Chapter 7

The street was deserted, the only sound the relentless pounding of Buffy's booted feet on the sidewalk as she ran hard and fast away from home. The night air burned in her throat and lungs, a harsh reminder issued from the sparse remnants of her cold. She slowed her pace out of necessity, bracing her hands on her thighs, and breathing heavily. It took her a moment to realize she was outside the Bronze, her frequent first stop on a usual night of patrol.

The fact that it was closed on this particular Wednesday night was of little comfort. The idea that she had been essentially running away from her real life to patrol made the hairs at the back of her neck prickle. Patrol was the last thing she wanted to do when she felt like her world was about to collapse on top of her.

And yet there was an odd comfort in it.

Tears started to prickle her eyes and she felt an incredible child-like longing for her mother. A sob escaped her as she doubled over under a lone street light and pinched her eyes shut. Her chest felt tight as she tried to plan her next move.

She knew she would have to go home eventually. There would be questions… Willow and Tara were bound to tell Giles— or maybe not yet since they were preoccupied with their own personal dramas. She flinched inwardly at the callousness of that thought but the truth was that she just couldn't handle any of it right now.

She straightened up, took a deep breath, and let it out, finally coming to a conclusion and making a decision as she opened her eyes, to suddenly find herself standing—

Ten feet away from Spike's crypt door.

What the hell?

Buffy looked around the cemetery, blinking in confusion. She had definitely been standing outside of the Bronze only a few minutes before. Wasn't she?

The familiar tingle at the back of her neck warned her that she wasn't alone and she squared her shoulders, reaching for a stake that wasn't there.

Shit…

She spun around, mind already whorling into action, hyper-focused on one thought— Find a weapon.

And stopped abruptly when she came face to face with Spike… heavily laden with a large grocery bag and a case of beer. "Wohh there, Slayer. What seems to be the trouble?"

She breathed a sigh of relief, letting a small amount of the tension relax from her shoulders, and nearly started crying again. Nearly.

Buffy shook her head.

He shifted the bag on his hip, eyeing her curiously. "What happened?"

Buffy swallowed, feeling raw inside and out. "Can we go inside? I don't want to go home right now."

He raised his eyebrows at that but didn't say anything as he shouldered open his door, setting his load on his coffee table and turning to watch her come in behind him.

She closed the door, pausing on the bottom step. "They know. I— Tara and Willow were having a fight and Dawn was upset and— and I don't know what happened— I just said it! I —" her words failed as she stared at him blankly. The shock of it all commingling within her mind.

He moved forward, grasping her upper arm to guide her over to the couch gently. "Have a seat, pet. What are you talking about?"

Buffy curled her legs up on the far end of the couch, looking up at him with haunted eyes. "Heaven— I told them I was in heaven— I… it just came out. Like something ripped it out of me, like—"

"Like a spell or some such?"

"I don't know, maybe? No? I mean I don't think so. I— Dawn was upset, going on about secrets and lies—"

Spike listened, shrugging off his coat and laying it across the back of the couch before sitting down next to her. "Take it you didn't exactly stick around for reactions after."

"No," Buffy rasped, "I ran."

"And you came here?" Hope colored his voice.

Buffy bit her lip. "Not exactly— something else happened…"

Spike listened intently as she told him how she'd ended up outside his door and he pushed back into his seat. "Funny you should say that I had a similar experience the other night."

"You did?"

"One minute I was in the cemetery and the next I was standing in your back garden," he bit the inside of his cheek.

Buffy huffed in response. "Someone or something is messing with us."

"Would seem so," he snorted out a laugh, digging into the bag on the table and pulling out a couple of blood packs, a carton of cigarettes, and a bag of barbecue chips. He stood, taking the blood packs over to the fridge and retrieving a large bottle of whiskey along with two glasses, setting them on the coffee table in front of her. "You look like you could use a drink."

Buffy nodded, her eyes had gone blank and distant. "They weren't supposed to find out… and I just— God, Spike, what did I do?"

Spike resumed his seat, pouring each of them a glass and nudging one toward her with a black-tipped finger. "Don't seem you had much of a choice, pet."

"No," she choked out, draining her glass in one long pull and making a disgusted face.

He watched her, quietly pouring another drink. "It'll blow over before you know it."

Buffy shook her head. "It's not even just that. Did I mention the Willow, Tara, fightyness?"

"Birds still at it then?"

Buffy winced, drinking and pouring another. "Big time and from what I heard, Tara's right to be angry."

