Fair warning: This is going to be a long one. Not epic, by any means, but a long one nonetheless. Hope you like...
Chapter Two
--------------------
Giles led her to a part of the house he referred to as the east wing. She hadn’t seen much of it in previous visits, spending most of her time at the training compound. As they went, he filled her in on everything they’d learned from Illyria – Spike’s restoration via the amulet, his months as a ghost tied to Wolfram & Hart, his sudden return to a corporeal state, and his surprising decision, to Giles at least, to stay and fight the good fight in LA.
He touched briefly on their shock when – instead of delivering Angel, Wesley, and company to the coven’s circle – the teleportation spell had produced an angry leather-clad woman and a totally unexpected Spike. It was only then that the vague rumors Giles had heard about another vampire joining forces with Angel were confirmed and explained.
What hadn’t been explained was Spike’s present condition.
“He’s virtually comatose, Buffy. He has been ever since his arrival. I must admit, we’re at a loss to explain it. Though his injuries from the battle were severe, they’re hardly sufficient to account for his current state. In addition, he’s not healing as he should and we haven’t been able to ascertain why. His intake of blood has been severely curtailed, of course, since he’s unable to feed on his own, but we’ve been giving him blood intravenously. It seems to have had little effect, I’m afraid. Perhaps enough to keep him from wasting away.”
Giles paused. “There were very brief periods in the beginning when he was awake and somewhat lucid. However, things have changed. He still has waking periods, but he’s unresponsive and apparently unaware of his surroundings. It’s…worrisome.” He glanced away then back, sympathy and anger battling in his gaze. “I’m sorry, Buffy. You shouldn’t have to go through this. I’ll be quite frank with you…I didn’t want you to know. I’m aware that it’s been difficult for you, that it wasn’t easy to get past everything that happened, to start a new life. It isn’t fair that you should face losing someone you care about all over again, especially on top of this news about Angel.”
A tired sigh escaped him as he shook his head. “Nevertheless, I do realize how wrong it would be to keep this kind of secret from you…a lesson I suspect we’ve both learned through harsh experience. And we thought, perhaps, if he saw you…if you were somehow able to reach him…”
He never finished the thought. Instead, he came to a halt outside a dark paneled door and turned to face her. Buffy stared at it, the only thing keeping her from seeing Spike. She looked up at Giles.
“Is he dying?” It was the first time she’d spoken during what had seemed an endless trek up the main staircase and down two corridors.
He started to answer, then stopped, gazing wordlessly back at her as he clearly tried to gauge her emotional state. It would be a good trick if he could. Her mind seemed to have shut down, along with said emotions, and she felt herself adrift in a strange sort of mental limbo, hanging somewhere between sweet expectation and cold realization.
As Giles waited, her hand rose and touched the door, trying to detect Spike’s presence through the wood. She flashed back to another place, another door, but this time there was no invisible current to electrify her senses. It was just wood. Hard. Cold. Dead.
Panic flared. In the space of two heartbeats she had pushed her way inside, pulling up short in the middle of the room, panting as if she had run there all the way from Rome. She barely noticed Xander rising from a chair next to a large mahogany bed. Instead, her gaze was riveted to the bed’s lone occupant, a pale, wan figure lying motionless under an ivory-colored sheet.
His eyes were closed, his face still beneath a wild riot of curls. His chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm, mimicking a living, breathing human. In another vampire it might have surprised her, considering his unconscious state, but Spike had always been different – embracing food, flirting with sunlight…loving a slayer. Never willing to accept the same boundaries that others did, he’d constantly pushed the envelope.
Never more so than now. Dark bruises and angry red welts painted a cruel picture across his torso, or as much of it as she could see. His arms were in a similar state, and she guessed that his legs would look much the same. Eyes lingering on his face, she took careful inventory of the small scrape on his chin, the sharp cut on one cheek, the ugly gash on his forehead, and a colorful bruise just below his hairline. Except for these relatively minor injuries, his face had been mercifully spared.
As if he’d felt her gaze on him, his eyelids fluttered then slowly opened. For a split second Buffy’s heart soared. He knew she was there; her presence had called him back. But her relief died quickly as his ice-blue eyes stared vacantly at the ceiling, lacking even the tiniest spark of awareness.
It hit her like a sucker punch to the gut.
Xander, who’d been unusually silent, spoke up. “Looks like the relief pitcher’s here. Why don’t I go give Willow a call? Let her know you made it.” As he brushed past, he gave her shoulder a quick squeeze. Lost in Spike’s beautiful, unseeing eyes, Buffy barely noticed his departure.
“How long?” she finally managed, her voice hoarse.
Giles cleared his throat. “Five days.”
That got her attention; she felt her face harden. So much for lessons learned.
“The last time he was briefly conscious…two days ago,” he added, gazing steadily back as she shot him an accusing glare.
