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Chapter 4:
You Did What In the Bathroom?!
by Quwinntessa Starber
For three days and two nights, Spike entered Willow’s room at sunset carrying food and medicine. Tonight he’d taken the tray over and placed it on her nightstand then moved around the room lighting candles all over. When he finished, he sat on the edge of her bed.
"Morning, Willow."
"It’s night." This particular game always caused the straight line of her mouth to twitch up in the corners—just a little.
"So it is, so it is. How’re the battle scares?" Spike had told Willow that all wounds should be viewed as battle scares; there was at least some honor in those.
"Fine. They don’t hurt when I move anymore."
"Good to hear, Luv. Need some help with that pesky shirt today?"
"No thank you, I’ll be fine."
Spike excepted her answer and stood. Pulling back the covers, he lifted Willow’s slight frame into his arms and carried her into the bathroom. Standing her up by the sink, Spike turned on the water and handed her her toothbrush—which he’d brought for her before she’d awaken when she’d first arrived. Leaving her to her brushing, Spike moved to the bathtub and—setting the temperature just right—let it begin to fill.
On his way out the door he turned around and looked at the slight woman…girl…child, he didn’t know which. In one of his black poet shirts she was completely swamped, the cuffs, falling far past her fingers so she had to keep pushing them up as she brushed her teeth. The shirt told the whole truth though as it fell to her knees and wrapped around her too thin legs. She was so tiny. He’d have to remember to get her to eat a little more.
Moving his eyes back up her body, he noticed that she held her torso away from the edge of the counter so as not to rub her injured flesh against it. He could almost sense her pain in the way she held her body so straight. Since the incident, neither one had discussed the markings, though she had let him know in little ways that she wouldn’t do it again; including slipping a piece of broken glass she’d found into his pocket. She hadn’t said a thing as she’d done it, only briefly making eye contact with him. He was fairly certain she wouldn’t try to hurt herself again; it hadn’t worked and she knew it, she wasn’t one to repeat a botched attempt. Unlike some, she learned from her mistakes. This realization only made Spike more worried about her continued wish to die. However he had some hope. Over the last few days she’d been very quiet on the subject and he thought that just maybe she was reconsidering it.
Glancing at the bath he knew would ease the ache in her body, he opened the door. "If you decide you need some help, will you call for me?"
He watcher her eyes try to find his invisible one in the mirror by tracking his voice. Spike was amazed when her eyes locked on his as if she’d suddenly seen them in the looking glass. "I will."
It was all she said but Spike knew it to be enough. If she needed help she’d ask for it, she’d said so, and that was good enough for him. Shutting the door so only a sliver of light from the candles he’d lit escaped from inside, he left her eyes which still seemed to track his movements.
Moving over to the fireplace, Spike removed the old fashioned grating and began to put more wood on the fire. Everyday at noon he’d get out of bed to check on Willow. At first he’d told himself it was because the house could get cold easily so he’d gone in to stoke the fire. Then he said it was to make sure she hadn’t tried anything stupid—only in reality he knew that she wouldn’t. Right now she was weak, that was true, but not weak enough to try to end her life. After all, she could have done it herself in Sunnydale but instead had asked a Master Vampire. No, in the end he realized it wasn’t for either of those reasons, it was because of the way she slept.
In sleep alone she abandoned her death wish and it was then and only then he witnessed just how hurt and damaged she truly was. Face marred by stress and betrayal she would call out to the wolf, her parents, or the idiot. He didn’t know why yet but every night he watched her and waited for the phrase that would make all of her pain known to him. That very day she’d cried in her sleep for nearly half an hour, trapped in a nightmare none of her "friends and family" could save her from. In the end it was he who’d shaken her gently and soothed her nightmare away with calming sounds and quiet words.
Putting the grate back over the fire, Spike moved to the bed and straightened her sheets. The last two days Willow had been in too much pain to really move. He’d had to change the bandages around her stomach, but what he’d thought was going to be a hard thing to convince her of turned out to be quite simple.
When he’d explained what he was going to do Willow had just looked at him for a moment—a strange look he hadn’t understood then and still didn’t—then began to unbutton the poet shirt she was wearing. She didn’t react as the deep burgundy silk fell from her shoulders and revealed her pale yet perfect breasts. The only indication Spike had that she realized what she was doing was the slight blush that spread slowly from her cheeks, down her neck, and finally added a touch of rose color to her bosom. He’d been grateful she’d reacted, it meant she still cared who was looking at her body—it meant she hadn’t completely given up.
The relief culminated with the glorious sight of this seemingly beautiful virgin sacrifice, had left him unable to restrain himself. The word was out of his mouth before he even registered he’d said it. "Perfect."
Suddenly her eyes had shot from the patterns she was tracing on the comforter. Taking his hostage while she’d looked directly into what was left of his soul. She seemed to test his word, weighing her impressions of him and what he’d just whispered. Finally after a personal eternity she released his eyes and whispered back. "Thank you."
