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Two weeks after Buffy’s fight with Spike, her bruises had faded, but she still avoided the man as much as she could. For some reason, they always seemed to end up near each other anyway, and every time Spike saw her he’d give her a look that clearly meant “come any closer, and I’ll kill you.” She was sure he would, and that made her work twice as hard during her training sessions with Giles. She didn’t only want to be able to defend herself in a fight: she wanted to be the one who won the fight. Giles said she was improving, but she wasn’t so sure of his opinion anymore. After all, he had said she was getting good, and then Spike had come along and showed them both that she wasn’t. Maybe Giles had taught her what he knew about fighting. He didn’t seem to be the type that ended up in many fights either, whereas Spike would end up in more fights on the ship than she could count, and come back with a black eye almost every time they had spent time in port.
Buffy had sailed passed the Cape two times, one in every direction, and every time there had been a storm chasing them through the passage. The third time didn’t seem to be any different. They were two days away from the passage when the good weather they had since they left Spain changed. Buffy could smell it on the wind; there was a storm coming, a big one. Storms didn’t really bother her, not like it did some of the other sailors. That first storm she had experienced together with Xander had left her eternally in love with the powers of nature. She never felt more alive than when she climbed the rig in the beginning of a storm to get the sails down, or during the heart of the storm, when the ship was thrown around by waves that were large enough to swallow the ship whole.
They were still a long way from the Cape when the captain ordered them to take the sails down. The sea was almost black, and the clouds that covered the sky became an almost a sickly orange colour as the sun set. During the night they heard thunder rumbling, and it was enough to keep Buffy awake the whole night. At 3 AM, she gave up trying to sleep, and went up on deck. The wind had started building, blowing her hair around, and at the horizon she could see the thunderstorm, the lightning flashes only showing how dark everything else around her was. She leaned against the railing, lifting her face up to the wind.
“It’s coming at us,” a voice behind her said, and she turned around, startled. Tim, the man with just one eye, was standing right behind her.
“The captain ordered the sails down so we could avoid it,” she answered. “I’m sure he knew what he was doing.”
“Sure he did, boy,” Tim answered. “It’s just that he can’t control the wind. That storm is coming right at us, and all we can do is to wait here, and hope it won’t be too bad.”
Buffy turned around and looked at the storm again. She felt her smile growing. It would be a big one. Tim took a step forward to stand beside her.
“I like storms,” Buffy admitted. “I like the power in them.”
“That one over there sure has a lot of power,” Tim said. “Probably more than any storm you’ve ever encountered.”
“I’ve seen a quite a few storms,” she protested and Tim laughed, a raspy laugh that turned into a cough.
“And how many storms can that be? You’re just a kid.”
“I’m fourteen next week, and I’ve been on the sea since I was eleven. I’ve seen my share of storms.”
“I’m sure you have,” he answered, and she could hear the amused smile in his voice. “I’ve been on the sea for forty years, and I’ve seen plenty of storms. Still, I don’t think I’ve seen anything quite like this one.”
They stood in silence next to each other, watching how the storm drew closer.
Dawn didn’t bring any light that morning, only increasing wind. There was uneasiness among the crew and they bickered at each other over the smallest things. Buffy did her best to stay out of everyone’s way, and the best place to be alone was up in the rig. It was also the best place to be if you wanted to keep an eye on the approaching storm, and she really wanted to do that. She hurried to finish her morning chores, making sure that the sails were properly stored so that they wouldn’t get hurt during the storm. As she was finishing up, another bolt of thunder rolled over the sea, and she took a step backwards from the storage to see if the storm had gotten any closer. She backed straight into someone, someone who swore as she stepped down on the man’s toes.
“Watch it,” Spike growled when she turned around, and her heart went straight to her throat.
“Not my fault you’re standing right behind me,” she answered, trying to show more courage than she actually felt. What was it with Spike that turned her into a scared child? No one else on the ship had that effect on her. He took a step closer to her, eyes narrowing as he looked down at her.
