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Glory addressed her monsters, “You had my vampire on the ground with an arrow in his chest and you couldn’t kill him!?”

The first monster spoke, “We tried O Most Beautifully . . . Irate One. He was as good as dead until the Slayer came back to save him.”

“You mean, she didn’t run with that key of mine yet? She might still be here?”

“I believe so Most Intelligent One.”

“Then what am I doing sitting around here listening to you losers. Since you morons obviously can’t do the job, I’ll have to do it myself.”
_____________________________

Night had now fallen back at the Magic Shop. Buffy lifted a hand to rub her temples as she sat at the round wood table. They had decided to take turns staying awake, seeing to Spike and watching for signs of Glory. Buffy had decided to take first shift, and had never went to wake any of them to relieve her. She had poked her head into the training room where they all lay several times. It had been a horrendous, long process of getting that arrow out of Spike’s chest. With no anesthesia to work with, Willow and Tara had tried a spell to ease the pain, but the poison being what it was, it barley helped. Even Xander felt for Spike as the make-shift operating team ripped through layer and layer of skin. They had offered to knock him out, but Spike insisted that if “the Watcher” or “Idiot Boy” were going to be anywhere near him with sharp utensils, he wanted to be able to see them at all times. Giles had led them in the operation, aided mostly by Xander, while Anya kept cool wash cloths on Spike’s face and Buffy blotted and pressed on the wound as the two men worked around her. Tara had done some aiding spells and Willow kept Dawn company.

Buffy looked over at the little gold object lying on the counter next to Spike’s still body. It looked so tiny, yet it had caused him so much pain. Yes, the arrow was no longer lodged in his skin, but they were hardly out of the woods. The poison was in him, and the only way to keep it from killing him was to get the cure off of Glory.

Buffy sighed and lifted herself to her feet, glancing down at her blood stained clothes and arms. Deciding to check on the patient, she set upon the counter. With the exception of the giant bandage on his chest, you couldn’t even tell Spike had been operated on. Anya had done a good job of keeping him, and inadvertantly her precious
merchandise, clean. Gingerly, Buffy continued to Spike’s side.

Buffy lowered her voice to a sheer whisper, “Spike? Spike?”

Receiving no response, she wasn’t surprised. With no pain killers, he had blacked out all through the operation and evening. He had gritted and been so strong -- at one point Buffy intertwined her fingers with his. He had stopped tossing his head at this, soaking in her eyes. She nodded at him, silently telling him it was okay to hold onto her. He knew she was the only one strong enough to share in his anguish and pain, so he did not hold back as his powerful hand tried to crush hers as another sharp object protruded into his skin.

“Spike. . . if you can hear me. . .”

Buffy hadn’t noticed Dawn in the corner watching her. She had slipped out to see Spike, but instead felt herself content to watch as Buffy had sat beside him, periodically soaking his already chilled skin with a wet cloth.

Buffy studied Spike, looked at his bandaged chest. She lifted her frail hand, slightly sore from his grip and gently traced the bandage with her finger tips, down his arm, and paused before slipping her fingers into his. Buffy stared at him a little longer. Then, as if making a sudden epiphany of a decision, Buffy slowly lifted up off her heels and kissed Spike, lightly but lingeringly, on the lips then whispered in his ear.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

She let her hand stay intertwined with his a little longer before slipping out of the room.

Dawn, still unnoticed, smiled widely.

TBC





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