Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It all started because Tara had a cold.

Not that it was blowing anyone’s minds, or anything. This was now the second time Buffy had observed a contagion sweeping Sunnydale like this, where colds became the flu and the flu became a trip to the hospital faster than they would have anywhere else.

Stupid Hellmouth.

So she knew it was going around, and she was hoping that being dead and then brought back to life had maybe provided her with some super special immunity to illness, because the thought of going back to a hospital was almost worse than the thought of waking up in a coffin.

Almost.

But then Tara took Dawn on an outing to the movies, and Buffy had been… elsewhere, that night, and so had Willow and Amy, so Buffy really couldn’t blame Tara for waking up on her couch the next morning, coughing into a wad of tissues, and looking too miserable and weak to move. 

Amy had quickly left, with a promise to go out again with Willow that night, but Willow wasn’t paying her any attention. She was all aflutter over the girl curled up on Buffy’s couch. 

“You can’t go home,” she said anxiously. “Buffy, don’t let Tara go home.”

“Buffy,” Tara croaked. “Don’t let Willow near me, please.”

Buffy bit her lip and felt entirely uncomfortable being suddenly dragged into this with no warning. She was exhausted and achy and her mind and body were still reeling after the night’s events with…

No, she had entirely too much going on to even think about him right now.

A flash of hurt appeared on Willow’s face, and her bottom lip started trembling, but Tara resolutely turned away from her gaze, clearly holding back her own tears. She coughed again. “Buffy,” she whispered, almost pleadingly.

Buffy looked between the two of them, and didn’t know what to do. Their breakup wasn’t her business— she actually still wasn’t even sure what had caused it— and she had no idea who to side with.

“Willow,” Tara said. “I can’t… can’t fight back if you try any magic on me.”

“Fight back?” Willow said. “You think you’d have to fight me?”

Buffy’s stomach was twisting, and she was glad Xander had taken Dawn to school already, because Dawn would have absolutely hated watching this unfold in their living room.

Still, she had to make a decision here. She had to step up and be the leader. She always did.

“Tara, I think it would be better if you stayed here,” she finally said. “You’ve… I mean, you’re probably contagious, so we shouldn’t spread it anywhere else, especially not the dorms. And the best thing you can do for yourself is rest, anyway, and not try to go anywhere else.”

“You can stay in my room,” Willow said eagerly.

Tears were still hovering in Tara’s eyes, but she shook her head with certainty. “I can’t, Willow. I just… I just can’t.”

Buffy drew a breath, and tried to harden her heart towards her best friend. It came easier than she would have thought. Maybe there were still some post-post-mortem feelings of resentment there, after all.

She put those feelings in the big pile of things she was ignoring right now, and swallowed, saying, “Probably not a good idea for you guys to be in the same room, anyway. You’ll just catch whatever she has, Willow.”

“I don’t care,” Willow said stubbornly, the air around her feeling tense and almost electric all of a sudden.

Buffy sighed, and pulled on her friend’s arm, bringing her into the kitchen. “Look,” she said, as gently as she could. “I know it sucks, and I know you’re upset, but Tara made the decision to break up with you, and you need to accept that that’s where things stand right now. Not try and force things to be like they were just because she’s weak and sick and vulnerable.”

Alarm passed over Willow’s face. “That’s not what I—”

“So you can sleep on the cot in the basement, and let Tara have your room, or I can have Xander drive her back to her place when he comes to drop Dawn off after school,” Buffy interrupted. “What’ll it be?”

“She’s sick,” Willow said in a small voice. “She needs… she needs someone with her when she’s sick. Her mom used to do a thing…”

“She’ll have us,” Buffy said, still trying to be gentle. “Me and Dawnie, we’ll be around. But she wants space from you, Will, and you need to respect that.”

Willow’s face looked utterly miserable as she turned her head in the direction of Tara’s coughing. But she heaved a sigh, and said, “She can have my room. I’ll go stay with Amy, I guess.”

***

An unexpected blow to Spike’s chest had him bolting upright in bed, poised and ready to pounce until he saw who his visitor was. Out of the corner of his eye he saw one of his unlit candles rolling off his chest and hitting the ground. She’d assaulted him with a bloody candle ?

