22. The Morning After
Buffy's right arm was asleep.
That was the first thing she thought upon waking. That -- and that her
back and neck hurt. In fact, she ached all over. She had not expected
the floor to be *this* uncomfortable. Suddenly her eyes opened wide
with surprise. Why was she on the floor, anyway? She pushed her blanket
back with her free hand and leaned up a little, glancing around, a bit
disoriented. Suddenly she remembered the events that had brought her
here, and at the same time became aware of the cause of the numb,
tingling sensation in her arm.
At some point during the night, her hand had slipped from Spike's to
rest more comfortably at her side. She realized with an awkward sense
of guilt that the position she had made him sleep in, with his hands
over his head, was quite uncomfortable -- and Spike did not have the
option of shifting his position, as she had done.
He had however, at some point, nestled closer to her in his sleep,
drawn instinctively to the warmth and softness of her body -- a great
deal of his weight now resting on her arm.
She glanced at the clock quickly. It was a little after seven. Everyone
would be waking up soon, as Willow and Xander both had daytime jobs --
as did everyone in Sunnydale, since the nights had been stolen from
them.
She wondered anxiously if the vampire, oblivious now to the fact that
he was resting literally in the Slayer's arms, had awakened at any
point during the night, to find her on the floor with him. At the time,
it had seemed like the right thing to do, the only thing to do under
the circumstances -- to provide the physical comfort that Spike needed
in the midst of his haunting nightmares.
Now, she just wanted to get up and away from him before he woke up and
realized what she had done.
She felt her face flush with embarrassment at the softness that she,
the *Slayer*, had shown toward the soulless vampire, and it was
suddenly very important to her that he never know about it. Come to
think of it, she did not think that *he* would be too pleased, either,
to realize that he had needed such comfort -- and that he had accepted
it from *her*.
She gazed down for a moment at the sleeping form of the master vampire.
His platinum hair fairly glowed in the faint light that filtered in
through the drawn curtains, and his face was
peaceful...almost...innocent...in sleep.
*Innocent. Hah.*
She needed to get up. Now.
She tried again, slowly and cautiously, to pull her arm out from under
Spike's body while somehow managing not to wake him. If she could just
make it back to her bed – or at least a few feet away from him – before
he awakened, then he would never have to know anything about this.
Spike, like any creature accustomed to being constantly in peril for
his very life, was a very light sleeper.
At her movement he instantly awakened, momentarily forgetting where he
was and the fact that he was bound, and jerking against the chains at
his wrists, as he instinctively tried to pull as far away from the
unexpected presence at his side as he could, panicked and disoriented.
"Spike!" she said urgently, trying to calm him, reaching for his
shoulders to still him long enough to allow him to actually see her.
"Stop it, Spike! Spike, it's just me!"
The sound of her voice seemed to snap him out of the remnants of
whatever dream terror had followed him into the edges of wakefulness,
and he finally stopped fighting her, looking up at her with eyes wide
with fear and confusion as they settled on her face. As recognition
began to dawn in his gaze, Buffy found herself startled by the intense
blue of his eyes, that she had never noticed before.
*He's actually kind of...* she began to admit in her mind, and then
suddenly stopped herself abruptly, her eyes widening at the realization
of the words that had almost formed in her mind. *No! Evil, soulless
vampires are *not* cute -- not hot -- not breathtakingly gorgeous, and
-- *No!* Stop it, Buffy! Bad!* she ordered herself again sternly,
trying to focus on the situation at hand, and not the mesmerizing gaze
of the vampire staring into her eyes.
The fear and confusion had faded from Spike's eyes, as the cloud of
sleep left him, and he remembered the events of the night before that
had led him to this place.
*Right...the Slayer's house...bloody bint couldn't go to sleep in peace
without chaining me up,* he remembered with brief annoyance at the
recollection of their argument the night before. She'd left him chained
up on the floor without a second thought and gone to sleep in her nice,
warm bed...
He frowned as a question occurred to him. So why was she...?
His eyes narrowed in suspicion as he continued to hold her gaze,
studying her intently. The Slayer was on her hands and knees on the
floor, hovering anxiously over him, trying to be sure that he was done
with his little freak-out. Her hair was disheveled from sleep... and
her bedspread was on the floor beside her.
If he didn't know better, he would have thought that she had...
"What the bleedin' hell are you doing, Slayer?" he demanded, his eyes
wary, his eyebrows raised as he waited expectantly for her response.
*This had better be bloody good!*
"I -- you..." Buffy stammered, a strangely guilty expression coming
over her face, her emerald eyes wide and trapped as she obviously
struggled to come up with a suitable answer. "You -- were having a
nightmare," she admitted finally. "You woke me up with all your yelling
and moaning and stuff. I was trying to wake you up." There was a
certain about of resentment and derision in her tone; after all, she
couldn't allow him to think that she actually *cared*.
She told him most of the truth; she only left out the part where she
had failed to wake him and instead just cuddled him through the
nightmare, ending up spending the entire night at his side. She also
left out the fact that her attempt to wake him had been hours earlier,
and in no way accounted for her presence on the floor *now*.
The image that her words painted in his head was a most embarrassing
one; the memory of his vivid nightmare flashed across his mind, and he
cringed inwardly. He hated the idea of appearing that vulnerable in
front of this Slayer.
"I was not!" he argued defensively. "Yelling and moaning and such.
You're bloody making that up, Slayer!"
"No I'm not!" Buffy was indignant. He just had to challenge the part of
her story that was actually *true*! "You were too!"
"Was not!"
