Gods And Monsters

Chapter Forty:

Tilting her head to one side, Hel studied Spike. In sleep, he appeared to be at peace. A calm façade contradictory to his tormented mind. Her keen gaze examined every detail of him, from the leather toes of his black boots to the little platinum curls atop his head. She adored the angular cut of his cheekbones, and the fuller curve of his lower lip.

Spike awoke to the sensation of cold metal pressing against his wrists. Startled, his eyes flew open and he twisted round in search of the cause, yanking pointlessly at his restraints. A pair of iron shackles held him hostage, their long chain looped through the wire lattice fence behind his back.

"Bondage suits you." Hel remarked innocently, sitting cross-legged in front of him.

He lifted his head and raised an eyebrow at her suggestively, a salacious little smirk on his lips. "Do you always carry handcuffs?"

With a good-natured roll of her eyes, she smiled, unable to resist the temptation. "This is just a precaution, to prevent you from wandering off again."

"Probably wise." He conceded.

Sitting back on her calves, Hel tucked a rebellious tendril of ebony hair behind her ear.

His gaze fixated on the concrete beneath him as if it was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen.

A silence settled onto the small gap between them. Unspoken words hung there, in the no man's land. Endless possibilities and implications neither of them had the courage to unravel.

"I don't trust what I see anymore." Spike spoke softly, shattering the dead air. "I don't know how to explain it exactly." He pursed his lips slightly, almost smirking, and brought his eyes up to meet her own. "It's like I've been seein' things. Dru used to see things, you know?"

She felt a brief, but sharp, pang of jealousy at the mention of Drusilla, his sire and ex-lover.

He lifted his eyes to the ceiling. "She'd always be starin' up at the sky watchin' cherubs burn... Or the heavens bleed or some nonsense. I used to stare at her and think she'd gone completely 'sack of hammers'. But she'd see the sky when we were inside... And it'd make her so happy. She'd see showers. She'd see stars. Now I see her." He bowed his head.

"Spike..."

"I'm in trouble, Hel."

"I can help you."

Briefly, Spike met her eyes, incredulous. But then he exhaled, shying away from her gaze, and glanced off to the side. "I could never ask."

"I want to help you."

"I could never ask." He whispered, reaching over his shoulder and pressing his hand onto the back of his neck.

"I'm offering." Placing her hand stop his, she interlaced her fingers with his as she drew them away from his neck. "William, it's me. It's you and it's me, and we will get through this." She reassured him.

He raised his head, his uncertain blue eyes piercing hers.

Hel attempted a consoling smile. It felt forced and unconvincing, even to her. "We will get through this."

Squeezing his hand once, she freed her hand from his. She stood upright, brushing off the back of her skin-tight, black leather pencil skirt. Smoothing out the wrinkles in her dove-grey, silk blouse, she straightened the satin of her skinny black necktie. She fastened the buttons of her black, lightweight trench coat and cinched the belt at her waist.

Spike swallowed, wrapping his arms around his knees. "Where are you going?"

"I won't be gone long." Hel replied.

Without another word, she faced the door. The heels of her gleaming, black Leboutin platform stilettos clicked against the paved floor with each retreating step she took.

True to her word, Hel returned later that night, this time with Buffy in tow.

Striding across the room, Hel knelt before Spike. The cement was cold and solid beneath her bare knees. "Spike."

He was in exactly the same spot and position as when she had left, in the farthest corner of the room with his knees tucked up to his chest and arms encasing his bowed head. At the familiar sound of her voice, he lifted his head and dropped his arms. His wide eyes were glassy and wild.

"This basement is killing you. This is the Hellmouth. There is some thing bad down here— possibly everything bad."

He choked out a dry, breathy laugh, which evolved into a disconcerting, slightly manic chuckle. "Can't hear you. Can't hear you." Glistening tear tracks dampened his cheeks. 

Standing a short distance behind Hel, Buffy placed both hands on her hips and rolled her eyes. "You have a soul? Fine. Show me."

"Scream 'Montresor' all you like, pet."

"Get up, off your arse, and get out of this basement." Hel ordered, grasping onto either side of his face and cradling his head in her hands.

Spike swallowed. "I don't have anywhere else to go." He whispered.