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Chapter 7:
Who’s the Catcher in the Rye?
by Quwinntessa Starber
The eyes of the long dead stared at her from their permanent places on the wall. She stood by the window, her hand resting lightly in the curtains, watching the sea breeze caress the well-manicured grass.
Her soul was heavy, that was the only way to describe the feeling that settled itself upon her shoulders and would not leave her. Nothing made sense anymore and as the days stretched farther and farther, she found herself loosing sight of everything. Spike’s constant attention, the only thing keeping her grounded.
But she fought against even him. Demanding he prove himself to her again and again. Despair was her constant companion as every time she thought she could move forward—towards him—she found instead that she could only remain still. Something in her would not submit. And slowly but surely it was reaching out to destroy her.
Her thoughts settled on Spike. Could he keep his promise, could he protect her against everything? Could he stop this thing inside of her that would not stop itself?
She returned to the window but the glass held no more answers than her dying heart.
Spike…
* * *
Spike entered the parlor where he knew Willow would be. He’d awakened every night that week to find her here, sometimes sitting on the couch but most often standing by the window looking at something he couldn’t see.
He paused to look at her. She was still too thin, but he was beginning to think she always would be. Her body seemed to have a natural metabolism and no matter how much food he fed her, she never seemed to gain any weight. That however, didn’t mean he was going to stop trying. Her hair hung lightly, just above her shoulders. It’s brilliance reflecting the firelight. Skin pale, he knew humans needed sun, but when he’d asked her about spending her days in the upstairs sitting room she’d simply said she preferred her room.
Suddenly she turned; he must have made a sound. Her green eyes caught his and held him captivated by the look he saw there. It was the same as all the other nights. That same look would come into her eyes and he knew the question she would ask because it was the same one she asked every night.
Stepping way from the door he moved in behind her and spooned his body to hers. His arms wrapped about her, trapping her against him, his willing captive. Resting his chin on the top of her head, he spoke. "Good evening, Willow. Did you sleep well?"
She nodded her head and then relaxed her body into his as if she’d needed to hear his voice, confirming for herself that he was actually there, still at her side—that he hadn’t abandoned her—before she would allow any weakness to show. His hands were clasped under her breasts and she moved her hands to cover his. He moved his head and nuzzled the side of her neck, laying a light kiss on her collarbone. "I’m still here, Luv. It’s ok."
Lifting her head she looked into his face, looking again for that something she so desperately needed from him. The look, it was the same, always the same. The memories came to him, crashing into his senses.
The first night after Willow had broken down in his arms, he’d been in the library sitting on one of the couches reading the well loved copy of "The Catcher in the Rye." Willow had entered the room at some point and he watched her walk around the library aimlessly.
She would stop at one bookcase or another but never pulled out one of the books, only examined the titles and then moved to the next. She’d seemed like a waif to him, a ghost that had entered the library of a long forgotten past to reminisce.
Another of the long dresses he’d brought in from town adorned her body, draping over every curve, adding even more to her natural beauty. The white dress pulled the color from her skin and made her look even paler than she was. For a moment, she looked so much like his dark goddess that only the color of her hair helped make the difference know.
Wordlessly, she moved to the doors, only to think better of it and return to the bookcases. He saw her reach for one of the many latter’s, only to again disregard it and move to the next shelf. One by one, she absorbed the titles but never once lifted one to examine. She seemed lost, looking for something and yet, not.
Through it all Spike had remained where he was, laying across the couch watching her intently. More than once he’d thought to call to her, ask her what was wrong, but he knew he couldn’t. Just as before, he knew she needed to come to him. The night before, when she’d broken apart in his arms, had only been the first step. Now his beautiful Red Queen needed to come to him again, needed to realized that he could help her but she had to be the one to ask.
