Made for fun, not for profit. The Buffyverse belongs to Mutant Enemy and Joss Whedon, I just like to play there.
A/N: There are references in this chapter to events in the Buffyverse comic book 'Haunted' by Jane Espenson, specifically issue #4, panels on pages 6 and 12-14. The events of that comic take place during the summer before season 4, and 'Haunted' is the first appearance of The Initiative in the comics. It isn't a spoiler, but I did take it as license to show what nasty things those commandos do to some of their HST prisoners as part of 'Standard Procedure'. Instead of apologizing for the lengthy delay between updates, I'm just gonna write like a madwoman and hope to make it up to you lovely, patient people.
"The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary;
Men alone are quite capable of every wickedness."
~ Joseph Conrad
14 – Squeaky Clean
Spike propped one foot on Giles' coffee table, smiling to himself as his fingers worked at undoing the laces of his boots.
Sam thought that he was worth taking a chance on. His girl was going to bat for him, she believed in him, and that felt wonderful. A simpleton's faith meant next to nothing, but coming from a clever girl like her, it meant the world to him.
She turned away from the sink and called out to him, "Spike? The bath might be ready now. You should probably head in there."
"Okay, pet." He slipped first one boot off, then the other, raising his voice enough so she could hear him from the kitchen. "I'll be right in."
Giles grumbled mostly to himself, "And you've drawn him a bath. Suppose I shouldn't be surprised, seeing as you clearly fetched him breakfast…"
Sam made a strangled, frustrated noise, letting her head fall back and gesturing at the ceiling with a soapy hand. "That's enough. The complaint department is on the roof. Please file your grievance in triplicate."
Spike chuckled and got to his feet, walking out of the living room and past a thoroughly peeved watcher on his way to his host's bathroom. Giles glared at him, and Spike replied by cheerfully throwing the man a mock salute as he passed. He stepped inside the bathroom and closed the door behind himself, pleased to find that Sam had set out two dark green fluffy towels for him to use, a large one and a smallish one, as well as a washcloth and the 'donated' pants which Giles had outgrown. The tub was just shy of three-quarters full, and steam was rising from the bathwater. He shucked his jeans, shrugged out of his red over shirt and tugged his black t-shirt off, leaving his dirty clothes in a pile by the toilet before he went back to the door. There was a small steel hook-and-eye latch screwed into the doorframe, and he slid the hook into place to discourage the watcher from coming in unannounced.
He stepped to the tub and let his hand trail in the water. It was hot, but not uncomfortably so, and he shut off the tap before swinging his leg over the side.
Unlike the last time he had been in this room, he wasn't chained, he wasn't terribly hungry, and he was actually looking forward to being in the tub. This time, he had been given the dual dignities of choice and privacy. It felt good, being treated as an equal as Sam did, but Giles' fear and mistrust of him were also a form of respect for a dangerous adversary, and he'd take what he could get in that department. Of course, the man's protestations were starting to wear on his nerves, and Sam having to advocate for him did more to harm his ego than the watcher's caution did to bolster it.
Spike grabbed the washcloth and squeezed a bit of body wash onto it, working the opaque liquid into a lather before he started soaping himself. He assumed that the wash was Sam's, since the bottle hadn't been in the bathroom before she arrived. It didn't have an overly feminine scent, just rosemary and lavender, which he was thankful for. It seemed right somehow to use her products instead of Giles', even though his fussy host was likely to use something which smelled a bit more masculine.
Once he'd washed himself as best he could, he sat back in the tub and closed his eyes, letting the hot water lap at his shoulders and carry the soapsuds away. He sighed, letting the washcloth flop haphazardly onto the soap dish and listening as excess water from it started to drip, drip, drip back into the tub. The steaming bath was relaxing, alright, but he could feel himself starting to doze off. Falling asleep in the bath and drowning wasn't a concern for him, but before too long the water would grow cold, and he didn't want to keep Sam waiting while he slept. He let himself slide under the water enough to wet his hair and then sat up again, blinking his eyes open as he spotted a bottle of shampoo. His troublesome leg, which had been behaving itself so far, lodged its first complaint of the day as he bent forward to grab the bottle.
