Author: Corri
Email: Corrielle@yahoo.com
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Up to "Normal Again"
Summary: Set directly following the events of "Normal Again." Spike is sick, and the gang finally figures out that only Buffy can save him, she has to decide how valuable Spike is to her.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. They belong to Joss
Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and UPN.
Feedback: Please!
Author's note: This is my first actually FINISHED Buffy Fanfic.

Prologue

The tiny shadow made its way through the cemetery, blending in with leafless trees and praying angels that watched over Sunnydale’s dead. Any who saw her might have taken her for a ghost, a child-shaped wraith haunting the place where she was buried. Aurianne liked that. Picking her way among the tombstones, she recognized the crypt that had been pointed out to her on the previous evening. As she had expected, the door was locked. No matter. Aurianne took a set of tools out of the pocket of loose-hanging jacket and went to work on the lock. In seconds, the door swung inward and the girl put her lock-picking kit back in her pocket, a triumphant smirk on her face.

Every sense extended to its utmost, she stepped into the crypt. Finally, satisfied that her information had been correct and the crypt’s inhabitant was really gone, she set about finding the trap door that led into the actual living quarters. It wasn’t hard to find. Not too bright, this one, she thought. It almost took the challenge out of breaking in. Almost.

She opened the refrigerator and stifled a laugh. There was blood, of course, and in front of that a few bottles of beer, and... ice cream? What on earth did a vampire need ice cream for? Maybe human blood tastes sweeter with all that sugar in it, Aurianne thought, and decided to give it a try sometime. There were always plenty of unsuspecting teenagers hanging around ice cream parlors that would be perfect targets for her ‘lost little girl’ ploy. I’m older than they think, she thought defensively. Though she looked nine or ten, Aurianne had been twelve on the day fifty years past when she had wandered into the clutches of a vampire with a taste for children. Her name had been Jodie then, but that was no name for a daughter of the night. Luckily for her, her sire had seen her potential. She was small, quick, and intelligent, as well as being good at getting into small places. Exactly the kinds of skills the Order needed.

Quick, nimble hands grabbed a bag of blood from the supply. Humming to herself, Aurianne produced a syringe from yet another pocket and gently injected its contents into the bag. She carefully pulled the needle out and spoke the words of a regeneration charm. The hole in the bag closed itself up as if it had never existed.

Her job done, she took a second look around the apartment. She was curious. Someone wanted the blond vampire who lived in this crypt dead, and, in her mind, they had come to just the people to pull off the job. The Order of the Red Thorn was known for its efficiency and its thoroughness in matters such as these.

There wasn’t much to see. A beat up television, obviously secondhand, a mattress with a couple of blankets on the floor, an armchair, a couple of old lamps, a beat-up table, and a bookshelf were the only things in the room. It looked as if the whole place had recently been trashed and the owner was only beginning to get things back into shape. Pathetic, she thought. I’m probably doing this guy a favor! She’d heard stories about this vampire, and she had to agree with whoever wanted him dead. Anyone who would turn on his own kind and side with the enemy deserved no less.

After placing her calling card where someone would be sure to find it later, Aurianne let herself out, shutting the door behind her. She heard it lock with an audible click, and giggled. Her victim would never suspect that she had been there, and wouldn’t think twice about drinking the red death that now rested behind his beer bottles.

Chapter 1

“Spike! Why didn’t you do this before I got here? You knew what time I was coming.” Buffy put her hands on her hips and tapped her foot impatiently. It was bad enough that Willow and Spike had convinced her to take him on patrol just in case she had a relapse into mental patient-ville. Now, he just had to make her wait.

“I was out an’ about, I’ll have you know!” Spike said. “Didn’t have time to eat before now.”

“Couldn’t you wait until after we’re done?” she asked.

“I’m hungry now. Besides, I get all distracted if I’m hungry. Wouldn’t want that during a fight, now would you?”

“Fine. Just hurry up.”

Spike opened the refrigerator and felt around behind the beer bottles until he found what he was looking for. He vamped out, and was about to sink his teeth into the bag before he remembered that he was being a terrible host.

“You want something too? I think I’ve still got some of that mint chocolate chip ice cream you brought over here,” he asked tentatively. Buffy blinked in surprise. From the look of the crypt, Spike had cleared away every reminder of their... whatever they’d had (it sure wasn’t a relationship). It appeared he’d missed a few things.

“Ew... no. That’s like two weeks old,” she told him.

“I didn’t know ice cream went bad. Sorry. Promise I wasn’t trying to poison you,” he joked. He looked hopefully at her, thinking he’d get at least a smile. She just looked thoughtful.

“I guess it doesn’t. Dawn and I have probably had ice cream in the freezer for WAY longer than that. I’m still not hungry though. I don’t like to eat before patrol.”

“Maybe you can take it home with you. You and the Niblet can share it,” Spike suggested.

“Sure. Are you going to eat, or are you just going to stand there holding the blood bag all night?”

Spike snarled at her and bit into his dinner. He didn’t like having her watch him eat, but she wasn’t going to go away, so he made the best of a bad situation and finished quickly.

“Satisfied?” Buffy asked.

“Not really,” he answered, leering at her. She just rolled her eyes and walked out of the crypt, taking for granted that he was behind her. Spike burped and wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand.

“Hey, wait up, Pet!”

................................

Only one more cemetery. Just stay upright for one more cemetery, Spike thought to himself as he walked beside Buffy. It hadn’t been a particularly difficult night, but for some reason he felt as if every muscle in his body had been pulled or ripped or otherwise maimed. He ached all over, and he could have sworn he was experiencing something he remembered as nausea. He hadn’t let on to Buffy that he was feeling poorly, and if she noticed that Spike was quieter than usual, she didn’t show it.

The vampires came from both sides. There were three of them – larger than most, but not necessarily smarter. The first one went immediately for Buffy. She batted away the arms that threatened to crush her, dodged out of his way, and staked him from behind. Spike stepped into the path of the second vampire before it could reach her, but a vicious kick in the chest sent him tumbling to the ground. He tried to spring up and show the bloke who he was messing with, but found that he couldn’t. The world was spinning and he couldn’t seem to make his legs respond.

The vampire who had just knocked Spike to the ground sprang at Buffy and became intimately acquainted with her stake, disappearing in a cloud of dust. Meanwhile, the third creature had discovered Spike’s momentary disorientation. He had barely begun to get his legs back under him when the vampire sent him sprawling. Vamp number three was having so much fun, he didn’t even feel the stake that dusted him.

“Pick on someone your own size,” Buffy muttered to the pile of dust. She saw that Spike was having trouble standing up, but made no move to help him. “What was that?” she asked. “I thought you were supposed to be the one watching my back, not the other way around.”

“I liked to think we were watching each others... backs,” Spike said, and winked at her, unable to pass up the opportunity to needle his Slayer.

“You know what I mean. You also know I can’t concentrate if I’m trying to protect someone. So, why don’t you just go home.”

“I’m fine, Buffy,” he insisted. He would have been very persuasive had he not tottered slightly as he said it.

“Look, Spike, that vamp got you pretty bad. See? You can barely stand up. Go home.”

“Aren’t you going to offer to escort a poor helpless boy back to safety?” he asked.

“You are neither poor nor helpless. Now GO!” she ordered. She didn’t stay and watch Spike limp out of sight.

Walking back to his crypt, Spike tried to make his mind focus. The one vampire he’d fought hadn’t hit him that hard. Normally, he would have recovered easily from such a blow. No, Buffy was wrong. It wasn’t just the vampire. Something else was wrong, but Spike couldn’t for the life of him figure out what it was. He’d been fine when he left the crypt, so what had happened?

He was still wondering when he stumbled into his crypt and fell onto the bed and into a shallow, restless sleep.

