Made for fun, not for profit. The Buffyverse belongs to Mutant Enemy and Joss Whedon, I just like to play there.

A/N: I spent a few days binge-reading Gabrielle/VelvetWhip's stuff, and since I have the tendency to unintentionally mimic the style of anyone after reading upwards of 100k of their words in the course of two days, this chapter right here *points down to the dividers* has more first-persony and stream-of-consciousness narration than I normally do. I don't know if that will help or hurt the narrative flow, but I wanted to explain the sudden shift in style. I also don't know if I went overboard with Cuddly!Spike. Here's hoping he's in character enough for you guys. Now, in the words of Lowes Theaters: "Sit back and re-laax. Enjoy the show!"

"There is a universal truth that I have found in my work.

Everybody longs to be loved. And the greatest thing we can do

Is let somebody know that they are loved and capable of loving."

~ Fred Rogers

10 – The Right Thing

"Oh, sweetie. I'm so sorry."

Before Spike could think of anything to say in reply, Sam had already flicked on the lights, rushed across the room and was kneeling by his side. She gently took hold of his hands and muttered in what sounded like Latin, and then the manacles 'clicked' open and fell away from his wrists. He let out a relieved, if otherwise unnecessary breath, and leaned away from her slightly to rest against the wall. Drywall wasn't the comfiest, but it would do for now.

"Thanks, pet."

Sam rested a hand on his shoulder and was giving him a look he couldn't easily decipher. Worry was definitely part of what he was seeing, but he wasn't sure what else was in the mix. "Are you okay? I mean, aside from your head… and your leg, and generally feeling shaky and crappy."

He gave a bitter chuckle. Didn't seem like she had left anything out. "Aside from all that? Yeah. Bloody fabulous." He blinked for a moment, confused. "What about my head?"

She gestured vaguely at the body part in question. "You've got a nasty cut on your left temple and your face is all bloody. I'm guessing it hurts. What happened?"

Spike reached a hand up to gently probe the injury with his fingertips. He had barely touched it when the pain flared up and he let out an involuntary hiss, shutting his eyes tight and waiting for the pain to recede again. "It bloody well hurts. I don't rightly know what happened. Giles…" He was about to say more when she squeezed his shoulder slightly, which was enough of a surprise to make him open his eyes and trail off.

Sam got up from her crouch and held out a hand, still giving him that fond – yeah, fondness was definitely part of the mix – that fond and worried look. "Hold that thought. How about I help you up and we get that cut taken care of? You can say whatever you were going to, but be sitting in the comfy overstuffed chair while you say it."

He smiled and took her proffered hand. "Sounds like a plan, luv." God, it felt good to have someone caring about him for a change. He wasn't sure he would ever get used to it, but he bloody well hoped he would get the chance to try. There was no way he was letting go of this girl. No way in hell.

The room wheeled around him as he got to his feet, and he instinctively wrapped his arm around Sam's shoulders to keep himself steady. She made an odd noise when he did that, and as soon as the dizziness let up he looked at her curiously. "Pet?"

She wound her arm around his back, the gesture both supportive – literally – and affectionate. "Just glad that I didn't need to talk you into leaning on me this time." She kissed his cheek and then helped him the few steps to the chair, smiling the whole way. "Really hope this means your prickliness is a thing of the past."

He kissed her back, restraining himself to just a quick peck to her cheek. What he wanted to do was pull her close and plunder her mouth, but his balance was shot, so that was out of the question for the moment. Instead he lowered himself into the seat and let his head tip back to rest against the high back of Giles' well-and-truly-overstuffed leather chair.

"It is, love. Promised, didn't I? 'No more yellin' or bein' prickly'. 'S what I said, an' I meant it."

She nodded, smiling that fond smile as she moved back to the radiator and unwound the chains from it. "That you did."