Heartache fell across him. Such a new emotion for a man long dead and even longer dead his heart. But he felt such overwhelming pain as he sat watching Willow struggle with herself. He wanted to ease her agony, take all the things that haunted her short life and destroy them, shred them into tiny pieces and let them fly on the wind. And he would, he’d show her pleasures she’d never dreamed to imagine, he’d tempt her with delights few in the world ever had the privilege of seeing, he’d give her anything her heart desired; but first she had to come to him and ask.
Finally after nearly an hour, she walked over to the fireplace and stood next to it, absorbing the heat it gave off. She rubbed her arms trying to warm them; but it wasn’t cold that suffused her body, but fear. Spike knew, understood because if it had been within his ability, he too would be shaking. So much of the rest of their lives rode on her next move. Everything that could be or would be, rested in her hands, hands that were so very worn and cold.
She moved from the fire and with hesitant steps, stood before Spike and gazed at him. Still he said not a word, only looked at her with what must have been quizzical eyes. Her return look was one that gave away nothing. She was so very lost, lost so much that even she didn’t know how to call for help. In the end, she only prolonged the game.
"Will you promise to take care of me?" The same question as the night before, the same desperate plea. Reassurance. A promise. Would he deny her, retract his promise? Could she trust him?
"Yes, I promise." There was no fanfare, no long declarations of forever and always, there didn’t need to be. She’d eventually learn he always kept his promises.
She said not a word, nor did she nod her head in acceptance. Instead she lifted his arms away from his chest, where it had situated while he’d watcher her move, and settled herself on the edge of the couch. A long pause followed and Spike could see she was struggling with something, something she was so very afraid of. But she’d done enough for one night. She didn’t have the strength to end the game tonight but she had continued it; she wasn’t ready to give up yet.
Reaching his arm around her waist, he drew her slight body down and against his chest, resting her head in the crook of his shoulder. For a moment she was still as stone, ridged in his arms, and then as if she no longer had the desire to fight, she sunk into him, molding her body into his. Eventually she shifted onto her side to get more comfortable, laying her right arm across his chest for comfort and stability.
"What are you reading?"
"My favorite book."
She seemed to think on this a moment, before saying. "You’re still a killer, you know." She wasn’t saying it for his benefit but for her own; reaffirming what she knew, trying desperately to remind herself he was a vampire, not to be trusted, not to be allowed trust back.
"Yes I am. But in a way Luv, aren’t we all?"
He felt the hand across his chest clutch his shirt, the material bunching in her hand. She was silent for a long while and then very quietly she answered. "Yes, we are."
Without another word, he lifted the book with his right hand and began to read. His voice was low and soothing, not matching the words he was reading at all, those of a desperate young man, slowly dying inside. But Willow relaxed more and more into him, until finally she fell asleep. Content, he continued to read aloud, softly now so as not to awaken her as he ran his fingers lightly through her hair and over her delicate face.
"Spike?" Her voice brought him back to the present, to her searching eyes so hungry for that precious answer she was seeking.
"Yes, Willow?"
"Do you promise to take care of me?"
So very delicate, she could break so easily, shatter into a thousand pieces. The game they played was dangerous, even deadly. One false word, one wrong meaning, and he could lose her.
"I promise, Willow."
She turned back to the window, staring at nothing. The game continued. So very delicate…
* * *
The knock that sounded on the door to his bedroom startled Spike who was about to take a shower before bed. He’d retired after making sure that Willow had been fed and was safely tucked into her room. He stood, a towel in his arms and walked to the door; fear made his steps faster and he deftly reached for the handle and threw the door open.
There—her face awash in tears—stood Willow, her body encased in a large fluffy white robe that seemed to swallow her in the terri-cloth. Her face was red and she sniffled, but what concerned him the most was the look of blind terror in her face. She seemed to not know whether to speak or flee, but she was here and he wasn’t going to let her go.
"Willow, what’s wrong, are you alright?" His words were rushed, speed being most important, he had to know she was all right.