Chapter 2

Spike opened tired eyes and stared blearily at the clock on the table. It couldn’t be three in the afternoon already. He tried to sit up, and the room twisted and turned before his eyes. He fell back onto the bed and willed his stomach to stop churning.

What the bloody hell is wrong with me? He swung his legs over the side of the mattress and groped at the refrigerator door. Maybe he was just hungry. There was one last bag of blood left, and Spike was suddenly glad he’d gotten extra the last time he saw his supplier. Eating made him feel a little better, but the cold blood also made him feel as if a block of ice were sitting in his stomach. All of a sudden, he was freezing. He grabbed a couple of blankets off of his bed and hunkered down in front of the television in an armchair he’d rescued from the city dump.

Two minutes later, he felt like he was burning up. He flung the blankets on the floor and opened the trap door to let some cool air from the crypt into his bedroom. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I had the flu, he thought. But that was ridiculous. Vampires did not get sick. Weakened after a fight, yes, but never physically ill. He looked at the clock again. Five after three. Buffy wasn’t supposed to be coming by until eight, and he wasn’t sure he was going to be able to move or even speak by then. He needed help now.

Slowly, an idea began to form in his fevered mind. Spike walked over to his dresser and began to paw through the piles of junk that covered it. Finally, he found a take out menu with a name and number scrawled on it. He grabbed a blanket to protect him from any stray rays of sunlight that penetrated the trees that dotted the cemetery, hoping that he could make it to the nearest pay phone without collapsing. With his luck, the blanket wouldn’t cover him right when he fell and he’s get charred in all the wrong places.

He made it to the pay phone without incident and put his change into the slot. He dialed the number and waited. Come on, Witch, pick up!

.............................

Tara nearly jumped out of her skin when her cell phone rang in the middle of the quiet UC Sunnydale library. She had forgotten to turn it off when she had come in to study for her art history class. Several other students gave her evil glares, and she reached quickly to answer it.

“Hello?” she said, a little uncertainty creeping into her voice. She hadn’t given the number to very many people, and she knew for a fact that all of them were otherwise occupied at the moment.

“Tara, you’ve got to come over here,” a raspy voice said. A raspy voice with a British accent.

“Spike?” she asked. “How did you get this number?”

“I saw it on the kitchen table in Buffy’s house one day and copied it down. Just in case I ever needed to find you in a hurry. Like now.”

“What’s going on?” Tara asked.

“I don’t know,” the vampire answered. He sounded like he was about to drop dead. “Something... is happening to me. Don’t know what it is. Thought you might be able to help.”

Tara frowned. This sounded an awful lot like one of Spike’s crazy stunts, or maybe a ploy to get Buffy’s attention. She had watched him become more and more unstable since Buffy had told him that things were over between them.

“I’ll come over and see,” she said cautiously. “Are you at your crypt?”

“Close enough.”

“I can’t come now. I have class, but I get out at 4:30. I’ll come then, ok?” she asked.

“I guess I can hold out that long,” he mumbled.

“You sound like you should lie down and get some rest,” Tara recommended. “That always makes me feel better when I’m sick.”

“I’ll remember that. Thanks,” Spike said, and hung up the phone.

.......................................

Spike turned fitfully in his sleep when he heard footsteps in the crypt above, and sat bolt upright in bed when the trap door opened.

“It’s only me, Spike,” Tara said soothingly, seeing his worried _expression. He nodded and sank back down onto the bed. After a second look at the vampire, Tara had reason to be worried herself. She’d never seen him look so... sickly. She put a gentle hand on his forehead and drew back in surprise.

“You’re burning up!” she murmured.

“I’ve been hot, then cold, hot, then cold all day,” he told her.

“Typical fever symptoms...” Tara said to herself. “Let’s take a look at something else, ok? Just relax.” Spike did his best to relax his sore muscles. Tara smiled encouragingly and put her hand on his face again, extending her magical senses. With a bitten back curse, she withdrew her hand.

“What? What did you do?” Spike asked.

“Your aura... it’s... polluted. I saw all of these red and black angry lines twisting and curling around you.” She shivered.

“And what does that mean?” he asked.

“Whatever happened to you, it’s not natural,” Tara told him.

“I think we knew that, Luv,” Spike said gently.

“It’s magic,” she whispered, her face pale. “Dark, powerful, magic. I’ve never seen anything like this before. I should go over to the Magic Shop and see if they have any helpful texts...”

“No!” Spike croaked, desperate not to be left alone. “Buffy’ll be here in a little while. Just stay here until she comes?” Tara blinked in surprise again. When did Spike become co-dependant?

“All right, I’ll just sit over here and study, unless you want me to get you something. Could I get you some blood? Or maybe I could read to you?” Tara suggested, trying to think of ways to cheer up a sick vampire.

“No, you study...” Spike murmured sleepily. “Just... don’t want to be alone.”

With one last concerned look at her sleeping patient, Tara settled into Spike’s armchair with her art history book.

Chapter 3

The trap door swung open with a bang, and Buffy clattered noisily down the ladder.

“I hope you’re ready, Spike!” she called to him. “I don’t want to have to wait like last night!” She didn’t bother to climb down the last few rungs, but sprung back and landed steadily on the floor. For the first time, she took in the scene. Tara was curled up in Spike’s chair, one leg dangling off the overstuffed arm, and Spike was lying prone in his bed, shirt half-undone and looking rather worn out.

“Am I... interrupting something?” Buffy asked. Her voice was sarcastic, but for just a second Spike thought he saw a hint of jealousy. Tara, realizing for the first time what must have been going through the Slayer’s head, blushed.

“Why don’t you come join us, Slayer? Three’s not a crowd,” Spike rasped. Tara turned another shade of red and Buffy rolled her eyes.

“No! I was just keeping Spike company until you got here!” Tara explained. She walked over to where Buffy was standing and whispered to her. “I don’t know what it is, but I think there’s something wrong with him...”

“And you’re just figuring this out now? I don’t think any of us know what’s wrong with Spike,” Buffy said, then took a second look at the vampire. His skin looked even more unhealthy than usual, and his hands, which rested on top of the blanket, were shaking.

“He’s sick, Buffy,” Tara clarified. “It’s like he has a really bad fever. Hot skin, body aches and chills, weakness, he’s got it all.” Buffy frowned and walked over to Spike. In a business-like manner, she laid the back of her hand on his forehead. He stared at her, confused. His mother had done the exact same thing countless times when he was a little boy, and for a moment he couldn’t tell whether it was Buffy or his long dead parent who stood at the side of the bed.

“Well, that’s not good,” Buffy said softly.

“You’ve been around vampires more than I have. Has anything like this ever happened before?” Tara asked. Buffy nodded and took a deep breath before answering.

“Just once. With Angel. I don’t know how much Willow told you about our graduation, but there was some pretty crazy stuff going on. The Mayor wanted to distract me, so he had Angel shot with a poisoned arrow. It was some kind of vampire poison, and it made him all feverish.”

“Well, then I guess it’s just a matter of finding out what kind of poison we’re dealing with,” Tara said, and looked at her watch. “I think Willow’s probably out of her class by now, maybe she’ll remember something and give us a place to start looking. I could go see if she’s home, if you want, and we could meet you back here.”

“Sounds good to me. I think I’m okay to patrol alone tonight.” Buffy turned sharply and started back up the ladder.

“Be careful,” Spike said, coming back to reality long enough to realize that she was leaving.

“I didn’t get this far by being careless,” she said calmly, and then was gone.

Tara gathered up her books and knelt by Spike’s bed.

“I’m going to go get Willow, ok? I won’t be gone very long,” she promised, and smoothed his uncombed hair. The affectionate gesture affected Spike in his weakened state more than it usually would have. Just knowing that someone cared enough to speak comforting words to him made a lump rise in his throat. He managed to keep the tears from coming until after Tara left the crypt.

.......................................