“God, do you sleep through anything?” asked an apparently very irate Slayer. “I was like… yelling, and nothing.”

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and shamelessly threw off the sheet, giving her a subtle reminder of the last time she’d seen him in this state of nakedness. Smirking, he said, “I’m a bit knackered. Quite the engine you got in you, Summers, to keep a man down for two days and counting.” 

Her cheeks were flaming red, and she glared at him, and Spike began thinking of all the interesting ways this night could proceed, before she interrupted his thoughts by saying, “I have a job for you.”

He leered, pressing his tongue behind his teeth and cocking his head. He had no idea if his charms even worked on her, but he liked watching her get all flustered and annoyed with him anyway.  “Thought you might.”

She pressed her lips tightly together, and he could practically see the rest of her clenching up as well. But that wouldn’t work this time; he knew how she operated now, knew he just had to wound her up right and proper before she’d—

“I need you to watch Willow.”

If she’d doused holy water over him, Spike couldn't have felt more rejected. “What?”

“She’s been staying with Amy, um Amy-the-Rat? Except not a rat anymore, she’s back to being human now,” Buffy said. “But Willow’s come by the house a couple times since, and has been acting… really weird. And Xander and Tara and Dawn are all kinda freaking out about how much magic she’s been using, and she’s upset about Tara, and I don’t know what she’s doing with Amy all night. I’m worried about her, and so is Tara.”

“Now, hang on,” Spike said with a frown. “Whenever you asked me to look after your mum or sis, that was one thing, but I’m not gonna hire myself out to sit for any of your little crew that needs it.” He tilted his head again, letting a slow smile spread across his face. “Unless the price is worth my while, that is.”

She wanted it, he knew she did; it was evident in her scent and her color and the way she tried to pinch her lips even more tightly. Her eyes were bright, almost frighteningly so, and he could feel her heat even from where he was sitting. But she crossed her arms, and stood her ground, and as frustrated as he was by it, Spike felt himself falling in love a little more for every second she resisted him. 

“I’m not paying you anything,” she said tightly. “I’m just asking for a favor. Are you gonna do it, or not?”

Bloody checkmate it was, then, because the girl knew he’d never deny anything she asked. He heaved a sigh, and ran his hand through his hair. “Need me to track her down, is that it?”

“Just follow her tonight and see where she goes,” Buffy said. “I know you’re really good at that , stalker-boy. And if she’s doing anything stupid or dangerous, come and tell me about it.”

Spike sighed again. “Anything else?”

She seemed about to say something, but was cut off by a cough. She covered her mouth, and shook her head, and just waved a hand feebly as she turned to go.

“You feeling all right there, Slayer?” Spike called to her retreating back. “Bad bug going around. Would hate to think you’ve only come to me because you’re not feeling your best!”

“I’m fine!” she snapped back, and if her voice sounded a little hoarse, he didn’t comment on it.

***

Spike had not anticipated this. He wasn’t equipped for this. He hated going anywhere near magic, and had a particular hatred towards it ever since Buffy’s resurrection.

And the shape Willow was in now, she had magic spilling out all around her like she’d sprung a leak in several places. 

Maybe she had.

He’d been tracking her scent, grumbling all the while to a Buffy who wasn’t even there, and wondering if she hadn’t just sent him on a fool’s errand to keep him distracted, when he’d heard Willow’s scream.

He’d found her in the wreckage of a car, cradling one arm to her chest, and a big hairy beastie trying to tear her apart. He’d lunged towards the monster, but Willow raised her hand and made it evaporate instead, and then sank to the ground, sobbing and bleeding, with sparks still crackling around her, and eyes completely black.

“Red,” Spike snapped, kneeling beside her. “ Willow . Look at me, and turn that bloody mojo off, for God’s sake.”

“Spike?” she whimpered. She blinked, and her eyes returned to normal, though sparks were still dancing around her. “How did you find… what are you…”

“What do you think?” Spike said. “Mates are worried about you, so they sent their resident bloodhound to track you down. But bloody hell, pet, I can’t help you up if you’re acting like a misfiring taser an’ gettin’ me caught in the crossfire. I said, turn that stuff off .”

