A/N: This story picks
up right after Entropy,
so obviously the Spike/Buffy part of Seeing Red did not take place for
the purposes of this story...but otherwise, just assume that everything
else from the end of Season Six happened just as in canon, with the
exception of Spike going to get his soul...Hopefully I'll fill in some
gaps and feel free to ask about it if something doesn't make
sense...and
if it's not a part of the mystery I'll do my best to *make* it make
sense! J
10. Not Alone
Spike
just lay there, his trembling hand
clinging to the soft, small one of the girl kneeling beside the couch,
not understanding why he felt the way he did, why he wanted so badly to
keep her close to him – only knowing that somehow, her nearness gave
him a sense of safety, and warmth, and a sweet relief that he had not
known – well, *ever*, as far as he was concerned...as far as he could
remember.
He could not explain, or even begin to put words to the emotions that
had washed over him at the simple sound of her voice – only knew that
before she had entered the room, he had been terrified, aware of
nothing but his own helplessness in the hands of the powerful woman who
had brought him to this place, and not quite sure yet whether she
intended to hurt him or to help him.
And now – he did not know how it was possible – but he felt a sense of
security, of trust – as if somewhere deep inside of him, he knew beyond
all doubt that this voice could be trusted...this person would not harm
him, or allow him to be harmed, if she could help it.
There was a tenderness, a sincerity in her voice, and although he could
not understand the words she spoke – for kind words had not been spoken
to him at all before this night, that he could remember, anyway – he
understood the emotions she was trying to express to him, and knew
without question that she meant him no harm.
When he felt the warm, silken touch of her hand against his face, he
froze completely, a sudden, instantaneous rush of terror washing over
him – because no one had touched him in so long, without the intent to
cause him pain – but then relaxed, as the touch proved to be a gentle
caress, reassuring and tender and speaking volumes more than her
meaningless words.
And in that moment – something within the wounded, devastated creature
that he had become, shattered under the incredible power of that soft
touch. Spike had not cried in weeks – maybe months – as the last time
he had, his tears had been met with threats and violence. He had
thought that there was nothing left in him to break – that he was
completely destroyed by what had been done to him already.
But with that soft touch to his battered face, clearly seeking to heal
the harm that had been done to him – something inside him *did*
break...yielding release to the emotions that had been building up inside
him for so long.
Somehow, he knew that there would be no punishment for his tears – not
this time – not from *her*...yet he still tried to fight them back, so
deeply ingrained in him was the knowledge that he did not deserve the
luxury of tears – he deserved whatever suffering was handed to him, and
therefore hadn't the right to cry about the horrors he had been through.
Though he tried his hardest to hold it back, he was not accustomed to
fighting against the tenderness and compassion that he was being shown
in that moment – and despite his best efforts, a single tear slipped
down his cheek, sliding down his face to strike the warm hand that
rested there.
Spike drew in a sharp, unneeded breath – his unbeating heart suddenly
seized in the grip of icy terror.
He had disobeyed.
Broken the rules.
He would surely be punished...
But – he wasn't.
The gentle hand against his cheek shifted slightly, and he flinched out
of habit, expecting to be struck for his infraction – but the girl's
thumb moved gently across his cheek, wiping the single tear away, as
she leaned down over him, whispering tenderly, words that he could not
understand.
But the meaning came through loud and clear.
He was safe.
She was not going to hurt him.
A powerful wave of gratitude and relief came over him, for somehow he
knew that this was not like the cruel games his captor had played with
him, leading him to believe that he would be shown mercy, only to
punish him more viciously than before. He could sense the sincerity,
the genuine compassion, in this girl, and knew that when she promised
not to hurt him...
...she *really* wouldn't hurt him.
And with that powerful realization – the floodgates of Spike's battered
emotions fell open under the onslaught of his pain and fear, and tears
streamed down his face, as ragged, breathless sobs tore from his throat.
********************************
Dawn's eyes widened, stunned, when the vampire broke down completely,
tears flooding from his eyes to soak her hand, and the couch beneath
him – and the desperate, broken sound of his sobs tore at her heart,
causing her own tears to come faster, blurring her vision as she leaned
down over him without hesitation, wrapping her arms around him and
holding him close to her, heedless of his injuries, or the blood that
stained her white pajamas.
She knew that in that moment, no slight physical pain caused by her
actions could be greater than the agony he had already been through,
and he needed the embrace she offered him more than he needed his
wounds to be treated – more than he needed the blood that his body was
starving for.
