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Faith was jolted awake by the impact of Spike’s arm across her stomach, taking her from unconsciousness to full alert in the space of a few seconds. It was far from the first time that she’d been awakened in such a manner, but it never got any easier. She roused quickly, sitting up and scooting closer to him, knowing that her presence would register on a subconscious level and hoping that it would help to shake him out of what was, by all appearances, one of the worst of these episodes she’d ever seen from him.
Spike’s low growl was steadily becoming louder, his face already shifted as his arms flung wide, claws rending at both the sheets and the mattress below. His body was bowed upwards to an almost painful degree, fingers and toes twitching as his eyelashes fluttered madly. She knew from those cues exactly which nightmare it was and moved immediately to counteract it as best she could. Springing from her position near his head, she quickly straddled his torso, forcing his body out of its unnatural arch with her weight and a considerable amount of effort. His hands flew up to grip her shoulders, razor-sharp nails digging into her skin and making her hiss in pain as she resisted his efforts at throwing her away from him.
“Spike, it’s Faith. You’re not there, baby; you’re here with me. Come on, Spike, wake up,” she urged as she held on to his shoulder with one hand while stroking the fingers of her other across his ridged brow. The action soothed him a bit, as it usually did, and the volume of the growls and snarls began to decrease, though she could still see his eyes darting frantically under the slitted cover of his lashes. “Snap to, Spike. Come on around, baby. It’s Faith. They’re not here—they’re not going to ever get you. Not with me here. Come on, look at me.”
Her litany seemed to be getting through to him; his violent thrashings were reduced to tremors and shuddering, the noises he was making becoming much more wounded whimper than feral threat. “It’s me, not them, Spike. Faith, not them,” she repeated over and over, stopping only when his eyes slowly, fearfully blinked open to meet her gaze. Relief flooded his face, and he pulled her down against his chest, clinging to her desperately as he drew shuddery breaths in an attempt to calm himself. Faith let herself be held, curving herself around him as best she could, pressing chaste, reassuring kisses against the flesh she could reach from her position as she offered the silent support of her presence and her understanding.
“Was a bad one,” Spike rasped, finally breaking the nearly hour-long silence and rolling to his side, loosening his death grip on Faith in the process. “’m sorry,” he whispered, fingers tracing the lines of dried blood marring the arm he could reach back up to the furrows from which they originated.
“Sshhh,” Faith answered, placing her finger over his lips as she offered him a lopsided grin. “It’s all right. They’ll be gone by tomorrow anyway.”
“Well, yeah, but… those’re deep, pet. Let me bandage them up?” he asked almost pleadingly, the need to make amends evident in the expression on his face.
“Sure. Could always use a doctoring,” she replied. She was only humoring him, but it still touched her that he insisted on taking care of her like this, and having someone to watch over her wounds wasn’t really something she’d had before him. She couldn’t help but enjoy the single-minded focus he gave her in such moments, the feeling of being treasured that came from his attentions. That it seemed to reassure him at the same time was a hefty bonus.
Spike stood slowly and padded towards the bathroom, returning with his hands full of antiseptics, cotton balls, and bandages. Faith sat up as he returned, turning so that he could easily reach her right shoulder, jumping and gasping slightly at the first contact of the peroxide with the wounds. “Sorry,” he murmured again, and she shook her head vehemently.
“Stop. Nothing to be sorry for, Spike. You didn’t know it was me—lost in the dream. I understand, remember? I have them, too,” she rejoined, her hand coming up to grasp his on her shoulder. Tilting her head back and looking into his eyes, she said simply, “That was the deal, Spike. We’re in it together—all of it.”
Spike gave her a small nod that to anyone else would have seemed overly brusque, but that she recognized as his way of preventing what he deemed too much emotional release. He was always discomfited after one of these episodes, shamed by the need to cling to her when he awoke; she had tried time after time to convince him that she didn’t mind, but given her own embarrassment when she clutched him desperately in the wake of her own nightmares, she realized it was largely a losing battle. The kiss he pressed against the crown of her head was a surprise, however, and a definite break with tradition; it was the first time he’d gotten over his standoffishness so soon, and she was still smiling softly at the progress when he finished bandaging both shoulders.
She watched him measuringly as he disposed of the used cotton and bandage wrappings, noting the stiff way he held his body and knowing instinctively that, although he was awake and interacting with her, his mind was still largely far away. On his next pass by the bed, she reached forward and grabbed his hand, tugging him down next to her and curling into him, forcing him to stretch out with her. She wrapped her free arm around his torso, her fingers tracing random patterns on his side for long minutes until she felt the tension in his body begin to dissipate. The heavy sigh he breathed told her that he was beginning to shake out of his painful reverie, and she kissed his shoulder lightly before looking up at him. “Wanna talk about it?”