Now as he stopped to think about it, she had thanked him again. He’d taken her prisoner and yet there she had been only the night before, thanking him. He’d wanted to uncover the rest of her that night but instead had bandaged her red wounds and given her some painkillers. She’d fallen asleep soon after.
"Spike?"
Her soft call cut through his thoughts and brought him back to the present. Faster than human eyes could see he was across the room and at the door. "You called, Luv." A statement, but he wasn’t going to ask her if she needed his help; she’d have to request that on her own. The fact that she understood he was there for her was what mattered.
Knowing he was at the door, she spoke softly. "I can’t…I can’t bend over…it hurts too much."
"Did you re-open the cuts?"
"Just two, the deep ones…" She was waiting for him he knew, but he held his ground. She had to admit to herself that she needed his help, it was the only way she’d know it for herself. "Spike…"
"Right here, Luv." He hated this! Hated having to make her feel weaker than she was, but she had to realized she needed him; realized she had to trust him to get better.
"Will…will you please…I mean…help me?" Her voice was so small so afraid that he’d reject her, tell her to do it herself.
Pushing the door open slowly he saw her curtain of bright red hair shielding her face from her embarrassment, because now he understood why she’d needed his help. The towel he’d left on the warming rack for her had dropped from her body and lay in a puddle of wet cloth at her feet. Clutched in her tiny fist was her pair of black satin and lace knickers. She stood before him, naked and wet, her skin a glow from the heat of the water she’d just emerged from.
He felt his body stir at the sight of this beautiful wet fire sprite, but ignored it and went to her aid. She had to realize he wouldn’t hurt her, that she could trust him, and that her needs came first to him.
Kneeling before her, he placed gentle hands on her hips as his surprising posture startled her. "Stay." Picking up the towel from the ground he dabbed at the small amount of blood that had formed on the re-opened cuts. Her blood smelled of her innocents—it had to be removed first.
Taking one hand from her hip, he reached for the bit of fabric and lace and removed it from her grip. Sitting back on his knees he unfolded them and held the beautiful material open for her to step into. "Put your hands on my shoulders Red, then left leg first."
Doing what she was told he glided the material over her calves, up the incline of her thighs, and over the perfect curve of her hips. Glancing up he caught the look she was giving him before he smiled and said. "Perfect."
A deep blush immediately spread over her face but she did not look away, instead she replied, "Thank you," and made to step away. But Spike was faster. He had both hands on her hips once again holding her still before he hooked one arm under her knees and lifted her into his arms; her small uncovered breasts still damp from her bath, molded against his chest wetting his white shirt.
Not making a sound, she wound her arms around his neck and allowed him to carry her into the bedroom. Placing her on her feet beside the bed he moved to the closet and pulled out a green silk shirt he’d placed in there a few days before.
Draping it across the bed he spoke to her. "Rest the palms of your hands behind you on the bed."
She complied and Spike took the jar of salve and applied the medicine over her stomach liberally. Once he was satisfied he got a roll of gauze from the tray he’d brought in and wrapped her stomach loosely.
When he finished, he took his green shirt from the bed and after undoing all the buttons, helped her slip her arms into it. Ignoring the peeks of her nipples against the fabric, Spike secured the buttons and lifted her to lie on the bed.
"Thank you, Spike."
"Anytime, Willow, anytime."
Taking the top off the soup he’d brought up with him, Spike sat on the edge of the bed and fed Willow spoonful after spoonful of the hearty liquid. When she’d eaten all but a small portion, Spike reached over and broke off a section of the bread he’d also brought along and soaked the rest of the soup with it. Handing the soggy warm hunk to her waiting hands he stood and left her side to clean the bathroom.
* * *
Willow nibbled on the soup-warmed bread. She wasn’t hungry anymore but ate absently as she waited for Spike to return. Hearing the water drain from the tub she knew he wouldn’t be long.
Drawing in a deep breath she tested the tension on her aching yet warm and full tummy. Finding the wrappings not to tight, she examined the events of the evening so far, and couldn’t help but blush.
When she’d dropped the towel and realized she couldn’t pick it back up she hadn’t been sure what to do. Asking for Spike’s help and giving him a peep show at the same time had been the last resort, but she had started to get cold and since the only warmth was coming from the fire in the other room she’d had little choice.
Nothing of the Spike from Sunnydale had been apparent in the way he’d treated her so lovingly when he’d come to her rescue—that wasn’t true; he’d treated Drusilla just like he had her, with patience and understanding. He knew her limitations and didn’t say a word when he realized her situation and obvious discomfort. Spike had been a complete gentleman and then to let her know that his doctor like tact was just an act, he’d told her he thought her body was perfect. Maybe it was the way he said it or the hint of a smile on his sculptured face but she believed him, truly believed that in that moment, he’d found her perfect.
Over the last few nights Willow had been witness to not the Master of Sunnydale or even a desperate and shunned lover, but the vampire she’d begun to think of as the real Spike, the real William. And without wanting to, she’d found herself hoping he let her live just a little while longer so she could meet the rest of him.
