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
12. Comfort
Spike
sat very still on the sofa beside the
girl, the one who made him feel safer than he had felt in as long as he
could remember, quietly waiting to find out what she and the others had
in store for him. All he could do at the moment was just to sit there,
clinging to her hand and pressed tight against her side – just trying
to process what had just happened.
It seemed impossible to him.
Oh, it was not so very surprising that he had managed to figure out
what she was trying to say to him. He might have lost his memory, might
have trouble understanding words and concepts that he could not
remember hearing before – but he was a very quick learner.
The first thing he had learned during his captivity was that he *had*
to be.
His captor had not been nearly as patient with him as these people were
being – so far.
If he failed to obey immediately – whether or not he understood the
command – his captor would beat him mercilessly, or refuse to feed him
that day, or inflict some other cruel form of torture on his body –
until he somehow managed to figure out what it was that was required of
him, and do it.
Yes – Spike had had very strong motivation to *become* a fast learner.
So, it did not surprise him that he had caught on quickly to what the
girl had been trying to ask him.
What *did* surprise him was her response to his meager success.
He had heard the words she had spoken to him, on a few rare occasions
before, when he had finally managed to obey his master's commands –
though they had usually been spoken with annoyance or disgust, however,
that he had not figured it out sooner.
To be told that he was "good", and in that gentle voice of pleasure and
approval – well, it was a completely new experience for him – and he
was not quite sure how to react to it just yet.
He kept getting the anxious, nagging feeling that at any moment, he was
going to do something to mess it all up – make some foolish mistake,
and cause them to take away this safety, this kindness that was so new
and strange to him.
Somehow, there was a certainty in his heart that the new one – the girl
who had held him and allowed him to cry in her arms – would not hurt
him. He felt safe with her, secure; it was one of those things, rare
though they were, that he simply *knew* automatically, though he had no
idea how he knew it.
Just like the knowledge of the power and authority that he sensed
coming from the other girl, the first to find him and take him away
from his prison.
She had been kind to him, thus far – and there was something, deep
inside him, that seemed to call out to her, craving her nearness...her
attention. Yet, a part of him knew, just as deeply and instinctually,
that she was dangerous – powerful, and deadly, should she find a reason
to punish him.
He desperately wanted to avoid giving her one – yet he was convinced in
is heart that sooner or later...he would.
He was bad.
His captor had made it very clear to him, many times.
No matter how hard he tried, how desperately he attempted to do
everything right, to be good and avoid his master's wrath – he had
always managed to do something wrong, to earn more violent punishment,
creating his own hell that he had lived in for as long as he could
remember.
But tonight – so far – he had managed to avoid the inevitable pain of
punishment, for longer than he ever had with his previous captor.
A faint light of hope began to break through in his heart, so small
that it barely dared to exist...
Maybe...just maybe...
*Good,* he thought desperately, hopefully. *I can be good...must be good...*
***********************************
"Okay – um – I know nobody wants to hear this right now," Buffy said
softly, her reluctance obvious in her apologetic expression. "It's not
going to be easy, either...but – we have to check – check the rest of his
body, for injuries. He was – having trouble walking on his own,
earlier. If it's anywhere near as bad as his back and his chest were,
we can't just leave it – no matter how badly we might want to."
Dawn and Anya were both quiet, sobered by her words. Dawn felt Spike
tense slightly beside her, probably in an instinctive response to the
tense air that had fallen over the room, and she instinctively
tightened her arm ever so slightly around him in a protective gesture.
She knew very well that her sister was right. Anyone sadistic enough to
have torn into the helpless vampire so viciously on the top half of his
body, certainly had not left his lower half untouched. But, after the
progress they seemed to have made – just then, when Spike seemed to be
beginning to feel a little safer with them – she hated to do anything
to make him frightened again, as he would certainly be when they tried
to take off the filthy, blood-stained jeans he now wore.
He had probably *been* wearing them for the past – however long he had
been imprisoned.
Yes – they had to come off. There was no way around it.
"Spike?" Dawn began cautiously, turning slightly to face him more
directly. "We need to – to take care of you, Spike – to make sure
you're not – hurt – well...and there's absolutely no good way to explain
this to him, is there?" she sighed, redirecting her attention to her
sister. "He's just not gonna get it..."
"No," Buffy agreed. "He's doesn't understand that much – not yet."