“I can’t,” Willow moaned, and started shaking, and crying with fervor again. “I can’t, I can’t stop it, I’ve tried to stop, and I can’t stop…”

“You bloody well can ,” Spike said, through clenched teeth. “Can do everything else that strikes your fancy, so what’s the holdup?”

“I can’t stop,” Willow sobbed again, and Spike would have tried to shake her if he thought he could touch her. “I messed it all up, I messed everything up…”

Spike growled, and stood up, whirling away and running his hands over his head, trying to think of what to do now.

But Willow saw him turning away and shrieked. She sat part of the way up and cried, “No! Spike, I… I need help, I can’t… you can’t just leave me here!”

He turned back around, staring at her in bewilderment, and the final sparks of magic finally disappeared from her body. She was still cradling one arm to her chest, so he grabbed the other one, hauling her up, and looking her over. “What the bloody hell did you do?” he demanded.

“I needed… I needed…” Willow said, her shortness of breath catching up to her. “I used up all my magic, and Amy took me to this guy called Rack…”

Spike growled and gripped her arm tight without meaning to, recoiling when the chip twinged in his skull. “You have any idea how bloody dangerous he is?”

“I needed it!” Willow wept. “But now I’m tired and feel sick all the time… and I can’t stop it… I just keep wanting more… and I didn’t even know that demon was real until it tried to kill me but I think that I actually summoned it, and Tara won’t see me and…”

Spike growled again, and yanked on her arm, pulling her stumbling form out into the street.

“W-where are you taking me?” Willow sniffled.

“Buffy told me to tell her if you were doing anything stupid,” Spike said curtly. “And you are, and so you’re gonna be her problem now, not mine.”

Willow fell silent after that, sniffling and trying to breathe, but she was certainly more subdued at his announcement, until they came to Revello Drive.

 “I have to sleep in the b-basement,” she whimpered suddenly. “Tara has my bed.”

“Thought the bird moved out.”

“She’s sick,” Willow sniffled. “A-and Buffy said I had to sleep in the basement until she was better.”

“Right,” Spike said. “That why you’re off palling around with your new partner in crime, then?”

“She has it just as bad,” Willow said. “I guess… I guess being a rat for three years is not the cure for an addiction.”

She clearly wasn’t trying to be funny, but Spike felt something like amusement in his chest all the same. “No,” he said, in a softer tone. “Wouldn’t have recommended that, anyway.”

Willow just sniffled, but her breathing returned to normal. “I really don’t know how to stop,” she whispered.

“Well, from the sound of things, you’ve got friends willing enough to help you,” Spike said. He marched her up Buffy’s front porch, and tried the doorknob. “Slayer should really know to lock her door at night,” he said with a sigh, when it opened.

But as he closed it behind them, the scent of disease hit him all at once, and he realized that the house’s occupants probably weren’t too focused on locking the front door at the moment.

“Bloody hell,” he whispered. 

“What?” Willow asked anxiously, shoulder tensing in his grasp.

Spike didn’t answer, just let her arm go and walked slowly towards the stairs. He moved up them like he was being pulled against his will, and heard Tara coughing in the master bedroom. He pushed open the door to Dawn’s bedroom, and saw her sprawled out untidily in her bed, used up tissues scattered on the floor, and her breathing all congested. 

He turned his eye towards Buffy’s door, and moved towards it even more slowly.

And was instantly filled with rage at what he saw when he entered the room.

“Where,” he said slowly. “The bleeding fuck do you think you’re going, Slayer?”

She was sitting on her bed, dressed to the nines for patrolling, except for her boots— which were lying next to her bare feet, as she gazed distantly towards them. 

She barely raised her head towards him, and said in a hoarse, faraway voice, “I have to patrol.”

“Like hell you do,” Spike snarled. “Your heartbeat’s shaky, your scent is all off, you look like death warmed over…” he strode forward, and laid two fingers gently on the unscarred side of her neck.

She instantly batted his hand away, but he just shook his head. “You’re warm, pet, much too warm, even for you. Caught that bug after all, didn’t you?”

“I’m fine,” she said stiffly.

