's den?" Willow asked, her arm linked with Tara's as they walked down the corridor at the UC Sunnydale campus.

Buffy was walking beside them, the bag with her books dangling from her shoulder and a sad expression clouded her face.

"I don't know. It was. weird." she shrugged. She couldn't tell Willow and Tara how insensitive she'd been.

"You mean like David Lynch-weird or just the usual kind of weird?"

"Nope, just the usual. That guy is just. I don't know. He's all bad-moody and so into non-conversation that it almost hurts. And you should see his apartment. Well.. actually, you couldn't see it cause he keeps it dark. As if he's a vampire or something. He's got issues. Big time."

A smile crept on the two girl's faces as they watched Buffy rambling on and on. The blonde didn't even realise it, she was so caught up in her rant.

"Buff. Hold on for a sec, ok?" Willow cut her off as she wanted to continue.

Buffy smiles wryly. "Sorry. It just creeps me out."

"Yeah, I realised it that. But I think you should take it easy. I mean, you involved him in an accident, you can't expect him to love you for that. And.. he's sitting in a wheelchair, right? I suppose that is not the happy-land that he wants to be in." she explained, her hand on Buffy's shoulder. Tara nodded, too.

"I know. And I really try. It's just." She threw her hands up in frustration. Since she came home yesterday all she could think of was Spike's totally pissed off expression. Yeah, she felt sorry for what she'd said, but she couldn't go back in time to never make it happen.
And there was this kind of friendly light in his eyes before she'd left. What was that supposed to be. She couldn't read this guy, he was a mystery, keeping secrets locked away.
She didn't know if she wanted to open that door.

Buffy rang the doorbell and the door to the apartment building buzzed open without an answer on the intercom.
The door to the apartment stoop open ajar and Buffy stepped in after she knocked briefly. It hadn't changed much since she'd left yesterday but it had more of a friendly aura to it today. The curtains in the living-room were drawn a little bit more open and the place looked cleaner. The food cartons were gone and the blacket on the couch was neatly folded under the pillow.

Had he cleaned up? Why? Because she was there? He didn't seem to care yesterday.

Suddenly a clatter of glass startled her. She spun around to face the kitchen.

"Oh bugger it." came a muttered curse.

"Hello?" Buffy asked, entering the kitchen cautiously, just to find Spike in front of one of the cabinets, a shattered glass at his feet.

"Yeah." he grunted, picking up the shards. There was blood on his fingers.

"What happened?" Buffy asked. She knelt down beside him, taking the broken glass out of his hand.

"Was my last real glass. Tried to reach it and obviously failed." he shrugged.

"What do you mean,' real glass'?"

"Rest's all plastic. Due to that out-of-reach-issue that I have. I smashed the other glasses over the years and got them replaced by plastic."

Buffy stood and put the shards into the trash can. "You're bleeding."

"Yeah." Spike was about to stick his cut fingers into his mouth to suck on the blood as Buffy caught his wrist. And for the first time, their eyes met. The anger she'd seen yesterday was almost gone. Although there was still that sad shadow around his eyes, he didn't look that aggressive anymore.

"Stop that. It'll get infected. You got a first-aid-kit? Then I'll see to that." She let go off his hand and he lowered it into his lap.

Although he hated being treated like a child more than anything, he nodded and a thin smile spread on his lips. "It's under the sink in the bathroom. Second door on the right."

"Ok." Buffy whirled around, disappearing into the hall.

The bathroom was actually bigger than Buffy had expected.
Well, he had more around here, she guessed, slapping herself for being so horribly stupid. There was a huge tub in the corner to her right, the sink was on the opposite wall to her left. She roamed though the cabinet. There were plenty of tablet-tubes, all labeled with his name and stuff Buffy didn't understand. But one thing she did understand. These were all painkillers. The heavy stuff. Not something you dull a headache will, this would leave you basically numb all over.

Finally Buffy came up with the first-aid-kit, she had kind of a bad taste in her mouth. Seeing the collection of drugs in the bathroom made her feel sorry again and she'd really tried to stop that feeling. But what if he was still in real pain, physical pain.
God, she really wished she wasn't in this situation.

When she came back into the living-room Spike had moved into the main room, out of the small confines of the kitchen.

Buffy knelt down in front of him, the first-aide kit at her feet. "It's not that bad, it's not bleeding anymore."

She carefully disinfected the thin cuts on his fingertips, wrapping small bandages around them.

"You can be glad, that glass didn't hit you on the head." she said, her eyes fixed on his hands. His soft, smooth but still pretty strong hands.

"Wouldn't have cause much damage." Spike said casually. He really didn't know why she cared all of a sudden. Was the first impression she'd giving him before actually wrong? No way in hell.

"Is.. there something I can do for you?" Buffy asked as she sat back on her heels, stuffing the rest of the bandages back into the kit. She felt uncomfortable, being so close to him and asking that.

Spike bit back a snappy comeback. It was pretty worthless to shout at her again. Actually, he was glad when she was out of the apartment again.

"Actually, yeah." he swallowed his pride and continued. "There's a grocery list in the kitchen with some money. Would you do that for me?"

"Sure." Buffy jumped to her feet, glad to be busy again. She couldn't stand awkward silences, she never had.

"Leave the kit. I'll put it back myself." He picked up the kit and placed it in his lap. "The keys are in the hall, you don't need to ring to get back in."

"Alright. I'll be right back."

Buffy took the list and the money from the kitchen counter and left the apartment again.

Spike sat there for a moment, waiting for the front door to click shut. Immediately he sunk back in his chair, his face distorted with pain and his hands clenched around the armrests.
He bit back a scream, but a muffled moan escapes his lips. Beads of sweat rolled down his temples and his head rolled back.