To say that Willow was surprised when she opened the door and found Tara standing on the front porch would be an understatement. Still, she recovered quickly and asked her inside.

“So, what’s up?” Willow asked, and mentally kicked herself for not coming up with something better to say.

“Buffy asked me to come and find you,” Tara said. “Spike’s sick, and she thinks it might be some kind of vampire poison. She said you had experience with this kind of thing...”

“Yeah, with Angel. I remember.” Willow walked over to the bookcase and pulled out a couple of large volumes. “I kept some books... ah... non-magical, research-only books. We could start looking in these.” She indicated the books she had taken down. “I think I have some of Giles’ notes he left me, too...” Willow shook one of the books and a sheaf of papers fell out. “There they are. At least, I think that’s it.” She started flipping through the notes, but Tara touched her hand and she stopped.

“Buffy wants to meet us back at Spike’s crypt. We can take all of this stuff with us and do our research there,” Tara told her.

“But it’s all dim and dingy over there,” Willow protested.

“He’s got a couple of lamps. We’ll be fine. Besides, I don’t want to leave him alone for too long.”

“You do remember that this is Spike we’re talking about, right?” Willow asked.

“Just wait until you see him, Will. He’s just so... sick and sad looking. I wouldn’t want to be left alone if I felt as bad as he does,” Tara said. Willow smiled. Tara always had been the compassionate one.

“Let’s go keep him company, then,” she said.

“Keep who company?” Dawn asked, coming down the stairs. “Oh, hi Tara!” She beamed at her older friend who she hadn’t seen in at least a week.

“Spike’s not feeling good, so we’re going to try and find out what’s wrong,” Tara explained.

“Can I come?” Dawn asked.

“I don’t think Buffy would like that,” Willow said.

“But she’d like leaving me alone?” Dawn folded her arms across her chest, knowing neither of them would have an answer.

“I don’t think Buffy would like that either,” Tara said.

“And since Xander’s out of town looking for Anya, you can’t leave me with him,” Dawn reminded them in her most helpful voice.

“If you’re coming, you’re helping us carry books,” Willow grumbled. Dawn complied and picked up the entire stack. Tara giggled and Willow rolled her eyes at Dawn’s youthful enthusiasm.

Chapter 4

“Shut the door, you’re bloody letting the cold air in,” Spike commanded from the bed as Willow, Tara, and Dawn came down the ladder into the crypt. Willow took in Spike’s unfocused _expression, the confusion in his eyes, and the clammy, sweaty appearance of his face, then nodded slowly.

“Yep, this looks familiar,” she said, and didn’t sound happy about it.

“What, Red? You look like somebody’s dying or something,” Spike drawled.

“From what Tara told me, you are,” Willow shot back. If Spike felt well enough to tease her, she certainly wasn’t going to start feeling sorry for him. “Put those books down over there on the table, Dawn, and we’ll start looking.” With a thump, Dawn dropped her armload. Tara chose a thick, ancient looking text with the words Maladies of the Demon World embossed in gold lettering on the spine, and Willow started leafing through Giles’ notes.

Dawn flopped down in Spike’s armchair and stared intently at her two older friends, hoping they’d invite her to come and help them. They didn’t. After about five minutes of concentrated silence, she stood up and walked over to them.

“Can I help?” Dawn asked. She idly flipped through one of the other books while she waited for an answer.

“I really don’t think you’d understand...” Willow started to say, but stopped when she saw the hurt look on Dawn’s face. “Oh, Dawnie... I didn’t mean that you couldn’t, I just didn’t want you to get frustrated or...” she looked helplessly at Tara.

“I’ve got an idea,” Tara said, and pointed at Spike, who had fallen asleep and was tossing and turning in his bed. “I left a washcloth and some cool water in that bowl over there earlier. I think he’d probably be more comfortable if his face were cool instead of burning up. You can do that.” Dawn nodded happily and knelt beside Spike’s bed. She wrung out the washcloth and proceeded to wipe the sweat off of his fevered face. He murmured something incomprehensible, but seemed to be resting easier.

“It’s ok, Spike,” Dawn said quietly. “We’re all here, and we’re going to take care of you.” The vampire didn’t wake up, but he smiled in his sleep.

...............................

Buffy picked her way through the tombstones, just as she had done a thousand times since learning that she was the Slayer. Every sense was open, attuned to the sounds of the night. Nothing was going to sneak up on her without her knowing, and yet, she felt vulnerable. Unprotected. In the days since her bout with the demon-induced hallucinations, she had gotten used to having someone with her, watching her back. Even before, Spike had shown up when she was on patrol more often than not. The sure knowledge that he wasn’t going to step out from behind a tree or crypt was somehow discomfiting. His presence, while it had mostly been annoying, had also been one of the few things she could count on.

“Now that’s pathetic. Spike as the most stable thing in my life. I don’t need him,” Buffy mumbled to herself. “I patrolled without his help, if that’s what you want to call it, for years. I’ve just got to get back in the solitary game.”

As if sent to test her new-found resolution, a vampire in baggy pants and a torn t-shirt stumbled up to her, leering at what he obviously thought was an easy meal. Buffy was in no mood for a drawn out fight.

“Excuse me, you wouldn’t happen to know where the Andrews family is buried?” she asked, all innocence and sweetness. The vampire, not expecting that his meal was going to address him, looked confused.

“Huh?” he said, in a startling show of blazing intelligence. Buffy took advantage of his distraction to stake him.

“It’s so hard to find good help these days,” she said to herself as he dissolved into a pile of dust. Buffy brushed the dust off of her clothes and took stock of her surroundings. She had almost completed her circuit of the town, and was nearly back where she had started. Spike’s crypt.

Chapter 5

“Honey, I’m home,” Buffy said as she let herself into the crypt. Tara and Willow had their heads bent to the books, trying to read by the light of a couple of tacky lamps Spike had salvaged. Buffy thought she recognized one of them as coming from her basement, and had to smile. Then she caught sight of Dawn, dutifully patting Spike’s forehead with a damp cloth.

“Since when is it ok for my sister to play nursemaid to the undead?” Buffy asked. Dawn just rolled her eyes.

“She wanted to feel useful,” Willow explained.

“And he’s felt a lot better since I started!” Dawn chimed in.

“He told you that?” Buffy asked incredulously.

“Well... no, but I can just... tell,” Dawn answered.

“He has been a lot less restless,” Tara said. Buffy just shook her head and walked over to the table.

“So, what have you two found?” she asked. Willow scribbled one last word into the notebook she had brought with her and looked up.

“There are several poisons that fit the description – fever, weakness, delirium – we’ve dealt with the most common one before – the Killer of the Dead. That’s what poisoned Angel.”

An uncomfortable silence settled over the room. All of them knew what it had taken in order to restore Angel to health.

“Is that what this is?” Buffy finally asked.

“We also found references to a poison called Heaven’s Talon, but there hasn’t been a reported case of its use for at least two centuries, and there’s also something called the Plague of Althor, and... well, you get the picture,” Willow said. “I was thinking I could take a sample of Spike’s blood and then go over to the university’s science lab and compare it with the information Giles left about the poison Angel had.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Buffy replied, then frowned. “None of you happened to ask Spike how he got sick, did you? I mean, with Angel, we knew the cause. Faith and that arrow...”

“We checked Spike for wounds,” Willow told her.

“Even though he wasn’t too happy with us for poking and prodding at him,” Tara added, “But we didn’t find anything.”

Buffy put her hand on Spike’s shoulder and shook him awake. His skin was burning hot to the touch.

“Buffy! Don’t wake him!” Dawn hissed.

“We need information,” Buffy said. Seeing that Spike’s eyes were open and he was looking at her in a halfway-lucid manner, she leaned in close. “Now listen, Spike, we’re trying to find out how you got sick. I know Willow and Tara already checked, but has anything hurt you lately? Stabbed you, punctured you, you know....”

