All About Spike - Believe by Rocky

Believe
By Rocky

This part contains spoilers for The Killer in Me

Part 10

My door swung open, and I sat up straight in bed.

It was Spike. He stood tall in the opening, blinding light stretching his shadows

to the foot of my bed. Something’s wrong. Unless something isn’t wrong. Except, wait… Spike… in my bedroom… in the middle of the night… is wrong.

“Spike?” I gulped as my eyes adjusted. “What’s going on?”

He slipped quietly into the room then, shutting the door behind him. The room fell dark as he drifted to my bedside. I watched him move slowly... his dark eyes avoided mine; never leaving the sheets I was clutching… the outline of my body under them.

“Spike?”

I blinked, and then he was on top of me. The sheets were gone, along with our clothes, and he pressed his hard, cold body against me.

I tried to push him off, but watched my arms wrap around his shoulders instead. I went to scream his name, but my voice never came. I felt my nails scratch hard into the skin on his back as he slammed into me, and I cried out in disbelief that he could still feel that good. Then he lifted himself away, his yellow eyes glaring down at me, blood painted on his sneering lips.

Oh, God! What did he…

My hand lifted to my neck, where I felt the hot blood trickling down onto my fingertip. I gasped, closing my eyes. When I opened them, he was gone.

I flipped him off the bed. “Get up!”

He landed hard on his back, a surprised grunt came as he hit.

I pulled him to his feet. “I said get up! You think you can do that to me?”

He rubbed his eyes, opening them up into mine, “Buffy… what is it? What’s the matter?”

I shoved him against the wall, “What’s the matter?” I pulled out the stake.

His eyes popped open. “Buffy! What are you—”

No talking, Spike! I pushed the stake to his chest. That shut him up. “It’s not gonna work… Soul or no soul… you’re dust.”

He sucked the air in, gazing up with those stupid, bruised eyes. Then he closed them, as if he had been waiting to hear that—waiting for this moment.

The anger burned through me, “You bite me and…”

His eyes shot open. He glanced from my neck to my eyes several times. His face switched from terrified to confused, and back to terrified again as he softly shook his head. Somehow he got hold of my empty hand and pulled it to my neck.

There was no blood. What? No blood? No blood. No wound. Nothing. I dropped the stake, and it clanked to the floor. No blood? What? I rubbed my neck. Oh God. What happened? It was a… Spike was…

His eyebrow rose, “It was just a dream, love.”

I closed my eyes tight. No. It wasn’t. It was real. It was too real. I felt him coming closer, and I backed away, not daring to look at him or touch him. But he still scooted forward, one arm reaching out towards me.

“God…” I finally looked him in the eyes as he slipped a hand over my shoulder, “Spike, I’m sorry.”

He pulled me closer, and held me there. “It’s alright, love. I know.”

“I just… I was so scared.” I let him hold me, but I fought back my tears. Don’t cry. Things get too crazy when I cry.

His mouth was against my hair. His head lifted slightly as he spoke, soft whispers brushing my hair, “I know.”

His body was warm when I backed away from him. He shivered, opening his eyes, fingers sliding off my back and to his sides. His gaze followed me up the stairs. He didn’t move, and he didn’t speak. Just watched me go. Let me go.

I woke up to reality that morning. Oh God. I tried to stake him. Weirdness. Again with the weirdness. He’s gonna be all rejecty again. Why did I do that? That dream. That stupid dream.

I sighed, tying the scarf around my not-bitten-by-Spike neck. I’ll go down and talk to him. Now. No, not now. After breakfast. What day is it today? Oh, right. Retreat day. Giles is taking the girls to the desert. Thank God.

I walked down the empty hall, passing the empty bathroom to go downstairs into the empty kitchen… and filled an empty mug with coffee. Then the frenzy surrounded me. I could hear Giles at the door, his timid voice begging orders. Xander rushed in and out of the house with bags. Dawn, Molly, and Amanda came into the kitchen.

