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Chapter Three


The two angels floated in and out of focus and then slowly merged into one. Spike blinked several times to make sure he wasn't dreaming and then he realised that there was something wrong with his head. A warm, sticky substance was seeping through his fingers. Blood? His? What the hell was going on? He tried to sit up but the angel split into two again and they started dancing with each other, so he closed his eyes and lay down again. And they smelled of champagne. What the fuck was happening?

"Spikes?" Buffy crouched beside him, her hand hovering uselessly over his face. She didn't know what to do, and there was so much blood. "Spikes," are you okay?

He swore again and pressed his hands even tighter to the wound over his eye.

"Spikes, you've got to let me see how bad it is." She tried to disengage one of his hands but he wasn't having any of it. Hers came away slippery with blood. All right, sit up then." She slid an arm under his shoulders and tried to lever him up, her blood spattered fingers slipping on his leather coat. He wasn't helping at all. Didn't even seem to realise she was there. Just kept up his mantra of swear words with his eyes tight shut. She managed to get his head and shoulders off the ground but, what did she do with him now? The car park was deserted and she didn't want to leave him there. "Spikes," she said softly, "can you sit up?"

He opened his eyes at last and she breathed a sign of relief. He stared up at her, a mystified expression on his face, and then he craned his neck to look around. "Did I fall asleep?"

"No, he hit you." Buffy shifted his head into her lap, the rough concrete tearing at her knees through her very expensive and now ruined stockings. "Remember Angellus?"

Spike grimaced. This time he accepted Buffy's help and she managed to lean him against the side of her car. She fished in her bag and brought out a wad of tissues. Then she gently took the hand that was still holding the wound. "Let me see it Spikes."

God he was strong, and he wasn't letting go.

"Wanker." He twisted away from her. "Ow, that bloody hurts." He took the tissues out of her hand and pressed them to his head, bending forward with a groan and sending droplets of champagne dripping off his gelled hair.

Buffy sat back on her heels. He'd called her a wanker. She didn't know what it meant but it didn't sound good. And she'd only been trying to help him. Well, actually she'd been the cause of his unfortunate situation but she hadn't asked him to come to her defence, although she was glad that he had. The shock of it all suddenly hit her and she felt her face crumpling. She pointed vaguely in the direction of the club and started to get up. "Going for help. You just..."

He gripped her wrist. "No, don't do that." He let out a long breath. "Made enough of a prat of myself as it is. Is that wanker still around?"

"Oh." She wiped at her eyes with her sleeve. Angellus was the wanker, whatever it meant. "He's gone. Can you stand?"

"Think so." He leaned onto her shoulder and pushed himself up, grabbing onto the car for support.

"I think I should get someone." Even in the dim light she could see that he'd gone very pale.

"I told you no. I'll be fine." He swayed and then righted himself. "See? Well, Buffy-from-America," he screwed up his eyes and looked at her intently, "are you crying?" Then he shook his head. "Now what was I....?" He frowned and then held out his hand. He took hers and shook it. "Thank you for a lovely evening. We must... Umm..." He pointed vaguely across the car park. "We really must ... You know, with the angel thingy..." He nodded at her as if she should know what he was talking about. "I'll just be going then." Then he turned on his heels and walked unsteadily away.

"Spikes." She started after him. "You're in no fit state to..."

"Not today love." He lifted an arm in salute and kept right on walking.

"Wait." She couldn't leave him like this. He wasn't making any sense. "You need to get to a hospital or something." He didn't show any signs of having heard her. Then she suddenly remembered her car. "Wait Spikes, I'll take you." She ran to it and opened the door. The steering wheel had disappeared. Then she spotted it on the other side of the car. Damn, if that didn't get her every time. She slammed the door and raced round to the other side, slipped off her heels and slid into the driver's seat. She stared at the console, trying to remember where everything was. "Key, key." She patted her pockets and finally located it. By the time she'd got the car started and into drive, Spike had disappeared.


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Spike stood at the corner of the car park. Right or left? Soddit, which way was home? He decided on the right. It looked vaguely familiar. His legs felt a little rubbery but the bleeding had slowed. He dropped the bloodstained tissues and searched his coat pocket for a fresh one. He didn't have any, so he bent down to pick up the discarded ones. Whoa. He swayed dangerously. Bad idea. And that was when he saw the car. A red, bullet shaped thing coming right at him. He took two seconds to register that it was Buffy driving and she wasn't about to stop, then he flung himself against the wall. As the car shot past him, he caught a glimpse of Buffy's surprised face, and heard the squealing of brakes. The rear end of the car spun round in a screech of burning rubber and the door shot open. He placed one hand over his rapidly-beating heart and sucked in a series of desperate breaths. As Buffy ran towards him, he wondered how many more times she was going to try and kill him tonight?


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Unfortunately, there was one - she insisted on driving him home.

"Left, left." He wrenched at the wheel. "We drive on the left in this country."

