Gods And Monsters

Chapter Thirty-four:

Leant against the basement wall with her arms crossed over her chest, Hel regarded Spike worriedly. He was huddled up in the farthest corner of the room, empty eyes fixated on the floor and knees pulled up to his chest. It had been at least a full hour since he last spoke.

She straightened up off the wall, approaching him with caution. "Spike, please say something."

He said nothing in reply, his hands pressed against the clammy cement floor.

"Please. Just... Tell me what happened." She implored, kneeling in front of him. A yearning to touch him arose within her. She strangled it.

Spike raised his head to meet her gaze, but his unseeing eyes stared right through her. It was as if Hel wasn't even there. He clenched his head between both hands, fingertips digging into the brown roots of his bleached curls. "Burning..." He murmured in anguish. "Burning..."

Sighing, she caved into her desire for physical contact and outstretched a hand. Her fingers met his temple, running through the softness of his unruly hair.

He visibly relaxed. Leaning forward and resting his forehead against the crook of her shoulder, Spike inhaled her familiar scent. Delicate and lingering, with notes of warm vanilla and fiery cinnamon. "Thank you." His voice was a whisper, but unexpectedly lucid.

"What for?"

"Coming back."

She was at a loss for how to respond. So, rather than sullying the silence with pointless words, she manoeuvred herself from her knees and into a seated position on the floor beside him. He released his knees from the cage of his arms, unfurling his legs. Hesitantly, he laid down on his side and lowered his head onto her lap. Hel tensed in surprise, sitting perfectly still.

"I remember you." He murmured.

"I should hope so."

"Where did you go?"

"Home." She replied simply.

"I kept expecting to see you again, at every posh event I attended. I searched for you. I wouldn't dance with anyone else."

Her brow furrowed. "Sorry, you've lost me."

Spike opened his eyes, gazing up at her thoughtfully. "You were so beautiful..." He remarked softly. "In that black ball gown. But your eyes, your eyes were different."

Realisation dawned on her face. Her wide eyes searched his familiar features, the angular cut of his cheekbones and contour of his jaw. His hair was a bit shorter, and bleached platinum, but his warm blue eyes were unmistakable. Upon encountering him at the site of her arrival on Midgard, she had immediately known his voice. She felt foolish for not recognising him sooner.

"You." She breathed.

A small smile graced his lips. "Hello, Miss Smith."

Uncertainly, Hel smoothed her hand through his hair. He closed his eyes and exhaled contentedly. Interpreting his reaction as encouragement, she slowly wove her fingers into his tousled curls and continued the soothing motion.

The seconds ticked by, then minutes. Minutes became hours. Darkness ebbed at the fringes of her vision, her eyelids drooping shut and head lolling back against the wall.

Shortly after midnight, the basement door slid open with a loud slam. She was jolted awake.

Buffy Summers stood in the opening, arms folded across her chest and eyebrows raised. "You're back."

"Clearly." Hel quipped, unwilling to move just yet. Thankfully, Spike's deep slumber remained undisturbed. His right hand was warm against her bare knee and the left was tucked under his head.

Buffy strode into the room. "As touching as this scene is, we have more pressing matters to deal with." She stated bluntly, referring the close proximity of Hel and Spike.

"And?" Hel replied passively.

Buffy rolled her eyes. "And we need your help."

"Give me one reason I should help you." Her challenge was spoken in monotone, laced heavily with boredom.

"Sunnydale is under attack."

"Isn't it always?"

Buffy pursed her lips in irritation. "Innocent lives are at stake."

"Dying is what you mortals do."

Hel examined her painted nails apathetically. The glossy, black lacquer had yet to be chipped, but she knew from experience that it wouldn't take long. She had never been gentle or cautious with her hands. "Why should I intervene in the natural order of life and death?"

Hel's lack of concern had pushed Buffy to the brink of her limited patience, and this was the final straw. The lukewarm disregard of her response was the catalyst that flared her temper. Buffy's fragile mask of composure splintered, and the verbal assault that followed spat furious shrapnel from her sharp tongue.

"How can you be so heartless?" She snapped, advancing a few steps farther.

Hel smirked, unfazed by Buffy's outburst. "Centuries of practice."

"Fine." Buffy said icily, jaw clenching with the extraordinary self-control it took to keep from smashing her fist into her arrogant face. "Either help me or don't. It's your call." Disgusted by Hel's careless attitude, she spun around and strode from the room.

Satisfied by getting a rile out of Buffy, Hel attempted to awaken her sleeping companion. "Spike? I need you to wake up."

"Hm?" Spike grunted, nuzzling his cheek against her thigh and sighing sleepily.

Smiling at how undeniably, heartwarmingly human he appeared sometimes, she gently lifted his head from her lap. She began manoeuvring herself out from under his shoulder, prompting him to reluctantly drag himself up.

He leaned his full weight against the wall as she got to her feet, regarding her warily. His eyes were anxious, distressed almost. "Where're you going?"

Hel met his eyes. The groggy expression he wore took her aback. He was dazed from sleep, and she had never seen him this vulnerable, innocent almost. She swallowed the lump of guilt lodged in her throat. There was nothing she wanted more than to stay by his side, to comfort him, and she felt unkind for leaving when he was most in need of company.

"The Slayer requires my assistance."

His eyebrows rose. "What a surprise."

"I shall return shortly." Hel assured him.

His sullen gaze held hers. "Promise?"

She lowered herself into a crouch before him, holding his gaze steadily. Tentatively, she outstretched her hand and cupped his jaw. Her thumb lightly swept along his cheekbone. "I swear it."