He scowled, gingerly rubbing at the sore muscles as he flexed and relaxed his leg. There was a dark purple hole surrounded by faded bruising where the Chumash arrow had hit his thigh. The wounds on his chest and shoulder looked similar, but they didn't hurt much. When he gently cleaned each arrow-wound in turn, he was pleased to see that hardly any blood leaked out of them, and although they were a bit sore, it seemed as though they were healing well enough. Also, since he hadn't been using those muscles very much, they were easier to ignore. As for the leg, though… it wasn't getting better. A thin stream of red oozed out of the hole whenever he moved his leg, and his blood was starting to tinge the bathwater a faint pink. The only reason the leg hadn't hurt until just now was that he hadn't used it much since he woke up. The extra blood Sam had been giving him had helped somewhat, but as long as the arrowhead was still in there and tearing at his muscles whenever he moved, he wouldn't be fully mobile. Not near as crippled as he'd been after Buffy broke his back and landed him in that bloody wheelchair, but he didn't relish the thought of being unable to move quickly or stand on his own two feet for very long.
"Bloody hell…" Spike cursed his luck. Seemed there was nothing for it but to ask Sam to do that healing spell she'd mentioned the night before. That, or ask Giles to perform surgery on him, which was not even an option. Not in this unlife, at least.
He let himself slide along the bottom of the tub until he was closer to the shampoo, then he grabbed the bottle, flipped the top open and squeezed a blob into his palm. He was just about to spread the blob through his hair when his fingers ran across the bandage that Sam had taped over his temple the night before. "Right… of course." He wiped the blob of shampoo onto his head and started working to get the bandage off. Not being able to see where the edges of the medical tape were made it a frustrating task, but after a minute or so he'd peeled off the tape and gauze and let them drop to the tiled floor. That done, he sudsed up his hair and went back to thinking about the healing spell. Sam had offered to help, so he tried to tell himself that it wasn't a big thing, but he couldn't help hoping that the spell would work exactly the way it was supposed to. He didn't have a problem with magic as such, but he'd met more than a few unreliable practitioners in his long unlife, and he'd seen firsthand how wrong spells could go. Most of the time that just meant free entertainment, either in the form of enchanted costumes, animal transformations gone awry, or that time Darla had spent a week thinking she was a mongoose, but now he was actually considering offering himself up as a guinea pig, and he wasn't sure if it was a good idea. Really, it all came down to how much he trusted Sam.
Spike turned the faucet on, cupping his hands underneath the stream until they filled with clean water and then sluicing it over his head to rinse out the shampoo. The bath water had cooled enough that soaking in it wasn't relaxing anymore, so he shut the tap off again and pulled the rubber stopper out, allowing the tub to drain. He stood and carefully stepped from the tub, not bothering to hide a grimace when his leg twinged again. "Bloody Indian spirits," he grumbled, starting to pat himself dry with the larger towel.
"Where do bleedin' spirits even get arrows anyway, an' why was I the one they had to use as a pincushion? I was on another continent… hell, I hadn't even been born when all that rot happened! Shoot one of the damned yanks full of arrows, fair enough, but leave me well out of it."
He slung the large towel around his waist, tucking in one end to secure it, and rubbed the smaller towel over his hair for a minute or two before letting it drape around his neck. Spike moved to the door, still muttering as he unhooked the latch and stepped into the hallway.
Sam was sitting on the couch, reading a notebook which was filled with what looked like her own handwriting and a small bundle of gray cloth sat on the cushions next to her. There was a pencil tucked behind her ear and a small slip of note paper resting on the open notebook. The floorboards creaked slightly under Spike's feet when he stepped towards her, and she turned to him with a smile. "Hey, enjoy your bath?"
"Yeah, pet, I did." He nodded, suddenly feeling a bit nervous. "So… that spell you mentioned last night, the one for injuries and the like… Think you could use it before I head upstairs to kip?"
Her expression had changed while he stumbled out his question, and now she was staring at him, eyes wide, mouth slightly open.
When she didn't answer him, or react to it at all for half a minute, he frowned, waving a hand in front of her. "Sam? Pet, you alright?"
She shook herself out of her daze and nodded a little too enthusiastically. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm… I'm good." She was staring at him, not his face, but his chest. It seemed like she couldn't look away, and… wait, did she just lick her lips? "I'm really good, and you…you're…" She gestured at his torso, puffing out a breath but not finishing her thought, and he quirked an eyebrow at her.
"What's this about? I miss a spot or summat?"
Sam stood up and smiled goofily. "No, you really… okay, vampire, so no reflection, but, wow… Just so you know, those are some very nice muscles."
There was no doubt about it, she was ogling him. He fought back a grin, his confusion and worry replaced by sheer glee. The mere sight of him shirtless had turned her into a babbling fool, and it was as amusing as it was adorable. He let his tongue curl behind his teeth before he all but purred, "Like what you see, do you?