Spike let his eyes slide shut as he sank into the leather, feeling his muscles relax and just enjoying how the seat enveloped him. Oh yeah. This was a good chair. Not nearly as good as giving his girl a proper kiss, but for a concussed, starving gimp of a vampire, sitting in a comfortable chair was pretty high on the list of enjoyable things. With its rolled arms and brass rivets, this piece wouldn't have looked out of place in William Pratt's own study. Huh. Odd for him to be thinking about that now. He hadn't spared a thought for his human self for a very long time. Would human William have cared for Samantha? He wasn't sure, but it hardly mattered.

His eyes shot open when he heard Sam heading for the door. "Pet? Where are you goin'?" She had said something about cleaning up his cut. He hoped that meant she was just going to get some water and bandages. Of course, he wasn't worried about her coming back from wherever she was headed off to. Nope, not remotely concerned.

Well, maybe just a little.

Sam smiled, that worried, fond, sympathetic – at least he was figuring out what that look meant – smile again and lifted the chains. "Just gonna put these somewhere Giles won't find 'em."

Judging by her reassuring tone, he must have sounded pretty needy. Great. So much for acting nonchalant. Best to keep the focus on something other than himself. "It's his house, love. Where ya gonna put 'em?"

Her smile turned mischievous and she quirked an eyebrow at him. "I don't think he looks behind the boxes on the upper shelf of his guestroom closet very often." Her face clouded as she seemed to change her mind. She came back to the chair, frowned, and put the chains down on a side table, shaking her head and looking angry, even though her voice was calm. "Actually, I'd better put them up there when I go back to bed. If I went up there now…" She shook her head again, and he thought he could hear her grinding her teeth slightly. "Giles has some serious 'splainin' to do." When she opened her eyes again she seemed to have calmed slightly, but she still looked upset enough that Spike was glad he wouldn't be the target of her anger.

He tried to raise both eyebrows and winced when the motion sent a fresh jolt of pain through his temple. Rupert was clearly at the top of her shit list. Good. Watcher-boy had it coming.

He smirked, giving her a searching look. "You gonna tear upstairs, love, read Rupert the riot act?" Oh yeah. He really wouldn't want to be Giles right now. Might want to watch the right bastard get what was coming to him, though.

She shook her head again and headed for the door once more. "Not right now. Getting all that blood off of you and taking care of your cut are more important."

Spike blinked as the warm fuzzies returned, stronger than ever. More important. Someone thought that making sure he was okay was the most important thing on the agenda. It certainly was a night of firsts. He felt a goofy grin start to spread over his face, and hoped like hell he would be able to play it cool by the time she got back. He had his pride, after all. True enough it looked like Swiss cheese at the moment, but still…

He saw the light go on in the bathroom and heard the tap come on. Sam's footsteps headed out of the bathroom and down the hall towards the living room, and then he heard her open one of the kitchen cabinets. She moved back to the bathroom and then came back to the study with a gently steaming bowl of water in one hand, a clean washcloth in the other and a first aid kit tucked under her arm. Seems she wasn't kidding about getting him cleaned up. She set the bowl down on the side table next to his chair and dipped part of the cloth into the water.

Spike quirked a surprised eyebrow, but the gesture turned into a wince when she pressed part of the wet washcloth to his bloodied temple.

She moved into his line of sight and frowned worriedly. "That hurt?"

He nodded slightly. "Just a bit."

"Sorry about that." She gently held the cloth against his cheek and made a slight clucking sound with her tongue, which seemed to be a universal thing amongst nurturing females. "I'm gonna try to get the blood damp enough so I can wipe it away. Should hurt less and come off easier, but I still have to clean up the bruise that's lurking under there. I'll save that part for last."

He didn't nod this time because he didn't want to dislodge her hand. "Feels nice though, how warm you got the water. So, you were sayin'? 'Bout ol' Rupes?"

She smiled, carefully wiping away a bit of softened blood from his cheekbone. "If I went up there now, it'd just turn into a screaming match, and I wouldn't get the result I want. Best way is to wait until morning to tell him that I think he's acting like a stupid piece of shit." Spike chuckled at that, but it turned into a wince as she continued dabbing at the dried blood. She gave him a lop-sided smile. "I'll word it better than that, but with him, to get anywhere I'd have to use logic and some kind of emotional judo, like with how I convinced him to go over to Willow's, and I'm way too upset right now to pull that off."

