Chapter 13
Mike was gathering up Spike’s canvases and leaning them against the wall near the front door, avoiding the plaguing question in his mind which was, “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Spike hadn’t said anything to him when he came to his loft, merely opened the door and stalked away, pointing aimlessly at the paintings in his living room. He heard him yell something from behind the partition of his bedroom and then he emerged again, fidgeting and pacing.
“You about done, mate?”
“Sorry, Spike,” Mike frowned, “I’m going as fast as I can.”
“Yeah, well…hurry up! I’ve got shit to do!”
“All right, all right,” Mike shook his head and started fumbling with the large canvases, feeling the weight lighten when Spike came to his aid and lifted one side.
“Open the door, Mike!” Mike fumbled with the latch and was practically shoved outside as Spike hurriedly lifted all of his pieces and slid them down the foyer. “Thanks for your help,” he said with a tight-lipped smile and locked the both of them out of his loft. “Got somewhere to go. Think you can get these down the lift on your own?”
“Yeah,” Mike nodded, about two seconds away from calling his old friend an asshole. But Spike was already gone.
~*~*~*~
Spike had to see it for himself. It was crazy and he’d probably cry like an idiot, but he didn’t care. He had to know that she’d done what he feared. They’d probably be finished by this point, he thought, and shuddered as images of Buffy in the afterglow flooded his mind. Buffy had to still be at the studio. Tony worked his assistants to the bone and if Spike was lucky, he’d get to work out some of his frustrations on the wanker, for taking his first girlfriend and now his second. He should be at the gallery, instructing Mike where to place each piece. Hell, he should be doing a vast number of things instead of what he was doing. But Spike was going crazy thinking about it and the only way he could move past it was if he saw it in Technicolor. He’d get it over with, catch her red handed, and be done with it.
As he stood outside Hill Studios, he took a moment to finish his cigarette, going over how he would handle this situation. First of all, she was a fucking hypocrite. How dare she make him promise to be faithful and then stoop so low as to…he kicked the side of the wall with a roar. He had to keep it together or else he was going to lose the last bit of sanity he’d held onto these past few days. Maybe he should go home.
That wasn’t happening. The last thing he wanted to endure was Buffy’s lie or worse…if she confessed to what she’d done. She’d get weepy and say she was sorry and he couldn’t handle that. No, this way was much better. Quick, painless; he’d say a few choice words, maybe punch the git in the stomach and be on his way with his head held high. That was all the initiative, the only pep talk he needed before he flung open the door and marched inside.
And his blood ran cold.
Tony waltzed out of his tiny office in the corner of his studio, stark naked, grinning like the fool he was. Tony turned around when he heard Spike enter and smiled at him. “I see you still don’t knock,” he turned around and walked to a cupboard and pulled out a bottle of whiskey.
“I see you still don’t wear any clothes,” Spike sneered and stalked towards him. “Where is she?”
“Where is who?” He said innocently. “I haven’t seen Nancy in years, Spike,” he chuckled.
Spike closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. “Buffy. Where is Buffy?”
Tony set his bottle down and actually looked surprised. “You’re…oh, you’re kidding me! You and…” he burst out into laughter, covering his mouth with his hand. “Well, well. Small world.”
In a flash, Spike pushed him against the wall, holding him still with an iron grip on his throat. “Tell me where the fuck she is or I’ll rip your throat out.”
Tony gasped for air and struggled for a second, unable to break free of Spike’s hold. He glared at him. “She’s not here. I sent her away.”
“You sent her away? Shagged ‘er and sent her off, did you?”
Tony shrugged and closed his eyes, seemingly unaffected by the powerful hold on his neck. “You know how it is, Spike. These…women, all of them want the same thing. Fame, a reputation, a nice little coffee table book filled with their art…it is how it is. And she didn’t have what I needed. So,” he shrugged again, “she was of no use to me.”
Spike licked his lower lip and pushed his weight into Tony, staring him down. So he thought he could fuck his girl and toss her aside like she was nothing? Thought he could stroll in and take what didn’t belong to him? As he sneered at the much larger man, Spike noticed for the first time the scratch marks on his face. As his chest started heaving with anxious breaths and his eyes narrowed, he said, “Have a bit of a struggle, mate?”
Tony’s hand went to his cheek, gently touching the wound on his face, furrowing his brow when his fingers pulled back a bit of blood. “Had an accident earlier. Now do you mind?” He pushed against Spike to no avail. The muscular blond had too good a grip on him.
Spike was suspicious. If he even laid a hand on Buffy…if this whole thing was a different kind of bad, then Tony was about to see the wrath of Spike. But he had to find out first before he risked jail time, and he had no doubt Tony would send his lap dogs after him, especially after what he’d do if it was true. He released him for a moment, pretending to collect himself and looked around the room casually…and noticed something that made him see red. Buffy’s purse. No woman left a purse behind. Not even Buffy when she’d taken off to Toronto. Not even when she was so emotionally distraught that she hadn’t even taken the time to pack a bag…but she had her purse latched over her shoulder like second skin at all times. Things were starting to click in place…maybe what Oz had seen was…maybe Buffy hadn’t done anything wrong, and the more he thought about it, the more he realized she wouldn’t have allowed this bastard anywhere near her willingly. Not after what they’d been through together.