Buffy gave him an apologetic smile. "Oops"

"Look at the road you stupid..."

"Don't call me a wanker." Buffy took her eyes off the road again. There wasn't much traffic, but so far she had managed to drive the wrong way up a one way street and almost sideswiped a double-decker bus. And it didn't seem to worry her at all. She'd waved pleasantly back at the driver, obviously mistaking the gesture he'd made at her. Spike prayed that they didn't meet any old ladies on pedestrian crossings as he didn't hold out much hope for their survival.

"Because you know, it doesn't sound very nice." She jammed her foot on the brake as they came to a red light.

Spike flew forward against his seat belt and then slammed back into the seat. "Christ, woman. You've got to be the worst bloody driver I've ever met."

"Oh no." The car shot away as the lights turned green, "You obviously haven't met my cousin Tara," she said, pleasantly ignoring the insult. "Which way Spikes?"

"Over there to the right." He gave her a strange look. Where there two of him in the car? Because right now he wouldn't have been surprised by anything. He pointed to a small precinct of shops, "We need to find a late-night-chemist."

Buffy slowed the car and waited for a gap in the traffic. "A what?" She hadn't the faintest idea what he was talking about. "Is he like a doctor or something?

"It's not a he, it's a shop, you know, pharmacy, drugstore? We're probably going to need some of those butterfly things."

Buffy negotiated the turn and stopped in the entrance to the precinct. "Oh, butterfly bandages." She leaned forward and looked from right to left.

Spike looked at her expectantly. "You're not going to leave it here are you?"

"No of course not," she looked around again. "I was just looking for a space."

"In an empty car park? Just do it, for goodness sake." He lowered the wad of tissues and looked at them. "Ugh, better get some more of these as well. And some antiseptic." He twisted himself and took out a ten pound note from the back pocket of his jeans. "And gum, get some gum, you know, the spearmint not the peppermint. What?"

"I was just wondering if there was anything else." Buffy arched an eyebrow. "What with me being your personal shopper and all." She shook her head as she negotiated the car into a space. "I mean, you could at least say please."

"Oh, forgive me for bleeding to death in your car." He took her hand and stuffed the money into it, then inclined his head and spoke in a little-boy voice. "Please."

Buffy felt a momentary pang of guilt. He was the one hurt, after all. And that was one serious cut over his eye. She reached for the door handle and stopped.

"Look Spikes about the hospital thing, I really think you..."

"No, no, no." He ran a hand through his hair. "Christ, what does it take? Read my lips. I'm not going to any hospital." Look, just go and get the stuff. Then you can patch me up and take me home. And then, I'm going to crawl into my nice, warm bed and forget today ever happened."

"Okay, Mr grumpy, but don't blame me when you keel over with a concussion or die of blood poisoning, or," she thought for a moment. "Glass poisoning. Can you get glass poisoning?"

"Or, I might just die right here and now waiting for you to GET THE BLOODY STUFF."

"Which would serve you right," Buffy muttered as she got out of the car. "You just can't help some people. "She felt monumentally responsible for his current predicament and she was trying to put it right. Okay, she'd nearly run him over, but how could she be expected to see him if he insisted on standing in the middle of the road wearing black? All he seemed to want to do was get as far away from her as possible. It had taken all her powers of persuasion, which were usually considerable, to get him into the car and to agree to at least let her patch him up. She pulled back her seat and reached for her shoes, then she realised how badly torn her stockings were.

"Oh no, I can't go in there looking like this. I look like a streetwalker." She heard him mutter, "You said it mate..." and favoured him with a glare.

"You could always take them off."

"Huh. You wish." His sarcastic tone stung her. What if she took him up on his offer? That would wipe that smug, smile off his face. It was the same feeling that she'd had in the club. Perhaps she'd been possessed by the naughty leather top but she imagined herself lifting her leg over the steering wheel and sliding her hands up it until she reached her garter belt. Then she'd slowly unsnap it, all the while looking straight into his deep blue eyes and then she'd roll the stocking down her leg and wind it around his neck. Then she'd pull him in for a ... She swallowed hard, slipped on her shoes and fairly ran to the drugstore.

She picked up the antiseptic wipes and painkillers and a packet of butterfly bandages. Then she put the butterfly bandages back. She already had these at her house. There was no sense in buying more. He hadn't asked to go to her house, of course but she didn't stop to question her motivation further. She queued behind a gang of teenagers who all seemed to be buying condoms and then made her way back to the car. She half expected to find it empty and really hoped that she wouldn't.


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Spike had contemplated running away. Or rather staggering away. The world had stopped spinning somewhat and he was thinking a bit more clearly but, despite his fear of hospitals, he knew that his wound needed looking at. He only hoped that her nursing skills were better than her driving. He leaned back into the leather seat and tried not to think about Buffy in a nurse's uniform with streetwalker stockings. He hadn't thought about Dru once.





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