Summary: Buffy sees the torture Spike endured to protect her and her sister. Wracked by doubt about her calling and her coming fight with Glory she turns to Spike. Takes place at end of S5 Intervention and goes off-canon from there.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Joss Whedon, and Mutant Enemy, and were made flesh by the actors that gave them life. I borrow them here out of reverence, with respect and for fun, not profit. I promise to return them when I've finished with them (but can I keep Spike, pretty please? I'll treat him well, sooo well!).
Chapter Three - Tea
"Hello, pet," came the familiar accent as Buffy awoke and found herself staring up into those beautiful, expressive blue eyes.
"You okay?" she asked.
Spike grinned and Buffy knew all was well before he spoke. "Yeah, slayer blood and stubborn vampire takes some beating, luv."
"I'm glad," Buffy smiled back at him and started to sit up to face him.
"Only one thing though," Spike grimaced bashfully at her, "I think the stitches on my back need to come out now. Could you…..?" He trailed off looking questioningly at Buffy.
"No problemo," she chirped brightly, "Turn around."
Spike swivelled round until his back was facing her. Buffy sucked in air through her teeth as she saw the results of her handiwork.
"I'm sorry Spike," Buffy said apologetically, "But your healing powers have worked a bit too well. The stitches look like they're permanently woven into your skin. It's gonna hurt a bit taking them out."
"Yeah, well, best do it quick then."
Buffy stretched out for the sewing kit she had left on the floor by the bed and reached in for the small embroidery scissors. Cutting each stitch close to the knot she tugged quickly on the knot, ripping the thread out of the healing wound and leaving two small pin-pricks of blood where the thread had been either side of the welt. With each tug, Buffy and Spike both flinched slightly.
When all the stitches were removed, Buffy dabbed the specks of blood with the damp end of a towel and then announced, "All done!"
"Thanks, pet, I know that wasn't pleasant for you." Spike turned and smiled at the brave, formidable, fearless slayer who he had felt flinch as she removed his stitches. He rose to grab a black t-shirt and deep red button-down shirt and winced as he pulled them on.
"Hey, no big." Buffy sat down in the edge of the bed, a bit lost as to what she should do now. She knew now that Spike was well on the way to a full recovery and no longer needed her help. And she really wanted to get out of this BuffyBot get up. She should go home. But she really didn't want to leave.
She had lost track of time while she had been in Spike's crypt, something that would have normally caused her major wiggins. But being with Spike she hadn't had to worry about what time it was, or what she ought to be doing. Being here had meant not having to deal with the First Slayer's enigmatic messages, Willow's overbearing concern, Xander's petty jealousies, Anya's incessant yapping, Dawn's teenage rebellion and parental need, or all the other worldly pressures that Buffy felt cowed by.
Here, she could even forget that her mother was dead, or that Dawn was the key, or that Glory was trying to end the world by killing Dawn, or that she was actually the Slayer. She could forget all that "death is your gift" crap peddled by her sister slayer, who really needed to learn to communicate better. Here, with Spike, the master vampire, who had vowed to kill her, she felt safe. 'Hey, go figure?' she puzzled to herself, wrinkling her brow.
As if he could hear her thoughts Spike said softly, "You don't have to go yet, y'know. Could stay here for a bit. 'Til you feel a bit more rested. I know you've got a lot on your plate just now."
Buffy turned to him will a weak smile, "Thank you, Spike, but I ought to go."
"Look, why don't I rustle us up something to eat first? You haven't eaten in a while and I'm not a bad cook, if you don't mind it microwaved. Com'om slayer, live dangerously, eat chez Spike!" He titled his head to one side and raised an eyebrow.
Buffy's smile widened as she graciously accepted Spike's invitation. "Thank you, Spike, I'd like that."
In companionable silence they made their way to the upper level, Buffy noticing that Spike limped slightly from the stiffness in his damaged knee. She realised that without her blood he would have been immobile for days unable to feed himself, making the healing process that much slower.
She remembered when she had been responsible for breaking Spike's spine and he had been confined to a wheelchair, unable to hunt and totally reliant on a crazy Dru to feed him. Not the most reliable of vampires at the best of times, Dru had been more likely to throw a tea party for Miss Edith than feed Spike and so his recovery had been slow and painful.
While Spike busied himself in the corner of the upper chamber where his fridge and microwave were located, Buffy perched on the sarcophagus and watched him, lost in thought. Seemingly out of nowhere, with a brief comment, "We're in luck: the milk's still okay," Spike produced two steaming mugs of tea. This image of a domesticated Spike struck Buffy as so at odds with everything she knew about him. She thought back to the relish with which he, the Slayer of Slayers, had described to her how he had killed two of her predecessors.