“No,” Spike drawled. “You’re feverish, and you're gonna change right out of those clothes into something more appropriate for your situation.” 

He turned, and dug through her dresser until he found a pair of pajamas. He tossed them at her, and crossed his arms with an impatience to rival her own. She pushed them off her lap, and reached for her boots, but Spike swooped down and picked them up first, throwing them into a far corner of the room. 

She glared at him. “You can’t stop me from going.”

He just raised an eyebrow at her. “So go ahead, go and retrieve your shoes, then.”

She looked balefully at the boots, far out of her reach, and heaved a sigh, before slowly starting to stand up on shaky legs.

Spike was at her side in an instant, and he shoved her back down. “I was bluffing,” he said. “No, Buffy, you’re not leaving this bed.” He yanked the covers back and when she tried to stand up again, shoved her back down, and pulled her covers up over her. “And if you want to wear that instead of something more comfortable, that’s your sodding business.”

“What are you even doing here?” Buffy asked, and there was still a sting in her voice, even if it sounded weak and tired. “I already told you there won’t be… a repeat of the other night, or anything.”

He clenched his fists, and grit his teeth. How she could be even more of a bitch when she was under the weather was beyond him. “Not yet,” he said, the words bubbling out of him before he could think about it. “But I’m in your system now. You’re gonna crave me, like I crave blood.”

Buffy just shook her head. “That night,” she said. “Was the most perverse, degrading experience of my life. You might be in my system, but I’m going to get you out .”

“You can bloody well try,” Spike snarled, and turned away. “Go to sleep, Slayer.”

“You can’t make me.”

“Can bloody well give you a thump to the head now, can’t I?” he shot back. He strode to the door, but that was all the time that was needed for his unbeating heart to start repenting. He clutched the doorframe, and closed his eyes, willing his temper to settle black down where it belonged. 

And once it had, he realized how worried he was for the girl behind him. How it bit at him to see her suffering, how it tore into him to think of anything so common as germs getting her down.

“I found Willow,” he finally said.

“Where is she?” Buffy mumbled. 

“Here. I’m… I’ll put her in the basement. She’s in a bad way but I… I’ll stay the night with her, make sure she doesn’t go out again.”

He waited longer than he should have for a reply, but was rewarded by a clipped, almost hesitant, “Thanks.”

He gripped the doorjamb again, and damned his soft, stupid heart to hell for being so utterly under her control.

“Go to sleep, Buffy,” he said again, trying unsuccessfully to shake the longing out of his voice, and closed the door carefully behind him.

In the same way that Buffy’s door had called to him when he’d first come up the stairs, Dawn’s was calling to him now. He poked his head in her room again, and found himself walking forward, then gently untangling the knot of bedsheets she’d tied herself up in. She made some snuffling sounds, but didn’t wake as he situated her under her covers, laying her the right way up with her head actually on the pillow. He’d learned well enough, last summer, that Dawn could be a right hellion if she woke up with a crick in her neck.

He swept up all the scattered tissues on the ground and tossed them in her trash can, switched off the light, and closed the door behind him before his brain caught up and laughed at him for tending to her like it was second nature.

Well, it was second nature, after the summer they’d had together, and whatever evil still lurked inside him could just stuff it. He liked Dawn, never had made any secret out of that, cared for her as if she was his own blood. And everyone knew how he felt about Buffy, so, really, no condemning actions had been performed here tonight.

But then he heard a cough again from the third bedroom, and he froze.

The rush and crunch of violence and bodies screaming in agony as they were ripped to pieces, that was one thing. He got off on those sounds— or had, once. That hadn’t exactly been tested as of late.

But the sound of someone coughing was just about his least favorite sound in the world. No good memories associated with that, for him.

And when it didn’t appear to be stopping, he heaved a sigh, and cracked open the door to the master bedroom.

Tara was all bundled up in bed, only her startled eyes peering up at him from beneath the covers, and the awkwardness of the situation was not lost on Spike.

He didn’t have a thing against the chit, but they’d never spoken enough words to each other to constitute a conversation. He found himself wondering why that was, suddenly, when everyone else in the group was so loud and opinionated; not shy about acting as they pleased around him, whether it was blatant disgust or a rather alarming lack of fear for who he was. 