"Were too!"
"What I wanna know," Spike demanded suddenly, seeing the futility of
that path of discussion, "is why you're down here practically on top of
me while I'm sleeping and chained up and helpless! Got an explanation
for that, Slayer?"
"Oh...please!" Buffy scoffed, but her voice was trembling and sputtering
and a little too defensive. "Like I'm going to be sneaking around, just
looking for my chance to...to *violate* you in your sleep!" she sneered.
"Get over yourself, Spike!"
Spike's eyebrows raised pointedly, and his slightly surprised
expression made her heart sink. "I was thinking more along the lines of
your staking me in my sleep, love," he informed her, his mocking tone
making her flush red with embarrassment. He gave a little half shrug,
as if considering her words as he went on, "But...since that's where
*your* mind seems to be focused...you *are* the one who insisted on
chaining me to your bed!"
"I did not chain you to my *bed*!" Buffy hissed, her voice a loud
whisper lest anyone who was already awake and getting ready for the day
in the next rooms might happen by in the hallway and hear this utterly
humiliating conversation.
Spike laughed in disbelief, making no effort whatsoever to be quiet
about it, and nodded toward his wrists, still fastened firmly above his
head to the bedpost. "Looks to me like you did, pet." He shrugged
casually. "Might have slipped your mind while you were trying to decide
how best to make use of me!" he went on with a smug grin, his tongue
flickering out in a suggestive gesture that made her heartbeat quicken.
With anger! she told herself indignantly, trying to build up a good
sense of outrage at his suggestion. Nothing else! Her racing heart and
the little flutter low in her stomach had absolutely nothing to do with
that little gesture of his...or the thought of "making use" of Spike...
No! It was just sheer, furious anger at the thought that he would have
the *nerve* to think that *she* would *ever* want to....
Oh, God. She didn't...did she?
"You're a pig, Spike," she snapped angrily, unable to disguise the
little tremble in her voice, as she stood up and moved away from him.
Suddenly she was beginning to think that it was a very bad idea to
continue to be down on the floor with him. "You are so disgusting!"
"Yeah," he sneered. "I'm so repulsive that the very thought of me is
making you hot right now!" There was a smug triumph in his voice, a
surety in his piercing eyes that seemed to look straight through her,
and sent a pleasant little shudder all through her body and....
And suddenly, she remembered what she had learned about vampires'
senses, how acute was their hearing, vision...their sense of smell...
*Ugh,* was her first thought.
Followed immediately by *Oh, God.*
As she saw the slow, knowing smirk spread across his face as he gave
her an innocently questioning look, she was glad for the dim lighting
which might serve to mask her hot flush of mortification at the fact
that he *knew* beyond all doubt that he was right.
"Get over yourself, Spike," she repeated, aware that she had already
said that, making it a weak response at best. But considering that she
had barely been able to manage a response at all, she did not think she
was doing all that bad.
Then she recovered enough to add, her tone a little bolder, putting on
a smirk of her own, "The only thing about you that gets me hot is the
thought of finally staking you, and making my life a whole lot simpler."
But her words lacked the impact of an actual threat, and they both knew
that she would not actually do it...not at this point in the game...not
unless she had to.
She strode purposefully toward the door, glancing at her clock again.
"Seven thirty," she announced. "Time to go make sure the rest of the
house is up so they can all yell at me at once for letting you
live...and then try to convince them not to stake you themselves," she
told him with a tight, grim smile.
She was not looking forward to this conversation.
Spike's eyes suddenly widened at her words, in very real fear, the smug
smile vanishing in an instant. "Wait just a second, Slayer! Let me out
of these chains first!" he demanded, his voice rising a little with
urgency.
"Why should I?" she asked him, her eyes sparkling with malicious mirth.
It felt good to have at least a *little* power, after the way he had
relished making *her* squirm for the past half-hour. Her eyes narrowed
and her smile turned slightly suggestive as she added, "Maybe I like
you there."
Two could play his little game.
"And what if one of your little friends decides to get stake happy
before you can explain everything?" he asked her, and he was clearly
not playing at the moment. He was genuinely afraid. "I ought to be able
to defend myself!"
Buffy raised her eyebrows in mild disbelief and let out a soft snort of
laughter. "Yeah," she said sarcastically. "I'm gonna let the vampire
free so that if one of my little *human* friends comes at him with a
stake, he can rip their arms off in *self-defense!*"
Spike could understand that she saw him as a much bigger threat than
her friends, and did not have any intention of giving him the
opportunity to hurt them, but he could just picture the little witch
rushing into the room in a fury and staking him before Buffy could stop
her.
It was not a pleasant picture.
"Buffy..." he insisted, his voice softer, almost pleading, "They hate
me."
"They deserve to," she countered, her voice colder than it had been
during the whole conversation, as she met his eyes, daring him to
contradict her.
He did not.
Buffy stood there for a moment, considering. She honestly thought that
her friends would better accept Spike's presence, at least at first, if
they felt like he was rendered completely harmless and absolutely could
not hurt them. In fact, part of her reasoning for not taking the chains
off yet was for *his* safety. Yet, in spite of herself, she could
understand his fear.
She had not forgotten the look on Willow's face that night, either.
"I won't let them stake you, Spike," she told him softly, firmly. "I
promise."
He paused, searching her eyes intently for a moment before looking away
in resignation and replying flatly, "And I'm just supposed to trust
you. With my life."
Her eyes met his again in a question, and she commented quietly, "I
thought you were *already* doing that."
And with those words, she left the room to go find her friends.