She knew Spike felt something towards her but what she didn’t know; and she didn’t think he really did either. She would often find him just looking at her, studying her. When she’d asked him about it he’d simply say he was watching her live. Willow didn’t understand what he meant by it but against her wishes her heart had leapt.
The last few days and Spikes constant attention had quieted the voice inside her that told her to do whatever it took to stop hurting. Replacing it was a restless curiosity to see where she was, and more importantly, understand the vampire who had brought her here.
Spike had evaded all questions as to where she was and Willow didn’t think he was going to tell her for some time. She figured she was somewhere along the West Coast but because it was so cold in the middle of spring she figured she had to be in the North, maybe in Oregon or Washington. Again she realized that she didn’t really care, she was more interested in seeing what was outside her door than outside the house; although the beach was definitely something she wanted to explore.
Just the thought of leaving Spike sent a shiver down her spine and she reluctantly admitted to herself that she had come to enjoy their time together. The way he seemed to cherish her, devote all of his attention to her, make her feel as if she was the most important woman on the face of the Earth. He’d told her the night after her attempt with the razor that he didn’t want anything to happen to her. That for some reason he felt drawn to her. But most importantly that he was going to protect her. He’d told her not to worry about her friends, that she would just stay here with him and get better. She wasn’t exactly sure what he meant by "better"—she felt perfectly fine—but he’d spoken with such tenderness and devotion that she hadn’t said a word.
She couldn’t explain it, even to herself, but with Spike she felt safe, and safe was not how she needed to feel. The talk of her staying with him until she was better caused that voice inside her that called for death to struggle against the cage Spike had helped her build around it. She was confused. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to die or wanted to stay with Spike. The frustration she felt caused her to lash out at Spike every so often, but he just took it, and then would renew his efforts to touch her in little ways, both physically and emotionally. Now she was lost, trapped by Oz, her parents, and her "friends". So instead of trying to fight she clung to Spike; hoping he could tell her what to do without her having to admit to him or really, to herself.
The soft swoosh of the door announced Spike and Willow placed the last bite of bread into her mouth. She watched him move the candles he’d brought from the bathroom onto a shelf and cross the room to her side.
"Did I see you eat the last of the bread?"
She nodded her head and gave him a weak smile.
"Good your too skinny. You girls today, eating like little starving birds. Back when I was still human a man liked a girl who had some meat on her, you know, birthing weight! Now I’m not talking a fat sow or anything like that but a gal that doesn’t look like the starving of Africa. Used to be if a woman wanted an hour glass figure she tied whale bones around her waist and poof, instant time piece; now not only do you girls think you have to have it naturally but you’re removing your own bones to get it! Rib removal, have heard of this?! Now sure God took a rib from Adam, but damnit at least the bloke got a woman for it, you females just save whales." He paused and looked at her. "Does this make any sense to you?"
"You think I’m too skinny."
"Yes, exactly, good you were listening."
"I always listen to you." She blushed as the words were spoken and Spike couldn’t help the smile that touched his lips.
"Good thing, Pet, ‘cause I only say the truth. Now should I get a whale for you? You can eat it and get really fat and then we’ll have the bones made into a corset for you to wear to special functions." The smile was wide on his face and Willow had to laugh at the image of her trying to eat a whole whale and then tie its bones around her waist.
"You should know I worked on a campaign to save the whales last year. I raised a hundred and eleven dollars."
"Figures, you’d want to save the bloody whales. You want to save everybody. Especially those that don’t care to know you’re doing it for them."
His words struck home for Willow and she flinched under them. Over the course of the last few days, Spike had tried to talk to her about why she wanted to die. He’d surmised from what she’d said in her drunken stupor that Oz had hurt her in some way and that the Slayer was involved. But she hadn’t said anything, choosing to ignore his question. It was the only topic they’d discussed so far that she wouldn’t talk with him about. Now, instead of taking the bait he’d thrown at her she simply shifted her eyes from his beautiful face and watched the fire dance in its cage.
Sighing, Spike relented. "Sorry Luv, bad form on my part. I suppose you’ll tell me when you’re ready. Anyway, in the mean time, I’ve got a surprise for you."
Taking her attention away from the fire she looked at him quizzically and waited for him to continue.
"Well as I recall, I promised you when you were feeling better, I’d show you around the house." He paused at the light that shone in her eyes. "Think you’re ready for the trip, Pet?"
Nodding her head, Willow started to get out of bed but stopped at Spike’s hand on her shoulder. "I don’t think so Willow. No sense in showing you around the house and then having you too weak and tired to enjoy it. Besides," He lifted her into his arms and waited for her to wrap her arms around his neck lightly. "A woman such as yourself, should not have to exert herself in anyway. It just isn’t proper in a house like this."
"A house like what?"
He chuckled and she relaxed into his embrace as the vibrations washed over her like soothing water. "You’ll see."
chapter 3