Déjà vu
“Look out!” Buffy called, as the huge, orange Thessara demon kicked Spike in the back. He dropped to the ground as the Slayer, overcome with anger, picked up the creature’s oversized axe and deftly cut off its head. His brother demon, deciding discretion was the better part of survival, ran into the woods with surprising speed. Buffy knelt beside the vampire. “Are you okay?” she asked. “Did it hurt you?”
Spike moaned, “I can’t feel my legs,” before fading into unconsciousness.
When he came to, he was still lying on the ground, his head in Buffy’s lap. She looked worried. “How are you?” she asked, her eyes meeting his.
Spike remembered what had happened, remembered the nauseating crack as the demon hit him. He dug his fingers into his legs, but there was no sensation. “I think the bastard broke my back. Again.” Tears stung his eyes as he thought of the long days of recovery after he was almost killed by the falling church organ. The feeling of helplessness. The despair. “Leave me, Buffy. Just go.”
“Leave you? Don’t be silly.” She reached her arms under his body to pick him up.
“Stop it, Buffy. I won’t be carried like a baby.” He pushed against her shoulders, trying to get her to drop him, but she held him fast.
“Then stop acting like one.” She lifted him higher in her arms, and started walking.
Deciding that resistance was useless, he put his arms around her neck. “Take me back to the crypt. I’ll be fine.” He set his face hard, fighting the tears that would betray his resolve.
“Why? So you can lie there alone and starve? You need help. Admit it.” He wasn’t heavy, and she was strong.
“You bloody well can’t take me to a doctor.” He shut his eyes, wishing he could enjoy the feeling of being supported in her arms.
“I’m taking you home.” She walked out of the cemetery, in the direction of Revello Drive.
Dawn stared in horror as Buffy carried Spike through the front door. “What happened? What’s wrong with Spike? Buffy....”
“Just run and get the sheets, and make up the couch,” her sister replied. “Now.” After the long walk, his body weighed heavily in her arms, but she refused to put him down until his resting place was prepared.
“I don’t want this, Buffy,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Well,” she replied, “Isn’t that just too bad?” Dawn brought the sheets, a pillow and a blanket from the upstairs linen closet. She made the couch into a makeshift bed, and Buffy carefully laid Spike on it. “Dawn,” she said, “There’s blood in the fridge. Pour some in a mug and get me a straw. Don’t forget to heat it up.” Her sister ran into the kitchen.
“I’m not hungry.” He lay paler than usual against the white pillow case. Why wouldn’t they just leave him alone?
“Tough.” Buffy took the mug from her sister’s hand and held the straw to his lips. “Drink.” He sipped slowly, the blood warming him. Halfway through the mug, he drifted off. She pulled the straw out of his mouth and left the mug on the coffee table, within his reach if he awoke. Gently, she covered him with the blanket. She walked around the room, pulling the curtains fast so that no morning light would be able to seep through.
“Buffy, what happened? Why were you carrying him?” Dawn whispered. She looked with fear at her best friend, lying motionless.
“He had an accident. He got hurt.” She pulled Dawn close, comforting the girl as she herself sought comfort.
“Is he going to be okay?” Dawn asked.
“I don’t know.”
He was having that dream again, the one he liked, where he was Burt Lancaster and Buffy was Deborah Kerr. The waves were lapping them on the beach. “Hey, Spike,” said a voice, and his eyes snapped open. He was startled at first, disoriented, then his eyes slowly took in the living room and he remembered what had happened.
“Go away, Red,” he said. “I was sleeping.”
“Buffy said to make sure you ate. She’s patrolling.” Willow put a fresh mug of blood and a plate on the coffee table. “Spicy chicken wings with extra garlic. Just the way you like them, you rebel.” He ignored the plate and closed his eyes. “Does it hurt, Spike?” she asked with concern.
“I wish it did.” He opened his eyes again, but she hadn’t moved. “Not leavin’, are you.”
“Not until you eat,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “Buffy’s orders.”
He picked a wing from the plate, pulled off the little drumstick and dipped it in blood. He popped it in his mouth, stripped the meat from the bone, and dropped it back on the plate. “There, I ate. Happy?”
“You’ll never get better with that attitude.” She picked up another wing, and handed it to him. He ignored it.
“And just what the friggin’ hell do you know about it?” He turned his face into the back of the couch and his muffled voice said, “Leave me alone. I mean it. I didn’t ask to come here, I don’t need your pity, now sod off.”
“I’ll leave the plate.” Willow walked up the stairs, meeting Dawn at the top.
“How is he?” the young girl asked.
“About the same. Bitter, hurting. Heartbreaking.” The witch put her hand on Dawn’s shoulder. “I don’t know if he can take another week like this.”
“I’ll talk to him,” Dawn said.
“I don’t think talking will help.” She planted a kiss on the teen’s forehead. “I think he has to work this out for himself.”
“And if he doesn’t?” Dawn looked down the staircase, drawn to her friend but not wanting to make a mistake.
“I honestly don’t know,” Willow shrugged.
Buffy and Xander stood beside the couch. “And I thought the crypt was bloody Grand Central,” Spike complained.
Buffy carried a stack of library books in her arms. “These are all about physical therapy, and spinal chord injuries, and back exercises. I don’t know which ones will help, so I took them all out. We can read them. Xander will help you with the exercises.”
“Yeah, buddy,” Xander said. “Whatever you need.”
“Oh great.” Spike took one of the books from Buffy’s hand and threw it across the room. “Look, you aren’t doctors, either of you. You could make things worse. Besides, I can take Red’s pity. I’m not going to take Harris’.”