“I already told Red and the witch no,” he said feebly.

“It would have had to have been before last night, because you weren’t feeling good even then. Do you remember back that far?” she asked.

“I told you, nothing happened. I was fine, and then, just... weak...” his voice trailed off. Buffy sighed. This was getting them nowhere.

“If he’s not hurt, the poison could have been introduced into this body some other way,” Tara suggested.

“Maybe it was something he ate,” Dawn said. As she had been displaced by her sister from Spike’s side, she was curiously examining the odds and ends Spike had piled on the bookshelf. “I mean, this guy I know at school ate the Thursday special a couple of weeks ago, and he got food poisoning so bad he had to go to the emergency room in the middle of fourth period.”

“Someone could have slipped him poisoned blood, I suppose,” Willow said.

“And he ate just before we went out last night!” Buffy said, just remembering that piece of information.

“Spike, did you notice anything different about the blood you had last night? Did it taste funny? Did you get it from a different supplier?” Tara asked.

“No... Tasted fine... same supplier as usual,” Spike told them. “Bags are still in the trash...”

“Oh EW,” Buffy said.

“It’s not that gross, Buffy,” Willow said, and went over to the trash can and rummaged around in the alcohol bottles until she found two empty blood bags, both of which still had traces of blood sticking to them. “I can test these too. Then we’ll know for sure how he got sick. Just one more thing I need to do before I go...”

Willow took a syringe out of the bag she had brought with her and stuck it in Spike’s arm. He flinched, but didn’t cry out. She drew out some blood, and then forced it back into a small bottle.

“I wonder why,” Buffy murmured to herself.

“Huh? What did you say?” Willow asked, looking up from her supplies.

“I mean, I know Spike wasn’t exactly a favorite with the demon population, but this looks like it took a lot of planning. Who would go through this much trouble just to kill him?” Buffy wondered.

“The Order of the Red Thorn,” Dawn said, out of nowhere.

“The what?” Buffy, Willow, and Tara all said at the same time.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I say that out loud? I wasn’t really listening... That’s just what it says on this card I found.” Dawn handed the small piece of paper to Willow. It was snowy white, with blood red lettering. Above the words, a stylized thorn, also in red ink, was surrounded by a large letter ‘O’.

“I’ve seen this before,” Willow told them. “When we were researching demon assassins... the Order of Taraka and all that.” She grabbed a book from the stack she had brought with her and flipped through it. “Here. It says that the Order of the Red Thorn specializes in killing demons, vampires, and other supernatural creatures. They don’t do humans because they think it’s too easy.”

“And they leave calling cards?” Tara asked, taking the card from Willow to examine it.

“It’s a pride thing, just to let us know they were here. Turn it over, and you’ll probably find the assassin’s name,” Willow said.

“It says ‘Aurianne,’” Tara told her.

“So I go after these Red Thorn guys?” Buffy said.

“They’re probably long gone by now, and even if they weren’t, you’d never see them. They’re known for their ability to hide and be unnoticed,” Tara said, reading over Willow’s shoulder.

“Besides,” Willow added, “they were just hired thugs, pretty much. We probably won’t ever know who paid them.”

“Fine,” Buffy said. “You two go over to the university lab, but take Dawn home first! I’ll stay here with Spike.”

“Go home? Why can’t I stay with you?” Dawn asked. Buffy put on her best ‘I’m older and know better’ face.

“Because if these Red Thorn assassins come back, I don’t want you anywhere near here. Besides, if Spike gets delirious and gets violent, I’m the only one who could keep him under control,” she told her younger sister. Dawn sulked. “HOME,” Buffy said. Reluctantly, Dawn followed Willow and Tara to the door.

Chapter 6

Twenty paces by fifteen paces. Those were the dimensions of Spike’s underground home. No matter how Buffy tried to space them out, adjust her stride, they always came out the same. Twenty by fifteen.

She had long since given up trying to find some other way of amusing herself. Spike’s personal library seemed to consist of a lot of poetry, some trashy romance novels, and a couple of volumes that looked so old she was afraid to touch them for fear they would fall apart. None of it looked like it would take her mind off of what she was doing. She wasn’t even sure she knew exactly what she was doing. Standing watch over a former enemy, and more recently, a former lover. A comrade in battle, one who had been willing to die for her and those she loved. It’s the least he deserves, she finally decided, and left her own reasons for staying to be puzzled over another time.

Buffy took a deep breath and forced herself to sit down and stop pacing. The slight noise she made positioning herself in the chair next to Spike’s bed was enough to wake the sickly vampire, and he struggled into an upright position. Buffy put a hand on his shoulder, and with little effort, pushed him back down onto the bed.

“Lie down, Spike,” she said gently. He shook his head, confused, and Buffy realized that his mind was not with her any more. Wherever he thought it was, it wasn’t the present.

“I have to find her,” he whispered. “Let me go!”

“Sorry, no can do,” Buffy replied. Spike struggled weakly against her for a second, then fell back onto the bed and glared incoherently at her. “Who are you looking for?” she asked. If she could get him to talk to her, to explain where he thought he was, she just might be able to reason with him, which would be a whole lot easier than physically restraining him.

“Drusilla... she left me. I have to find her... make things right.” Buffy cringed at the sincerity in his voice.

“You won’t find her,” she said. “She’s probably a thousand miles away right now.”

“I don’t care. Let me go... got to find her. My princess,” a hoarse sob escaped from his throat. “Don’t you see? I’m nothing without her... nothing.” He tried again to get up, and succeeded in swinging his legs over the side of the bed before Buffy forcefully re-arranged his position.

“If you want the truth, I like you a lot better without her than I did with her,” she muttered, fervently hoping that he wasn’t going to remember any of this when he got better. If he got better.

“Got to prove to her... I can be the man she needs,” Spike told her, wild hopefulness burning in his eyes.

“And I think you would, but you’ve got to sleep,” Buffy said. Her two strong hands, placed on his shoulders, kept him from getting up again. He sank back into the nest of pillows and blankets that Tara and Dawn had arranged for him.

“If she comes, tell her that for me,” he pleaded.

“I will. Don’t worry.” Buffy passed her hand over his eyes, gently closing them, and this time, they stayed closed.

...........................

The slayer sat perfectly still, trying to concentrate as Giles had taught her to do, trying to find her center, a place of peace and calm within herself. If she hadn’t been concentrating so hard, she might have been struck by the irony that Spike, of all people, was giving her a chance to practice her meditation technique.

A restless moan from Spike made her lose her inner balance, and she started and opened her eyes.

“Where in the bloody hell am I?” he asked. His voice was stronger now, less confused.

“You’re in your crypt, silly,” she answered, looking at him hopefully for some sign of recognition. She found none.

“I don’t have a crypt of my own, you stupid bint. Now, if you wouldn’t mind giving me my clothes back, I’ve got to go find a friend of mine. Maybe you’ve heard of him. Name’s Angelus. I’m late, see, and he hates it when I make him late.” A touch of fear had crept into his voice, and Buffy shuddered to imagine how bad Angelus must have been to make William the Bloody fearful.

“Angelus is gone, Spike,” Buffy told him. This was not the right thing to tell him.

A couple of hours of rest had momentarily restored some of his strength, and he was halfway across the room before Buffy caught him.

“Idiot girl! Get off of me!” he yelled at her. “Do you have any idea what he’s going to do to me?”

“Some.”

“You’ve met him, then?” he asked, flippantly curious.

“We’ve crossed... paths,” Buffy said, choosing her words carefully.

“Then you know he’s even crueler when he’s angry. Let. Me. Go,” he growled at her from between clenched teeth.

“You wouldn’t even make it up the ladder to the surface,” she shot back angrily. Spike seemed to sense his own weakness, and stopped struggling and let her help him back into bed.