But now they were here, and Tara was coughing in front of him, repeatedly, and his feet strode forward, lifting the glass of water from her bedside, and holding it out to her.

“Can you sit up?” he asked, surprised at the gentleness in his own voice and hating it all the same, for all he’d sounded like a pre-vamp William in the moment.

Her eyes still looked terrified, but she stirred, using one hand to try and push herself up.

She was shaking with the effort, and Spike sat on the edge of the bed next to her, using one arm to help her sit, until she was leaning against his shoulder.

It took her another moment of coughing, but she finally reached for the glass, drinking the water in small sips, face scrunching up in pain every time she swallowed. She eventually handed it back to him, and he helped her lay down again. “Better?” he asked.

She nodded, her eyes relaxing, but as he stood up, her hand reached out and grabbed his sleeve.

He frowned as he looked at her. “What?”

She didn’t answer, just tensed her jaw, and he’d gathered now that her throat was in a bad way, and talking would be too painful. So he just stared at her for a moment, brow wrinkling as he tried to figure out what she wanted, before he realized she probably knew about the Slayer’s little mission for him.

“Oh,” he said. “Yeah, Red’s here, and right as rain. Or at least she will be. Think that’s her in the shower I hear.”

Tara drew a deep breath, and nodded slowly, then let go of his sleeve. But she was still watching him, and Spike rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, trying to figure out how to fill the silence. 

“She fell in with a bad crowd, just like you an’ the Slayer thought, I reckon,” he said. “Not gonna let her out of my sight, though, not until you lot are all better and can decide what you wanna do about her.”

The relief was noticeable on Tara’s face, and she reached out again, and squeezed his fingers tightly.

“Sure,” Spike said gruffly, feeling a sudden desire to get out of there. “Don’t mention it.”

***

Willow stepped out of the bathroom with her hair wrapped in one towel, and another one around her front, and squeaked in surprise when she saw Spike standing there, arms crossed, glowering at her.

“Spike,” she said, trying to regain her cool. “Um… I didn’t know you were still here.”

His eyes traveled over her state of undress, but though she raised her good arm self-consciously to grip the towel tighter, there wasn’t anything resembling desire or lust in his gaze. He was just looking at her, like he was thinking, and trying to puzzle out the situation.

“Didn’t go into your bedroom, then,” he finally said.

Willow looked down, twisting her fingers nervously. “She doesn’t… want to see me.”

Spike just nodded. “She’s asleep now, if you’re looking to grab your clothes. I’ll be in the basement. More’n five minutes and I’ll come hunting you.”

He turned on his heel and swaggered towards the stairs without waiting for a response, and she just opened and shut her mouth, wishing she could come up with a reply, wishing she could just eviscerate him with her thoughts for all his cocky insolence. 

She probably could. Except she didn’t do that anymore. Starting now.

She kept her head down and darted into her bedroom, pulling her pajamas on quickly and trying not to look at the girl in the bed. But Willow still gave a whimper as she shut the door behind her and dragged herself towards the basement.

Spike evidently was planning to keep her prisoner, and she was not looking forward to spending the night in that cold, creepy place. No matter how guilty she’d felt about the events of the evening.

She was, therefore, startled for at least the third time since leaving the bathroom, when she reached the bottom of the basement steps and saw what Spike had done to the place.

He’d set up an old camping cot, pushing it up against the wall, and padded it with what had to be all the extra bedding there was in the house, for her. The window was opened just a crack and he had taken one single blanket to lounge on top of on the cold floor. There was a lit cigarette between his lips and an open book in his hand. 

Willow sat down on the cot with a feeling of bewilderment, and noticed that he’d found a space heater somewhere, which was doing its best to warm up the area, even creating a somewhat peaceful sound to fill the silence. 

Spike snuffed out his cigarette, dropped his book, and then stood and lifted a glass of water and a plate with a sandwich. He moved over to her and held them out without a word, and Willow took them as if in a dream. 

“Hurting anywhere?” Spike asked, short and clinical, like this was his day job or something. Like he was a surly nurse, and not a master vampire.