Sam reached behind herself, turning around briefly then facing him again and fumbling the gray t-shirt into his hands. She tugged at his arm, urging him back towards the bathroom. "Okay, so, you need to put that on so I'll stop being all stupid and stammery. Pants too. C'mon, mister."
Spike chuckled, going with her and accepting the shirt with a nod but not putting it on just yet. After all, he was having far too much fun to stop so soon. "If you insist, but if this is what happens when I'm shirtless, I can't wait to see how you react to the whole package."
She blushed and bit her lip, lightly swatting his arm in reproach. "Shut up. No one likes a handsome guy who knows just how handsome he is."
He preened slightly, putting an arm around her shoulders as they walked. "You think I'm handsome, eh?"
Sam crossed her arms, sounding annoyed. "Yes, already. I thought the drooling and the staring made that clear."
"Well, pet, I think you'll have an easy enough time controlling yourself, especially with the castoffs you gave me. I'll look like a bloody ponce in those striped trousers."
She rolled her eyes, seeming more like herself again. "Oh come on. It would take much more than striped pants to make you look like a ponce."
"Such as?"
Sam paused in front of the bathroom door. She looked thoughtful for a moment, then her eyes lit up and she affected a serious tone, turning to face him. "I'm thinking pastel silk brocade, ala eighteenth century Versailles."
He felt his eyes go wide, and, apparently encouraged by this, she gave him an evil smile and elaborated on the horror which she had dreamt up. "It would have to be a jacket and waist-coat combo in pale pink and turquoise. With white breeches, and a ruffled silk shirt, but I don't think you'd need a wig, with your hair already being white."
Spike shuddered at the picture she had painted, then pulled himself together and snorted. "I'd stake m'self sooner than wear that poncy trash."
"Then I'll be sure to keep those kinds of clothes away from you." He quirked an eyebrow and she went on. "The last thing I want is for you to become dust-buster food."
She moved closer, glancing at his chest again, but this time she didn't seem flustered. Sam frowned as her eyes drifted across his chest, and then her eyes slowly went wide as they traveled towards his waist. "Please tell me that isn't what I think it is."
He tipped his head, wondering why she was suddenly looking horrified. "Depends, luv. What do you think it is?"
"Well," Sam tentatively reached out one hand and traced her fingertips along the edges of a pinkish vertical gash which started just above his navel and continued upwards until it split into two prongs a handbreadth below his throat. The scarred skin was shiny and slightly raised, but its color was faint enough that it wouldn't be easily seen from more than a couple feet away. "It's a partially-healed incision. Looks surgical, and…" she closed her eyes, visibly upset, and for a moment he thought that she might start crying. Instead, she continued in a shaky voice, blinking frequently and trying to act composed, "this shape of incision is really only used in autopsies, but… I mean technically you are dead, but you're also kind of alive, in that you're aware and cogent, so doing an autopsy on you doesn't make sense."
She looked up at him, her eyes big and young, hoping that he would tell her she was wrong. Her voice was barely louder than a whisper when she spoke again. "You said something about experiments in the commando lab…"
He nodded tightly, shifting some weight off of his left leg. In truth, he didn't remember all that much, but he'd tell her as much as he could. "Can we take this in the study, pet? I really wouldn't mind sitting in that chair again."
She smiled and gave a quick nod of assent. "Sure. I'm just gonna grab those pants from the bathroom. See you in there?"
Spike headed into the study and sat down in the chair, relaxing into the overstuffed leather cushions. Sam joined him a moment later, sitting down on the window seat and nodding at the balled up t-shirt still in his hand. "How about you put that on?"
He looked down at the shirt, puzzled. "Alright, pet, but why?"
Sam sighed, rubbing at her temples, "I just… talking about how you got that scar is one thing, but I don't know if I can actually listen to the 'how' while looking at the damn thing. It… I just don't wanna see…"
"S'alright, Sam."
He understood. She didn't want to picture what had happened to him. That was sweet and all, but it might be unavoidable. He pulled the shirt on anyway and smiled at her. "Right… so. Here's what happened. When I first woke up, I had no idea where I was, but week or two ago the memories started comin' back. I'd been hit with some kinda tazer, I guess, and I was pretty dazed when they dragged me off an' trussed me up. I heard blokes talking, but I couldn't see much, and then they were strappin' me down. I'd had a cloth bag on my head, and once I was strapped in they took it off. I couldn't see anything other than the ceiling, a bright lamp and the blokes standin' over me. One of em was sayin' they didn't need to slice me up, since they already knew what vamps looked like inside, but another one said that they had to check for 'variation' or summat."