Her eyes went wide and if it was possible, she seemed even more afraid than she had been when he’d first opened the door. She took a step back as if to retreat, run from him, only to retract her step and then take another one forward. Her face fell then, crumpling into great gasping sobs that shook her body and made her eyes dance dangerously close to insanity.
"Willow," he knelt down at her feet, hands grabbed for her upper arms, holding her still so she couldn’t run from him. At her feet he continued. "Tell me what’s wrong."
Suddenly, her gasping stopped, as if someone had literally unplugged all of her emotions and left her nothing more than a talking machine, her eyes dull and lifeless as she asked her question. "Will you promise to take care of me?"
Shaking his head, Spike cupped her face with both of his hands, resting his cool fingers on her flush cheeks. "I promise, Willow. I promise to take care of you, no matter what." He caressed her face for a moment, watching as some of the light came back into her eyes. "What’s wrong Willow? You can tell me. I promise I won’t get angry."
And then it began. Her body started to shake uncontrollable, so that only Spikes arms on her shoulders kept her from falling in a heap on the floor. Her face took on a look of terror filled agony; a look he’d not seen in all of his two hundred years. Then she reached out to him, grasping him by the shoulders and began shaking her head back and forth. Her cries were accompanied by large tears that cascaded down her face, only to be followed by more. "I’m sorry Spike. I’m so sorry. I—I—I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad. Please! Please don’t be mad at me. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!"
She continued on, repeating the same phrases over and over. Spike tried to quiet her but she wasn’t listening, wasn’t able to hear his words of comfort. Finally, he brought his hands back up to her face, staying her head and looking deeply into her soul. What he found there brought blood red tears to his eyes.
Willow was exposed, needy, standing in the doorway to his room she had finally come to him, broken down and now stood before him begging silently with her eyes for him to save her. She needed him, he needed her, they needed each other. He would not fail her.
"Willow, listen to me, Luv. You don’t have to be sorry. Whatever it is, I’ll take care of it. I’ll take care of you. You don’t ever have to be afraid to come to me. I’ll take care of you. All you have to do Luv, is tell me what’s wrong, then I’ll take care of everything. I’ll take care of you, I promise."
She took a step back away from him and for a second Spike thought he’d lost her, that even he couldn’t save her. But she simply stood there, not running not coming back to him. So he stood and closed the gap between them. And that was all it took, Willow seemed to see him for the first time and she dropped her eyes, but not before he’d seen her expression. In that one solitary moment, she’d admitted to herself she needed him, she would trust him with whatever had happened to her. He’d finally gotten through.
When she again looked at him, he could tell it was going to be bad. Her mouth opened to say something before closing and then opening again, her voice was hardly above a whisper. "I’m sorry Spike. I don’t want you to be angry. I couldn’t—I couldn’t help myself. I tried, I really did, but I just couldn’t. I’m sorry, please don’t be mad at me."
"It’s going to be alright, Willow. But you have to tell me what happened. I’ll make it all better, but you must tell me why you’re crying."
She looked down at her hands, which lay clasped in front of her, like a reprimanded child. "I’m crying…because I disappointed you."
"How could you, Willow? You could never disappoint me. Not ever."
Again her eyes focused on him, assessing whether or not he was telling the truth. Finally she saw what she needed and held out her left arm. "I—I cut myself again." Such a tiny whisper, so small, so scared, so desperately searching to be found.
"Oh, Luv." He again knelt before her and raised his left hand to touch her face. "How bad?"
She leaned into his touch before responding, drawing comfort and strength from him. "I—I don’t think it’s too bad. I tried—I mean I didn’t want to do it." Her voice once more got very tiny. "I really did try to stop myself."
"I believe you, Willow. May I look and see?" She nodded her head and Spike pushed the terri-cloth robe from her wrist and exposed the angry slash marks that ran horizontally across her forearm. He winced at the obvious pain they must have caused. "What did you do it with, Pet?"