Buffy didn’t fuck to get ahead. Buffy wouldn’t whore herself out for a hack like Anthony Hill. Buffy was not Nancy.
He slowly turned towards Tony and took a steady step forward as Tony was slipping on a pair of slacks. “Looks like she left her purse,” Spike said, desperately trying to keep his cool. “Did she leave in a hurry?”
Tony’s hands stilled on his trouser button for just a moment, and then he lowered his head, continuing his task. “She couldn’t handle the pressure of this assignment. Things didn’t end well, and she left. And so should you.” Tony turned to face him, folding his arms over his bare chest. “I have work to do and haven’t the time for your temper tantrums.”
Spike inhaled through his nostrils, warring away his emotions and trying desperately to replace them with rage. He knew he was hiding something. When he caught a scrap of pink silk in the corner of his eye, he zeroed in on it. It was Buffy’s underwear, torn at the sides. He knew they were hers because they had her fucking name on them in big frilly glitter text., something he made fun of her for and secretly found incredibly endearing. Oh, Buffy… Needing no more clues to go on, he charged him at full speed. The force of impact sent them both to the ground and Spike went down punching, shouting at him with every swing. “You fucking,” punch, “piece of shit,” upper cut, “worthless,” head slam, “fucker!” He landed an elbow to his temple knocking the man unconscious. Spike sat up and wiped at his chin, panting, straddling the man’s waist. “Can’t even stay awake long enough for me to kick your ass! Wake up!” He shook him, slapped him, banged his head on the ground, and tried everything to get the bastard to open his eyes. “Useless cock!” He stood up and placed his hands on his hips, catching his breath and staring down at Tony. He wanted him awake. Wanted him to feel what he was going to do next, and it was going to bloody well smart unlike anything he’d felt before. Tony was still breathing and at the first sign of him slowly coming back to consciousness, Spike reared back a foot and stomped with a heavy steel toed boot. Right where it hurt. And twisted.
Tony yelped and pulled his knees to his chest, moaning as he clutched his groin. “I’ll call the police,” he said weakly, spitting out a mess of blood from his swollen mouth.
“Oh, you will, will you?” Spike was pacing near Tony’s feet, feeling an uncharacteristic amount of joy in inflicting violence on this bastard. “Don’ think they’ll mind too much when they hear what you did.” Spike closed his eyes and swallowed the bile rising in his throat.
“I didn’t do anything she didn’t want,” Tony coughed. “She just needed persuasion.”
“Wrong answer,” Spike said in a menacing tone and kicked him repeatedly until his body fell slack again. Running shaky hands through his hair, he searched the studio for anything else that belonged to Buffy. Finding only her underwear and her purse, he grabbed them and made a quick exit out of the building. Three squad cars with their sirens blaring turned the corner just as Spike ducked into a nearby alley. He ran.
~*~*~*~
She wasn’t at her apartment, and if she was, she wasn’t answering the door. Spike was panicking, worried sick that something else had happened to her, that she’d run out of the studio half naked and was accosted on the street by some vagrant. He knew he looked like a crazy person or a theif walking up and down the busy New York streets clutching a woman’s purse under his arm but he didn’t care. He had to find her. He checked the university, remembering her mentioning that she used their dark rooms for big projects even though she’d graduated two years ago, turning up with nothing.
He even went to MINC thinking, rather irrationally, that maybe she’d want to get plastered at 3:30 on a Friday. Of course, she wasn’t there either. He checked her apartment once more before returning home. When she still didn’t answer the door, Spike’s determination melted. Knowing there was nothing more he could do, considering he had her cell phone and had exhausted 3 hours of the day searching for her, he reluctantly made his way back to his loft.
As he came up the lift in his building, he was overcome with a feeling of helplessness. He felt sick to his stomach imagining what she must have gone through, how much he wished he’d killed the bastard who’d done it to her. When he stepped out of the lift and crossed the foyer to his loft door, he felt his stomach clench and the air escape his lungs with a mixture of relief and sadness. Buffy was curled up by his front door, her cheeks stained with mascara, her hair a mess and she was fast asleep. Seeing her in that state confirmed everything he’d feared and it took all his strength not to burst into tears.
“Oh, Buffy…” He darted over to her and scooped her up in his arms, kissing her wet cheeks and swallowing the lump in his throat as the roller coaster of a day he’d had finally came tumbling down. She stirred in his arms, flinching a bit with a loud gasp and relaxing when her eyes landed on his. As soon as she saw the worried look on his face, finally saw Spike, she broke down with heavy sobs, burying her face in his chest.