His gaze had wandered away from her while he spoke. Just as well, most like. He knew she'd be upset, and he didn't want to look her in the eye until he'd told his sorry tale. There was a good chance that if he looked at her before that, he might not be able to finish telling it.
He cleared his throat, staring at the floor. "I'll skip the details. They had a scalpel and a motorized saw, and when they couldn't hear each other over my screaming they shot me up with summat that made it all daffodils and teddy bears. It's all a bit fuzzy after that, but I remember bits of them sewin' me together again, and fillin' me back up with blood. That musta been when they did whatever it was that zaps me when I try to bite. Next time I woke up, I was in a cell, I didn't remember any of it, an' I had no idea why my chest an' guts hurt so damned much. Didn't think to take my shirt off an' have a look, so it wasn't till after I'd busted out that I had any idea what happened." Spike shook his head, almost laughing. "Woke up one night from what I thought was just a bloody strange nightmare… till I saw the scar, an' then it all clicked. Almost wish it hadn't."
He looked over to her, wondering how she was handling it. She was silent and still, facing away from where he sat. If not for her breathing and heartbeat, she might have been a statue. Spike started to worry. "Sam?"
She turned at the sound of her name and blinked at him. Her cheeks were wet. It took a moment for Spike to understand what was going on, but once he did, he loved her... because she was crying for him.
Spike got up and moved to sit next to her on the window seat, glad that someone had remembered to close the drapes. He put an arm around her and kissed her hair, gently shushing her. "Here now, sweetheart. None of that."
Sam pulled him into a sudden hug before he could react, resting her head against his shoulder and running one hand over his back. "I… can't even imagine how horrible that must have been." She held him close and he gladly returned the embrace, soaking up her warmth. "I'm so sorry that happened to you."
He shrugged one shoulder uneasily, feeling oddly self-conscious. "S' not so bad, luv. I ran with Angelus for near on two decades, an' you know how much that git loves ta' torture blokes. I've had worse."
She let out a bitter huff and squeezed her arms tighter around him, muttering sullenly, "that really doesn't help, y'know. I'm trying not to picture you being hurt, remember?"
He smiled against her hair, touched and pleased and surprised that she cared so much. The bird was almost too good to be true. "Like you said, luv, I'm a survivor. Gonna take more'n a buncha army ginks ta keep me down for long."
"Glad to hear it."
"Speaking of," he cleared his throat, gingerly flexing his leg. "D'you think you could do that spell on my leg? It, uhh, I think it might be a real help. Damned thing won't stop hurtin'." He chuckled and tried to sound casual about it, forcing a joking tone into his voice for the last part, but it didn't even sound convincing to him.
She turned to kiss his cheek and pulled out of the hug, smiling as she wiped at her eyes. "Thought you'd never ask. Just in case, though, I found my notes on that spell." She gestured out towards the living room, looking pleased. "I was looking them over, just to brush up on the details if you changed your mind." She sat back, looking pensive. "Probably best if we wait a little while. I'm pretty upset, so casting right now is not a good idea, but I can get everything set up."
"Right, pet. I'll finish dryin' off an' get my kit on while you're doin' that."
"Good idea." She stood, nodding, and then grabbed the stripy pants, which she lobbed at his head with a grin.
He caught them just before they would have hit him full in the face, and scowled at them briefly. "Beggars can't be choosers, right?"
"Pretty much. See you in a couple minutes." She closed the door behind herself and he heard her footsteps moved toward Giles' living room. Papers rustled, that would be her notebook, and then it sounded like she joined Giles in the kitchen.
Sam made a disgusted sound. "These soldiers are bad news, Giles."
Spike absently patted himself dry with the smaller towel, listening in. Nice thing about vamp hearing, it pretty much made him a superior eavesdropper. Of course, it didn't hurt that Giles' kitchen shared a wall with the study.
The ex-Watcher replied, "I agree that we don't know enough about them, but I feel it's premature to regard them as a threat until we know what they are trying to achieve."
It sounded like she slammed something onto the counter, and when she spoke, Spike could tell that she was furious.
"Who gives a rat's ass what they're trying to do? Look, he told me what happened, and before you ask, I already had a hunch based on this ugly Y-shaped incision on his chest. He just filled in the blanks, and right now I'm really wishing he hadn't, cuz I really don't know if I'm gonna be sick on the floor or just start throwing punches." She took a few steadying breaths, and the next time she spoke her voice was low, angry, and each word sounded like a hammer striking granite.