“There’s going to be hell to pay when he finds me,” he told her. It was a fatalistic statement of fact, not a request for pity or a plea for help. Buffy opened her mouth, but found no words there. “You’d better get out of here, then,” he said finally.

“No. I’ll stay. I won’t let...” her voice caught in her throat. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

“Tiny thing like you against Angelus? You wouldn’t last two seconds, I’d wager.” He was fading out on her again, and she wasn’t sure if he was awake to hear her reply,

“You might be surprised.”

.........................................

The slightly lopsided alarm clock on Spike’s bookshelf gave the time as a little before four when he stirred again. Buffy, who had drifted off to sleep in the chair beside him, stretched, catlike, and put a hand on his forehead. He was still burning up, and she thought he was even warmer now than before. She reached for the cool washcloth Dawn had been using and wiped his face and neck.

“Feels... good,” he whispered. He kicked off the covers and groaned. “Why am I awake...”

“Try and go back to sleep,” she suggested. He blinked a few times, trying to get his eyes to focus, and shook his head.

“You were sleeping too... whoever you are.” Buffy bit her lip and tried not to feel oddly sad that he didn’t know her. “Were you dreaming too?” he asked.

“Nope. I guess I was so tired I just blacked out...”

“I was,” he said, interrupting her. “I was dreaming about the slayer. Saved her... again.” Feeling uncomfortable, Buffy tried to shush him. Hearing him babble about his inner thoughts was too much like reading a private diary. She didn’t want to know this much about him. However, he would not be quieted.

“The tower... the one she jumped from... it was falling. Grabbed Buffy with one arm, and the Niblet with the other, and jumped. Broke their fall, I did... Hurt like hell.” A slow, peaceful smile spread across his face. “You know what happened then?”

“No. What?” she asked. She knew she was going to be told whether she wanted to or not.

“She just... let me hold her. Thanked me... for saving her, you know? And all her friends gathered ‘round. Didn’t care that I was holding her, either. The watcher... he looked proud. Of me. Said I did a real good job. Red and Tara... stood there smiling. The Niblet... she got excited like she always does. Hugged me and Buffy both. Even Xander had to admit I’d done something right for a change. Even shook my hand. And you know... you know what was nice?” Buffy simply waited. “They were happy I was around. Just that once. It was bloody wonderful.”

“Sounds like a nice place,” she finally managed to say. “A lot nicer than here.”

“Heh. Yeah,” Spike muttered.

“Try to sleep again... get back to there,” she encouraged him.

“Back where she loves me.”

He had been sleeping for several minutes when the tears came to Buffy’s eyes. She cried for Spike, for his pain, his loneliness, the love he craved that she couldn’t bring herself to give, and the acceptance he maybe, just maybe deserved, that she and her friends hadn’t let him have.

Chapter 7

Tears have a way of cleansing, of making things new. Buffy was still crying on and off when the trap door above rattled and Tara came down the ladder. Though she was not any less confused, or any closer to a solution, she was calmer, more resolute.

“Willow’s at the house waiting for you,” was all Tara said. Buffy nodded and rose from her chair.

“You’re going to stay here again?” Buffy assumed that she was. “Are you sure you want to? It’s awfully dingy and depressing.” Tara dropped her backpack on the floor and started pulling things out of it.

“I’ve got some studying to do, so I brought my books, and... oh! Snacks.” She tossed a bag of cheese crackers on top of the pile. “See? I’m all set.”

“Thank you.” It was all Buffy could think of to say. Tara understood, and gave the slayer a reassuring hug before she climbed back up into daylight.

After the dim lighting provided by Spike’s scavenged lamps, the sun seemed unnaturally bright. Buffy squinted, wished she’d brought some sunglasses, and started walking. She walked past the tombstones, out the cemetery gate, down the street. Not fast enough. Not going fast enough, she thought, and broke into a jog. The movement loosened tense muscles and made the houses pass by a little more quickly. Still not fast enough. Have to MOVE, she thought, and before she knew it, she was running like the world was at stake. She stopped on her own front porch, doubled over trying to catch her breath.

“Buffy! Are you ok? Is Tara ok? Why were you running?” Willow asked. She had seen her friend running down the street at an almost inhuman pace and she was sure that something was wrong.

“Fine... I’m fine,” Buffy gasped. “Just... just had to do... something.”

“So you ran all the way here?”

“Had to feel like I was doing something...” Her breathing was easier now, and Willow guided her inside the house.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Willow admonished her. “You were probably exhausted from being up so long, and then running all that way... You look like you’re about ready to fall over.”

“What did you find out?” Buffy asked, completely ignoring the other girl’s concerns.

“I think you’d better sit down,” Willow told her, and pulled her over to the couch. “It’s the same,” she continued once both of them were properly situated. “The poison in Spike’s blood is the same thing that almost killed Angel.” Buffy didn’t respond. Her face remained blank and tired.

“Are you sure?”

“I ran some tests last night, and Tara did some magic... stuff to the sample, and we both agree.”

“Did you come up with a way to counteract it?” Buffy asked, just for the sake of asking. She already knew what the answer was going to be.

“No, nothing we didn’t know about before. The only antidote for the poison is... well... you,” Willow said.

“And no Faith this time... not even the hope of that,” Buffy murmured, resting her head on the overstuffed couch’s arm.

“Hey! Don’t give up hope just yet. I did something... something you might not like, but...”

“Willow, what did you do?” Buffy demanded, sitting up, hoping that Willow’s self-perceived crime didn’t involve magic.

“I called Giles.” Buffy sank back down into the couch cushions.

“Oh. That’s good. Didn’t you... wake him up or something?” she asked.

“I don’t think so... If I did the time difference right it would have been morning already when I called him from the lab. I told him what happened, asked him to check with his sources in England. I even thought about calling Wesley...”

“You didn’t!” Buffy interrupted.

“Nope. I didn’t think you’d want him telling Angel about how we were trying to save Spike’s life.”

“Well that’s a relief,” Buffy grumbled.

The portable phone sitting on the table rang, and Willow snatched it up and handed it to Buffy.

“Please tell me you know something,” she said into the speaker, not even asking the caller to identify himself.

“It’s good to talk to you too, Buffy,” Giles said. She could almost see the sardonic smile on his face.

“Hi Giles.”

“Hello. You sound tired... have you been getting enough rest?” he asked.

“I was up all last night. With Spike. He was delirious, raved for hours about Darla and Angelus and Drusilla. It was... hard.”

“I can only imagine,” Giles said. “Now listen, Buffy, when Willow called me, I got in touch with a few friends of mine, an expert on supernatural poisons, a chap whose specialty is curses, and a couple of other fellows who have a broad knowledge of vampire physiology. None of them knew anything.”

“The Council. What about the Council?” she asked.

“I tried them as well, but I’m not exactly in their good graces right now, you understand. They’re furious that a Watcher, a paid Watcher, would up and abandon his Slayer, leaving no one to record her activities, and no one to keep an eye on her. They refused me.”

“They wouldn’t help Angel either,” Buffy reminded him, though he didn’t need reminding.

“And they certainly weren’t about to help Spike. At least Angel had a soul. To them, Spike is nothing more than a dangerous curiosity, better dead than alive.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line.

“Is that what you think?” she finally asked.

“What? Come now, I really don’t see what my opinion has to do with...”

“Giles,” Buffy cut him off, “I could save him. If I wanted to. I did it once, and I could do it again. I just don’t know if it’s right. That’s what I’m asking you.” Now, it was Giles’ turn to be silent.

“I can’t tell you that, Buffy,” he said at last.

“I’m not asking you as a Watcher who’s giving me orders! I’m just asking for your advice!”

“But if I told you what I thought, you wouldn’t have to think through to a decision,” he said calmly.

