DISCLAIMER: The Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel characters are the property of Mutant Enemy, Joss Whedon, and Fox Studios. The story contents are the creation and property of Djinn and are copyright (c) 2001 by Djinn. This story is Rated PG-13.
A Sea Change
by Djinn
As he tried to turn over,
every nerve ending in Spike's body screamed.
His moan of agony echoed through the crypt.
"Shhh," a soft
voice soothed him.
"Buffy?" He tried to open his good eye but was too
tired.
"No, it's Joyce."
"Haunting me."
Her voice was gentle. "Trying to help."
"Make it stop
hurting."
"I would if I could,
Spike. But I can't even touch you."
"Figures. Only one who wants to can't."
"I can stay with you
though. Talk to you
a while?"
"Yeah. That'd be nice."
"You're already
healing. I know it may not feel like it,
but I can tell."
He grimaced as a wave of pain
lanced through him.
"You were brave."
"Just knew your spawn
would kill me if I told."
"That's not why you did
it and you know it."
"Is so."
"Is not. And it more than makes up for helping Dawn with
trying to bring me back."
"Would've been nice to
see you again."
Her voice was grim. "That thing that rose wasn't me. Thank God Dawn reversed the spell. You can't imagine the damage it would have
caused."
"It could have
worked."
"That's not the
point. She's an innocent. You may have compromised that."
"Oh
come on. It was just a little
spell."
"It was much more than
that. You put her in touch with
darkness. We'll just have to see what
the repercussions will be."
"May not be any."
"Let's hope you're
right." Her tone darkened even
more.
"I thought you were here
to make me feel better?"
"I am."
"Well, you're bloody
lousy at it."
"Sorry."
There was a long
silence. He was just about asleep when
Joyce's murmured, "Spike?" made him jump as much as his torn body
would allow. "Ow! Bloody hell, woman!"
"Oh. Sorry."
Her voice was contrite.
"It's just...well, we really need to talk about that robot."
"I told you before and
I'm telling you now, what I do with modern technology is my business."
"But the things you
did...really, Spike."
"It's a machine."
"You didn't think
so."
"Well, it is a
machine. Who cares what I thought? Besides, it's more than willing."
"Because you programmed
her to be that way."
"What's the good of
having a robot if you can't program it the way you want it."
"What about free
will?"
"It's a machine,
Joyce. What about that don't you
get?"
"It's a machine that
looks like my daughter."
"Joyce. Go.
Away."
"But..."
"I need to rest. I feel like hell. And you're not helping."
"But..."
He tried to shout but it came
out as a large croak. "Bugger off,
Joyce. Now!"
"Fine."
He sighed and closed his eye.
"I hope you feel better
soon. You're very cranky when you're
hurt."
"Joyce."
"I'm gone."
He felt sleep calling to
him. His thirst was also clamoring for
attention. He knew that blood would help
him heal, but his stock was low and it was a cinch that no one was going to
bring him any. In pain and feeling sorry
for himself, Spike slipped into unconsciousness.
He didn't know how long he'd
been asleep when he heard her voice.
"Spike, you're all
covered with sexy wounds."
He struggled to sit up. It didn't hurt as much as he thought it
would. Joyce had been right. He was already healing. "Yeah, they feel real
sexy." He moved his head so he
could see her out of his right eye.
"Where ya been?"
"I fell down and got
confused but Willow fixed me. She's
gay."
That didn't sound right. "Will fixed you? I thought they'd melt you into scrap?"
"They were confused
too." She gave him a dazzling
smile. "Do you want to ravage
me?"
"Give us a minute. I've got some bones need mending."
She studied him, frowning at
the damage she saw. "Why did you
let that Glory hurt you?"
"She wanted to know who
the Key was."
She perked up. "Oh, well I can tell her that and then
you won't have..."
"No!" His outburst startled her. He began to cough severely. Every hacking breath caused his body to
protest. Once his lungs settled down, he
continued, "You can't ever. Glory
never finds out."
Her look was pure
confusion. "Why?"
He took pity, his tone
gentling. "Because Buffy—the other,
not so pleasant Buffy—anything happened to Dawn it'd destroy her. I couldn't live with her being in that much
pain." He looked down. "I'd let Glory kill me first. Nearly bloody did."
She was quiet, but he had the
sense she was studying him. Then she
leaned into him, her lips meeting his in a kiss. A sweet, gentle kiss. Huh?
His Buffy hadn't quite mastered such a subtle motion. He pulled away in suspicion. Buffy, the real Buffy, stood before him. A look he couldn't fathom on her face. She seemed harder and softer than he'd ever
seen her look. He leaned in, trying to
figure out what she was doing. Was this
a game?
