Healing
Name: Tracy Dye
Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with Joss Whedon, or any of the cast and crew of 'Buffy The Vampire Slayer'. But I am a big fan that watches regularly, and I am a big S/B shipper.
Rating: PG
E-mail: petite_sweetie@hotmail.com

Buffy rhythmically chopped the carrot on the counter into small pieces, and sprinkled them around the top of the picture-perfect spinache salad her mother was preparing. Reaching for a hulking cucumber, Buffy began cut again, but winced in pain when the blade caught her finger instead of the vegetable.

"Ouch!"

A line of red blood appeared instantly at the side of Buffy's index finger, and she sucked the wound, grimacing at its bitter taste.

"Buffy, what's wrong?" Joyce appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, her forehead creased in a slight frown. "I thought I heard an 'ouch.'"

"It's nothing, mom," Buffy replied, running her injured finger under the sink. She smiled wryly. "You know, I can slay any vampire--take countless blows to the head and still kick ass, but ask me to chop a few diminutive little vegetables and I go cutting my finger off!"

Joyce's face flooded with concern, and she was at her daughter's side.

"You cut your finger?"

"Yeah, but it's no big--"

"Oh honey! Are you alright?"

"Mom, I'm telling you--"

"Want me to take a look--"

"Mom!"

Joyce started. "What?"

Buffy's lips eased into a smile, and she clutched her mother's shoulder with her uninjured hand. When Buffy spoke, it was a slow drawl, making sure to pronounce every syllable of every word.

"Mother. It's ok. I'm fine. You kinda figure out how to deal with cuts and bruises when you're fighting demons and other creepy creatures every night."

Joyce curved her lips into a smile and pulled her daughter into a light, motherly hug. "I'm sorry, honey. It's just that, in my eyes, you're still my little girl."

Buffy returned her mother's hug. "It's ok. I like being your little girl.

Buffy's eyelids flew open, and she bolted up in bed. Her breathing was heavy, and beads of perspiration were glistening on her forehead.

"Mom!" Buffy called out, her eyes flicking wildly about the room. "Mommy?"

Buffy's face fell, and her heart took a dive into her stomach as she was stricken with realization. Her mother was dead. She had found her after she died.

Swallowing past a lump in her throat, Buffy slowly swung her legs over her bed and walked out for breakfast.

Mid-way down the steps, a delicious aroma invaded Buffy's nostrils, and she could hear the sound of eggs crackling against the heat of a frying pan.

"Dawn?" Buffy called, continuing down the steps. "I thought you were going to school to--"

Buffy let the sentence fall away when her eyes dropped to see an old, stained and slightly singed wool blanket at the foot of the stairs.

Anger crept onto buffy's face, and her eyes narrowed to venomous slits.

"Spike..."

Surely enough, when buffy burst into the kitchen, Spike was there. Scooping eggs and French toast onto a large dinner plate next to a tall glass of what looked like fresh squeezed orange juice.

"'Bout time you woke up," Spike said with maddening casuality, not even bothering to look up at Buffy. "It's nearly noon."

"What the hell do you think you're doing here!?"

Spike looked up at that, and his eyes locked with Buffy's. Now when he spoke his words came out in a soft, gentle voice buffy hadn't heard since Spike proclaimed his love for her.

"I heard about Joyce," he said, now very seriously. "I wanted to see if you were alright and tell you I'm sorry for your loss."

Buffy's face remained twisted with fury, and she nodded to the plate at the counter. "And you're making breakfast because..."

"...wanted to make sure you were keepin' a good ap'tite, love. You need it after what you've been through."

Buffy's face softened, but just barely. Gingerly, she settled into a seat at the kitchen table and allowed Spike to serve her.

"Thankyou," Buffy managed out quietly, scooping the food into her mouth.

Spike's eyes began to round in amazement as Buffy shoveled each bite down in less than five minutes, and then daintily dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a napkin.

"Wow..." Spike could only breathe the word. "Someone was hungry."

Buffy narrowed her eyes a bit sheepishly. "Well...when you haven't had anything to eat for three days the sight of food will do that to ya."

Spike smiled at that. And, tentatively, he drew out one hand, and closed it solicitously over Buffy's. She let him.

"Look, Buffy, if there's anything I can do..."

Buffy looked at him, her eyes big and solemn. "I miss her. I-I miss her a lot."

And as tears welled in Buffy's eyes, Spike drew her into his shirt, coaxing her to relax into him.

She did.

"Spike..."

Spike looked down at her. "Mmmmm."

"You know that time you asked me if there was anything between us, and I said you had a better chance with me when I was unconscious?"

Spike tensed at the memory. "Uhh, yeah."

Buffy looked up at him, her eyes narrowing intensely on his mouth. She could feel every muscle locking as she traced the angular shape of his face with her finger, and a shiver rippled down her own spine as she closed her mouth over his.

"That was a lie."

~End

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