There was no anger in his voice and Willow was easily startled by its lacking. "My…dress, it got caught in one of the doorways…I broke one of those beautiful mother of pearl buttons. I was so worried you’d be mad, so worried you wouldn’t take care of me anymore if you found out. I tried to tell myself that you would, that you wouldn’t be mad at me. But…I…I couldn’t do it." She paused, collecting herself. "I—I used the broken button…it’s what started it." Desperation, blame a button for the pain one inflicts on ones self. Desperation.
"How long ago, Luv? These have already stopped bleeding."
"I didn’t want to tell you. I knew once I’d done it you’d be mad—"
"No Willow, I’m not mad. I’m sad that you did this, sad you were worried that I’d be angry, but I’m not mad at you. A broken button on a dress is easy to fix and there isn’t anything you could possibly do that would make me not want you or not keep my promise. I’m not mad at you." He punctuated the last sentence by rising to his feet and laying a light kiss on her forehead.
Taking her by the hand he led her across the plush carpet to the bathroom door. Once there he picked her up and settled her on the countertop. Carefully, he pushed back the sleeve of her robe once again and looked at the cuts from the taper light. "How long ago did you do this, Luv," he asked again.
"Maybe half an hour, maybe more, I—I don’t know."
"Can you trust me, Willow? Just for a little while, just until I’m done taking care of you tonight?" He needed her trust, what he was about to do demanded it.
She studied him for a moment, but it was brief, as if she was just reaffirming her answer. "I’ll try, Spike, I’ll try."
Nodding his head, he set her injured arm by her side then moved his hands to the stays of her robe and untied them. He glanced at her face and noted that her expression had not changed, she was still willing to accept his help. Letting the ties go, he opened the robe and helped her remove her injured arm from the sleeve before moving to the other one.
When her robe was completely off he stood her up and looked deeply into her eyes. "Here comes the trust part, Pet. If it gets too much, I’ll stop, but you have to believe that I won’t hurt you. You have to believe that I’ll take care of you, that everything I will ever do from now on will be about taking care of you. Can you try to believe that?"
No hesitation, as if she was finally over the precipice and had landed safely in his arms, she nodded her head. "Yes, I’ll try."
Spike leaned her silk clad body against the counter and moved to the shower. He turned the hot water on and allowed the steam to fog the glass enclosure. Then, adjusting the temperature to something Willow could stand, he moved back over to her. "Lift your arms Pet, let me get this off you."
Without word of protest or pause for thought, Willow lifted her arms and allowed Spike to pull the dark green nightgown from her body. Goosebumps rose on her flesh as the warm, moist air from the shower touched her skin. She said not a word as she stood exposed before him, clad only in a pair of black lace underwear.
Dropping to his knees, Spike hooked his fingers through the waistband and eased the delicate material over her hips and down her shapely legs. Then like the goddess Venus, she stood before him, her skin a glow from the heat in the room and a deep flush on her skin from his presence. "Perfect."
Her eyes met his and she gave a weak smile. "Thank you."
"What are you thanking me for Luv, I’m just telling you the truth."
She thought on that a moment before her smile grew bolder. "For you, I know."
He returned her smile before stepping away from her and removing his own shirt. Next went his pants and finally his boxers. He heard Willow’s startled gasp and couldn’t prevent the smile that flew across his face. Then he took her uninjured arm and led her to the shower.
Long ago, the shower had been built for two, a luxury that had had to be concealed in the society in which it was built. Now it served it purpose nicely as Spike stepped into the warming spray and pulled Willow flush against him. She shook in his arms, not from fear, but something else, something Spike wouldn’t allow himself to think about. She didn’t need him to try and take advantage of her now, she needed him to take care of her, and that was exactly what he was going to do.
He pulled her head against his chest and carefully and slowly stepped both of their bodies into the hot spray. Spike heard her startled gasp as the soothing water fell across her damaged skin, but the arm he had wrapped about her waist gave a tight squeeze before he spoke softly over the spray. "I’m going to take care of you, Willow. Just trust me." Her nod alone answered him.