She was vaguely aware as his shaking hands rose tentatively from the
sofa, reaching toward her as if to pull her closer to him – but then
hesitated, pulling back...not quite daring.
"It's okay," she whispered in his ear, reassuring him. "It's okay,
Spike, you can touch me...it's okay...I'm not gonna hurt you..."
The reassuring tone of her words seemed to encourage him, and he
reached his hands up again – only daring so much as to clutch weakly at
the sides of her pajamas, holding her to him, in a desperate attempt to
hold onto the comfort of her nearness.
Dawn had no intention of going anywhere.
As he hand came gently to rest at the back of his neck, holding him
close to her, he flinched slightly, momentarily unnerved by the
nearness of her hand to his injured head – and Dawn stilled her hand,
remembering what Buffy had said about what had been done to him.
She resisted the impulse to pull back and look at the wound, to see for
herself how bad it was – knowing that exactly what she was doing at
that moment was so much more important.
"Shhh," she whispered. "It's okay...I won't touch it...won't hurt you,
Spike...trust me..."
The tension slowly seeped out of him with her gentle words, and after a
moment, he tilted his head forward slightly, resting his forehead
against her shoulder, burying his sobs in her shirt, by now nearly
soaked through in spots with his tears. When his tears slowly began to
ebb, Dawn cautiously attempted to pull back from him – and he clutched
tightly at her clothes, a soft, pleading cry expressing his desperation
to keep her there.
"I'm not leaving," she promised him softly, as she reached down to take
his hands and he reluctantly allowed her to gently disentangle them
from her clothes. "I'm gonna stay right here, Spike...we're gonna help
you...make you better, okay? Okay, Spike? I'm gonna stay right here."
She did not know if he understood any of what she had said, but he did
seem to relax a bit, releasing his death grip on her pajamas, and
allowing her to move away from him enough to turn and face her sister,
though she held his hands firmly in her own, reinforcing her promise
not to leave his side.
Buffy's breath was nearly taken away by the stunning look of strength
and determination in the brilliant shining eyes of the woman-child
kneeling there by the sofa – her long hair disheveled and dampened with
tears and blood, her innocent child-like pajamas stained with blood –
the evidence of her reckless compassion.
"Go get the stuff from upstairs," Dawn said softly – and for some
reason, in that moment, Buffy thought nothing of accepting the order
from her little sister. "I think he'll be okay for us to clean him up
now."
Buffy hurried up the stairs, her mind racing with what she had just
seen over the past few minutes – amazed and awed at the way the vampire
had reacted to her sister, wondering how Dawn could manage to have such
success in getting through to him, when her every attempt had failed.
*You never were that good at fixing things, Buffy,* she reminded
herself harshly, wiping roughly at her tears as she reached the
bathroom and crouched down to pick up the abandoned first aid supplies.
*Especially broken *people*. No – you're much better at breaking them
in the first place. Hurting – destroying – killing – it's what you do,
isn't it? You're the Slayer – you're an expert at it...*
She shook her head in disgust at herself, as she started back down the
stairs, bandages and ointments and antiseptic wipes in tow.
*No wonder he doesn't trust you – even if he *could* remember you – why
in the world would he trust you?*
By the time she reached the living room, Dawn had taken enough charge
of the situation to get the blonde vampire sitting up on the couch, and
was looking over his injuries with a pensive frown.
"His back's much worse," she informed Buffy softly without looking at
her.
"It was – against the wall," Buffy replied flatly, beginning to feel
that numb sense of exhaustion that inevitably follows a good cry –
except she didn't really feel as if she'd had a good cry, not yet.
She felt like she still had plenty of tears left to go.
"Why did you have him lying on it? That had to hurt, Buffy...why didn't
you do that first?"
Buffy frowned, feeling guilty and foolish for her thoughtlessness. "I
just thought we ought to – make sure he's not hurt worse – somewhere
else...before..."
Dawn's eyes widened in troubled understanding, and welled with fresh
tears as she raised them once again to her friend's anxious, uncertain
face. "Oh," she said weakly. "I hadn't...thought of that..."
"But – but you're right," Buffy went on, trying hard to sound stronger,
to relieve some of the burden Dawn had taken on herself from her little
sister's shoulders. "We should do his back and chest first – and then
once that's all taken care of and bandaged, take care of – the rest..."