"God." he moaned.

The pain was almost unbearable. As he'd stretched to reach for the glass, a sharp pang of pain had ripped through his back. It felt like an electrical shock. As if the torn nerv endings were mis-firing, trying to connect to his legs but the energy, the electrical current that flowed in the nerves, broke loose throughout his system.
That was why he'd dropped the glass. For several seconds he couldn't move his arm or his fingers. The glass had just slipped through his grasp.

He'd tried to cover the pain as best as he could when Buffy had been there and she didn't seem to notice. Good, she didn't need to know that, too.

Slowly he rolled into the bathroom, put the kit back into it's place under the sink and took out three of the tubes. He popped the caps and shook half a dozen colorful tablets into his hand. He threw them into his mouth, downing them with a handful of cold water.

Bit by bit that pain released it's iron grip. But he didn't understand it. That wasn't supposed to happen. He took the same amount of painkillers every morning. He shouldn't feel that mis-firing.

Buffy's gaze dropped at the grocery list in her hand. She stood in front of the rows at the supermarket a couple of blocks away from Spike's place. Although she hated doing the groceries she was happy to be out of there. Maybe she could get rid of the pictures of that drug collection. It had disturbed her pretty bad. Not that she cared too much, she justed didn't know how to deal with it. What if he was some wicked junkie? One never knew.

Buffy shook that thought away. No, it wasn't like that. He wasn't like. He might be a depressed, grumpy asshole of some kind or another but he wasn't a junkie. And today, he'd been even friendly, almost smiling at her. Maybe they could get along, not making there social hours hell on earth.

The blonde collected the neatly written down things, milk, cereals, peanut-butter with pieces, Oreos. If he'd written that list himself, Buffy was surprised by the very smooth, fine lines and curves he made. God, this man was a mystery. Not that she cared too much, but.

The keys rattled in the lock and Buffy pushed the door open with her butt, the grocery bag pressed to her chest to keep the stuff from falling out.

"I'm back." she called into the apartment, kicking the door shut again. For a split second she felt like a woman coming back to her husband, called 'honey, I'm home' while he was sitting in front of the TV watching football.

That images exploded into tiny pieces when she saw Spike coming from a room down the hall, she hadn't noticed before. Buffy, you should keep your eyes open a little bit, she told herself.

"Can you put that stuff in the kitchen?" he asked, stopping halfway in the hall.

"Sure." she replied, walked through the living-room into the kitchen.

"Ehm, you can leave in on the counter? I'll put it back. I have that system cause I need everything within my reach." he felt a little embarrassed to say that, but he didn't want her to stick her nose into everything. She'd probably mess up everything.

"Oh, okay." Buffy shrugged, placing the bag on the counter. She reached in her pant pocket, pulling out the change and the bill.

"Thanks." Spike smiled wryly. As Buffy came out of the kitchen, he moved in, took the bag into his lap and started putting the stuff away. Mostly in the bottom drawers and cabinet of the kitchen.

"Ehm, can I ask you something?" Buffy asked carefully. She didn't want to inflict an outburst like yesterday.

Spike didn't answer immediately. What was coming now? Was she going to ask about his accident and why there was nobody else around to help him? He really didn't want to get into that now and especially not with her.
He knew why he didn't keep many people around him, no close friends or maybe even a social worker for that matter. They were all poking their noses into his business, they asked question he couldn't and wouldn't answer and this girl wasn't any different.

"What?" he asked then. Not that he really wanted to hear what she was up to, it was just impolite not to answer. Damn concience.

"Ehm, what do you do? I mean... for a living." she was wondering about that on her whole way back from the store.

Seconds ticked by on the clock on the wall in the kitchen. Spike tried to busy himself with putting away the rest of the articles in the bag. Okay, it was more of an easy question but when he was too honest now, she'd go on asking.

"I write. Short stories, poetry, that stuff. Needed a job to do at home. I've done that all my life and now I live on it." he replied shortly.

"And that guitar?" Buffy knew it was thin ice she was on. He had these weird mood swings and she didn't know how far she could go without pissing him off again.

"I used. to play. in a band, before my accident." There it was, the stuff he didn't want to talk about.

"And.. ehm.. do you still play?"

"No." he snapped and Buffy jumped. "I mean," he continued more softly, "I gave up on it. Was thinking about the headlines 'punk-rocker in wheelchair on stage'. Not the reputation a band needs, right?" His jaws tightened around his words. Please, let her just shut her mouth and go. He really didn't want to get more into that stuff.

"Oh, okay. " Buffy nodded, her hand clenching around the hem of her shirt. She couldn't ask more, she knew it. The ice under her feet had already cracked under the presure, one more step and it would break.

"You can go, if you want." Spike mumbled as he counted the change. Not that he thought that she kept some money, it was a habbit and it was hard to break.

"Ok. See you tomorrow then." Buffy nodded again. She couldn't help it but she had the uneasy feeling in her stomach that she'd said something she shouldn't have. She just did not know what it was and he wasn't showing.

She waited a couple of seconds for him to answer but nothing came, so she turned around and left the apartment.

Spike sat in silence for a few minutes, before he stuffed the change into a wallet he kept hidden in the kitchen.

Why did she have to bring up all that stuff. She was here for what? Two days?She started messing up his life already. The life he had tried to organize so he could live it without all the pain and the horrible memories that haunted him.

But there she was. Asking about his life, his past. Why he didn't play guitar anymore, what he was doing for a living. Nobody asked him that cause he was avoiding contact with people for three years now. Three long years in which he'd built up a barriere of avoidence,and solitude. And she was kicking at that wall.

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