"Giles, they strapped him down and cut him up. They vivisected him without painkillers or sedation." She paused, and when she went on she seemed much calmer. "Now, I know he isn't one of your favorite… individuals, but do you really expect me to believe that you're okay with that?"
Giles gave a long suffering sigh. "Spike isn't exactly an innocent victim, Sam. He's been killing for decades –"
"Yes, I know: vamps eat people. Thank you Giles, but I actually have read 'Demons for Dummies'. You know what these guys are doing isn't what you and the gang do. It's one thing to kill demons in a fair, or even an unfair fight, but to capture them and do experiments… it's wrong, and you know it. Demons are sentient creatures, and treating them like lab rats for shits and giggles is wrong. You know it is, and I really doubt they had his Watcher's Council bio handy, so it's not like they had any idea who he was. They tagged him as 'Hostile 17', which tells me that as far as they're concerned, he could just be Joe Vamp, some schmucky fledge who's never had the chance to hurt anyone."
Giles sputtered, "I suppose you have a point, but-"
Sam cut him off, speaking quickly. There was a touch of frustration in her voice, along with something which had replaced the anger and righteous indignation from earlier; fear. "Besides, do you think vamps are the only demons on their wish list? You said Buffy tangled with them twice, and they regarded her as an enemy. Think they'd hesitate to 'study' her? How about the fact that they tried to capture Willow 'cause they're too ignorant to realize that a 'civilian' who is energetically moving around minutes after being attacked by a vamp hasn't had the time to be turned? How about witches, if they find out we're real? Think they'd want to 'study' me or Willow? Maybe I'm just being an alarmist, but are you willing to take that chance? Cause I'm really not."
"Fine, fine." Despite the early hour and having had a full-night's sleep, Giles sounded tired as he agreed to hear her out. "Yes, we should assume that they may pose a threat to us, just as a precaution. What do you suggest we do?"
When she replied, Sam's voice was determined and almost cheerful. The bird was clearly happy to have gotten her way. "Same as always: gather as much info as we can, come up with a plan of attack and follow it through. Repeat as needed." It was safe to assume that she was giving Giles a cheeky smile.
The watcher scoffed quietly. "You really believe it will be that simple?"
She laughed sharply. "Of course not. This is Sunnydale, where clusters go to relax and be themselves, but we've got brains, magic, a slayer, enough weapons to equip a small army, and someone who's been inside their base on our side. That's a damn good start."
Spike realized that he was grinning like an idiot. An idiot without pants on. He'd gotten so wrapped up in listening to what was happening in the kitchen and being proud of his girl that he hadn't bothered to take off his fluffy sarong yet. He quickly finished drying himself off and went to tug the pants on, but then stopped. One of his hands had a smudge of red on it, and a quick look at his leg confirmed that the arrow wound was still leaking blood. He scowled at the wound.
Sam knocked softly and then came into the room. "Spike, you ready?"
He looked up in time to see a confused expression settle on her face.
"What happened to the pants?" She had a piece of paper in one hand and a small bowl in the other.
"Uh, slight problem with that, pet." He held up his smudged hand and then nodded to his leg. "It should stop soon enough, but if Watcher wants these pants back…" Hell, no two ways about it; he sounded like a nancy-boy.
She nodded. "Gotcha. I'll get the bandages. Are the, uh, ones on your chest…?"
"Think those are okay. Might need a new one for," he gestured towards his temple, grimacing. He was gonna look like a damn patch-work quilt.
Another nod. "I should probably bandage your chest, just in case. You're sleeping in my bed, after all, and I'd really like to avoid getting blood on the sheets." Sam put down her supplies on the bench and gave him a sly smile. "Plus, I'd be a fool to pass up an opportunity to see you shirtless again. Arrow-holes and partially-healed incisions not withstanding, it's still a nice view."
Spike grinned. "C'mere, pet."
"Why?"
He rolled his eyes. Wasn't it obvious? "So I can kiss you, that's why."
Sam matched his grin but wagged a finger at him. "Nuh-uh, mister. Kiss me all you like once I'm done playing naughty nurse." She turned and stepped across the hall, leaving behind a happy but frustrated vampire.
"You know what, Sam? You're a bloody tease."
She chuckled, rummaging under the bathroom sink and returning with Giles' first-aid kit. "And don't you forget it." She pulled over Giles' side table, popped open the kit and set it on the table, getting right to business. "Okay. I'm gonna do the spell first, just to get it out of the way, and then I'll patch you up. Sound good?"