“Could you leave us alone?” she asked, even though it wasn’t really a request and she didn’t feel particularly civil.
Giles knew it, too, but he didn’t call her on it. “Of course, but…it’s getting late and you’ve had a long trip. I know you won’t rest, but could I at least persuade you to have something to eat first? I’ll sit with Spike until –”
“I’m not hungry.” It came out even harsher than she’d intended.
Giles studied her silently. “No, of course not. As I thought. Well…if you should change your mind, I’ve recently had an intercom system installed that runs throughout the house.” He gestured to a panel on the wall. “I’ll ask Mrs. Hudson to prepare a tray, just in case.”
This time Buffy merely nodded. She could tell he wanted to say more, but she couldn’t get into it now, not when a miraculously resurrected Spike was lying in bed not six feet away from her.
To her relief, Giles disappeared into the hallway, returning an instant later with the bags they’d left outside the room. He set them just inside the door, off to one side.
They exchanged a long look that spoke volumes before Buffy nodded slightly. That he knew she would be staying there with Spike and didn’t question it went a long way toward easing the tight coil of anger she felt at being kept in the dark for five days. It didn’t get him off the hook, and they’d eventually have to work things out, but Hurricane Buffy had just been downgraded to a tropical storm.
Buffy was already heading for the bed before the door had even closed behind Giles. Sinking down next to Spike, she settled against his hip, careful not to jostle him. She didn’t know how long she stayed there, silently studying him, but by the time she could tear her eyes away the windows were completely dark, the heavy drapes no longer outlined by even the faintest trace of light.
She huffed a shaky laugh. “Okay…the whole TLC thing? Not exactly my specialty. Even on your worst day, you were better at it than I’ve ever been. My idea of tender is more like threatening to kick your ass if you don’t snap out of it.” She frowned. “Except you’d probably enjoy that, which I guess makes it a bad idea as far as motivation goes.”
Eyes drawn to his, she searched his face for some sign that he heard her, some tiny hint of recognition. It was pale and composed and painfully beautiful, but so terribly, terribly blank.
Buffy swallowed, fighting against the sudden constriction in her throat. She blinked hard and shook her head. “I should be really mad at you. Come to think of it, I am really mad at you. All this time – ” Voice catching on a slight hiccup, she almost growled in frustration as she scrubbed angrily at her eyes then let her hands fall to her lap. She straightened and glared at him accusingly. “You know that kicking-your-ass thing I mentioned? Think you can pretty much count on it, unless you’ve got a damn good reason for not picking up the phone, at least, to let me know you were alive. Asshole.”
Again she searched his face, and again there was nothing. He looked like a statue, like one of those strangely life-like figures in the Palace of Wax that she used to marvel over as a child. An insane notion popped into her head – that maybe this wasn’t Spike, that maybe it was just a lifeless figure created to confuse her. To give her hope where there had been none. To lift her up, only to bring her down. To snatch away the absolution that was staring her in the face.
Driven by an irrational need to reassure herself, Buffy reached out to brush his cheek with the back of her hand. Holding her breath, she let her fingers trail lightly across his brow and down the strong bridge of his nose. He felt…like Spike. Exactly like Spike. The truth of it hit hard, filling her eyes with hot tears.
He’s real. He’s here.
She trembled all over as her thumb traced reverent butterfly patterns along the generous curve of his mouth. She’d forgotten how soft his lips were, how long and dark his lashes looked, how perfectly smooth the column of his throat was. How could so much fade from her memory in a single year?
All at once, it wasn’t enough just to touch his face. She needed more – a connection, something tangible to anchor him to her. Leaning down, she dropped a soft kiss onto the jagged scar that marred his left eyebrow. Then, without stopping to shed either jacket or shoes, she curled up next to him, fitting her body to his, careful of his injuries as she draped an arm across his chest and rubbed her tear-stained cheek against his shoulder.
“I know you’re in there, Spike,” she whispered, breath stirring the short tendrils of hair behind his ear. “I know you can hear me…feel me. I’m here now, and I’m not leaving. Not this time.” Lifting her head, she saw that his eyes were no longer open. Once again, he appeared to be sleeping. Closing her own eyes, she pressed closer, nuzzling his ear lobe and burying her face in the crook of his shoulder. “I won’t leave you,” she vowed again, this time for her own benefit as much as his.
Seconds later, she was asleep.
-------------------------
It would have been misleading to say she was dreaming. It was more of an unconscious remembering – a half-buried memory dragged to the surface of her slumbering mind. Buffy frowned in her sleep, reluctant to relive it even in her somnolent state.
But there she was, back at the house in Sunnydale, an agitated Dawn tugging at her arm.
“You have to go! He needs you!”
“Dawn, stop it.” Buffy gently pried her sister’s fingers away and moved toward the kitchen. Dawn, predictably enough, trailed along behind.