“I don’t want to,” Buffy whispered. She was crying again. He knew it, and it broke his heart that he couldn’t be with her.

“You must. You must decide how valuable an ally Spike is to you, and whether or not you are willing to risk your life to save him.” Giles was using his ‘firm and impenetrable’ voice, and Buffy knew it would do her no good to argue with him.

“I don’t even know why I feel like this, why I’m so worried,” she told him. “I mean, it’s Spike! You’d think it was Willow, or Dawn, or Xander, or... or you who was in danger.”

“You would worry about Willow and the others, and about me, because we’re like family, Buffy,” Giles explained gently. “And whether we like it or not, Spike seems to have... wormed his way into the family. I must admit, I was worried for his sake as well when Willow called me.”

“Family?” Buffy repeated, hoping Giles hadn’t been able to intuit anything about her relationship with Spike. “Giles, if that’s true, we are so dysfunctional it isn’t even funny...”

“Yes, but even dysfunctional families care for one another. You have to trust yourself, Buffy. I know that you’ll do the right thing.”

“You said care! What did you mean care?” Buffy demanded. “Did you mean care as in ‘let Spike drink from me’ care, or did you mean care like ‘put Spike out of his misery and protect everyone else from him just in case he goes evil again’?”

Giles chuckled.

“You’re beginning to think. That’s good,” he said. “Trust yourself.”

“I’ll try.” Buffy sniffled. “Bye, Giles.”

“Goodbye, Buffy.”

She carefully set the phone back on the table.

“He couldn’t help me,” she said to Willow. “He wouldn’t even tell me what he thought I should do. I have to decide. Alone.” Willow nodded gravely and put an arm around her friend’s shoulder.

“You’d probably be able to think better if you weren’t so tired. Why don’t you go sleep a little? Or maybe you’re hungry? I tried to make pancakes this morning, but they kind of turned out funny shaped... they taste fine, though.”

“No thanks, Will. I’m not hungry. Sleep... now, that does sound good.”

Once in her room, Buffy peeled off the pants and shirt she’d been wearing for the past thirty-six hours and pulled an old t-shirt over her head before falling onto her bed and sleeping the sleep of the totally exhausted.

Chapter 8

The harsh afternoon sunlight was forcing its way through the curtains on Buffy’s window when she woke. One glance at the alarm clock sitting on the dresser was all it took to get the slayer out of bed and scrambling down the stairs. On the way down, she nearly collided with Willow, who was more than a little surprised to see Buffy, wild haired and still sleepy-looking, out of bed.

“Work!” Buffy said, by way of explaining her being up. “I’m supposed to be at work! I was supposed to be there at two, and that was,” she squinted to see the clock through eyes that weren’t quite awake yet, “an hour ago!”

“Hey,” Willow murmured, putting a comforting hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. I called the Doublemeat Palace for you. I told them you were sick, just like I did for Dawn.”

At the mention of her little sister’s name, Buffy looked worried all over again.

“Dawn... Is she ok? I didn’t see her this morning...”

“She’s fine,” Willow assured her. “She helped Tara and me last night in the lab, and she came home with me while Tara went to go get you. I told her to go to bed, and called the school so she wouldn’t get in trouble.”

“Still asleep?” Buffy asked.

“As far as I know, yep, just like you should be!” Buffy numbly allowed herself to be led back upstairs. However, her body seemed to have decided it had had enough rest. So, she curled up in the center of her bed and began to try to fumble her way through to a decision that didn’t make her mind or heart recoil at its wrongness.

...............................

“What are you thinking?” Willow asked, several hours later, upon seeing Buffy awake and sitting thoughtfully on her bed.

“I’ve sunk to berating myself for not being logical, like Giles, compassionate, like Tara, or decisive, like... well, like a decisive person,” she said. Willow looked at her a little strangely, but nodded. “I don’t think I’m getting anywhere, Will,” Buffy said glumly.

“Oh,” Willow replied, and looked away. Buffy had known her long enough to recognize Willow’s ‘I don’t want to tell you something so I’ll look away’ defense.

“What? What happened?” she demanded.

“Tara... she’s downstairs. She wants to talk to you.”

Buffy sighed, and with a resigned look on her face, brushed past Willow and hurried down the hallway. Tara was sitting, hands folded, on the couch.

“It’s not good, is it,” Buffy said, half sitting, half throwing herself on the couch next to her.

“N...No,” Tara whispered, as if the pained set of her delicate features wasn’t enough to let them know how serious the situation was. “I left him... left him alone, because he’s not moving any more. He’s fading away. Not talking, not doing... anything.” She raised her eyes to meet Buffy’s. “I don’t think he’s got much time left.” Buffy, in turn, looked at Willow.

“Will, please tell me you’ve found something,” she pleaded. Willow sadly shook her head. Buffy shrunk back even farther into the cushions of the couch.

“I still don’t know what I’m going to do,” she said in a small voice.

“If you wait much longer, you’re not going to have a choice,” Tara reminded her. “If you’re going to help Spike, it needs to be now.”

“Would you do it?” Buffy asked. Both Willow and Tara blinked in surprise at having the question put to them. “If it was your blood that would save him, a vampire who might or might not be useful or deserving of life... but who am I to say whether he’s useful or not? Who am I to judge...”

“Spike’s done a lot of good,” Tara reminded her. “He protected Dawn, no, he protected all of us.”

“He’s fought a lot of vampires,” Willow said, not sounding quite as sure as Tara had.

“And he loves you,” Tara continued. “No matter how bad he is at showing it.” Willow and Buffy both frowned, neither of them sure if that particular fact should be counted in Spike’s favor.

“I don’t know... I don’t think I could face what it would make me,” Buffy said.

“And what is that?” Tara asked gently.

“A traitor?” she tentatively answered.

“To what?” Tara prompted. “You don’t answer to the Council anymore, there is no one for you to betray...”

“To myself, to everything I’ve ever believed in... to save one vampire because I happen to know him personally... where does it stop?”

“He’s not just one vampire,” said a quiet voice from the bottom of the stairs. The three girls looked up to see Dawn standing there.

“Go back upstairs, Dawn,” Buffy told her younger sister. Dawn did nothing of the sort.

“What are you going to do?” she asked instead. Seeing Buffy hesitate, she frowned. “You can’t just let him die! Not after... everything!”

“Dawn, there are some things you don’t understand...” Buffy started to say.

“Like why you’d let one of your friends die?” Dawn demanded.

“Spike it not my friend...” Buffy protested. Even Willow heard the lie in her voice.

“Fine,” Dawn muttered. “He’s my friend, though. I’d save him if it was my blood that was the cure.” The wheels in the younger Summers’ head turned for a few seconds before she glanced cautiously at Willow and Tara. “My blood is Buffy’s. Would that... work?”

“NO!” Willow and Buffy shouted at the same time. Abruptly, Buffy jumped up from the couch.

“I need to be alone. I’ll be back,” she told her startled friends, and ran out the back door. She didn’t run far, though. She had done a considerable amount of thinking over the years while sitting on her back porch, and it was as good a place as any to come to a decision about Spike’s fate. Unbidden, memories of another night she had found herself sitting on the porch came to mind. She remembered the night that her mother had revealed her illness to her as vividly as if it had happened only minutes ago. She had sat in the exact same spot, and Spike had come to sit beside her. He had come in anger, but the awkward, gentle touch of his hand on her arm had been the most comforting thing in the world.

She tried to envision a world with Spike gone. It seemed somehow diminished, less hopeful. Dawn would be heartbroken, she had the feeling Tara would be disappointed, and she would have to live with the guilt. Though the living Spike had certainly brought her more than her share of pain, dead he would bring even more.