“So, Buffy,” Molly asked as Dawn packed up various foods, “What’s the retreat like? Is it dangerous?”

I chuckled, “Only if you don’t like the hokey-pokey.”

“That’s what it’s all about!” Dawn turned with a pleased smile, and then shrugged. “That, and, you know, muddy-killer-First-Slayer-ghosts and stuff.”

The girls’ eyes widened with Dawn’s smile. She looked at me with her “See? Look what I did!” face. Then she waved a bag of marshmallows before tossing them into the supplies bag.

Then they cleared out, and I was left alone to stare at the basement door.

Oh no. Okay. I can do this. Just go down there and… and what? Tell him ‘Sorry’? ‘Sorry for trying to stake you… again…’? Oh no. I can’t do this. I have to do this. Go down there and see what he says. He deserves that… at least that. After they go. Yes, after everyone goes.

They were gone too soon.

I took a deep breath before opening the door and stepping down. Here we go.

I never should have gone into that basement. This never would have happened. I wouldn’t even know about Spike’s chip going all wonky… unless I had heard Spike scream, which I probably wouldn’t have. And I wouldn’t be in this stupid cave, and that top-secret military guy wouldn’t be trying to rush me into a decision like this. And did I just think ‘wonky’?

I crossed my arms. Just this morning, coming down into the basement to find Spike in chains. In chains because of last night. Definitely my fault. Locked himself up because I dreamt he bit me. Good going, Buffy. Real leadery, aren’t you? General Buffy’s army chaining themselves to walls…

My hands pressed into my head. Stop thinking about this morning. Now. Think about now, please. Military-guy wants to know what to do with Spike. Remove it or repair it. All decisions regarding Hostile 17 are mine to make.

What about Spike? God, doesn’t he get to make a decision? No, of course not. Spike’s fate is always in my hands. Always. I determine his existence. Everything that he is. When have I ever made the right choice regarding Spike?

My eyes fell on him then. He was resting on that cold metal stretcher… a gurney. That’s what it’s called. And the bright light shone over his face. His eyes were closed, and he looked patient. Well, he kinda is a patient... But, waiting. Just… calm and waiting… for me to decide.

I came closer then, trying to explain this to him without words.

Last time you were down here Spike, you were desperate to get that chip out… desperate to kill me… over and over you’ve tried. I’ve lost track of how many times you’ve tried. And now that man’s staring at me, trying to hurry me along. Like he knows the situation. Like he knows anything about me. Or about you.

But I remember more than just how many times you tried to kill me. I remember how you saved me. I do. I remember that night… God, that night was so long ago. When you offered to help me… the night I stabbed Angel. You didn’t even have the chip back then…

And when Glory… had you. I remember that too, Spike. I haven’t forgotten it. I told you I’d never forget it. What you did for us. Saved us. And after that, you were always there. Right up until… the end. And even then, you fought so hard… tried so hard to help me… to save Dawn. And you didn’t even have the soul back then…

“Miss Summers,” Military-guy said as I placed my hand over Spike’s. “Miss Summers, we can’t wait here all night.”

He was cut off by a brief but loud wail from Spike. I jumped back a bit, lifting my hand away.

“And neither can he…” Military-guy finished.

I didn’t answer, watching Spike’s face as I brushed my hand up his arm. He trembled, and his eyes blinked open.

“Buffy?”

“Sh. I’m right here.”

I held my breath, focused on his mouth. His bottom lip curved slightly at a corner—a definite smile. I let the air out, stopping my hand at his elbow.

His eyes lingered there before he bent his arm, taking my hand in his.

I squeezed his hand then, trying to push all my tenseness away. Push away all that decision-making tension inside me.

“You don’t have to…” he started.

“Stop.”

He let out a pleading sigh, but closed his mouth. Then his eyelids fell.

I came closer; so I could whisper to him, “Don’t worry.”

His eyes opened again, surprising me enough to move back a little. He had that tiny smile again, and he silently begged me to finish.

“I haven’t forgotten, Spike.”

Continued in Part 11