He nodded at the bowl and paper she'd set aside earlier, trying not to seem anxious. "What's that lot?"
Sam gave him a gentle smile and sat down next to him on the bench. "The incantation, and dried sage and crushed coriander seed. Those witches were clever, using herbs that are common enough in cooking. Probably made it a lot easier to keep their supplies stocked." She waved a hand at his towel. "If you could just lift that out of the way…"
He quirked a suggestive eyebrow, but she didn't take the bait, just giving him a mildly annoyed look and holding out her little bowl so he could see the contents. "I need to sprinkle the herbs directly on it before saying the incantation."
"Oh?"
Her eyes narrowed slightly, not in anger or annoyance, but enough to let him know that she was serious. "Keep everything else covered, mister."
Spike bit the inside of his cheek to hold back a chuckle and moved the towel just enough so she could get at his leg. He watched, fascinated, as she sprinkled a pinch of crushed herbs over his leg. Her brow furrowed in concentration, her eyes closed and she started chanting in a language he didn't recognize. Parts of it sounded like Greek and Latin, but he couldn't place most of the sing-song words. She kept chanting and gently cupped her hand over the wound, being careful that she wasn't applying any pressure to the torn skin. After a few moments, Spike felt something hard and smooth grow between his thigh and her palm. The chanting stopped, and she closed her hand around whatever it was, picking it up and then turning her hand over to look at it.
It was part of a stone arrowhead.
"Well," Sam looked so pleased with herself that she was practically glowing. Effulgent… "That worked. Does your leg feel different?" Despite how happy she was with her own success, he could tell that her question was full of genuine concern. If the spell hadn't helped, she'd want to know.
Spike tried flexing the muscles and winced. "Yeah. Still sore, but now we've got that bit of rubble outta me, I should heal up fine." He leaned forward and slipped his hand around to the back of her head, pulling her close for a quick kiss. He let his hand slide to the cushion and sat back again, smiling. "Thank you, Sam."
She licked her lips and bobbed her head. "Uh, happy to help." Her eyes narrowed again and she leveled a playful glare at him. "Didn't I say kissing after bandaging?"
He smirked. "Got impatient, luv. Can't blame a bloke. You're sittin' there, all gorgeous…"
Her glare faded into an incredulous smile. "Wearing my last clean clothes and no deodorant?"
"You don't need window dressing, pet."
"Speaking of 'dressing'…" she trailed off, pointedly glancing at the first aid kit.
He groaned back in his throat, reluctantly tugging off his shirt and then letting himself fall back against the bookcase with a quiet 'thump'. "Okay, pet. Do your worst."
She unwrapped a small gauze pad, squeezed a bit of ointment on it, then gently laid it over his leg and fixed it in place with two pieces of tape. "Right," she muttered to herself "next victim."
Spike chuckled and shook his head, settling in to let her do her thing. There was a layer of padding along the sides of both bookcases which flanked the window seat, and he was quite comfy leaning against it. His eyes started to close, and he let them, contentedly listening as Sam started to hum. Much as he was enjoying her attentions, Spike really just wanted to go back to sleep. First Sam had said that he could go back to sleep right after breakfast, then it was delayed again when she brought up the bath issue, which, fair enough, he'd enjoyed, but it had been another delay, and now she was determined to tape bandages all over him. He just hoped that once this was done, he could settle in for a nice long sleep.
"Mind the one on my left shoulder, ducks. It went in through the back, so there's two holes need patching."
"Got it. Why 'ducks'?"
"Why not?"
She laughed softly. "Fair enough." After taping a bandage in place on his forehead, she laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Okay, sweetie. Last one. Lean forward so I can get at it?" While Spike had been thinking about sleep and how soon he might be greeting Morpheus, Sam had all but finished her task.
He cracked one eye open, glanced down at himself to see four neat bandages, and then looked at her curiously. "How'd you get done so quick?"
She shrugged, fiddling with a bit of gauze which already had some tape attached to it. "Bandaging doesn't take long. Also, I think you dozed off for a minute or two. Good to know that you don't snore." Her grin was wicked as she stood up.
"Cheeky thing." He leaned forward slightly and Sam smoothed the last bit of tape against his skin. Once it was in place, she played her fingers through the damp platinum mess on his head.
"All done. Shirt and pants time. Think you'll be ready before I get the kit put away?"
Spike carefully tugged the gray t-shirt back over his head, making sure not to loosen any of the bits of tape. "Yeah. An' then upstairs, right? No more detours, pet. I'm bloody knackered. Feel like I could sleep for a week."