Dawn nodded, sitting down beside her friend on the sofa and putting her
arm gently around his shoulders in a steadying touch – for which he
seemed very grateful, leaning unconsciously into her arm, his face
turned slightly toward her, seeking contact.
"And by the time we get through with that – he should understand by
then that when we – do the rest -- we're not gonna do – whatever –
whoever did this, did to him...you know?" Dawn pointed out, her young
voice trembling slightly over her cautious words.
Buffy's eyes shot up from the supplies she was laying out on the coffee
table, giving her sister a piercing glance, studying her expression –
and coming to the conclusion that despite her caution, her attempts to
shield Dawn from the worst of her suspicions, the bright young girl had
figured it out for herself.
She wanted to say something to soothe Dawn's fears – the fears she also
shared – but knew that if they were proved unfortunately right, it
would be of no service to the girl to have given her a false sense of
relief beforehand; and if their fears were proven wrong – well, then it
wouldn't matter anymore, anyway.
"Let's hope it's not that bad," she said softly.
Opening the package of antiseptic wipes, Buffy moved carefully over to
sit down on the sofa, on Spike's other side – feeling an unreasonable
sense of irritation, which she promptly squashed, when Spike tensed up
as he sensed her approach, leaning in closer to Dawn.
*That's not fair, Buffy,* she told herself sternly. *It's not his fault
that Dawn's actually given him a *reason* to trust her – and you never
have.*
Quickly seeing the problem, Dawn gently tightened her arm around him
for just an instant, speaking softly, soothingly to him. "It's
okay...she's not gonna hurt you, Spike...we're gonna help you...okay? I'm
right here...it's okay...she just wants to make you better – okay?"
His expression remained uncertain, apprehensive – but he nodded in
response to her words...though neither girl was sure whether he really
understood, or was just trying to give Dawn the response he thought was
expected.
Dawn gently pushed him slightly forward, giving Buffy better access to
his torn and bleeding back – and the Slayer, proceeded, as gently as
possible, to clean the dried blood and grime from the countless wounds
that marred his once flawless skin. The injured vampire winced at the
sting of the antiseptic, but did not complain or try to pull away – and
Dawn hoped that he genuinely understood that it was for his good, and
was not simply accepting what he believed to be more abuse.
It took a long time, but between the two of them, Dawn and Buffy
eventually managed to get every last mark on his back and chest
cleaned, treated, and bandaged. Buffy found herself sickened at the
extent of his injuries – bruises, cuts, various burns, and marks that
were clearly whip lashes, layered over his body as evidence of many
torturous sessions of suffering and pain – for the sadistic pleasure of
whatever human monster had done this to him.
A cautious, gentle probing of his torso resulted in an agonized –
though muffled – cry of pain from the vampire, who clung tighter to
Dawn, as she tried desperately to reassure him, tears streaming down
her face. Thus they discovered that he had at least a couple of broken
ribs as well, and Buffy carefully set about wrapping them, as tight as
she comfortably could.
As Buffy carefully taped the last of the bandages across his stomach,
she let out a weary sigh. "Let's take a little rest...and then we'll see
to the rest."
Dawn nodded her acceptance as she cradled the softly weeping vampire's
head against her neck, aware that her sister was more concerned with
Spike's ability to take any more right then than she was with her own.
It was for his sake that Buffy wanted to take a break.
Buffy fell back slightly on her knees, resting her head on the coffee
table beside her, and Dawn just sat there, comforting her friend.
Neither one said a word for a long time, aside from Dawn's softly
murmured shushing sounds, directed at Spike.
Finally, the younger sister asked softly, "Buffy – did you really think
you were going to be able to do all this on your own?"
Buffy did not look up at her for a long moment, thinking of Anya, who
had really been gone for quite a long time, remembering with regret the
way she had spoken to her just before she left.
*It's not her fault – none of it,* she admitted wearily to herself.
*She's just trying to help – and you bit her head off. Wouldn't blame
her if she doesn't come back at all...*
At precisely that moment, she heard the quiet click of the front door
opening, and turned quickly to see who it was, cursing her own
thoughtlessness in leaving it unlocked. Fortunately, it was just Anya,
who had chosen not to knock to announce her prescence, for the sake of
the rather jumpy vampire that she knew was in the room.
Buffy threw her a tired, grateful smile – which the vengeance demon
graciously returned, as she set the paper bags full of plastic bags
full of blood down on the coffee table. The Slayer turned to her little
sister, who was looking up at Anya in surprise, as she finally answered
her question quietly.
"No. I didn't."