Gods And Monsters

Chapter Forty-one:

Negotiations were made with Xander for Spike to stay with him for the time being, until other arrangements could be agreed upon.

Opening the door to his modest one-bedroom apartment, Xander didn't waste any time beating around the bush: "You're gonna live in the small room there. I know it looks like a closet, but it's a room now. You're not gonna touch my food. I take the first shower in the morning and if I use up all the hot water, that's your tough noogies."

Hel couldn't help thinking that his orange, brown and white plaid button-up was one of the ugliest shirts she had ever laid eyes on.

He pointed an accusatory finger at Buffy, Dawn and Hel where they stood off to the side of the entrance. "And I hate this plan." His attention returned to Spike, who hovered in the hallway just outside the open doorway. "Are you keepin' up or do you need some kind of English to constant-pain-in-my-ass translation?"

"Invitation." Hel reminded him curtly.

"Is there something more emphatic than hate?" Xander retorted. "Can I revile the plan?"

If looks could kill, the hateful stare Hel gave him with would have slaughtered him stone-cold dead right then and there.

"Fine." He said reluctantly. "I invite you in, nimrod."

Spike entered, looking none too pleased. His black shirt was torn where he tried to remove his own heart and the first two buttons were undone. "I don't want your sodding food anyway." He grumbled, strutting past Dawn, Buffy and Xander.

Hel trailed after him, to the closed door of the room he had been assigned, and stood at his side.

"I just don't understand when his problems became your problems— more specifically, mine." Xander gestured with his hand for emphasis, then let it fall.

"The school basement is causing him to go insane." Hel interjected.

"She's right." Buffy agreed, with a hand gesture of her own. "We can't just leave him there."

"Why not?"

"Things are different now. He has a soul."

"That's a real comfort."

"What does that mean, exactly?" Buffy's younger sister, Dawn, inquired. "That Spike is all soul-having?"

Buffy sighed. "I don't know. But he's been through a lot... Okay?"

Fed up with being opening discussed as though he wasn't present, Spike strode up to the trio. "Buffy? I'll go. This can't work." His head turned when Hel joined him.

"It will." She reassured him. "It already is, okay?" It didn't go unnoticed by the rest of the group when her hand brushed his and he instinctively responded by entwining his fingers with hers. "You've been out of the basement for half an hour, and you've already stopped talking to invisible people."

"Bollocks."

"Alright, so there was that incident in the car, but—"

"No, bollocks to the whole thing." He shrugged his shoulders, untangling his hand from hers. "I don't need your mollycoddling."

"It is not coddling." She said sternly, pointing a finger at the entrance to his temporary living quarters. "Now go to your closet."

With a sigh of surrender, Spike turned around and started in the direction he was ordered.

She followed close behind. Swinging open the door, he stepped aside. Hel accepted his chivalrous cue for her to enter first and took the lead. The door clicked shut behind him.

"Well, this is cozy." She remarked, raising an eyebrow at the tight space.

Xander had been correct in his statement that it resembled a closet. Apparently, he had seen no reason for its discontinuation as a storage area for all sorts of leftover junk and unwanted items. Opposite the disorganised, useless right half of the tiny room and directly in front of them, there was a cot. It had been haphazardly made up with a set of pale blue sheets.

Spike took a seat on the side of the cot.

She sat beside him. "Did I miss anything, while I was gone?"

"Joyce, Buffy's mum, passed away."

She blinked, at a loss for how to reply. "Oh."

"I liked her. She was a kind woman. She treated me like a person worth caring about, you know? After Dru left me, she comforted me with hot chocolate and mini marshmallows." He smiled wistfully.

"How long ago did she die?"

"The day you left. Over a year and a half ago."

"Well, I suppose it's safe to assume I missed the funeral."

He frowned. "Is that supposed to be funny?"

"I thought it might lighten the mood."

"A good, kind woman died, a mother no less, and you make a joke?" He asked incredulously.

"What's wrong with death?" Hel questioned, gazing sidelong at him. "Why can't we treat death with dignity, respect, or —gods forbid— a little humour?"

"I suppose you're right." Spike sighed, propping his elbows on his knees and leaning forward.

A lingering, awkward pause ensued.

She wrapped her arms around her own waist, analysing his downcast expression with concern. Becoming distracted, her eyes traced the full curve of his lower lip. Her pupils were dilated, only a narrow ring of pigment remained.

She tore her eyes away and broke the silence by clearing her throat. "Do you want a hug?" She asked tentatively.

He straightened abruptly, his head whipping round and wide eyes snapping to hers. "What? No!"

Hel pursed her lips slightly, a nervous flush enflaming her cheeks. "Right, no."

"What's the matter with you?" He blurted, caught off guard by her uncharacteristic attempt at consolation.

"I'm just trying to help." She retorted defensively.

"Do you want a hug?" He asked sardonically. "Let's hug it out?"

"Goodnight, Spike." She said with a tight-lipped smile, shooting to her feet and walking briskly to the exit. The door slammed shut behind her.