"Go on then, spill," Spike replied with a little too much interest.

Buffy eyed him warily. "Now I understand the soap opera thing— You have some weird addiction to drama."

"Everyone's got to have their hobbies, don't they?" he shrugged lightly.

She snorted a weak laugh and drank her whiskey. "Yeah, so it turns out Willow tried using some kind of memory spell on Tara to forget that fight we heard."

Spike's eyebrows went up. "Bloody hell… Talk about a sodding mind fuck."

"No kidding… I can't believe Willow would actually do something like that. It's so— icky…"

"Oh come now, Slayer, you're a big girl; think you can come up with something a bit better than 'icky'," he smirked, pouring another drink for himself.

"It fits, doesn't it? Drama geek."

"Oi, nothing wrong with enjoying a bit of the dramatics, history's chock full of drama."

Buffy took the bottle, filling her own glass. "Ah, huh, and I think I've had about enough of it to last me about forever— but nooo— I still have all this stuff with Dawn to deal with too… I barely start getting used to the work and head of household crap and then— gash…" she huffed, taking her drink and sticking out her tongue in disgust.

"What's the matter with the Nibblet?" he asked, furrowing his brows in concern.

Buffy shook her head, dipping her gaze to the now-empty shot glass in front of her. "Just Dawnie stuff, I guess. She's been obsessing over the astrology stuff and it's driving me crazy."

Spike's eyebrows raised. "Don't know if I see the bad here, Slayer," he replied as he poured them each another drink. "Certainly worse things she could be doing."

Buffy shook her head again. "No, it's not like that. She's just—" Words seemed to elude her as she tried to articulate what it was about the situation that was bothering her most. "I don't know, it's that she's really getting into it, you know?"

Spike shrugged. "Still not sure if I'm seeing the problem. Dru was into it, read tarot too. Had quite the gift for it in fact. Came in handy at times."

"Yeah well, I don't know how useful it is with Dawn doing the reading. It's more like the astrology stuff that she's driving me nuts with anyway. She wants to know everybody's birthdate, place, and time and she's trying to make star charts for everyone and it's -" Buffy sighed, "-it's just a lot. Especially since I have like next to zero interest in all of it. But she's totally obsessed."

Spike gave her an indulgent smile. "Sounds like the Bit's just coming into her own, tryin' to figure out where she fits within your little group." He shot back his drink, pressed his lips together, and clunked down the glass.

Buffy sighed again. Why didn't I think about that? "Yeah- I— Well yeah obviously that's what's going on and I —" she paused abruptly, taking another drink. "Blahhhh— I don't know, I'm just— maybe it wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't just piled on top of everything else…" Buffy let her gaze drift toward the couch cushion separating them and found her eyes skimming up the line of Spike's leg, taking in his tightly muscled form.

The thought of curling up with him wrapped around her and taking a nice long nap was suddenly extremely appealing.

OK yeah, that is a rabbit hole you do not need to jump down Buffy Ann Summers…

Spike followed her gaze to his own lap and gave a sly smirk, but for once saved his comments. She was here with him, trading hardships for whiskey, in search of a little comfort. It felt like the beginning of the truly solid relationship he had been craving for so long.

That thought alone meant everything in the world to him.

Buffy realized with a little jolt that she had been staring at his crotch and made an awkward attempt to pretend she hadn't been.

She cleared her throat, deciding it would be best to keep talking. "Just before everything went kerflooey Dawn was actually trying to give me love advice. How stupid is that? I have way too much going on, I can't be worrying about that kind of dumb stuff right now," she explained, as much as a stern reminder for herself as for him before she continued, "I'm struggling to get out of bed in the morning and she's there telling me I need to 'Find my perfect Cancer that will help balance out my Capricorn on the cusp of Aquarius-ness' and it's — it's a lot," she finished lamely.

Spike's jaw clenched as he watched her pour herself another shot and down it. He tilted his head watching her with renewed interest, either Buffy hadn't been paying attention at Halloween or she was too upset and drunk to remember he'd already divulged that little bit of information and he found himself suddenly wondering what Dawn was up to. "Cancer, you say?"

Buffy nodded distractedly as the burning liquid went down her throat. "Yeah, like I have time to go out looking for dumb guys and ask them what their sign is," she bit back vehemently.

Spike swallowed another drink as well. "Bit might have a point though."

"Like what?"

"Like sharing all that crushing weight you're under with someone strong enough to help lighten the load might be just the thing you need. Could be her way of helping," he offered.