“It’s not pity,” Xander replied, anger heating his voice. “I just want your sorry ass off Buffy’s couch. You aren’t doing anything to move. I don’t know why she’s putting up with it.”
“Go, Xander,” Buffy said. “We’ll talk later.”
He grabbed his jacket from the chair and stormed out the door. “Just trying to help the guy out. I give up.”
Buffy sat the books on the table. She calmly picked the thrown copy from the floor and put it on top of the stack. “Why won’t you let us help?”
He caught hold of her hand. “Take me home.”
“No.”
“Then put up with me.” He let go of her. “I hate this.”
“I know.” She knelt beside him and draped her body across his chest, wrapping her arms around him. “So do I.”
The house was dark and quiet. Willow, Dawn and Buffy were in their respective rooms, sound asleep. Spike would have turned on the TV, but he didn’t want to disturb them. God knew babysitting him wore them out. So he lay there, in the dark, listening to the sound of the crickets in the yard.
He saw a shadow creep through the window. Something dark, dangerous. Something that flowed through the narrow crack and grew larger as it stood in the living room, taking solid form. It was shaped like a man, black from head to foot. It passed the couch, and Spike grabbed it. “You. Stop. Now.”
The creature kept moving, pulling Spike from the couch as he held on. “Buffy!” Spike called. “There’s something in the house!” He held on and tried to twist his body so that it wedged between the couch and the table, keeping the creature from going forward. “I don’t know how long I can hold it. If I let go, it'll stop bein' solid.”
Buffy came running down the stairs in pajamas. She saw Spike struggling with the creature, and reached for a dagger from the bookshelf. Trying to avoid the vampire, she lunged at the thing with the knife. The blade plunged deep into the back of its neck, and the creature dissolved into the rug.
“Are you okay?” she asked Spike, as she lifted him back onto the couch.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Dawn called down the stairs.
“Nothing, Niblet,” Spike yelled back. “Just had a nightmare is all.”
“Oh, okay. See you tomorrow.” She headed back to her room.
“No sense worrying the Bit,” Spike said to Buffy.
“Do you know what that thing was?” she asked.
“Ninij. Hired killer. Probably by that Thessara whose brother did this to me. They have a revenge code. They don’t do it themselves, they pay for it. You killed one of his family, so he paid to take you out. At least, that’s my guess. It’s not like you don’t have other enemies.” He crossed his arms and closed his eyes. “I couldn’t stop it. I’m useless.”
“Are you kidding?” She knelt beside the couch and stared at him until he looked back into her eyes. “If you hadn’t been here, that thing would have gone upstairs and killed us in our sleep. If you hadn’t delayed it, I wouldn’t have found the knife, and it still could have got me. Don’t ever say you’re useless. It just isn’t true. We’re a team, you and I. I’m just realizing how much.”
“Go back to bed, Buffy. Get some sleep.”
She turned and started up the stairs. “What is it going to take to get through to you?”
The next night, the house was quiet as he lay in the dark. Buffy came down the stairs, wearing a flimsy negligee. She sat beside Spike, her hips beside his chest. “Willow’s on a date,” she said. “A girl she met in class. She’ll be out late. Dawn’s at Tara’s. We’re all alone.”
“Don’t do this to me Buffy,” he moaned. “I have nothing to give you.”
“But maybe I have something to give you.” She kissed him. “I’ve missed you. All the time you’ve been lying here in my own house, and I’ve missed you.” She slipped out of the negligee. “I’ve been thinking. Hear me out.”
“You’re being a bit distracting, love,” he replied.
“Shh,” she said, pressing her finger to his lips. “Before, when you were hurt, you weren’t living on pig blood, were you?”
“Not exactly, no,” he answered.
“There’s something else. Forgive me, but I’m mentioning his name. Angel was poisoned once. The only cure was the blood of a Slayer.” She pointed to the scar on her throat. “My blood. It must be powerful stuff.”
“I don’t think you know what you’re saying,” he gasped.
“Oh, I think I do.” She leaned her naked chest over his, and twisted her head to the side. “I’d do anything to help you. Please, please try it.”
“There aren’t any guarantees,” he said, his words slurring as his face changed.
“There never are.” She felt his fangs as they pierced the tender skin. She felt the blood leave her body. It made her light headed, for a moment, before stronger emotions took over. She felt a warm tingle all through her body, as her arousal grew. She’d been bitten before, by Angel, by Dracula, but it had never felt like this. For the first time, she realized just how deeply she loved him. He could devour her, and it wouldn’t matter, as long as he was healed.
She tasted like liquid fire. He had never done this before, fed from a human that he loved. He loved her completely, all the more that she would give him this gift. He tried to keep conscious of what he was doing, tried not to take too much, but it was a strain. He had tasted a Slayer before, but this was his Slayer. The blood was infused with power. With regret, he took one last swallow, then let his teeth recede.
Neither of them had the words. It didn’t matter. She crawled beside him on the couch, and they both drifted away, briefly.
When she opened her eyes, he was watching her. “How are you?” he asked.
“Wonderful,” she replied. “You?”
“I’m definitely getting some feeling back,” he said.
“Good.” She slipped her hand down his body. “Let me know when you’re ready.”
Spike stood in the middle of Buffy’s living room, surrounded by Scoobies. No one had ever thrown a “Glad you’re better,” party for him before.
“I don’t know what to say,” he said. “ I know I’ve been a right pain...”
“You?” interrupted Willow. “Never.”
“I just wanted to say,” he looked around the room, “Thank you, all of you.”
Buffy slipped her arm around his waist. “I want everyone to know something. It may come as a big surprise, but here goes. I’m in love with Spike.”
“Ah, the Buffster,” said Xander. “Always one for stating the obvious.”