Spike frowned in confusion, even though he was enjoying – immensely enjoying – being fussed over. For one thing, Sam had sat down on one of the arms of his chair, so her… bouncy female attributes were pretty much right at his eye level, and frankly, it was a glorious view. Glorious to the point where he was having some trouble focusing on their conversation. "Uhm…upset, luv? Over what?"

"You, of course!" Her sudden vehemence took him by surprise, and he tried not to jump, as much because he didn't want to derail her train of thought as for the embarrassment factor. "I don't like seeing you in pain. It…" she sighed and shook her head, looking down at the crimson-stained cloth in her hands. "It hurt, seeing you chained up and bloody and… well, clearly not having a fun time. You had this look on your face that… I never want that look to be on your face again, like you're just wondering when the next shitty thing will happen to you and what kind of bad its gonna be. I just want to help you feel better… more like your old self." She lifted her eyes to him again, smiling helplessly and flustered, and he thought that he'd never seen anything as beautiful as she was in that moment, rumpled hair and lack of makeup be damned. "Is any of this making sense?"

Her reasoning, yeah, that made sense, but the fact that she was so worked up over him? That part had him confused, or at least surprised. He was still having trouble adjusting to the new state of things, where this lovely bird looked after him as a matter of course and cared so much about wanting him to be happy, putting him first. Why was it that some blokes pissed and moaned about it? Maybe 'cause they wanted to feel like they were callin' the shots, bein' the one to protect her all the time? That was rubbish. It had to go both ways, protecting each other, not just one person doin' all the frettin' an such, or else the person who cared less would eventually leave. He had learned that the hard way, after Dru. Knowing your girl cares about you, that she wants to make all your pain and discomfort just float away… he really couldn't think of anything better, and had no idea how he had suddenly found himself in such an enviable position. Those thick sods didn't know how good they had it.

He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat and reached out to rest his hand on top of hers. "Yeah, pet. Perfect sense, an' I can't tell you how much it means, knowing you care 'bout me like that."

Sam beamed at him, taking in a happy breath and oh… that was a lovely sound. After a few moments, she cleared her throat and made a visible effort to get back to business. "Well, lets finish getting you cleaned up."

"Whatever you say, pet." Spike let his eyes close and rested his head against the cushioned leather, being mindful to keep it at an angle where Sam could still reach the banged-up part of his face. The only real sleep he'd gotten in recent memory was the few hours of napping with Sam on Giles' couch, and he was still knackered.

For a few minutes the room was quiet except for Sam's breathing, and Spike felt himself starting to drift off, lulled by the gentle and warm, if wet, touches of the washcloth. With his eyes closed, he could almost imagine that he was actually being gently licked by a big dog. The touches moved further up his face, closer to the wound and the bruise surrounding it. She gently pressed and dabbed and wiped, moving across his bruised temple and ever closer to the wound itself, making sympathetic noises all the while. He tried not to wince as Sam cleaned the tender skin. He'd kept his eyes closed while she worked, but gradually he'd gone from dozing to consciously pressing them shut as a way of riding out the less than fun process at hand. Of course, the discomfort she was unintentionally causing paled in comparison to the many other times during his long un-life when he had been in pain, but since she was being so solicitous he didn't want her to feel responsible for each little flinch or hiss.

"There." Sam patted his shoulder, and he opened his eyes. "That's as clean as I can get it. Just need to put a bandage on it, and… well, I'm guessing you don't need to worry about infections, right?"

Spike nodded in confirmation. "Yeah. Don't think it even needs a bandage. Should heal up on its own in a few days."

She paused in wringing out her washcloth into the bowl of pink-tinged water and gave him a pleading look over her shoulder. "Humor me? Until you get your strength back you'll be healing more slowly than usual. Besides, it'll feel better if it's bandaged, and that'll make sure the wound doesn't get re-opened."

"Okay, pet." He smiled at her fondly. Two days ago, if anyone had told him that somebody attached to the Scoobies would be looking after him like this, he would have laughed at the absurdity. Now, he just felt, well... lucky. "Go ahead and fix me up, if it'll get you ta stop you fussin'."