“My arm,” she whispered. “But it’s fine, it’s—”

Spike crouched down and grabbed her left arm, and began pinching the tender bone between his thumb and forefinger. “Ow!” Willow cried.

“Ow,” Spike muttered in turn, shaking his head to clear his own resulting pain. “Well, it’s not broken.”

Willow drew a shaky breath. “That’s… that’s good. I would want to use magic if it was.”

Spike reached under the cot and pulled out the first-aid kit he’d apparently stashed down there. “You meant it, then?” he asked. “You want to call it quits? For keeps?”

Willow nodded slowly. “I thought I had it under control,” she whispered, watching as Spike pulled an elastic bandage out of the kit. She bit into her sandwich, hoping it would keep her tears back, and feeling even more surprised that he’d made her peanut butter and jelly. “The magic. But I didn’t. I… I was out of my mind… seriously.”

“Hm,” Spike grunted, wrapping the bandage around her arm.

“No more spells, I’m finished,” Willow said, sniffling and swallowing. “It’s not worth it. Losing my sense of reality… messing with people I love…”

“That why Tara won’t let you see her, then? ‘Fraid you’ll meddle with her insides?”

Willow nodded slowly. “And she’s right,” she whispered. “It wouldn’t be the first time, either.” She took another bite of the sandwich, but could hardly keep it down. She swallowed, setting the plate to one side, and closed her eyes as Spike tightened her bandage with quick fingers. “I never wanted to hurt anybody. But the magic, it… it took me away from myself. Made me feel… free. But dirty, at the same time.”

Spike just grunted again, and then took her chin in his hand, tilting her head, and she opened her eyes to see him studying her forehead. He frowned and reached into his kit again, taping tiny strips of bandages over the cut she could still feel throbbing in her head, even if she’d managed to stop the bleeding. 

“But I don’t know if it’s enough,” Willow said, wondering why she was just spilling all her inner thoughts to a vampire who had once threatened to shove a broken bottle into her face. Maybe because she had no one else. Maybe because he’d made her a sandwich and found her a space heater. Maybe because he’d been there to save her that night. “They might all hate me now.”

“Well, reckon some of them are feeling a mite betrayed by you.”

“I know,” Willow said, sniffling again.

Spike sighed loudly, and continued. “But unfortunately, love doesn’t always go away just because you’ve been betrayed. Just keeps on ticking. The heart wants to forgive, Red, even when it shouldn’t. Can’t imagine they’ll throw you to the wolves anytime soon. Not with all those years behind you.”

She found herself staring at him, watching as he clicked the kit shut and shoved it back under the cot. He moved back over to his blanket, and picked up his book again, using nothing but the meager light of the moon to read by. 

Willow just sat, and stared, completely unaware of what was happening to her, and wondering if she was still at Rack’s, hallucinating for all she was worth.

“First night sober is gonna be hell,” Spike said after a while, without looking up from his book. “You start getting itchy palms, you let me know.”

And then he was silent, and Willow felt hungry again, so she finished her sandwich and then laid down on a cot that was incredibly and surprisingly comfortable now, with all the layers he’d put on it.

For her. He’d done that, for her.

And it was difficult to get to sleep, and she found herself shaking and sweating and incredibly thirsty, but she didn’t feel the need to do any magic.

Spike lit another cigarette at some point, which she thought would bother her, but she actually appreciated the stinky distraction. And the moonlight filtering in through the open window was calming, and the quiet turn of the book’s pages was a nice reminder that someone else was there… even if it was just Spike.

Spike, who maybe hadn’t been given enough credit by the rest of them. They all knew he’d taken care of Dawn when Buffy was… unavailable, but none of them had expected he’d actually taken care of her. Not like this. Anticipating needs, providing food without being asked, knowing how to treat minor injuries, and somehow being comforting even if he seemed super grumpy about it the whole time. She herself had always doubted his ability to love, thinking that something good and pure like that would get twisted up in his demon vampire brain, but what other explanation was there for his actions over the past year?

She’d puzzled herself almost to sleep when she heard him sigh out the words, “The things I do for that bloody woman.”

And the last thought she had, before slipping into a dreamless slumber, was that maybe Spike really did love Buffy, after all.