“Just one small reason,” he said in a low voice. “Give me just one reason, and I’ll make sure you’re off this ship next time we meet port.”
She tried to stand up to him, as Giles wanted her to do. She put her chin up and met his eyes.
“You’ll never have one.”
As soon the words were out of her mouth she realized it sounded like she gave in; agreed to stay out of his way once again. Inside, she was yelling at herself, but she didn’t move an inch, kept her gaze steady.
“Good for you,” he growled, and then he turned around and left.
Annoyed, she turned around again and finished her job before she finally could go to the rig and climb up.
The storm didn’t show any signs of calming down, the flashes of lightning coming more and more often. Around midday, the wind increased even more, and the waves started to build. Buffy couldn’t help but to laugh where she sat high up above the deck. This sure held promises of a good storm. Some of the others had climbed up in the rig too, but they started to climb down as the storm drew nearer.
“Ben!” Tim shouted to her. “You better get down, now!”
“I will,” she shouted back. “I’ll just stay a little bit longer.”
Buffy smiled at the wind as it made her hair fly all around her head, and her eyes gleamed as another lightning bolt flashed across the sky. A splash of water on her face made her blink in surprise, and she reached up to wipe it away. Looking down, she realized the waves had gotten higher than she had thought, being able to spray her with their salty water even at the highest point of the ship. She swung her legs down from the yard she had been sitting on and found the ropes with her bare feet. Soon, she was on her way down to the deck.
Buffy wasn’t even half way down when the storm hit them with full force. It pushed her against the rig, ripping the breath from her mouth. She gasped for air, and tried to continue to climb down, to find a place where her foot felt secure before she inched her way down. She felt dizzy from the ship’s movement, almost as she had the first time she had been on a ship. The wind ripped at her. She wasn’t even sure about which way was up and which way was down anymore. Every time she tried to breathe, water gushed inside her mouth and nose. She held on to the rig, hanging on for her life. She couldn’t even see anything; everything around her was angry sea and darkness and cold, cold wind. Again, the wind took a hold of her, almost throwing her away from the rope she was clinging to. Then the ship dived down, and she could feel her body being lifted up, her bare feet losing their grip, and then she was hanging on by her hands only, her palms hurting from the rough rope, and slipping, slipping…
There was a strong hand around one of her wrists, holding on to her. She tried to see, to blink the water out of her eyes, but it was impossible. The ship was thrown upwards again, and she was back against the rig, the power knocking out all of the air that was left in her lungs.
“Hold on!” someone shouted in her ear, and she tried to, she really did. She struggled to find a grip with her feet, but before she succeeded, another wave made them crash down and once again she was thrown up in the air. She screamed, terrified. This was it. She would die. Once again, the strong hand around her wrist pulled her back, and when the next wave lifted them up she was back against the rig.
“Do like this!” the man holding on to her shouted, pushing her left leg in through one of the holes in the rope net. She managed to get her other leg through the hole next to it, and when the ship crashed down again, she stayed in the rig. The man climbed behind her, putting one leg on either side of her, threading them through the holes just as he had shown her.
“I don’t want to die!” she shouted against the wind.
“You won’t,” the answer came next to her ear. “I’m holding on to you.”
He did, too, held on to her tightly, one arm around her waist, pressing both of them to the rig.
“Yes, I will!” she screamed. “I know I will! My mum always said I would die climbing somewhere I didn’t belong. The wind would take me, she said; take me because I was a bad girl. Good girls don’t go climbing!”
She was rambling, she knew it, but she was too scared to think straight. The man took a hold of her chin, turning her face so she had to look at him. Blue eyes met her own.
“You won’t die,” he said. “I’m holding on to you. I won’t let go. We are going to have to stay here, because it’s too dangerous to try to climb down right now, but you won’t die. I promise.”
The words reached her through the fear, and she believed him. She hung on to the rig and his arms that held a firm grip around her, and she almost felt safe as Spike fought against the raging storm to keep them alive.
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