She brandished the washcloth at him. As weapons go, it wasn't exactly fearsome, and he tried very, very hard not to laugh at the visual. "Don't get cheeky with me, mister. I may reconsider helping you." Her reply was accompanied by a playful scowl which let him know that the threat wasn't sincere. "So," she opened the first aid kit and set to work. "You were starting to tell me how you wound up chained to the radiator."

"Right." He creased his brow and sifted through what had happened. "As soon as you were in your room, the watcher pointed his crossbow at me and told me to walk down the hall. We got in here, Rupes was sayin' summat about how you were too attached to me… an' he was bein' a right prat about it, too. I think I started to turn around, an' then it all went black."

While he was talking, Sam had put a bit of ointment on the gash and gently laid a pad of gauze over it. "Did he hit you, or did something else happen?" Now she was smoothing some medical tape over the bandage to hold it in place. And frowning to herself, looking angry again.

"I dunno. I…" he closed his eyes, trying to remember. There was something, a sensation that might be the missing piece to the puzzle, but it was just beyond his reach. He huffed slightly, annoyed at himself for not being able to fill in the blanks. "Sorry, luv. Guess that knock scrambled my noggin a bit."

"It's okay." He felt it when she smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his bandaged temple. "Just one more thing for me to bitch at Giles about in the morning." Her lips lingered just above his skin while she spoke, the warm breath of her speech gently caressing his face. The hands she had been using to affix his bandage slipped around his neck, and she pressed another kiss to his cheekbone, then one to the corner of his jaw, and Spike let out a moan which sounded much more like a grateful whimper than he would have liked.

"Mmhm… Oh, pet."

They started kissing in earnest, now. Lips on lips, cool sliding against and between and over warm. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer, needing more, needing to make her his beyond a shadow of a doubt. She responded eagerly, sliding off of the chair arm and onto his lap, only breaking contact with his mouth when she needed air. For the moment, there was nothing but hands and lips and the two of them twined together. This was what he had wanted earlier but hadn't felt steady enough to try. Of course, now that they were sitting there were all sorts of possibilities… Spike smiled against her lips as an idea took shape, and he snaked one arm around her waist and under her bathrobe, using that hand to gain access to the waistband of her stretchy PJ pants. After some slight fumbling, during which they kept kissing, his fingertips touched skin and his hand started to make steady progress across her lower belly.

Spike was less than a hand's-breadth from his goal when she grabbed his wrist, halting its advance, and pulled out of the kiss with a breathless murmur of, "Not yet."

He stared at her, hurt and confused as to what had gone wrong. Sam was panting slightly, her pupils dilated and heart pounding, all of which confirmed that she wanted him and that she was well and truly turned on. His nose served as double confirmation of that last part. So why had she pulled away? He withdrew his hand, suddenly terrified that history would be repeating itself yet again and hoping against hope that if he just did as she asked and didn't force the issue, she wouldn't leave. Not that he could force the issue if he wanted to, not in his current state, anyway, and even if he could do it without getting a blinding migraine, he suspected that unlike Harm, Sam probably wouldn't appreciate that kind of force. He shook himself slightly, pushing aside those thoughts in favor of finding out what was going on in his girl's head.

"Darling, what is it?"

Sam smiled at the endearment, which was encouraging, and she ran one hand back through his hair as she spoke. "Spike, this is going really really well, but it's also a little fast for me." She leaned forward as she went on, holding him close and kissing his hair and, oh… that felt nice. Whatever else she was about to say, the feel of her lips murmuring against his ear was a wonderful thing. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I don't want to lead you on or get you all worked up and then not… well, 'finish', I guess, but this is just so new and I don't want to rush it."

He felt himself sagging in relief. So she wasn't letting him down easy. In fact, she had called him 'sweetheart'. It was reassuring that he wasn't the only one using pet names. It put them on more of an even footing. Also, she was still hugging him and he belatedly realized that he wasn't returning the embrace. He was about to fix that when she sat back from him and shifted her weight slightly.

"Bloody hell!"