She tried to imagine a future where she let him live. She would most likely end up in the hospital. Again. Dawn would worry, Willow and Tara would hover, and Xander would be furious. She would have let him have the one thing that only Angel had shared with her. Spike would most likely take it as a sign that she really loved him, and make himself even more of a pest. The thought of his supremely annoying behavior brought a smile to her face. It would be strangely comforting to see him back to his old cocky self... It was a hard future, but it seemed so much more right than the other. Then, like the lifting of a veil, the answer became clear. She opened the door and stepped back into the house.

“I’m going over to Spike’s,” she announced. Tara nodded in agreement. Dawn, who looked happy at first, seemed to finally realize the risk that Buffy would be taking and immediately became more sober.

“You’re going to let him do it?” Dawn asked.

“Yeah...” Buffy said softly. Dawn reached out and touched her sister’s face, looking deep into Buffy’s eyes as if trying to give her strength.

“Don’t worry, he’ll take care of you once he’s better,” Dawn told her.

“That’s the way it’s supposed to work,” Buffy agreed.

“Maybe we should...” Willow started to say.

“No. I’ll go alone,” Buffy forcefully interrupted her. She turned and left the house, cutting across the backyard, taking the shortest route to the cemetery. She only hoped she could get there before it was too late, and before her resolve wavered.

Chapter 9

Like a corpse, or a pale marble angel carved atop a coffin, Spike lay unmoving. Buffy’s breath hissed between her teeth as she took in the seriousness of his condition. His skin was a horrid shade of grey, and if he had been human, she would have thought him long dead. She brushed her hand against his face, searching for some sign of life, half afraid his body would disintegrate into ash at her touch. Slowly, painfully slowly, his eyelids lifted halfway off of his fever-red eyes.

“Can you sit up?” Buffy asked. His eyes narrowed, and he scowled at her. “Fine, then,” Buffy muttered. “Here, I’ll help you.” She moved to put her arm under his, but he groaned and weakly batted her hand away.

“Stay... away from me,” he rasped.

“You’re sick, Spike,” Buffy started to explain, but he cut her off with a laugh that sounded more like a hacking cough.

“You think I don’t know that, Slayer?” He rolled onto his side so that his back was to her. “Just like a Slayer to come kick a man when he’s down...”

“As much as I would like to kick you sometimes, now is not one of them. So, why don’t you sit up so we can talk...”

“What? So you don’t break any of your pretty little nails when you stake me? I think not!” There was something in his tone, something familiar about the belligerent way he was glaring at her that sent Buffy’s mind back in time – back to when Spike had first come to Sunnydale. He doesn’t remember, she thought. He doesn’t remember that we were ever anything other than enemies... The realization hurt her more than she liked to admit. It was as if something unique and priceless, something a long time in the making, had suddenly been shattered. We’re back at the beginning...

“No!” she protested. He cringed at the vehemence in her voice. “I’m not going to hurt you. We’re... friends. I want to help you.” Spike didn’t respond. “You have to remember!” Buffy pleaded.

“You? My friend? You’re no vampire’s friend, my girl,” Spike reminded her.

Seeing that she was getting nowhere, Buffy sat down next to him, close enough that their bodies were touching. She brushed her hair away from her neck.

“You’re wrong,” she whispered, then leaned in close and kissed him on the cheek. The nearness of her warm blood to the half-starved vampire was enough to make his demon face emerge. “Yes, Spike. Drink,” Buffy encouraged him. True to form, Spike did exactly the opposite of what she asked. He shook his head until his human face reappeared. He stared at her for a few moments in astonishment.

“Buffy...” he murmured. Good. He remembers.

“Glad to see you’re through doing the time warp. I thought I was stuck with three-years-ago-Spike for good, and I really didn’t like him much,” she said. “Now, let’s get on with it.” She ran her fingers down the vein in her neck to illustrate exactly what she meant. Spike shook his head again.

“I can’t.... you can’t let me... not worth it... ” Buffy sighed in exasperation and held up a tightly balled fist in his face.

“I had to punch Angel to make him do it,” she told him soberly. “I thought you’d be easier to reason with.” To her surprise, the mention of Angel was all it took to bring Spike’s vampire face to the surface immediately. He leaned in to touch his teeth to her throat, but she suddenly pulled back, self-consciously fingering the scar Angel had left. She held out her arm instead. She wanted nothing about this to be the same.

His teeth touched her vein halfway between her wrist and her elbow, but before they broke the skin Spike screamed and fell back onto the bed clutching his head.

“I’m sorry!” Buffy said, even before she figured out what she was sorry for.

“Nice try, Pet,” he finally croaked. “Damn chip had other ideas, seems to me.”

“But there was no violence... I was offering myself freely.” Buffy sounded as if she were trying to convince both herself and him.

“Chip didn’t know that,” he told her, staring regretfully at her pale, upturned arm. Buffy, however, was not yet to the point of looking regretful. Having come so far, she was not about to let the Initiative’s hard-wiring stop her. She plunged her hand deep into the pocket of Spike’s leather jacket, which had fallen to the floor in a heap at some point in the past two days.

She pulled out a silver-handled pocketknife and flicked the blade open. Before she could think too hard about what she was about to do, or Spike could try and stop her, she drew the knife swiftly up her vein. Red blood welled to the surface and she gasped at the fierce bite of metal against her skin.

Spike’s eyes met hers for a second, confused, but offering silent thanks. Then, he drank. At first, he only lapped up what had welled to the surface as a result of Buffy’s self-inflicted wound. At first, it was enough. Then, as his strength and hunger intensified, he began to draw from her of his own power. Buffy gasped as the blood began to flow between them faster. Instinctively, she tried to pull away, but his grip on her arm was too strong. His left hand grasped her wrist, and his right encircled her upper arm, holding her life-giving wound steady. Buffy began to feel light-headed, then to see bright flashes of light in front of her eyes. Yes, I remember this... this is how it goes, she thought to herself before the bright flashes were snuffed out and darkness blurred her vision. Her body slumped to the floor with her arm thrusting up at an unnatural angle to where Spike continued to drink.

..............................

The first thing Spike remembered after coming through the haze of delirium was blood – sweet, hot blood, still breathing and pulsing with life – a slayer’s blood. After months of barely surviving on the leavings of the local butcher, it was the most wonderful thing he had ever tasted, and for a blissfully unconscious period, he didn’t even care who it was coming from. When it seemed as if his benefactor had little more to give, he forced himself away before falling back onto the bed as the rush of his returning strength overwhelmed him. Slowly, though, he became aware of the familiarity of the thin, muscular arm he held in his hands, the blonde hair spread out on his floor, the indefinable smell that was Buffy. He pulled back in shock, and her bleeding arm left scarlet stains on his blanket.

He remembered everything, or at least enough to realize what had happened. She had taken care of him when he needed it, and now it was his turn to do the same for her. He stood up on steady legs for the first time in what felt like ages. He lifted Buffy from the floor and onto his bed and tore strips from his sheets to tie around her arm to stop the bleeding. As he pulled the knot of his improvised bandage as tight as he could, she gave a little moan of pain.

His eyes traveled up her arm, to her face. Her hazel eyes were open, and stared up at him with a gaze clouded by pain and fear.

“How long...” she whispered. The rest of the sentence wouldn’t come.

“A few minutes, I’d guess. I was out too,” he told her.

“So tired...”

“You lost a lot of blood, Pet,” Spike said. He was about to scoop her up and take her to the doctor so they could fix that little problem, but the _expression on Buffy’s face had ceased to be frightened. Instead, it was peaceful, resigned. An idea, a vague possibility entered his mind, and Spike shivered. She let me drink from her because she wasn’t afraid of dying... what if she wanted it all along?

“Buffy, I want you to listen to me,” he finally said, and brushed the hair out of her eyes. “There are two things we can do, here, and I’m going to let you choose. Do you understand?” She nodded, and reached for his hand. He took it, barely even noticing, as if he walked hand in hand with her every day.