“Not much to say, wildcat,” he responded, smiling ruefully as he stroked his hand through her hair. “Was one of the usuals. Nothin’ all that new.”
“Electroshock?” she asked, the tightness in his jaw giving her the answer, his voice seconding her conclusion a few seconds later.
“Yeah. Better bloody livin’ through technology.”
“Bastards.”
“Can’t really argue with you there,” Spike answered, losing himself in the comfort of repetition and the familiar: the constant press of her fingers against his flesh, her presence against his side, the steady trajectory of his hand through long chestnut hair, the regular drumbeat of her heart and the warm little puffs that tickled his chest every time she exhaled. There was safety here—safety, warmth, camaraderie, affection… and something else he wasn’t quite prepared to name. Even so, it gave him all he needed to take a deep breath and force himself to push the past away yet again.
Emboldened by his quiet affection, she decided to finally voice the questions from which she usually shied away but whose answers she’d always wanted. “How long were you there?” Faith’s voice came low in the stillness of the room, and he looked down to meet the concerned gaze focused upon him.
“Don’ really know. Was drugged for a good bit of it; time felt a bit wonky. Underground, too, so no real way to sense day from night. Figured when I got out it’d been about two weeks, but…”
“It felt like longer.”
“It felt like soddin’ ever.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmured quietly, and he arched an eyebrow at her, faint traces of humor entering his gaze.
“Now you stop that. You weren’t there. Had nothin’ to do with you. ‘Sides, ended up with you in the deal, didn’t I, now?”
His tone was lighter, telling her that she’d succeeded in pulling him back from the brink again, just like he’d always done for her. Taking her cues from him, Faith snorted indelicately as she rolled her eyes. “Yeah. And I’m wicked compensation for playin’ guinea pig to G.I. Slice and Dice.”
“Don’ sell yourself short. You might be surprised just how good of a deal I think I got.”
Her insecurities demanded that she take the words as play, but one look in his eyes and she was struck by the absolute solemnity there. He meant every word of it… and she didn’t know what to say.
It wasn’t the first time he’d said something so breathtakingly… well, sweet, but she knew that her usual blustery, joking response wouldn’t do this time. She just didn’t really know how to react to his tenderness; it simply wasn’t something she’d ever experienced before him. So she made up her mind—if the words failed her, hopefully the actions wouldn’t.
“Back at you, blondie,” she answered, giving him a genuine smile and a simple kiss before sliding up over him, straddling him in her efforts to reach the edge of the bed. Her attempt was stymied by Spike’s hand on her hip, holding her against him as he drew her down with his free hand for a longer, deeper kiss than she had granted.
Spike couldn’t have stopped himself from kissing her at that moment if he’d wanted to. He loved that smile—the one that she only gave rarely, and only to him; the one that told him that he’d truly made it inside the rather formidable walls she’d erected around herself and, more importantly, that he’d made her happy. Sometime in the near-year that they’d spent together, making her happy and keeping her safe had become his primary goals, and the proof that he’d done it never failed to warm him like nothing before. For the first time in over a century, he was certain that he was the cause of his woman’s happiness.
“What was that for?” Faith asked breathlessly once they’d broken apart.
Spike shrugged. “Bein’ you… bein’ here. Just needed to be done.”
Faith laughed and moved to get up again, his hand tightening on her hip.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” he asked.
“Getting up. I’ve… I wanna show you something,” she answered, eyes downcast as she stood.
Spike wanted to leer or make some sort of innuendo—the opening provided by her words was just too good—but the look on her face told him that whatever she wanted to show him was serious business. Sitting up halfway, bracing his back against the headboard, he said simply, “Show away.”
“I got these a while ago… I was gonna keep them for a little bit longer, but… well, I guess someone’s getting a present early,” Faith said, going to the closet and retrieving one of the beaten duffels they had afforded themselves the luxury of putting away for a few months. Spike raised an eyebrow, but she merely gave him a coquettish smile and unzipped the bag, withdrawing a thick manila envelope and tossing it to him. “Happy early one year of freedom.”
“You got me a present to celebrate the chip being gone?” Spike asked, disbelief clear in his voice and his face. She just never ceased to surprise him.
Faith could feel herself blush and cursed mentally, eyes darting sideways as she started to ramblingly explain. “Well, yeah. You’re old as hell, so it’s not like I know your real birthday… and it seemed like something worth celebrating. Sort of like a…. rebirthday.” The last word was nearly soundless, but Spike’s enhanced hearing was just able to pick it up.
Not at all surprised that embarrassment over her own thoughtfulness had managed to render her speechless, he leaned forward and turned her face towards him. “Thank you,” he said simply, allowing the rest to go unspoken—thank you for caring, for spending your days and nights with me, for understanding who and what I am, for seeing me.
“You’re welcome,” she answered, soft half-smile quickly transforming into a full-fledged smirk as she again indicated the envelope with her hand. “So make with the opening. God, bet you were a bitch as a kid on Christmas morning,” she snarked as she rolled her eyes, grateful for the opportunity to lighten the mood.
