Chapter 8: Bunny Slippers
Buffy observed Spike as he put on a black shirt, his boots and duster, all the while very obviously not looking at her.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stalked to the fridge, grabbing something to eat. His fangs sank into the plastic of a blood bag and he drained it in one long pull.
“Back to old habits, are we luv? You spend the night with me, and come morning you run away.”
He threw a bag at her, and she barely caught it.
“I’m not running,” she denied, slipping the blood in her coat’s pocket.
He only snorted before going down the ladder into the scorched lower room. He had started to clean it a bit, she noted when she followed.
When he uncovered the sewer’s hole, she touched his arm lightly to get his attention.
“I can’t go in there.”
“Why not?”
She pointed to her feet. His eyes widened comically as he noticed the fuzzy pink rabbit slippers she wore.
“Oh luv,” he laughed, “You make a scary vampire!”
It was an amused laugh, not mocking or disdainful, and for that she was grateful.
In a quick movement, he scooped her into his arms and jumped down the hole. She shrieked, her hands clutching the duster’s lapels, and he laughed again, more gently this time.
“I got you. Won’t let you down.”
Quietly, he started walking into the dark.
“How do you know you’re going the right way?” she asked after a moment, made uncomfortable by his silence. “It’s pitch black.”
“Shift.”
“What?” She looked toward his face quizzically, and noticed that his golden eyes were shining softly.
“Shift to game face, pet,” he asked again.
She did, and gasped. Where a few seconds before all she could see was darkness, she now could discern every detail of every brick on the walls. Her eyesight was not the only sense suddenly amplified. The smell, which had been pretty bad, was now almost nauseating. Trying to escape it, she pressed her face to his chest. Better. Spike’s scent. Cigarette. Booze. Blood.
“That’s my favorite shirt,” he said idly. “Don’t bite through it.”
Her face shot up as if he had struck her.
“I wasn’t.” she started.
“I didn’t say don’t bite. I just said don’t ruin the bloody shirt.”
Angry, she pushed the demon face away.
“I wasn’t going to bite,” she said stubbornly. “I won’t feed from you any more. Blood bags, that’s my diet now.”
She could have sworn she heard him grind his teeth. “Suit yourself.”
She wouldn’t drink from him any more? Fine. Good for her. Let her see how much fun it was to bag it. Scowling despite himself, Spike was striding as fast as he could with her in his arms. Ungrateful Childe. Came to him all upset in the middle of the night, then tried to run away, and now refused her own Sire’s blood. He ought to.
Nothing.
He would do nothing. He would be there for her if she needed him, and nothing else. That’s what he had promised himself, and that’s what he would do.
Finally, they reached the exit. He held her up to the ladder so that she wouldn’t stain her pretty slippers. Stupid things.
Climbing next to her, he knocked on the metal cover. That was the signal he had used with the Bit last summer. But when the cover was removed, it wasn’t her face that appeared. He took the blanket the man was holding out, and wrapped it as well as he could around Buffy.
“Run all the way until you’re inside,” he instructed.
She nodded, avoiding to look at his face.
“Take care of yourself Buffy.”
She gave no answer to his whisper and slipped out of the manhole. Spike watched her disappear from his sight, blinking when Giles stared down at him.
“I should dust you,” the Watcher said coldly.
“Yeah, but you won’t. She has first call on my ashes. And I think it won’t be long now before she does it.”
“Good. I hope I’m there to see that.”
The vampire only smirked and jumped off the ladder.
“Spike,” the human called.
“What now?”
A look passed between them, but no words. After a few seconds, Giles slipped the cover back into place, and Spike smiled in the darkness that surrounded him again.
“You’re welcome,” he whispered.