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Author's Chapter Notes:
many thanks to my kind reviewers.
and I hope you guys enjoy the nex chapter
Martin was pacing up and down, waiting. He was used to battlefield wounds, he’d gone through medical school and five years of practise for this, and had set up for everything he could think of. Two beds had been pre-prepared for Anya and Spike. It seemed strange, knowing what injuries his patients would – correction, knowing exactly what injuries - and what treatment his patients would need.

One bed was set up with twenty units of blood above it on the drip stands. The giving sets were set without needles and hung in such a way that they would drip fresh human blood straight into the vampire’s mouth. Riley had given him the exact mixes of pain relief that worked on a vampire: something good had come from the Initiative’s immoral experiments after all. And that stood ready preloaded in massive doses, in syringes on the table. It seemed really strange setting up care for a HST, but those were the orders, and anyway Dawn seemed very keen on him caring for Spike as well and Martin was beginning to want to do anything to put a smile on her face. He was easily getting distracted by the light in her eyes, and when she’d heard they were getting Spike back, he actually felt a little jealous.

Martin thought back to the way Dawn had ‘eewed’ and ‘ughed’ him at even the thought of Spike in that way. ‘He’s like my big very protective brother,’ she’d explained, then sat down with him and talked about ‘that summer’, 147 days of hell until her sister had been raised from the dead. The way Spike had cared for her, made her do her homework…

‘…and when a 150 year old Master Vampire asks if your homework is finished the only safe answer is yes!’ she laughed, ‘but he tutored me as well. History was, is, so much easier when your tutor has lived through it; he spoke French, Italian, Greek, Latin as well as some demon languages.
He fed me, cooked for me, took me out and bought me stuff, made sure I was safe and knew I was loved. When I cried he just held me, or told me stories, he slept night after night on my bedroom floor so I wouldn’t feel alone. He did everything he could to make me feel safe and loved, and I miss him so much; so does Buffy. He is the other half of Buffy’s soul. I wish you’d known her before he died. She laughed and had a light about her that made her glow.’


Martin thought how nice it would be if he could allow Dawn to feel the same thing, safe and loved and alive, and he was clever enough to know that if he judged Spike as a vampire first it would do him no favours with Dawn.

He was as ready as he could be. Martin sat quietly waiting, drinking his coffee. In fact, he thought Dawn’s talk had made him rethink some of his ideas on HST’s. Maybe they weren’t all bad: Clem wasn’t and the little baby was cute, not that Baya would let him or anyone else too close. He could understand that. He sipped at his coffee again. Part of him was actually looking forward to meeting William the Bloody.

He could hear shouts from the main Foyer: he put down his coffee on his desk and stood waiting for his patients. First through the doors was a gurney carrying a woman with a horrendous wound to her stomach. She didn’t appear to be breathing, but he’d been warned about that. Morgana had said they would put a spell on her, literally holding her in suspension until he could fix the wounds.

Before he could even look at Anya the other gurney came in carrying the still smoking body of William the Bloody. Dawn was running in front clearing the way and Buffy was trying to get close, grabbing for Spike, getting into everyone’s way. Faith had followed them and simply lifted Buffy up and moved her. Martin didn’t think that Buffy had even noticed, she was so desperate to get close to Spike.

‘Let the man do his job, B,’ Faith said as she held onto her sister slayer. Buffy took a swing for Faith, hitting her trying to make her let go, but the tears in her eyes blurred Buffy’s vision.

‘You still hit like a girl - and calm down.’ Faith’s eyes showed compassion for the older slayer. She knew how much Buffy had missed Spike; damn, they all missed the bleached menace.

They watched as Martin and Johnson carefully lifted Spike onto the prepared bed, while the others lifted Anya onto her bed. Faith kept her arms around Buffy, half to prevent her from interfering and half to support her; Faith could feel Buffy’s legs giving way.

‘He’s not dust, he’s not dead, B,’ she whispered in Buffy’s ear.

Martin lined up the tube from the blood bag so it dripped straight into Spike’s mouth. He then cut off the black jeans. Faith felt sick when she saw the burns: the skin was blackened, almost charcoal; it was lucky they had pain killers. Martin covered the poor man’s burned legs with a sheet, but when he went to cut off the leather jacket he felt his arm being crushed in the strong grip of a slayer. He looked up, expecting to see Buffy or even Faith, but it was Rona who had him in the death grip.

‘The coat stays in one piece: we’ll get it off. Buffy: give me a hand.’ she said as she turned to the distraught slayer, trying to give her something to do.

Rona, Buffy and Faith carefully rolled Spike over, making sure that they didn’t dislodge the tube in his mouth. Buffy’s eyes filled up at the horrific injuries on Spike’s body: the legs weren’t the worst. He had deep burns through his chest, his arms were red and black. Appropriate, seeing as they were his favourite colours. Buffy’s hands were shaking so much she couldn’t hold him.