Lifting his hands to her hair, he worked the water past the first layer, running one hand through it’s length while the other made a tent on her forehead to protect her eyes. He felt her move closer into him, wrapping her arms around his waist instead of resting them on his hips. Unconsciously she rubbed small circles across his back and Spike had to concentrate on the task at hand.
Once her hair was sufficiently wet, he reached for the bottle of shampoo that rested in a built in alcove. It wasn’t the right scent, more masculine than feminine, but that didn’t matter now. After a generous amount resided in his hand, he worked a lather into her hair, massaging her scalp and upper neck, hoping to ease some of the tension he could still feel lingering in her muscles. The more he touched her, the more she seemed to relax against him, his touch soothing the inner conflict and ending the last of her will to fight. Her hands stopped moving against his back and instead rested on the curve of his bottom. Spike rinsed one hand covered in shampoo and then tipped her head back into the spray, again covering her eyes from the tear causing foam. Gently he worked the lather out of her hair, mindful to reach the suds that were hiding at her neckline and behind her ears.
When the suds were finally rinsed away, he repeated the steps with the conditioner, which was again too masculine, but would have to do. He could hear her making soft sounds as he eventually worked the slick substance from her hair. The sound, music to a dying man’s ears. For here in his arms, she found pleasure, here by his side, she still stood, exposed to the world, bared to his imposing body, and still she found enough trust in him to sigh softly in pleasure. Music to a dying man…
He pulled her head against his chest again before lowering his mouth to her ear. "Willow, I’m going to turn you around now, alright?" She waited a breath and then nodded her head, accepting his question. Spike took her gently by the shoulders and turned her body around, careful to make sure that her left arm did not enter beneath the spray.
Taking a washcloth, he ran a bar of soap over it, turning the blue towel almost white. Then taking the towel into his right hand he placed it below her breasts and waited. He knew this new position would frighten her a little. Before she could hide herself against him, but now she was truly exposed to his eyes. Her breath was held, muscles tight, but her posture turned questioningly as the towel stayed where it was.
Opening her eyes, she turned her head and looked at him. She flushed even more as she made eye contact but did not drop her gaze.
"May I wash you, Willow?"
Her pupils dilated fractionally, but Spikes predatory vision allowed him to see the barely hidden stirring in her eyes.
At the nod of her head he moved his hand to tuck her face once again into his shoulder before he moved the washcloth. Large sweeping circles trekked slowly over her skin. As the towel passed over her stomach he felt the last of the scabs from her first attempt with a razor fall away, leaving new skin, fresh skin behind. This would pass. Her old form would eventually be shed, dropped aside for a new one. He had faith, something he hadn’t had in a very long time; she brought it out in him.
He felt her shutter as he swept the cloth over her breasts, careful to maintain some semblance of professionalism. He couldn’t help the word that formed once again on his lips. "Perfect."
Spike felt her smile against his skin, her lips parting, trapping a measure of his flesh between them by accident. "Thank you." He felt her words more than he heard them. Even if he died tomorrow, even if he never saw the moon again, never fed from the body of a virgin, he would be happy for eternity, simply on those two words.
Placing a steadying hand on her lower back, he bent at the knees and drew the washcloth down her long, thin legs, taking care to wash her feet and toes. She giggled slightly as worked under her foot and he made a mental note about that particular spot. He rose, bringing the cloth over the curve of her rump and up her back, once again making wide, open circles. Soft white foam covered the blades of her shoulders, marking the path he’d already taken. When he was finally satisfied—but not really—he again returned to her ear. "Willow, be a good girl for me, and step into the spray."
She sighed in regret and then stepped away from him, allowing the warm water to sloth away the dirt, grime, and guilt from her body. She turned in the water, unwittingly allowing Spike a full view of the woman he’d become obsessed with saving.