She pulled away slowly and
walked away from him. His Buffy's skirt
flirted with him as the Slayer moved.
"And my robot?"
She turned. The look of revulsion on her face was
unmistakable. "The robot is
gone. The robot was gross and
obscene."
"It wasn't
supposed..."
"Don't. That thing...it wasn't even real."
He let his head drop and felt
an unaccustomed emotion fill him: shame.
She turned away and was
almost to the door when she stopped again.
"What you did for me and Dawn, that was real." She looked over her shoulder at him. Her look gave away nothing. "I won't forget it."
She stared at him for a
moment then turned and walked out the door, closing it gently behind her.
He sat stunned. He wasn't completely sure what had just
happened. She was mad at him, but she was
grateful too. He could still feel her
lips on his. The robot had never tasted
so sweet.
He pushed himself off the
slab, gingerly taking the first few steps.
Walking was agony, but he clenched his teeth and shuffled to his
refrigerator. One small container was
left. He ripped it open and drank it
down, not even caring that it was cold.
It made him feel better, but it wasn't enough.
He walked slowly to his chair
and lowered himself into the cushions.
It hurt but as he sat unmoving, the pain began to subside. He saw Buffy's face again, right after she
kissed him.
She'd looked more like a
goddess at that moment than that tart Glory ever could. So stern, yet with such tenderness in her
eyes. He'd been in awe of her.
Why had she come? All dressed up as his fantasy and pretending
to want him. He replayed the
conversation in his mind. It had been
about one thing really: what he had told
Glory about Dawn. She'd come to him to
find out, not trusting that he hadn't betrayed her. But also not sure
that he had either, or she would have simply walked in and staked him. She hadn't expected to hear that he'd
resisted. Or to hear his reasons. And that kiss. He could live another hundred years with just
the memory of that moment to sustain him.
A shudder of bloodthirst
reminded him his continued survival would depend on more than just that. Maybe by tonight he would be healed enough to
go out. He leaned back, struggling to
find a comfortable position. He thought
of his robot. Gone. She'd been fun, but Buffy was right. She hadn't been real. Eventually he would have tired of her, after
a few weeks of really great sex. Ok,
maybe months. He grinned at the memory
then yelped as his skin split. His
tongue stole out to lick the blood off.
He thought of her in his arms and as he did his eyes closed and he lost
himself in a drowsy fantasy.
He jerked awake as his door
opened again. He was surprised to see
Buffy walk in carrying a large bag.
"What?"
"You've lost blood. Too much," she said in a matter-of-fact
tone as she dug into the bag and handed him a large container.
He could smell the blood
through the plastic. His face changed
against his will. She looked down at him. He expected to see disgust.
Her expression was only
neutral. "I've seen a bumpy
forehead or two in my day, Spike. Drink
it."
He tore the lid off and
gulped down the liquid. It was
warm. He looked up from his feeding,
confused.
She seemed to read his
mind. "I stopped at the quick
mart. Sort of missed dinner myself. Grabbed something for me, and warmed a couple
of these up while I was at it."
He was surprised at her
thoughtfulness. "Thanks." He finished the blood.
"It wasn't a big deal."
She shrugged it off as she handed him another container.
He drank it more slowly as he
watched her walk to the fridge and put several more cartons inside. She also pulled out a box of wheatabix and held it up to him.
"You like these,
right?"
He nodded, again mystified at
her kindness.
She let it drop into the bag
and set it by his chair. There were
several boxes inside the sack. "I
thought I remembered you and Giles arguing about them."
"That was nice of
you."
"Yes," she said,
"it was."
He searched her face. Was there something different there?
"What?" She glared
at him.
"Nothing." He snuck a look at her again.
"Stop it. You're creeping me out."
"Sorry." He looked down.
"Okay. Well I'm leaving now."
"Okay."
She looked at him uncertainly
again. "You're going to be all
right?"
He faked some bravado for
her, met her eyes and said cockily.
"Oh yeah. Be coming 'round
pestering you in no time. You'll be wishing
you'd staked me when you had the chance."
Again he saw that look on her face.
"Okay. Great.
Goodbye." She hurried to the
door and escaped to the sunshine.
He sipped the blood again and
tried to decipher the emotion he'd seen on her face. It wasn't loathing for once. Nor was it anything resembling
affection. He didn't have a lot of
recent experience with any other looks.
He tried to picture when he'd seen that look on her face, what she'd
been doing, who she'd been with. Suddenly
he got a picture of it, and another. He
knew what the look meant. He sat stunned
as he realized that Buffy had looked at him with...respect.
FIN