‘It’s OK B, we’ll do it.’ Faith held Spike in one hand and slipped the coat over his shoulder and off down his arms; then they rolled him the other way and took it off completely, leaving Martin to cut off the black Tee. Spike looked dead laying on the bed with the sheet drawn up to his chest. The chest not rising or falling with breath. He lay as still as a corpse.
‘He’s not dust, he’s not dust, he’s not dust,’ Buffy kept repeating and repeating.

Buffy was in tears, little noticing who was holding her up. Spike had felt so cold and was covered in awful, awful burns. The Gem of Amara, still safe around his neck, kept him undead. Buffy started crying, the tears falling onto her cheeks without her even noticing.

Martin and Dawn carefully realigned the dripping blood straight into Spike’s mouth and altered the flow to ensure he wouldn't choke.

Riley took the distraught slayer from Faith and helped her from the room. He had to swing her up into his arms: she could hardly walk. She felt light, unhealthily light. He looked at her face: she was still crying. He followed Sam, carrying Buffy upstairs and putting her to bed. Morgana followed quietly and once Buffy was settled in her room whispered, 'sleep.'

Riley and Sam left her alone with the witch, they were needed downstairs.
Buffy had been living on her nerves for years and the sight of Spike had sent her soul into meltdown. Cordy watched from the doorway. Morgana turned to the glowing figure.

‘Will you watch over her please? I'm going to be needed downstairs.’

Cordy nodded, it was the least she could do at the moment. The pain that Buffy had felt at Spike's absence had been felt in heaven itself. Cordy looked at Buffy, still crying in her sleep; she looked so pale and vulnerable, and a lot younger than her 25 years. Cordy brushed her hair from her face. The great warrior would soon have all her rewards. Cordy sat quietly by the side of her bed, waiting for Buffy to recover from the shock of seeing Spike again.

It was a hugely different scene in the medical room. There were people everywhere, each undertaking their own individual tasks. Anya was being readied for surgery. She had been prepared, her wound cleaned and shrouded from sight.

Dawn had remembered poor Xander and had fetched him from his room:
he had been roused from his place in the bathroom by Dawn hammering on the door; then she had just barged in without waiting for him to say it was OK. He was embarrassed: he could have been doing anything in there. Xander grabbed for the copies of Penthouse and hid them under the rug before Dawn could notice them.

‘What is it Dawnie, can’t you let me die in peace?’

‘Well I could,’ she sounded like her 16 year old self again, ‘but I thought you might like to know that Anya’s downstairs in medical.’

Xander looked at her as though she were stupid.

‘What did you say? That’s not a funny joke, Dawn.’ He was getting angry with the girl.

‘Anya is downstairs; well, so is Spike. Faith went and fetched them from Sunnydale,’ she explained.

Xander took off through the door as quickly as he could. His beloved Anya was in the same world as him again.

Xander stood watching as Anya was lifted onto the operating table that had been set up in the centre of the room. Instruments seemed to be everywhere. The wound was deep and would need careful repair, but Willow and Morgana would be assisting. Anything beyond Martin's ability would be done by magic.

The other soldiers were attending to what the slayers considered minor scrapes and bumps; there were cuts and bumps and bruises, but nothing that wouldn't heal. They were laughing and joking with one another. Their mission had been a success.

Sam had organised food for everyone, with Baya and Clem's help. They had contacts in the demon world that Giles just couldn't trace and neither could Wolf Ram and Hart. Chinese, Mexican, and Italian meals had come in via the cellars, with Dawn opening the gate for the couple of seconds needed. Baya had set out a buffet in the kitchen where they could all help themselves.

Anya had been on the table for three hours before Martin stood up straight and started breathing more easily. Morgana and Willow had sealed the bowel where it had been sliced, repaired the liver and the spleen, and had used very pure magic to seal all the leaking arteries and veins. All Anya would need now were fluids, blood, and care.

Xander hadn't realised that his breathing had also been staggered until Martin stood up.

'It’s all done,' Martin said with relief and Xander felt the tears on his cheek.
Faith helped move Anya into the bed they had prepared for her and set a chair by the side. She knew exactly where her friend would be sitting until Anya awoke.

Martin went to check on Spike before he rested himself. The vampire had already received ten units of blood.

‘No change yet,’ whispered Dawn from her place at Spike's side. ‘He hasn't moved at all, he's not even gone into game face, and he does that to help with pain.'

‘Slayer blood would help.’ Viv had come over. She'd eaten, thanks to the catering crew, and had rested, and came to help in the infirmary.

‘Slayer blood?’

‘Yep, it’s like fully leaded for vamps, always heals ‘em quicker.’

‘We could all donate half a pint or so, that should be enough to get things started with the healing.’

‘Thank you,’ mouthed Dawn.

‘Hey, he's my friend as well.’ Viv replied.





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