His hands caught her shoulders in mid-turn, and he once again pulled her back flush against his front. "Let me have your arm Luvey, the one that doesn’t hurt." She raised her arm to her side and Spike caught it. Holding it by the elbow he again lathered it and then returned it to the spray. "Ok, Luv, now the hard part, let me have the other arm. I promise I’ll be as gentle as I can." Slowly she raised her left arm and when Spike caught it, she automatically winced. "Sorry, Pet, it’ll only hurt for a second." Bringing the washcloth behind her body he brushed it lightly over the uncut portion. Then gingerly, he brushed it over the open flesh, lightly bringing the rough edge of the towel against her skin. He heard her hiss in pain and softly whispered in her ear. Words of reassurance, and once again promising her he’d take care of her. "Almost done, Luv. Just a little more, we don’t want it to get infected, now do we?" He felt her shake her head in response. When he’d done all he could, Spike brought her arm to the warm water and washed the stinging suds away.
Finished, he pulled both of her arms to her sides and then wrapped her close to his body. "You did so well, Willow. I’m very proud of you. It’s ok now, the worst is over, it’s all over." He continued to croon into her ear, starting a rocking motion that eased her.
When she’d calmed down to his satisfaction, he moved and rested her body lightly against the wall, being sure to direct the spray to keep her body warm. "Hold tight, Pet. Then we’ll get you all dried off." He watched her eyes follow his movements as he stepped under the spray. As he soaped his hair, he thought about how he’d spoken to her since entering the bathroom. Like a child, he’d reassured her with simple words, ones that held no double meaning, only the sureness of there definition. She was too smart for that, to be spoken to as a child, but she seemed to respond better to him, as if by those simple words she could be certain he meant exactly what he said. After rinsing his hair, he decided if she responded well to his childish speak then he’d continue. Perhaps what she needed right now was to be treated exactly like a child; told what to do, and how to do it. There was no room for error when instructed. She could be certain not to anger him if she did what he said. He remembered her words from earlier, ‘I just need to be taken care of for a little while. Just until I can fix this, just until it’s better. Just a little while.’ Spike knew eventually she’d be able to stand tall, but right now, she still held her body curled tightly in a ball; if she needed to be pampered a little to help her stand, then pampered she would be.
He was about to drop the cloth he’d been using to wash his body, when he felt fumbling fingers take it from him. He glanced behind to see Willow’s shy smile as she took the cloth and used it to carefully wash his back. At first her hands worked slowly, almost frightened by what she was doing, and then when he didn’t say anything in protest her strokes became bolder, more sure of themselves. With just enough pressure to have an effect, she ran the soap-covered cloth from the top of his shoulders to the middle of his back. She worked the muscles, applying pressure that caused his back to ripple and she giggled softly to herself. Finally, when she was satisfied, she reached around his body and placed the cloth once again in his hand. "I’m finished," was all she said.
Spike turned, allowing her a view of his body, still soapy. He again saw her pupils dilate but chose to step into the water, rather than be engulfed by the need he saw there.
Clean, he reached over and turned the water off. He pulled Willow into his body—resting one arm around her back—knowing the lack of warmth would soon cause her chills. She moved into him, resting her head on his chest with a familiarity of always being there, as if this was so normal, so right.
Opening the glass door he grabbed a dark blue towel off the warming rack before closing the door again. He wrapped the soft material around her back and then, eased her body from his, and brought it to his front. Rubbing the towel over her back, he brought the now slightly damp material to her dripping hair and carefully massaged the moisture away. Kneeling, he took first one leg and then the other, buffing the droplets of water away. Standing, he dried her good arm and then gingerly took the injured one in both hands. He wrapped the towel around her forearm and with light pressure, removed all traces of dampness. He saw her wince and apologized before returning the towel to her shoulders and easing her back against the wall.