Sam nodded, snapping the first-aid kit shut. "Straight to bed for you, young man. Do not pass 'GO', do not collect two hundred dollars." She gave his shoulder a squeeze and put the pants on his lap. "I'll be right back."
Another smile, and then she closed the door behind herself. He stood, unwrapped the towel and started pulling on the striped pants, cursing at his leg when it protested his quick movements. He was adjusting the drawstring when Sam knocked. He grinned, feeling just like a bloody overeager schoolboy, and opened the door for her. "All set, luv."
She cocked her head slightly, looking him over, and a smile lit her face. "Gotta say, I like your hair messy." She stepped aside, letting him move into the hall, and then she headed out towards the living room.
"You do?" He'd been wearing his hair slicked back since… he didn't even remember when. Had to be at least since the late nineteen eighties. Aside from an initial fascination when he changed styles, which always waned quickly, Dru had never stated a preference for any of the 'looks' he'd had since their first meeting. Except when she saw him after he had swum ashore from that damned Nazi sub. He had no idea how she'd found him in Maine, of all places, especially when the last place he'd seen her was in the middle of Germany. His hair had been dyed black at the time, and he'd slicked it to blend in with blokes in Spain. She'd 'ooh'-ed over him then…
Sam nodded, reaching up to let her fingers play through his damp hair. "Yeah. When it's all slicked back, I feel like, I dunno, I'd be messing it up or something if I touched it, but like this…" Sam reached up and ran her hand over the messy curls. "It's more inviting, I guess," she frowned for a second and shook her head, chuckling to herself. "If that word even applies to hair."
"Glad you like it, pet. Never really cared 'bout my 'do. First time I slicked it back, Dru seemed to like it, so I kept doin' it, but I won't miss havin' to spend time fussin' over it each day." Spike slung his arm around her shoulders, mostly to be closer to her, but also because so much standing and sitting and walking was starting to take a toll on his damned leg.
"Leg bugging you?"
"Yeah." He let himself lean on her. Since she'd caught on, there was no point trying to hide it.
Her arm slipped around his back and she gave him a comforting squeeze. "It'll heal. Time, rest and plenty of blood, thats all you need. Want a hand getting upstairs?"
He nodded tightly, glancing curiously at the empty kitchen and main room as they made for the staircase. "That'd be great, pet. Where's Giles?"
She shrugged in answer. "Out, I think. He's trying to fill his spare time. The current hobby is jogging, which, to be fair, is a good idea. Being out of shape in Sunnydale when you're friends with the Slayer is, well… suicidal."
They stepped onto the first stair and Spike huffed. "Well, if Watcher wants to off himself, there are easier way to do it. Spent a lot of time thinkin' bout that, after I found out I couldn't feed or bloody well defend myself."
Sam tugged him closer, both reassuring and reprimanding him at the same time. "Don't say that."
"I'm serious, pet. Starvin', hobbling around town, hiding from the damned sun all day in summat you hope has four walls an' a roof… that's no way to live."
She reached up to pat the hand he had laid on her shoulder. "Well, in spite of all the crappy luck you've had, you're still... I mean, you haven't dusted yourself, so that's something, and I think the fact that you came here for help says a lot."
"Oh?"
She gave a tiny shrug. "It tells me that you're adaptable. As long as you can find a way to live... or un-live… or whatever the terminology is, without biting or fighting, I think you might have a chance to be happy."
"'Happy'? Pet, bein' helpless an' havin' to rely on charity from the Slayer's mates is makin' me miserable. You're the only thing that's makin' any of this bearable."
She let her head rest against his shoulder for a few moments. "Glad that I'm doing you some good." She squeezed his hand, "and I get that you hate relying on charity, doing the whole Mae West deal. It's just… in the end, what did being the Big Bad get you, aside from a broken heart and no one to turn to for help except bitter enemies? D'you think you could try to look at this whole thing as an opportunity for a fresh start? For me?"
Spike let out a puff of air somewhere between a laugh and a resigned sigh. "Okay, pet. I'll try. For you."
"Thanks." At the door to her room, Sam froze. "Crap."
He looked at her curiously. "Problem, luv?"
"Big time problem." She laughed to herself, shaking her head and then nodding inside. "My room has a window that faces east, and I didn't close the curtains."
His eyes went wide. The spot where they were standing and a yard or two just inside the doorway was in shadow, and safe enough for him, but the rest of her room was awash in sunlight. "So… think you can…?"