Chuckling, Spike pinched the sides of the envelope, causing the slit in the top to gape enough that he could make out the contents: four thick booklets and a random assortment of other bits and bobs of paper and plastic.
“It’s not ticking, Billy, so go on and open the damn thing, will you?” Faith groused good-naturedly.
Spike had the good grace to look sheepish as he turned the envelope upside down and the contents spilled onto the bed. His hands reached for the booklets first, and he stared at them without seeing for long moments before he opened the covers and looked inside.
“Passports?” he wondered quietly, looking them over closely, flipping the pages as though they’d disintegrate in his hands unless he’d carefully examined every inch. Once he was satisfied, he set them aside and began to sort through the other bits that had accompanied the passports: driver’s licenses, credit cards, birth certificates—all the documents needed to make one an official entity in the world outside the one he and Faith had made for themselves. Documents they hadn’t procured earlier out of caution; documents they hadn’t needed while they could drive to where they were headed and could simply dodge or bribe the authorities that stood between them and another souvenir postcard. Documents that opened up the non-contiguous bits of the globe to them now that they were in hand.
“The guy’s reliable; mass manufactures stuff like this. Doesn’t know who we are, doesn’t keep a paper trail—cash only, up front, in a drop. Untraceable. I got two names each for both of us; made sense to have a backup handy just in case somebody gets high-tech and creative all at once.”
“How… why?” Spike asked, still stunned into near-speechlessness.
“You aren’t the only one who meets people and makes connections, Spike,” she needled, eyebrow raised. “Met a guy who knew a guy. Got to thinking that we need a change of pace—we’re both gettin’ a bit stir-crazy all settled in here. And you… well, the nightmares; tonight wasn’t the first…” She sighed, then started again. “We’ve tried South America and Central America and plain old America and Canada; we’ve gone just about everywhere we can go, and you’re not comfortable here. And I’m not either, not with the Initiative maybe out there somewhere still. What if they... I just don’t want you on the same continent as those bastards, and I think you’d feel safer somewhere else. I thought maybe we’d take a break—different part of the world, different worldview, you know? If you don’t want to… well, we’re out the cash on the docs, but we can get the money back for those,” she finished, pointing to the last two unperused items on the bed.
Spike picked up the small sheaths of paper, turning them over and reading them carefully before he looked at her, boyish grin lighting his features.
“England,” he whispered almost reverently, and she couldn’t help but smile in return. Looked like a slam dunk from where she was sitting—the homeland had been the right call.
“Yeah… well, I figured a new place, change of scenery; might be good for what ails you, maybe help you sleep at night,” she answered uncomfortably, suddenly finding the fuzz on the sheet terribly interesting.
“England… but what about the Council? ‘m not just gonna leave the fryin’ pan for the fire, wildcat,” he said, and the proprietary tone of his voice told her that he meant business, that there was no way he was going to flee his fears just to risk having his girl—and she was, without a doubt, his—getting caught up by the organization that wanted her blood for shaming it.
“Thought about it, and there’s no way they’re gonna look for me in their backyard. Besides, I’m just the little trailer trash renegade; doubt they think I know what a plane is, much less how to book a flight on one,” she snorted, pleased when it drew a chuckle from him.
“Wankers underestimated you from ‘go,’ pet.” His chuckle died off, his tone growing softer. “There’s not another one like you in this world,” he murmured affectionately as he drew her close to him, dropping a fond kiss against the crown of her head before wrapping her in a full embrace.
“Somethin’ tells me you might not be the only one happy about that,” she joked self-deprecatingly, squirming her way down the bed until she was lying against him, her head pillowed on his stomach as she looked up at him.
“Maybe so,” he laughed in agreement, dropping one hand to run his fingers through the hair that had fanned out across the flat planes of his lower torso. “But I’m the only one that matters, now, aren’t I?”
“Yeah, Spike; you really are.” They exchanged tender smiles for the briefest instant before Faith got in her final dig—it was expected of her, really. “Cocky bastard.”
Spike laughed and shifted down in the bed, laying flat and urging Faith up to his shoulder with his hand. She complied, and they lay in silence for a few moments before she finally spoke up. “So tell me ‘bout the home turf, Spike. Where you gonna take me?”
They bantered over trip arrangements, over sights that she should see and the reasons why, until she watched Spike blink slowly, eyes clearly heavy and tired. He fell asleep murmuring about someplace called Tintern Abbey, and why they simply had to go.
Faith brushed a curl off his forehead and kissed his shoulder as she settled in for what was left of their time for rest. She’d had to give up her secret early, but as she watched his face, so boyish in sleep, she knew that it had been worth it. Maybe now the places in his dreams would be sweeter; maybe now he’d have some peace.