“Spike,” she cried, trying to speak but failing miserably as she continued to weep.
“It’s ok, baby,” he whispered, trying to open his front door while still holding her in his arms, “I’ve got you now.”
“You were…gone so long,” she hiccupped. She wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him.
“I know, kitten,” he finally got the door open and walked inside, trying desperately to keep his emotions in check for her. He could feel the sting in his eyes but he held it back and held her close. “But I’m here now.”
He sat down with her on his couch and kept her in his embrace, kissing her forehead and stroking her hair, trying to calm her down. She was in hysterics and the sound of her distressed cries was enough to break his heart.
He was so focused on her, on calming her down that it took a moment to register that she’d said something. “What’s that?”
“Your hands are bleeding.”
Spike looked at her and blinked, furrowing his brow as he raised his hands. They were busted up pretty bad. He’d been so frantic searching for her that he hadn’t noticed the damage Tony’s face had inflicted on him. “Yeah, I guess they are.” When Buffy still looked worried, he said, “I’ll be all right.”
“What happened?”
“I went looking for you.”
Her eyes locked with his for a moment, studying his expression intently. And then she cried again, collapsing into his embrace. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You don’ have to. You just sit right here,” he kissed her cheek, “and we don’ have to do a bloody thing. OK?”
She nodded, letting out a ragged sigh as she tried to calm herself down. She didn’t know how he knew, but she was grateful he was here now. She was safe.
As Buffy sat cradled in his lap, Spike was trying to soothe his own nerves. He should have killed him. Should have taken that ugly sculpture he had on display and crushed his skull with it. His need for violence increased tenfold when he saw the bruises on her arms. And as much as he wanted to keep holding Buffy, he knew they had to take care of the ugly stuff first. “Buffy, we need to see the police.”
She sniffed and wiped her eyes, weakly raising her head to look up at him. “That’s the first place I went.” Seeing his expression soften, she found the strength to continue. “I-I knew that…that if you were ever…r-ra,” she paused when Spike squeezed her hand and kissed it, grateful that she didn’t have to say the word, grateful that she didn’t have to explain. “If something like this ever happened…that the first thing you do is go to the police…disheveled clothes and all. F-for pictures and th-they scraped my nails…when I told them I scratched him. They scraped under my nails…a-and asked me…a lot of questions. And then I came here, but you were gone and your neighbor let me in after I buzzed him.”
Spike screwed his eyes shut and tucked her head under his chin. “That’s…that’s good, Buffy. That was the right thing to do. I wish I could’ve…”
She picked up his hand and kissed his banged up knuckles. “I’m just glad you got to him before the cops did.” Her smile was genuine, but he saw the pain lying beneath her eyes. He wanted to kiss her blind, hold her forever, keep her with him always. How could anyone do something like that to her and live with themselves? He didn’t know any details, and part of him wanted to know…if only he could take it away from her somehow by knowing. If by having that knowledge she wouldn’t have to bear the burden on her own. He figured in time she’d tell him, if she ever did…but right now, she needed something else. Right now, he could do something to make her feel slightly better.
Spike lifted her again as he stood and walked to the bathroom. She just smiled up at him with watery eyes as he sat her down on the toilet and turned the taps on in the bath. He’d turned away from her, focusing on the water temperature and squeezing shampoo in the stream to make bubbles. He cursed himself internally for not having those frilly sorts of things around, things like bubble bath, things Buffy would like. But it would have to do for now. Once the tub was filled he turned around and smiled sadly. She was a wreck, and even with her eyes swollen from crying, even with the dark trails streaking her cheeks, even with her hair in a ratted mess…he still thought she was beautiful. But he saw her in a different light then, saw her as the fragile human that she was, how something so simple and yet so wrong could completely destroy a person. She was still in there, though. His Buffy…and he’d do whatever it took to keep her there.
“I’ll um…” he stepped towards the door, wanting to give her privacy, “just be outside if you need me.”
Her back stiffened and she took a sharp intake of breath as her chin quivered. “Please don’t leave.”
“I won’t,” he quickly crouched down in front of her, taking her hands in his. “I just thought you’d…I’m sorry I don’t know what I’m doing. I just want you to feel better.”
When she smiled and dragged her fingers beneath his eyes, he realized he’d been crying. “Please…just stay with me?”
He nodded and wrapped his arms around her. They stayed like that for a few moments, not wanting to let go. But it was Buffy who pulled away first with a brave smile and Spike helped her undress and get into the bathtub. After a long soak, he dried her off and dressed her in one of his favorite t-shirts and tucked her in bed. It didn’t take long for her to fall asleep. When he was positive she was out, he tossed her clothes in the garbage and called the gallery. They weren’t going to like it, but his show was going to have to wait for another day or they were just going to have to find a way to do it without him.
She’d come to him when he needed her, and he would do the same, no matter what.