Again he reached outside the door and took another towel which he efficiently used to dry himself off before wrapping it about his waist. He drew Willow to him and slipped an arm about her shoulder before opening the glass door and helping her into the room.
The sudden change in temperature caused her to shiver as he quickly removed the towel from her body and deposited her again on the countertop. "Can you wait here for me, Luv? I’ll be right back. I’m just going into the other room for a second to get you a shirt to wear, sound good?"
He saw her hesitate, as if weighing the options of his leaving. He could clearly see her inner struggle, battling with herself as to whether or not he would return. Relief washed over him as she finally looked him in the eye and nodded her head.
As quickly as he could he moved to the other room. Reaching into the closet he chose a silk lined velvet shirt of a rich dark black. He knew the color was too dark for her but the silk and velvet would keep her warm while the long sleeves would protect her arm.
Bringing the shirt back into the bathroom he saw the relief enter her demeanor as he strode towards her. "I promised I’d come back, didn’t I, Pet?" She looked at him then with such adoration, like a child lovingly surprised by a new kitten that hadn’t been expected. The nod of her head was all she seemed to be able to give. "See Willow, I keep my promises, don’t I?" Again she nodded and Spike opened the shirt and helped her ease both her arms into it. Then, careful not to hurt her, he unbuttoned the cuff of the left arm and curled the material back to expose her forearm.
Moving to one of the cabinets, he withdrew a few medical supplies and then proceeded to wrap her arm in soft airy gauze. When he was happy with his work, he drew the dark sleeve over the top and re-secured the button.
Lifting her by the waist, he put her gently on the floor and button by button, recovered her body. The last button in place, he took her hand and led her into the other room. It was warmer in this room thanks to the roaring fire and the light danced beautifully across her skin as he led her to the bed.
He placed a guiding hand on her back as he had her take the two steps that led up to the mattress before lifting her slightly and sitting her squarely on the edge. He brought his fingers to her cheek and lightly brush them across the rosy color the heat had created. Spike’s eyes lit up as she moved her face to nuzzle his hand. Slowly, she raised hers and rested it lightly on his hip, effectively holding him at his place in front of her. She opened her eyes and gave him a real smile, one that spread across her face and shone brighter than the sun.
"You should probably get some pants on, don’t you think?" She teased, allowing her fingers to innocently run along the rim of the towel about his waist.
He nodded his head. "You’ll be alright if I step into the closet for a sec.?"
Again she smiled. "Yeah, I’ll be ok. But…hurry."
He returned her smile and then took the two steps down from the bed before returning to the closet for a comfortable pair of black satin pants. Spike returned to her side and was happy to see there was no look of relief in her eyes—she’d know he’d come back to her.
Settling in next to her, he maneuvered her body so she was more securely on the bed and then scooted closer to her. Reaching across the bed he took the hairbrush he’d brought with him from the bathroom and slowly began to run it through her damp hair.
She was like an entirely different person the minute he’d completed the first stroke. She leaned into his touch, begging with her body language for him to continue. Again and again he pulled the bristles though her hair, and soon she was sighing softly and arching her back with contentment. Her body craved the contact as if she’d been deprived for so long of it that it now completely overwhelmed her sense. Again he thought about her mother, didn’t mothers do this for their daughters, didn’t they brush their hair, and share womanly secretes together? He knew Dru had, knew because she’d often brought one brush or another to him and begged in her sweet voice for him to run it through her hair. He hadn’t minded, it had always brought him a measure of peace doing such a simple task to make her happy. But never had Dru responded like his Willow. Never had she leaned into his touch and sighed softly, encouragingly for him to continue. Never had he wanted so badly to please anyone in his long life.
When her hair began to dry from the constant brushing, Spike lifted the brush away and heard Willow sigh in both happiness and sadness. "If I keep brushing Pet, it’ll get all frizzy. Wouldn’t want that, now would we?"
He saw her shake her head no, and then she turned around to look at him, an odd look in her eye.