“All you have to do is give me the word, and I’ll pick you up and run as fast as I can to the hospital. I don’t even know what time it is, and frankly, I don’t care. I will get you there. Do you understand?” he asked again. She had to know, to grasp the true significance of the choice he was about to offer. She squeezed his hand in response, and Spike took a deep breath before continuing. There was another path she could take, and he had to show it to her, no matter how much he might scream if she took it.

“There’s another choice though, Pet. If you want to... go back to where you were before... in peace... Just let me know, and I’ll hold you until... until you’re gone.” The last three words came out in a rush. Buffy stared back at him. It was her turn to be amazed at what he was willing to do for her. She knew how hard it must have been for him to offer her the choice, for she knew as well how much it had pained him to lose her the first time. It was powerfully tempting just to let him put his arms around her and wait for her heart to beat its last. It would be a comfortable death – no pain, no fear.

Spike sensed the direction in which she was leaning, and climbed onto the bed. He wrapped his arms around her and felt her faint heartbeat against his chest. Buffy sighed, once for the opportunity lost, and once for the burden she knew she couldn’t put down just yet, and shook her head.

“I want to live,” she told him. Though Spike looked surprised, the perfect stillness he had achieved a few moments before evaporated in an instant. He jumped up lifted her into his arms, bedding and all.

“You could have said something before we got all comfortable, you know,” he said, and grinned at her as he practically flew up the ladder and out into the pre-dawn morning.

Chapter 10

Spike was distinctly out of place in the meticulously clean hospital waiting room. A few nurses and orderlies in green and blue scrubs gave the tall, pale man in a beat-up black jacket a strange look as he tapped his foot impatiently while waiting in line for the pay phone, but none of them risked getting close enough to shoo him out.

After making sure that the doctors staffing the emergency room understood how seriously Buffy was hurt, and giving them a story about having found her that way, he was faced with the most unpleasant task of calling her ‘family’ – Willow, Tara, and Dawn. The phone barely had time to ring once before Willow’s edgy, frantic voice answered.

“Willow? This is Spike. I think you’d all better come down to the hospital,” was all he said. Willow responded by placing the phone back on the hook. Spike nodded to himself. They would come quickly. Willow didn’t have to say anything to assure him of that.

......................................

Spike stared longingly across the invisible barrier that seemed to have been erected in the hospital waiting room. He was alone on his side, while a few feet away, Tara and Willow sat close together, hands intertwined. Dawn dozed lightly, her head resting on Tara’s shoulder. None of them had said a word to Spike since they had arrived, and only Dawn had been able to look him in the eye, and then only for a moment.

They don’t blame you, he tried to tell himself. They know you did all you could for her, and they know it was her choice to... do what she did. Still, the silence that imposed itself between him and Buffy’s friends told him otherwise. Buffy was in danger, and he was the cause. The weight of it threatened to crush him, and he wanted nothing more than to have several good stiff drinks and end up crying until he fell asleep and it didn’t hurt anymore. However, to do that, he would have had to leave the hospital, and there was no power on the earth that could have made him walk through those doors. He liked to think he was being there for Dawn, letting her see that her sister’s sacrifice had done something... but even more he wanted to be there when Buffy woke up. To talk to her, to somehow tell her how much it meant to him that she had chosen to let him live.

The doctor that had gone with Buffy into the inner rooms of the hospital reappeared, and Spike was on his feet. The others followed his lead, and the doctor found four very concerned friends of his patient surrounding him.

“Your friend is going to be fine, but I am very concerned about her. As I told you when you brought her in,” he said, addressing Spike, “I strongly believe that her wounds were self inflicted. This was a suicide attempt, folks.” They all knew better, and Dawn took advantage of her youthful lack of tact and interrupted him.

“Can we see her?” she asked.

“She is awake, but she’s only asking for her sister,” the doctor told them. “Which one of you is Dawn?”

Dawn timidly raised her hand, stepped forward, and followed the doctor through the doors. Willow and Tara, looking a little disappointed, sat back down. Spike simply stared at Dawn’s back, too hurt to respond.

“Spike,” Tara called his name softly. “Come sit with us.” She patted the chair right next to hers. He took her up on her offer, and even smiled a little when Tara lifted her free hand and held onto his.

..................................

“She’s asking for ‘Spike’ now,” the doctor announced, having hurried through the waiting room on his way to see another patient. “I would like it better if she would get some rest, but was quite upset when I suggested you wait.”

“Guess I’d better go calm her down, then,” Spike said, and laughed bitterly. The doctor gave him an odd look, but led him to Buffy’s room anyway. They passed Dawn in the hallway, and she gave him a bright smile and a thumbs up. Niblet’s happy. That must be a good sign.

Hospital rooms, Spike decided, had to be some of the most depressing, ugly places that humankind had ever come up with. Like much of the rest of the hospital, the room that Buffy occupied was painted a horrid, dingy green, which seemed to make the bright metal of the machines that whirred and beeped around her even more ominous. Buffy lay in the stark white bed with one arm wound in bandages and an IV connected to her other wrist. She had the pale, anemic look of one who had lost a lot of blood, and her eyes were red and puffy.

She said nothing when she realized he was standing in the doorway. Instead, she lifted her eyes to meet his, and the two of them stayed locked in an uncomfortable silence until at least a minute had clicked by on the noisy clock mounted on the wall.

“The doctor said you wanted to see me,” Spike finally said. “The least you could do is say something.” Buffy blinked and looked hurt, and Spike was immediately sorry. That had come out more angrily than he had intended it to.

“And what did you want me to say?” she shot back, summoning enough inner fire to be annoyed.

“You could start with telling me why...” he indicated himself, “why I’m still here. I didn’t mean to be cross with you, Pet, but I don’t understand. You could have been rid of me. You could have freed me from my pitiful existence once and for all. But you didn’t.” He broke eye contact and looked down at his shoes. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Buffy murmured. It seemed like a silly, inconsequential thing to say, but she could think of nothing better. Spike’s sudden switch from anger to contrition had thrown her off balance. “I should be thanking you, Spike. You got me here.”

“I couldn’t do any less. You know that,” he reminded her. She was silent for a long time as she studied the intense, hopeful _expression on his face.

“I remember, you know. The choice you gave me. I wanted to tell you... that I appreciated it – being able to make my own decision. It was a really... human thing to do.” And it let me know that I’d done the right thing, Buffy added to herself. Any creature that could so unselfishly let something it loved go MUST deserve to live.

“Just wanted you to be happy,” Spike said simply. Buffy took a deep, ragged breath, and he saw the tears start to fall down her face.

“I know,” she whispered. He touched her cheek.

“Don’t cry, Luv,” he said gently, and when her eyes met his, she saw the overwhelming, unconditional love that she always found there. She shook her head. He’s already starting to get the wrong idea, she thought. I have to explain before I hurt him more...

“Spike, I know you want me to tell you that I saved you because I loved you...” Buffy started to say.

“I’d rather you told me the truth,” he said, but the place where his beating heart should have been felt as if it had turned to ice. He steeled himself for the unpleasant shock of reality he knew was coming.

“When I let you drink from me... it was because I didn’t want to lose a friend. I couldn’t imagine not having you around,” she admitted. “I mean, who would look after Dawn when I couldn’t? Take me to play weird kitten poker? Give me the lowdown on the demon underworld?” It was now her turn to look away. “Who would listen to me when no one else could accept what I was saying?” Seeing the doubtful look on his face, she insisted, “We are friends, Spike. Friends take care of each other, listen to each other. You do that for me, even if I don’t always see it...” She waited for him to throw back some sarcastic comment about how they could ‘never be friends,’ but none was forthcoming. He simply nodded in understanding.

As he rose to leave, Spike kissed her lightly on the forehead and whispered, “Get some rest, friend of mine.”

The End