Unfortunately, she wound up leaning on his left thigh and he groaned in pain at the unexpected pressure to his troublesome leg.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry."

Her eyes went wide and she scrambled to sit on the chair arm again, struggling somewhat because she hadn't fully withdrawn her arms from hugging him. "Oh, sweetie… here, I'll move. There, that should help."

Moving back to the chair arm didn't work, mainly since she wouldn't completely let go of him, so instead she knelt on the seat of the chair, placing her knees on either side of his right leg. As soon as she was wholly off his lap, she kissed his head and pulled him forward into a tight but ungainly hug. He clutched her to himself and let out a sigh, listening to the staccato of her heartbeat as she stroked his hair with warm fingers and apologized over and over. It was, well, baffling, really. So many repetitions of 'I'm sorry' for such a minor offense. He couldn't help wondering how she would deal with a more serious one.

Much as he was enjoying… scratch that, he was reveling in her attentions, but he didn't want her to feel so badly about what had essentially been a mistake. "It was an accident, pet. Wasn't fun, but no harm done." He rubbed a gentle hand over her back. "Don't take it so hard, okay?"

She nodded against his shoulder. "Okay." A pregnant pause, and then, "What about the other thing? Is that okay too, 'cause you didn't really get a chance to answer it before." Sam was sitting on her heels, which put her a head or so taller than him and meant that their waists were about two feet apart. Not ideal for an embrace lasting more than a few moments.

Spike sat back from the awkward hug and hoped that she wouldn't think he was figuratively pulling away. "Can't say I'm thrilled 'bout that, but if you need us to slow down, we will." He smiled to let her know that he wasn't angry. He wasn't exactly pleased, either, but he wasn't about to ruin things between them by letting Spike Jr do the thinking. "I want you, luv. I want to be with you for as long as you'll have me, but more'n that, I want you to be happy 'bout bein' with me, so 'til you say the word, I won't be tryin' to get your knickers off."

"Thanks." She gave him a grateful smile and stood up. "Don't think I'll keep you waiting long, but… well, with your leg and all, I'd like for you to be healed a little more before we do any naked things together. I'd be worrying too much about pressing on the wrong spots and accidentally hurting you to actually enjoy it." Sam offered him a hand up. "Want to go sit on the couch?"

He took her hand and used the other to push himself to his feet. "Couch sounds lovely, pet." Once he was standing, he leaned on her once again, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, and used his free hand to gingerly rub at his sore thigh. Any time it wanted to stop being such a bloody nuisance was fine by him.

He saw Sam frowning at the motion out of the corner of his eye, but didn't think anything of it until she spoke. "I don't know if this is something you'd want to try, but I learned a kind of battlefield-healing spell from a coven in Italy."

Spike looked at her curiously. He had no idea where she was going with this. "That so?"

"Yeah." They started for the door and she went on. "Some of the battlefield nurses in World War Two were wiccans, and they came up with this neat charm that removed shrapnel from soldiers' wounds. It didn't actually do any healing, really, just gave them better odds for surviving, and I thought it could be useful so I wrote it down. A lot of the covens are generational, so a few of the women I met are the daughters and granddaughters of those nurses, and they showed me how to do it. You said it felt like the arrowhead was still in your leg, so if it is, I can use the charm to remove it."

He was touched by the offer, but wary of taking her up on it. After all, he remembered that story about her making a big pea-soup cloud by mistake. "I dunno, pet. Mojo can be a bit unpredictable."

She nodded, looking from him to the doorway and back again. "Yeah, it can, but as long as I focus, pay attention to getting all of the details right, and stay centered, it should work. My spells work the way they're supposed to nine times out of ten."

He squeezed her shoulders as they stepped into the hall. At least the odds were encouraging. "I'll think about it, pet."

"Thanks." She smiled up at him. "I know it's a big deal, and I wouldn't bring it up if I didn't think it would help, but it's your call."

Her words prompted him to smile, and he leaned into her. "Thanks. Just don't rush me, yeah?"

Sam tightened the arm which she had wrapped around his back. "I wouldn't dream of it."

TBC