Gods And Monsters

Chapter Twenty:

Her head was pounding so hard that Hel thought it would split open. Her mouth was dry, each breath she took scratched her parched throat, and her lips were chapped. Her entire body was in post-alcohol agony.

"Rise and shine, sleepyhead."

The bedside lamp was switched on, effectively blinding her. With a loud groan of protest, she rolled away from the light and buried herself under the covers.

"What's the matter, luv? Had a bit too much last night?" Spike asked, feigning ignorance.

Tentatively, she emerged from her cozy, dark shelter and began prying her eyes ajar. Hel squinted against the honeyed, orange glow.

He was smirking at her, undeniably smug. At some point while she was unconscious, he must have put on a shirt, since he was now clothed in a long sleeved, black button-up. "How do you feel?"

She clutched her head, cradling it between her hands. "Like death warmed over." She rasped, her voice husky.

"Here." He perched on the edge of the bed and handed her mug of water.

She sat upright against the pillow-cushioned headboard and accepted it gratefully, gulping down the refreshing liquid in seconds. Sighing appreciatively, Hel held the empty mug out to him. Her thirst was satisfied for now, but she knew she would need more soon if she had any hopes of shortening the lifespan of her hangover.

Chuckling quietly, Spike took it and placed it on the bedside table. It was a small, circular pedestal, constructed from rustic oak. "Someone was thirsty."

"Very."

He rose to his feet, picking up the empty mug. "I'm making myself a tea, would you like one?"

"A tea would be perfect right now." She replied.

His steel-blue eyes warmed as he smiled, and the corners crinkled. "I'll be right back." He turned, heading for the ladder. Spike scaled the rungs and disappeared upstairs.

She snuggled up in the comfort of his cushiony bed. Closing her eyes, Hel nodded off for a moment. By the time she awoke, he had returned with a mug in each hand and was setting them down on the table.

"What took you so long, old man?" She teased.

"Old man?" He stared at her pointedly, feigning hurt feelings.

She only smirked.

He cleared his throat and tucked his hands into the pockets of his black jeans. Spike leant against the farthest bedpost, a perfect counterfeit of ease. "How much do you remember from last night?"

As Hel dragged herself upright, her brow furrowed, and she winced as her splitting headache sent a shot of pain to her temple. "Very little. Why?" She reached for her mug, distinguished only by a lack of milk clouding the black tea. She cradled the hot ceramic cup between both hands.

"No reason." He answered quickly. "Simply curious, is all."

Raising one eyebrow sceptically, she brought the mug rim to her lips and blew into it softly. The disturbance sent ripples across the chestnut-brown surface. Hel inhaled the warm, familiar scent of English Breakfast deeply.

"And you? How has your memory faired, William?" Cautiously, she took a sip of her tea.

He regarded her curiously. "It's been a very long time since anyone has called me that. A hundred years, at least."

"William suits you better. How did you come up with such a name as 'Spike'?" 

"Railroad spikes were my preferred torture toy of choice." Spike replied matter-of-factly.

"How delightfully morbid." She remarked, smiling at him contemplatively. "And your monicker 'William The Bloody'? What of its origins?"

"Now, the story behind that nickname is not so obvious." He chuckled lightly under his breath.

"Tell me." She prompted, eager to hear more.

"When I was human, I fancied myself a bit of a poet." He admitted reluctantly, taking a seat at the foot of the bed. "I was rubbish, of course. In the words of many who heard it, my poetry was 'bloody awful'."

"Earning you your title." Hel added.

He nodded. "Correct."

"Tell me more." She prodded, fascinated, and inched closer to the middle of the bed, manoeuvring until she sat cross-legged.

"About?"

"You."

"Why?"

Her eyebrows shot up. "Because I want to know."

Spike pursed his lips thoughtfully. "And if I don't want to tell?" He replied, playfully evasive.

"You will anyway." She smirked, folding her arms across her chest.

Leaning towards her, his head tilted slightly to one side, he eyed her with predatory intrigue. "Is that so?" His voice dropped to a low, husky murmur.

Her pulse sped up a notch, but she refused to show the effect he had on her. "Yes."

"And how did you come to that conclusion, love?" He asked softly.

"By observation." Hel answered simply. "Everyone else I've met here is dull as a table lamp. Not that I blame them, of course. It's in their nature. They're just too... Human."

"What am I then?" Spike inquired, his eyes searching hers intently.

She smiled. "You're a riddle. I like riddles."

"Say that I do tell you what you want to know, hypothetically speaking..." He began, picking his words with care.

"I will answer any questions you may have." She replied.

"What's in it for me?" His eyes glinted mischievously.

In spite of his suggestive phrasing, her resolve did not waver and her tone did not weaken. "The opportunity to tell your side of the story." Uncrossing her arms, she held out an open hand. "Do we have a deal?"

He clasped her hand in a firm shake and held it longer than necessary. "We do."