"Been there, tried that. Sooo not interested in the sequel. If she is so hell-bent on helping me then she can do all the stupid guy-search-y, date-y stuff, because I'm so not in the mood to go out looking for Mr. Right."

Spike took the bottle from her as she finished pouring another shot. "Might be closer than you think, you know."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh yeah, and watch it all come crashing down like another stupid Riley situation? That's all I need. No. I need to get my shit together and— somehow figure everything out. Somehow—"

"It doesn't have to be like that," he murmured.

She rolled her eyes. "Why am I even talking to you about all this?"

Spike's eyebrows rose. "Could be because I'm the only one listening. The only one willing to hear you out. I see what you're going through, Slayer. You think you have to do everything alone but you don't. I'm here to help if you'd just let me."

There was a sincerity in his words that caught her off guard and she swallowed hard, the alcohol was taking effect and she was feeling more than a little afraid of what she might do if she stayed any longer.

Buffy cleared her throat. "Eh… Yeah you— you know what, I really appreciate the chat and you know listening to all my crazy ramblings and hum— all, but I think maybe I should head home. Dawn is probably worried and I need to make sure she got her homework done."

Spike shook his head and bit the inside of his cheek, realizing he had rattled her. "Buffy, come on now, don't go. Not in your state at least."

"I'm fine—" she said, standing up, cutting herself off as she began to sway a little and sat back down. "Hum, on second thought— maybe I should just hang out here."

"Seems sensible," he smirked.

Buffy snorted a laugh. "Yup, that's me, sensible Buffy. Right down to my shoes."

Spike examined her long denim skirt and boots combo. "Obviously…"

"You know who was sensible— my mom. She was a no-nonsense, get-it-done kind of mom," Buffy blundered on drunkenly.

"Always liked your mum. Takes a real special lady to stand up to the likes of me with nothing but an ax."

"Not like she knew what you were—"

"She knew all she needed, I was the scary bloke who had it out for her baby girl."

"Yeah…" Buffy sniffed sadly. "I really miss her."

Spike shifted close enough to put a cautious arm around her shoulders. "Not an easy thing, losin' a mum like her. Hell of a woman, just like her daughter."

To his chagrin his words didn't have the effect he'd hoped they would. Buffy collapsed into his embrace, crying like a small child, sobs shaking her delicate frame.

He pulled her into him tightly, cursing himself and holding her for what could have been hours or days until her breathing started to even out a little. He caressed her head tenderly, like he used to with Dru when she would break down like this and it occurred to him that Buffy wasn't typically the type to break down at all.

Spike released his hold on her, gently prying her away from his chest to look into her red-rimmed glassy eyes. She looked so very tired, soul-weary. "Not sure if giving you alcohol just now was the best idea, pet."

Tears continued to leak from the corners of her eyes and she mumbled something he couldn't understand. "I speak a handful of languages, luv, but I'm afraid Drunken Slayer ain't one I've mastered."

Buffy chuckled weakly, resting her cheek on his collarbone. "I said, I'm sorry I'm such a mess."

"Rest and a bit o'quiet are what you need. Lie down and I'll fetch you a blanket, yeah?"

Buffy pulled back from him a little, blinking dully. "You want me to sleep on your couch?"

"Could have my bed for all I care but I don't know how you'd manage the ladder."

Buffy hummed in consideration, "Yeah I think Walkie-Buffy might not be the bestest Buffy to be right now."

Spike snorted a laugh, watching as she slumped drunkenly, curling into a little ball on her side. As promised, he went to get her a blanket, unsurprised when she was nearly asleep when he got back. He carefully tucked the thick orange fleece blanket around her small form.

Buffy's eyes flicked open a crack, sparkling like stars, as he moved the hair from her cheek. "Spike?"

"Yeah, pet?" he whispered.

"Can you stay with me? Just— you know… hold me?"

Her voice was a broken, anemic thing that pierced his chest and he found himself nodding automatically before spooning in behind her. He wrapped one arm around her protectively as she pressed back into him, ensuring as much physical contact as possible through their layers of clothing and the thick blanket she was cocooned in. He lay there feeling more than a little dumbfounded by the course of the evening. It was almost too much to comprehend and yet the thought of doing anything to ruin this perfect moment wasn't something he was remotely capable of.

A/N: If you just can't get enough of concerned, caregiving Spike, then I highly recommend reading In the Dark With You by Geliot99