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Spike was worried. It had been three and a half days since they rescued Buffy for the second time, and she still hadn’t woken up. Every time he’d tried feeding her, no matter what kind of blood it was, she merely choked and heaved until it all came up again, never once regaining consciousness.

If he’d thought her injuries were bad the first time, the newest bout of torture visited on her was enough to make his Watcher throw up. Once they’d examined her under the bright, hard light of the bathroom, the tall man had rushed to the toilet and proceeded to puke several times.

Spike himself had felt like doing the same. Her skin, where it wasn’t bruised, was streaked with dried blood and sweat. She looked too-thin again, and the obscene swelling around her shoulder had made it almost impossible to fix. As it was, the Slayer had had to do it himself with Wood guiding him. The Watcher wasn’t strong enough to move the stiff limb.

Her ankle had caused the most problems. Eventually, Wood had vanished into the night, returning with a demon surgeon following him. When Spike had cocked and eyebrow and smirked, the Watcher had merely given a wolfish grin and tapped the side of his nose. The surgeon reset her ankle, bandaging it and setting it in a temporary cast.

He’d also recommended that her other wounds be treated with some form of anti-bacterial disinfectant; they were dirty and rarely clean cuts, and though vampires couldn’t dust from illness, she could rot away if they became infected. Spike and Wood had carefully swabbed all her injuries with an alcoholic scrub.

Willow and Tara had taken on the task of caring for her after that, banishing the men from the room. As much as they knew about vampires not caring about nudity, they doubted Buffy would want to wake up to find two men hovering over her naked body. Spike could hear them when they thought everyone was too busy to hear, chanting healing spells over the unconscious vampiress.

Nothing seemed to work. The former Slayer had contracted some kind of infection despite all their care. She lay in a fevered delirium, often thrashing and mumbling in her sleep. Strangely, though she exhibited all the signs of a fever, she was icily cold, so much so that touching her burned the skin. They decided that was how vampires showed signs of illness, but it just increased their worry nonetheless.

Spike lowered himself to sit beside her, looking in despair at the full mug of blood standing untouched on the bedside table. Despite the tingling waves of pain it caused, he pressed a tender hand to her brow. Yanking it away when the pain became too much, he blinked in shock before grinning widely when her eyelids rose slowly.

“Buffy! C’mon pet, ‘s time to wake up now.”

Glassy, fever-bright eyes stared into his, unfocused and confused. “Angel, what’s wrong?” A smile tugged at her cracked, sore lips. “Don’t be silly, of course I don’t mind.” Her voice changed, becoming huskier, deeper. “Alright, yes. Just one last time.”

The Slayer gritted his teeth, his nails digging into his palms as his fists clenched. Of course she was thinking about her precious Angel. After all, he was only the one who had left her, come back, killed her and then tortured her. What wasn’t to like? He stood abruptly, about to storm out of the room when she started to shake.

Suddenly her body rippled in a spasm, arching away from the bed as she thrashed wildly. Dodging her flailing hands, he caught her shoulders and pressed her into the bed. He yelled for help before remembering that the others had gone out. As the fit subsided and she was still once more, he relaxed. His brows drew down in a scowl, his eyes desperate. Having fits probably wasn’t a good thing.

For the first time, the reality of the situation hit him. He scooped her up in his arms, cradling her limp body to his chest, tucking her head under his chin as he rocked her back and forth. His grip tightened, seemingly so strong that not even death could steal her away from him. Crooning under his breath, he stiffened when he felt her twitch.

At first he thought he was imagining it. Then he realised that her freezing cold lips were moving feebly against his throat, the barest hint of suction there making his mind finally catch up with what his body was feeling. Drawing back, he looked down into silver eyes as she wet her lips.

“Spike?” Her voice was a weak whisper.

“Yeah, kitten, I’m ‘ere.”

“I’m sorry I let them take Cecily. I know you care about her. Care… so… much…” Her words trailed off as her eyes closed wearily. Spike shook her gently, frantic for her to wake up again.

An idea began forming in his mind as he remembering those few minutes of gentle sucking on his neck. Looking at the full mug nearby, then down at his own wrists, he chewed his lip nervously. He knew, as all Slayers did, that his blood was a powerful thing to vampires. Would it be enough to cure her? And would he even be able to do it?

Looking down at the woman in his arms, he knew he would. He’d die for her. It was a price he was willing to pay. He shifted her against him, straightening her back and tilting his neck so she’d have better access to it. When she didn’t move, he frowned and thought for a minute. Then, taking a deep breath, he manipulated her head and pricked the side of his neck on her fang.

Almost in slow motion, he watched her tongue lift and collect the crimson liquid from her fang. Her eyes snapped open, a weak growl making her back vibrated against his arm. Tilting his head again, he closed his eyes against the pain that was sure to come, praying that he’d survive the experience.

When the sharp sting of her fangs sliding into his flesh came, he jerked, though it wasn’t with pain. As the initial throb of pain faded, a new sensation overcame him in a rush. His cock shot to attention, becoming achingly hard. His eyes shot open as he gasped for breath, pupils dilating with desire as one of her small hands coming up to frame his face.

She shifted on his lap as the scent of his arousal reached through the fog in her brain. Her eyes opened, focussing normally. As soon as she felt her body beginning to repair itself, she pulled her fangs from his throat, panting as a rush of fluid between her thighs made her shoot off his lap.

Spike gulped for air, suddenly feeling light headed. He collapsed back onto the bed, cool hands soothing him as they stroked his hair. He nuzzled into them, one arm reaching out blindly and pulling the deliciously cold body against his. Curling around her, he settled her face in the crook of his neck, moaning in contentment as she licked the marks she’d left gently. Soon he drifted into sleep, followed by the weary vampiress who was becoming his whole world.





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