“But he’s hurt, and he won’t let me help him! You have to go, Buffy. Somebody has to take care of him!”
“Spike can take care of himself, Dawn. You should know that by now.” Retrieving a carton of orange juice from the refrigerator, she avoided her sister’s accusing gaze. “Whatever’s wrong with him, I’m sure he’ll be fine again in no time. Just leave it alone.”
“Oh, right.” Dawn’s voice was heavy with sarcasm. “Just like he would have been fine this morning when the sun came up and turned him into vampire flambé. If I hadn’t gone after you, Buffy, I never would have found him in the alley. He’d be ashes now and we never even would have known what happened to him!”
Buffy froze, clutching the glass she’d pulled from the cabinet. “You found him in an alley?”
“Yes! He was all beat up and unconscious. It was right by the police department. I was looking for you, but you weren’t there. I would have told you later at the Magic Shop, only Spike made me promise not to say anything. And I was mad at you anyway.”
Buffy turned, orange juice and avoidance tactics forgotten. “What did he say happened?”
“He said that a bunch of demons jumped him because of a misunderstanding over a poker game. But he was lying, Buffy, I know he was. He never lies to me, but this time he did. It’s got to be something really bad.” Dawn clutched her arm again and gazed at her imploringly. “Please, Buffy, I know you don’t really like him, but he’s my friend. He took care of me when you weren’t here. Whatever did that to him – it’s really dangerous. He’s hurt so bad. What if it comes after him again? He won’t be able to protect himself!”
After a long pause, Buffy finally nodded. “I’ll go…but you have to stay here.” She held up a hand, cutting short her sister’s protest. “Stay here, and I won’t tell him you broke your promise.”
Biting her lip, Dawn hesitated then sighed. “Okay. Just take care of him, please?”
“I’ll…do what I can.” It was a weak promise at best but enough to reassure Dawn.
Ten minutes later, Buffy stood outside Spike’s crypt, wondering for the first time if she should knock instead of barging right in. Not knowing his condition and uncertain of her reception, she opted for the latter. Not surprisingly, she found him in the lower level sprawled face down across his bed. Also not surprisingly, he lay there without a stitch of clothing on, not even a sheet covering him.
Normally, she might have appreciated the sight. Now, her eyes slid away from the ugly bruises covering his back. She hadn’t realized…
Unlike the rest of him, Spike’s face had been hidden from view. But suddenly he stirred, demon senses awakening to the presence of a slayer in his lair, and his head turned.
Buffy felt sick.
His face was a swollen and mangled mess. It looked so much worse than she’d expected, especially since she knew his preternatural healing had already kicked in. No wonder Dawn had been so upset.
Her mouth went dry. Oh god. Dawn. What would her sister say if she knew who had given him those brutal cuts and bruises?
Buffy swallowed, belatedly realizing she could see a hint of blue through the swollen, narrow slit that passed for an eye. Spike was silent, watching her, waiting.
“I…I came to see how you were.”
She was sure he raised an eyebrow at that, or would have, if he’d been able. Glancing away, her gaze fell on a bowl of water sitting on a stand next to the bed. There was a clean washcloth beside it. She guessed that Dawn had fetched it there, intending to wash the dried blood off Spike’s face, but he’d obviously sent her packing before she could even start the task.
Without realizing she’d moved, Buffy found herself standing beside the bed, wet washcloth in hand. Hesitantly, she touched Spike’s shoulder, urging him over until he lay flat on his back. His lips parted but she hushed him before he could speak.
“Don’t. Just…let me help. Let me fix it.”
It was as much of an apology as she could manage and perhaps more of one than he’d expected, judging by his sudden stillness. Nevertheless, as Buffy gently bathed the crusted blood from Spike’s face, she couldn’t quite bring herself to look him in the eye.
-------------------------
Later, she couldn’t say what had first alerted her, the restless movement or the fever-hot flesh beneath her cheek. But even before Buffy had fully awakened, she knew something was very wrong.
“Don’t…can’t…gotta stop. Gotta stop…Pavayne…there’s a hole in the world. Seems like…wouldn’t change it for…the world. Her world…gone. S’posed to wear that on the inside, Charlie-boy. Help…Doyle said…said…where’s Percy? Can’t…you liked…Barry Manilow. Never figured…what’s…harsh repose…harsh…soul…is…I’m in…”
A heavy sheen of sweat glistened on Spike’s skin, causing damp tendrils of hair to stick to his neck and forehead. His body jerked and shuddered as his head moved restlessly on the pillow, a stream of nonsense spilling from his lips. His eyes had opened again, but this time they weren’t blank. They were wide and focused on something only Spike could see. An invisible threat conjured up by his fevered brain? Buffy didn’t know.
