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Spike watched helplessly, as Joyce and Buffy exchanged a look of slowly dawning horror. Buffy took a deep breath and went into Slayer-mode. Escorting her mom upstairs, she asked her to pack an overnight bag and then took on the dreaded job of telling her sister the news. All three hugged one another until the cab came to take them to the hospital. At the last minute, Buffy remembered Spike, and called Willow. Her friend was on a field trip and couldn’t be reached, so in desperation the Slayer called Xander.

“Make sure he’s fed Xander, please. We don’t know when we’ll be back.”

Xander promised to call round after work, apologising that he couldn’t come to support them as he had a very important project that must be finished that day.

When they got to the hospital, the time went by in a heart-churning blur. It took ages to convince the doctors to take Joyce seriously - she couldn’t say that a vampire had told her there was something wrong. In the end, desperate to get someone to believe her, Joyce fabricated symptoms and they reluctantly gave her some tests.

After a seemingly endless wait, Dr Isaacs came bustling back and immediately admitted Joyce to the hospital. They learned that if she hadn’t approached them, she would have been dead in a matter of days, if not hours. Put on drugs immediately, she was told that she’d have to stay in hospital for rest and observation for a couple of days, but she should make a complete recovery.

Tired though they were, Buffy and Dawn were exultant, hugging and kissing each other and their mother. Then they noticed that Joyce looked exhausted

“Mom, why don’t you get some rest? Dawn and I will be just outside.” Buffy smiled at their mother.

“Buffy, I think you and Dawn ought to go home. I’ll be fine here – I’m so tired, I think I’ll go straight off to sleep now, so I’ll be more awake for your visit tomorrow.” Joyce spoke softly but firmly.

Secretly, both girls were relieved not to have to spend any more time in the hospital than necessary, they promised to be back in the morning.

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“Oh, hi – how’s your mom?” Xander greeted them sleepily at their front door. He’d decided to wait for their return from the hospital and had fallen asleep on the couch.

“She’s gonna be fine.” Buffy grinned at him. Which lead to another round of hugs. “How’s Spike?”

“Oh, he’s gone.” Xander said casually.

“Gone? Gone where?”

“I knew you wouldn’t want him hanging around. He’s been mooching off you for too long now, so when I took him some food I told him to clear out before you got back.”

“You said what?” Buffy asked faintly.
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Fuelled by his rage, Spike made it half way to his crypt, the rest of the way he had to use his sheer obstinacy and bloody mindedness. He staggered through the door, fell down the steps and sprawled in a heap on the floor. He curled up; wrapping his arms round his chest and pulling his knees up under his chin. Never, in an unlife that spanned over a hundred and twenty years, had he felt so wretched. He longed for oblivion and strived to fall into the fugue state he’d achieved after he’d dusted Dru. It wasn’t to be – unconsciousness eluded him. Okay then, there was another way. Crawling on his hands and knees, he made his way to where he had hidden his stash of booze.

He’d managed to “liberate” three bottles of whiskey a few days before and, grimly, he opened the first one and gulped down most of its contents. Getting up, he lurched over to his arm chair to finish it off.

He took his time over the second, as the events of the last couple of days replayed themselves over again. What could he have done differently? He’d made his choice and now he’d have to unlive with it. The Crypt was the last place he wanted to be – the scene of the worst events of his existence – but where else was there? As soon as he was feeling stronger, he’d look for a new place. Or not. Perhaps this was as good a time as any to take a walk in the sun. He knew that he’d never be able to go down into the lower floor, he couldn’t even think about it without a surge of pain lancing through him. He groaned in despair, Dru oh Dru, my dark princess.

Bloody Buffy Summers! She’d somehow got into his system like a sodding virus – no make that a plague! Couldn’t even throw him out herself, she got Harris to do it. Harris of all people! Oh, how the bloody carpenter had enjoyed the job too. Mind you, it was as well that it hadn’t been Buffy that had evicted him; he probably would’ve made a right prat of himself; pleading and such like. As it was, he was crying like a sodding poofter, he could feel the scalding tears flowing down his cheeks.

Spike stared at the bottle. Somehow it was empty, so he tossed it to one side, not even noticing the crash as it smashed into the wall. He groped around and found the third bottle. He wondered if it would be enough.

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Buffy approached the crypt reluctantly, thinking that the last time she was there; it was as a prisoner facing death by stake. She took a deep breath and opened the door cautiously. The room was dark, lit only by the flickering blue light of Spike’s ancient TV. He was sprawled in his ratty armchair, swigging from a bottle. Buffy stalked over until she was standing between the vampire and his television.

“Oooooh it’s the Slayer - I’m all overcome with terror!” He struggled to his feet and lurched towards her. “What’re *you* doing here – sod off!”

“You’re drunk.” Buffy said in disgust.

“Yeah, and you’re stupid. But at least *I’ll* be sober in the morning.” He giggled hysterically at his own feeble joke.

“Spike, sit down.” Buffy tried to keep calm in the face of his antagonism.

“Make me!” He leered at her, curling his tongue behind his teeth.

Buffy plucked the bottle from his hand, grabbed hold of the front of his shirt, and pushed him down into the chair. She was appalled by his appearance – how had he managed to get all the way to his crypt in this state?

“Hey!” The vampire made to get up again, but gave up as a bad job. “You gotta nerve, ordering me about in my own…”

“I came here to thank you.” Buffy interrupted.

“Wha’?” Spike stared at her in astonishment, his eyes wide.

“I came here to say thank you – and sorry.”

“Bloody hell!

“Mom’s going to be okay – thanks to you.”

He paused as he took this in, then his still bruised and swollen face broke into a grin. “Joyce’s going to be all right? Yesss!” He clambered to his feet, reaching for the whiskey bottle.

“No, Spike, I think you’ve had enough. You won’t be able to make the walk back.”

“Mind your own bloody business, it’s mine and I’ll…….. what do you mean walk back?” His head tilted to one side as he stood swaying, his hand still outstretched.

“You’re coming home with me.”

“Oh yeah? What makes you think I want to go there again? You can stuff that idea. Your pity’s worse than your contempt.”

She tried to reason with him. “I’d pity anyone with the same injuries. You need looking after.”

“Who’s gonna do that – you? ‘Cos you did such a good job before.” He sneered.

“Spike, don’t be so pig-headed. You can’t stay here and where else would you go?”

He opened his mouth to make another sarcastic remark, but the room started to spin and he staggered and would have fallen, but two small, strong hands caught him.

Buffy hoisted him up, put his arm over her shoulder and said evenly. “I rest my case.”



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A/N Many, many thanks again for all your encouraging feedback. I hated Joyce dying (although it lead to one of the most wonderful, moving episode of the series) so I thought I’d play around and keep her alive – Spike seemed to be the logical reason for her seeking medical attention.





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