"What is it, Luv?"
"Thank you for doing that, it was…nice. My…I didn’t…that is…thank you." She smiled again, and Spike returned it.
"For you Willow, anytime."
She gave a soft laugh. "I may hold you to that."
"Good, I expect you too."
He touched her face, hoping the added contact would be welcomed. Willow leaned in yet again, craving and demanding his presence. He was surprise then, when she pulled away, a strange look coming over her face. It was almost a troubled look but not exactly.
"It’s started hasn’t it. This is the end."
Spike understood. How could he not? This was exactly what he’d wanted to happen. "It isn’t the end, Willow. To quote a cheesy phrase, ‘It’s only the beginning.’"
A weak smile, and then, "Are you sure you’re not mad at me?"
"Yes, Willow. I’m not angry. You’ve been very confused these last few days and it’s understandable that you’d lash out against someone. I only wish it had been me and not yourself. But don’t worry. Now that I’m the one taking care of you you don’t have to worry anymore. I’ll keep you safe, from yourself, from everything.
"Anytime you feel so much pain that you want to hurt yourself you tell me,and I’ll find a way to make the pain stop so you don’t have too, ok?"
She thought on it a moment, deciding if it was feasible. "I’ll try."
"That’s all I’m asking, Luv. You do your very best to need me, and I’ll do mine to take care of you. You don’t have anything to be afraid of anymore, I won’t let anything hurt you ever again."
"But," fear entered her eyes, casting shadows of doubt. "You can’t protect me from everything."
"What things can’t I keep from hurting you, Willow."
She was silent for a long time before finally answering in a voice almost too soft to hear. "The past."
Spike heard and understood. Hooking an arm under her legs and pulled her to the head of the bed before laying her in the mountain of pillows. Shifting his own body, he lay down and pulled her against him, fitting her into the crook of his shoulder. Slowly he ran his fingers through her damp hair and curled the fingers of one hand around the curve of her hip.
"The past is a hard thing to control. It’s always with us, pushing into our daily lives. But the past cannot control us unless we let it. I want you to be safe Willow. I want to protect you more than I’ve ever wanted to do anything in my entire life. But you’re right, I can’t protect you from your past, at least not unless I know what it is. I know you can’t talk about it right now, it’s still too fresh a wound," he ran a light finger over her injured arm. "Just like this. But eventually Luv, the wounds will heal and when they do, when they don’t hurt so much, you can tell me what hurt you so I can make sure it never happens again. Until then, I’ll just have to make sure that nothing else gets to you, that nothing else harms you while you wait for your past to stop hurting."
Using his index finger, he lifted her head so she could look at him. "I know you understand that I’ll take care of you now; that I won’t leave you. But I also know that you still can’t completely trust me and that’s all right. I’m not asking for any more miracles tonight. So I’ll wait patiently for you Willow, and when you know that the time is right, you can come to me, just like you have about everything else. You’re such a strong woman, Luv. Strong and brave, take all the time you need, I’m not going anywhere."
She said nothing, made no motion that let him know she understood his words but her lack of further protest told him what he needed to know.
"Are you warm enough, Pet?"
She nodded her head. "Am I going to sleep here tonight?"
"Would you like that?"
Silence, then, "Yes."
"Then of course you’ll sleep here tonight and any other night you choose. Everything that I have is yours, Willow. Take all that you need from me."
She shifted, snuggling closer to him, getting comfortable. She rested her injured arm on his chest and flexed her fingers to lay lightly on his collarbone.
"I--," she paused. "I like it here with you. I don’t know how to describe it. I just—know that—it’s all right to be with you. I want so much—want you to be the one, Spike. You—you could be the one…" She trailed off, her voice catching in the air, leaving room for things to come. Room for things to grow.
"Hush now, Luv. Rest. I’ll be here when you wake up."
"I know." And with that, she fell asleep.
chapter 6