There was a moment's heavy silence, before Dawn asked in a small,
pleading whimper, "Do we *have* to, Buffy?" She looked between her
sister and her friend with troubled eyes, quickly filling with fresh
tears.
"Yes," Anya drew her attention with the simple statement. "We do. Look
at his legs, Dawnie – look at the – the blood on those jeans..."
Dawn looked down, sobered by the sight of the dark patches of dried
blood that had seeped through the jeans Spike wore – wondering with a
sick feeling in the pit of her stomach just what sort of wounds might
have caused them, and how long those stains had been there.
"He's going to need new ones," Anya continued matter-of-factly. "We
can't just put those back on him once you've treated his injuries...I'll
go to the store..."
The slight note of hurried discomfort in her voice told Buffy that she
was trying to avoid the uncomfortable situation of being there when
Spike was undressed – especially after the tense conversation she had
had with Buffy earlier that evening, just before she had left to get
the blood.
Buffy nodded, appreciative of the gesture, rising from the couch and
heading toward the coatrack by the door where her purse hung. "I'll get
some money..."
"Oh, don't worry about it," Anya dismissed the suggestion with a wave
of her hand, surprising both sisters, with her uncharacteristic
disregard for the expense, as she gently pushed Buffy back toward the
couch and headed toward the door.
Anya *never* disregarded an expense.
"I'll get a receipt," the vengeance demon added just before leaving –
and both the other girls visibly relaxed at the reassurance that all
was still normal as far as Anya was concerned.
"Thanks," Buffy called after her distractedly – already focused on the
unpleasant task at hand – one she desperately wished that she could
avoid. "Maybe -- *he* can do it? Take them off? Maybe he'd be – more
comfortable? Feel less – threatened?" she suggested awkwardly.
She really did not want her little sister to have to be a part of this
at all – but then, she knew that Dawn was the only one at the moment
that Spike seemed to trust; and if she attempted to send the girl away,
even if she *did* succeed, Spike would be too terrified to allow her to
help him.
Not that she had any notion that she *would* actually succeed in
sending Dawn away.
She knew full well that there was no way the girl would leave his side.
"Spike?" Dawn tried again, softly, her reluctance to do what she knew
they had to do clear in her voice. "Trust me – okay? We're not gonna
hurt you – okay, Spike?"
He just looked straight ahead, as usual, swallowing in a nervous
reflexive action, but making no attempt to respond to the words that he
clearly did not understand.
"Can you – can you take off your jeans, Spike?" Dawn asked, her
intensely apologetic voice barely over a whisper, tears streaking her
face with the words that she desperately wished she didn't have to say.
Spike's reaction did not make it any easier.
He began to tremble under her arm around him, drawing back away from
her against the couch, whimpering pitifully, shaking his head in a
pleading gesture – making it painfully clear that he understood the
words she had spoken...had probably received them as a command all too
many times.
"We're not gonna hurt you," Dawn repeated tearfully, reaching out a
gentle hand to touch his bandaged arm in what she hoped was a
reassuring way. "Please, Spike – we just wanna help..."
Buffy felt sick to her stomach, as the shaking, terrified vampire rose
from the couch, obedient despite his fear, and began to obey Dawn's
request. With trembling hands he unfastened the jeans, which hung
loosely on his skeletal frame, and allowed them to drop to the floor,
kicking them off and a couple of feet away from him.
And then – he dropped to his knees on the floor, between the couch and
the coffee table, his head bowed low, shaking uncontrollably as he
awaited what he had obviously assumed was to be more suffering.
Buffy knew that she should say something – do something, to reassure
him and calm his fears – but for a long moment, all she could do was
stare in horror at the battered mess that had been made of Spike's legs.
No wonder he had had trouble walking on his own.
His pitifully thin legs were black and blue, covered back and front
with red, angry welts and dark bruises, from his feet all the way to
his narrow, trembling hips. Some of the wounds were crusted with dried
blood – others that were less healed were oozing slightly, probably due
to the rather large amount of blood he had just ingested, after so long
on starvation rations.
It was quite obvious to Buffy that the part of Spike's body usually
covered by his jeans had born the brunt of most of the beatings he had
received -- and judging by the minimal damage to the jeans themselves,
and his response to Dawn's words, he had most likely been made to
remove them for most of those beatings.
And what was worse – his captor had clearly not restricted his brutal
blows to Spike's legs.