"Yeah. Just wait here while I close them, okay?"
He stepped into the room, carefully keeping to the shadows, and nodded, shifting his weight to lean against a dresser which was just to his right and flush against the room's outer wall. "No argument here, pet. And don't make a rush job of it, yeah?"
She patted his arm. "Don't worry. I'll make sure to block out all the sunlight." She went the rest of the way into her room and climbed onto a sort of padded bench which had been built into the window niche. Unlike the window seat downstairs, this one was more like a chaise lounge and big enough for someone to sit stretched out on it. Once she was kneeling on the seat, she undid the curtain tiebacks and tugged the drapes closed, even taking an extra few moments to fasten them shut and then checking the edges to make sure that no daylight was peeking through.
His eyes adjusted quickly to the comparative dark, but Sam switched on a bedside lamp to see by once she got down. The head of her bed was up against the wall opposite the doorway, and there was room to walk around the bed on three sides, although there was less space to walk along its left side. There were small tables on either side of the double bed, both pushed up against the back wall and both sporting small lamps. Sam's luggage was in the corner beside a closet in the left-hand wall, and the now-curtained window was in a sort of alcove on the right, giving the room a sort of L-shape if it were viewed from above. There was also a small padded chair between the window and the bed. All in all, it was a cozy and comfortable space, but the best thing about it as far as Spike was concerned, was that it smelled like Sam; herbs and soap and sunlight.
"Okay, I think its all set." She turned to face him. "Well," she smiled, making an exaggerated beckoning motion with one hand. "Come on, if you're coming."
He grinned and came forward, covering the few steps to stand on the same side of the bed as she was. She pulled back the covers and patted the exposed sheets with an encouraging nod.
Spike didn't waste any time; he lay down on the mattress, nabbing a pillow and shifting to get his legs under the covers. He was pleasantly surprised to find that the sheets and covers were warm to the touch, probably from being drenched in sunlight all morning, and he smiled at the heat of the sun-warmed covers. He hadn't felt anything like this since before he was turned, and the warmth was a relaxing novelty. He was still hilariously tired, and the sudden warmth was only serving to make him even more likely to drop off quickly. Even so, he wasn't about to shoo Sam out of the room. Not if there was a chance of having a bit of fun before he fell asleep.
"Pet, aren't you gonna tuck me in?"
She gave an annoyed sigh but grinned and walked around to the other side of the bed, ruefully shaking her head along the way. "You," she pulled the covers up over him, chuckling in good-natured annoyance, "are impossible." She stood back up, tipping her head to one side as her eyes skimmed across the bed looking for potential sources of discomfort. Her brow furrowed and she sat down by his hip when something seemed to occur to her. "Just wondering, when did you start calling me 'pet'? And, y'know, why?"
He gently worried his bottom lip between his teeth before answering. "Last night, when you started really lookin' after me... carin' 'bout tryin' to help me. I'll pretty much call any bird 'luv', but 'pet' is..." he shrugged and looked up at her, meeting her eyes. "'S different."
She blinked at him, processing the info. "Is it more..." she trailed off and looked over at the nightstand, groping for a word, then back to him again when she found it. "It is more affectionate?"
He smirked. "Yeah. It is." Spike lifted his hand from under the covers and laid it on the hand she had braced against the mattress when she sat down. "Knowin' you give a damn about what happens to me... that you want to help me get stronger..." he shrugged again, suddenly looking sheepish and dropping his gaze to the covers. "It means a lot, Sam. Feels nice, just knowin' someone cares."
She smiled warmly and ran gentle fingers through his hair. "I do care about you, mister. Very much." She frowned slightly, talking half to herself, "more than actually makes sense for someone I met less than a day ago."
His eyes drifted shut and he felt Sam's weight shift on the mattress. He reasoned that the motion most likely meant that she was getting up, so he was surprised when he felt her press a soft kiss to his temple. He blinked up at her drowsily. Her mouth was curved in a fond smile, wild curls tumbling past her shoulders as she leaned over him.
"Sleep well, Spike. I'll come back to check on you in a few hours. Want me to bring lunch?"
He blinked at that, trying to make sense of her words. Room service. She was offering to bring him bloody room service. Aside from how posh that was, well... there was really only one answer to her question.
He nodded against the pillow, knackered and surprised but oddly content. "Yeah, pet. That'd be great."
"Okay." She got up and briefly fussed with the covers before heading for the door.
Spike watched her leave and then let his eyes close again, drifting off to the sounds of Sam moving around downstairs.
TBC