Chapter11 – Little Girl Lost
Buffy helped Spike onto the thin mattress covering the sarcophagus. She pulled his boots and coat off and dragged a blanket over him. He groaned and rolled away from her.
Satisfied he was sleeping, Buffy looked around his crypt. She wandered into the "kitchen" area. The refrigerator was bare except for beer and blood. He'd need the blood later, she thought as she closed the door. She looked around for some water or something to wash some of the pink slime from the Giant Bubble Gum Demon off her legs and arms. Who knew what that stuff could do to her skin if left on too long. But she didn't see anything. Spike always smelled clean. He must have water somewhere.
She remembered the cement slab on the floor in the back of the crypt. Below it was the entrance to the sewers. Last time she went down there she was so focused on the possible spell she and Spike were under to really notice her surroundings. Maybe he had some kind of bathroom? Or at least a sink.
She slid the slab to the side and climbed down the ladder to the space below. A lit torch rested in a holder on the wall. Buffy pulled it out and began to explore.
The cobwebs were thick down here, as was the musty air. But, sure enough, around the corner was a pipe with a spigot. She was too anxious to get the goo off to think about the legality of Spike having running water—or electricity upstairs, as a matter of fact. She set the torch in another wall holder and turned the water on, splashing her arms and legs with it. She noticed a bar of soap to her left and used it to rub the last of the pink stuff off. Then she closed the spigot and looked for something to dry herself with. Folded neatly in a corner were several white towels. Probably taken from various Sunnydale motels, she thought. But she grabbed one anyway and briskly rubbed her skin.
She hung the towel over the pipe and picked up the torch. As she turned, the flame flashed on something on the wall. Buffy walked closer, holding the torch high. Her eyes widened as she saw several pictures of herself tacked up there—pictures of her with her friends, of her laughing, of her patrolling, of her at the Bronze... Where did he get these? She stomped to the ladder, determined to wake Spike to find out.
When she reached the top, she first noticed the crypt door standing open. That was quickly followed by the sight of Riley standing over Spike, a stake in his raised hand.
"Riley! Stop!" she yelled.
Riley glanced at her as Spike rolled over onto his back, making himself the perfect target. Buffy moved as fast as she could, but before she could reach them, Riley plunged the stake directly into Spike's heart. Buffy froze, waiting. But Spike didn't go poof. Instead, he sat up and screamed.
Buffy rushed over to him and pulled the stake out. "What the hell is this?" she asked Riley.
"Wood-grained plastic," he said. "I had to know what you'd do, Buffy. I had to know if what I'd been seeing lately was true or not."
Spike panted and pressed the blanket to his bleeding chest. "Bloody hell, you stupid sod. Took ten years off my unlife ." He peeled his shirt off to better examine the wound.
"You okay?" Buffy asked him.
"Hurts like hell, but yeah."
Buffy turned back to Riley. "What were you thinking?"
"I was thinking that you'd get you mind back if I got rid of this—thing. He's clouded your judgment somehow. He's got you under some kind of spell."
Buffy glanced at Spike. He was looking at her as well. "No," Buffy said softly. "There's no spell."
"Then—then what are you thinking, Buffy?" Riley asked. His voice was strained. "I saw you dancing together at the Bronze. As much as I want to pretend it couldn't have possibly happened, I also know what you did in your dorm room. Not completely stupid, you know."
"I beg to differ," Spike said.
"Shut up," Buffy and Riley told him.
"Just saying," Spike said. He slid off the sarcophagus and went to a chest on the other side of the room.
"Riley, I'm sorry. I never wanted you to find out this way."
"Or at all," Riley said. "Did you love me even a little?"
"This is so not about love."
"Hey now!" Spike said. He straightened, holding a first aid kit. "Speak for yourself."
"You have no idea what love is," Riley sneered at him. "How could you when absolutely everything you do is for your own gain?"
"Well, that's not entirely true," Buffy said. "Spike's been helping lately."
"You're defending him?" Riley asked.
"Damn right she is," Spike said. He handed a square of gauze and a roll of tape to Buffy. Almost automatically, she placed the gauze against his wound and put his hand over it to hold it in place. She then tore off four strips of the tape and secured the bandage with them. She handed the roll back to Spike and turned to see Riley staring at her with his mouth opened slightly.
"Riley," she said, "what I've done with Spike is wrong—on so many levels. I know this. I know I hurt you. I don't expect you to forgive me or to continue our relationship, but for what it's worth, it won't happen again."
She felt Spike get very still behind her. Riley simply narrowed his eyes at her.
"I wish I could believe you," Riley said. "But I'm a little low on 'trust Buffy' blindness right now."
A flash of self-disgust went through Buffy. "I understand."
"I need to go," Riley said. He glared at Spike once more and then left through the open crypt door. The slam of it behind him echoed throughout the room.
"So that's it then, Slayer?" Spike asked. "Then off with you now. Got things to do. Evil, self-serving things."
She turned to him. "Spike, you don't have a soul."
"Really?" Spike said. "Not like you haven't reminded me of that at every turn. So I'm good enough for you while we're shagging, but when faced with the prospect of actually having a relationship with me, your moral code kicks back in?"
"I'm sorry. I never should have..."
"No. You bloody well shouldn't have. But who cares, right? What I feel can't possibly be real. Fuck you, Slayer. Go find your soldier boy and beg him to take you back. Because I'm done."
"I didn't mean to hurt you either, Spike."
"Get. Out."
Buffy left.