And yet Buffy did know another side of Spike. The side he liked to keep hidden. He had spent many hours chatting to her mother over hot chocolate and mini marshmallows, even bringing flowers when she died. He was fond of Dawn and helped her with her homework. He had loved Dru for a hundred years, caring for her in her insanity and forgiving her her infidelities. It was right what he'd told her and Angel that night when they were attacked in the old magic shop: "I may be love's bitch, but at least I'm man enough to admit it."
And even in his need for her slayer's blood he had only taken the barest minimum from her. He had been considerate and respectful of her even though he had been in such pain and in such need of the healing she could give him. She didn't want to think about why he had hadn't taken his opportunity to notch up a third slayer to his tally. Or why she had put herself willingly in harm's way.
The microwave pinged, bringing Buffy back from her thoughts as Spike announced, in his best 'upper crust butler' accent, "U'hem, dinner is served m'lady."
Buffy giggled as she moved over to make room on the sarcophagus for Spike and the plates he was balancing like a professional waiter. She tried not to notice the dried blood on the stone lid that Spike had been lying on earlier.
Spike deftly threw a white linen cloth on the lid between them, then set down two plates with a couple of forks rolled up in paper napkins.
"Hope veggie omelette and bagels is okay?" he asked nervously.
"Veggie omelette?" queried the slayer. "What happened to the Big Bad?"
"Hey, don't knock it 'til you try it!" Spike complained. "Vegetables keep nice in the cool here. My electric supply is a bit intermittent so I tend to use the fridge just for beer, blood and the odd carton of milk, 'though I do keep bagels in the ice box for emergencies."
"Spike, you never cease to amaze me, and this omelette is really wicked."
"That's good, yeah?" clarified Spike not sure if his culinary talents had just been insulted.
Buffy nodded with a smile as she realised just how hungry she had been.
After they had eaten, Spike made them both another mug of tea and motioned Buffy to sit in the armchair that faced a small TV. Spike went to sit on the floor leaning up against the wall of the crypt but winced as he tried to bend his damaged knee.
"Spike, sit here, I'll sit on the floor," urged Buffy.
"No pet, s'okay I'll manage," came the reply as Spike tried shifting his weight onto his good leg to try to edge down the wall to the floor.
"No, Spike, this is ridiculous. You'll rupture something. Come here!" Buffy's tone told him further argument would be futile and he begrudgingly straightened up and took the chair that Buffy had vacated. "Thanks, pet."
Buffy hesitated as she looked at the dust on the floor and wondered briefly if Spike's domestication actual stretched to vacuuming. 'That's a big 'No' then.'
"Slayer, why don't you sit here on the arm of the chair? Save getting yer togs dirty."
The wide, flat arms of the chair looked substantial enough so Buffy nodded and hoisted herself gingerly onto one arm, leaning against the side of the back rest. Neither said anything while they sipped their teas and tried to put a meaning to the events of the last few hours.
Lost in thought, Spike was suddenly jolted back to the present when he became aware of a slight rhythmic movement to his left. Looking up he saw tears cascading down the Slayer's face as her shoulders shook with the force of the silent sobs that racked her body.
"Hey, pet," he murmured, running his hand down Buffy's arm and taking her mug from her hand, putting both their mugs on the floor beside them, "What's upset you?"
Buffy turned her head towards Spike and, as her eyes met his, she gave up the effort of trying to hold her sadness back and began sobbing loudly, her body shaking violently as the sobs tore through her.
Acting instinctively, Spike grabbed Buffy around her waist and pulled her on to his lap, wrapping his arms around her, rubbing her upper arms soothingly and whispering encouragement to her to "Just let it out, luv." Her hands grabbing fistfuls of t-shirt, she leant heavily into his cool, solid chest and howled like a baby, her body in spasm with every sob that ripped through her.
It was several long minutes before Buffy's crying subdued enough for her to realise where she was. She straightened up, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand and stammered softly, "I'm.. I'm s..s.. so...s.. sorry."
"Hey," Spike dipped his head to try to get her to look at him. "Nothin' to apologise for, pet. I dunno what's upset you luv, but I'm sure it's not somethin' that can't be sorted, yeah? Is there anythin' I can do?"
Buffy raised her eyes and found herself diving into pools of the deepest blue which radiated concern and seemed to strip away her reticence.
"Spike," she whispered softly, "I can't do it anymore."
"What can't you do, luv?" Spike held her gaze.
"Any of it! All of it!" Buffy moaned, slumping forward in Spike's arms.