As the shock of the sight gradually wore off, Buffy became aware of a
soft sobbing sound that took her by surprise – until she looked to the
couch, and saw her little sister, crying quietly, shaking her head in a
desperate attempt to deny what she had seen, the heartless brutality
that had been done to her friend, when he was most helpless to defend
himself against it.
With a moment of sharp, almost painful clarity, Buffy realized that
this was too much for Dawn, as she had feared – and the job of calming
the terrified, trembling vampire on the floor was going to fall to her
this time.
Moving slowly toward him, crouching down on the floor in front of him
as she neared him, Buffy spoke in a soft, carefully calm voice with
just a slight quaver in it. "Spike – Sweetie – you don't have to do
that..."
As he sensed her coming closer to him, he flinched slightly, leaning
backward a bit in an unconscious desire for distance.
"It's okay," she reassured him, reaching out to gently take his hand.
"It's all right – I'm not gonna hurt you, Spike...come on...get up..."
She took his other hand as well, and cautiously rose to her feet,
pulling him gently with her. Obediently he rose from his subservient
position on the floor – and Buffy did not miss his wince of pain as he
straightened his battered knees, more severely bruised than the rest of
his legs, and sat down on the sofa as she directed him.
Buffy found her thoughts darkening again as she thought of what she
would like to do to the person who had forced him to spend enough time
on his knees on the cold stone of the cave where she had found him, to
have caused so much damage to them.
Spike was shaking violently beside her, obviously having no idea what
to expect from her, as she continued softly talking to him, reassuring
him with her tone, rather than her words, as she gently put her arms
around him, running her hand cautiously up and down his bandaged back
in a soothing gesture. He flinched slightly at first – but then went
still under her tentative embrace, though his back was still rigid with
fear.
"Shhh," she whispered as she felt his shaking start to subside a bit at
last. "That's it...it's okay, Spike...it's all right...not gonna hurt you..."
Buffy felt tears streaming down her face, falling onto his shoulder, as
she held him, whispering near his ear, "I know you're scared – I know
you have to be so confused right now – and you have no reason to trust
me at all – but I promise you, Spike, I'm *never* gonna hurt you
again...please...please let me help you, Spike..."
She felt him jump slightly, as if startled, and she reluctantly
released her hold on him, allowing him to pull back away from her
slowly. She frowned, puzzled by his intent gaze, focused forward and
downward, seeing nothing, as he raised a hand to his shoulder, bringing
his fingertips away wet with her tears.
When he cautiously reached out a hand in the general direction of her
face – Buffy understood. A hard lump forming in her throat, as her eyes
welled with new tears, she gently took his hand and guided it to her
dampened cheek, pressing it gently against her warm skin.
And then – it happened.
The vampire before her, crushed to the point that he bore little
resemblance to the one she had known, tilted his head to the side in a
speculative way, those piercing blue eyes filled with concern, seeming
to see right through her, though she knew he could see nothing at all –
not with them. And in that moment, for just the briefest instant, she
could see a little spark – just the slightest flicker – of the old
Spike, the one she had known, in his expression.
It was enough to draw out the sob she had been holding back, wrenching
it from her throat as she bowed her head, crying softly as the vampire
instinctively ran his hand down her cheek in a comforting gesture –
just as he had done in the cave, when he had realized that she was
hurting.
*My Spike,* she thought tenderly, a wave of regret rolling over her.
*Always thinking of me – no matter how bad you're hurting...oh, my Spike...*
Gently, she wrapped her arms around him again, pulling him to her – and
he tensed for a moment...but then relaxed within her embrace, lowering
his head to her shoulder. And after a moment, Buffy felt a cool
moisture soaking through the shoulder of her blouse, felt the heaving
of his shoulders as he allowed his own tears to flow again.
She just held onto him, crying, and allowing him to cry, for what felt
like moments – but she knew that it was actually longer. When his tears
seemed to ebb, Buffy cautiously raised her head, still holding him
close to her, to look at her sister, speaking softly as she did.
"Dawnie – this is too much for you, it's okay, Sweetie – I think I've
got..."
Her voice trailed off as she looked up, to see that the couch was empty
except for herself and Spike – her little sister had already fled the
scene.
She hesitated just a moment, concern for Dawn warring with her need to
care for Spike – and then decided.
A bit of time alone might be just what Dawn needed at the moment.
And as for Spike – what *he* needed at the moment – was her.