“Spike…what’s wrong? Can you hear me? Spike!” The heat from his skin seemed so intense that for a few gut-twisting seconds, Buffy feared he might be burning up from the inside, just as he had that terrible day on the Hellmouth. But common sense thankfully reasserted itself as she realized his temperature was no worse than that of a normal human with a high fever. Of course, he wasn’t human, and as a vampire he shouldn’t even register above room temperature, but at least he wasn’t about to burst into flame.
She flew from the bed and hit the call button on the intercom panel. Scant minutes later, a sleep-tousled Xander and a grim-faced Giles came barreling through the door. Giles took one look at Spike and sent Xander hurrying into the adjacent bath to fill the tub with lukewarm water.
It took almost an hour, but they finally got the fever down. Buffy had insisted on climbing into the tub with Spike, cradling him with her arms and legs, supporting his head above the water. At one point, she glanced up to find Illyria standing in the doorway, but Spike shifted, mumbling more nonsense, and she tightened her arms around him, bending her head to whisper soothing words into his ear. When she looked up, Illyria was gone.
She’d only retreated as far as the bedroom. Once Spike was resting quietly again, Buffy noticed the woman standing silently in a corner, observing everything with her unsettling eyes.
“He is trapped in the past.”
Buffy adjusted a pillow and smoothed the covers down, then faced Illyria. “What?”
“His mind. It is trapped in the past. He speaks of things that are no more.”
“You understand what he was saying?” Giles stepped into the room, drying his hands on a towel.
Her head tilted. “Yes. But it is of no consequence. Now is all that matters. He has slipped away again. I believe he is growing weaker. Soon, he will not be able to fight his way back. This is not acceptable. You will help him.”
“We are trying, Illyria. We don’t know what to do for him.”
“I do.” Buffy shook her head as they turned to stare at her. “God, I’m such an idiot. Willow can help, Giles! Like she did with me. She can go into his head, she can bring him back. We just have to call her, tell her to come over –”
“No.” His voice was quiet but firm. “I’m sorry, Buffy, it’s not possible.”
“What…of course it is! She’s done it before, Giles. All we have to do is ask her.” Buffy looked at Xander, seeking his support. He stood in the open doorway, head bowed, avoiding her gaze.
“Willow did offer, Buffy, but as much as I regret it, I simply cannot allow it.”
Her gaze swung back to Giles as the simmering anger she’d felt earlier flared into a red-hot flame. “You can’t allow it? Why? Because he’s just a vampire?”
“Yes! That’s precisely why!” Giles was equally angry. “Think, Buffy…stop and think exactly what you’re asking. Spike is a vampire. Willow would have to delve inside his mind, immerse herself as she did in yours. Do you know what that would mean? The mind of a vampire? Surrounded by all of his memories, all of his past actions. Prisoner to a demon’s darkest impulses. Do you really want to subject her to that?”
In the face of his reasoning, Buffy’s anger evaporated, leaving her drained and more than a little ashamed. She hadn’t given a thought to how it might affect Willow. The only one she’d been concerned about was Spike. Numbly, she shook her head. “No. Of course, I don’t. I didn’t…”
“Humans are weak.” Illyria’s voice dripped contempt. “What is there in his mind that is any worse than yours? The only difference is that he does not hide from it. Humanity denies the darkness inside, pretends it does not exist. You are fools, all of you.”
“Maybe so,” Xander spoke up from the doorway, “but this fool is getting a little tired of you and your high-and-mightiness. I know he’s your friend, but Willow is mine, and I’m not going to let her risk herself when we don’t even know what’s wrong with him. So you can take your damn attitude and stick it where the sun doesn’t shine.” Smiling weakly at Buffy and Giles, he shrugged. “Not big on originality, I know, but it’s the best I can do at this hour of the night.”
Xander sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, I want to help. I do. And we’ll find a way, somehow, but that’s not it. In the meantime, we’ve been going non-stop for almost a week and we’ve got another big day ahead. We should try to get a little rest while we can.” He looked at Buffy. “If you need anything, I’m just an intercom away.” With a shrug and a wave, he disappeared down the hall.
Illyria, anger radiating off her in waves, stood for several beats, staring first at Spike, then at Buffy. Her chin rose as she seemed to reach a decision, but instead of speaking, she turned and walked out the door. Her abrupt departure left an uneasy silence in the room.
“Well, isn’t this just brilliant.”
The anger she had expected, but the vicious bitterness in Giles’ voice surprised Buffy.
“Giles…it’s not his fault.” She was too drained to be angry herself, but she wouldn’t let it go unchallenged. They weren’t talking about Spike’s condition, or Illyria’s outburst, or even Willow’s safety anymore, and they both knew it. Buffy could feel the lecture coming, and she wondered what form it would take. No good can come from giving your heart to a vampire? You’ve worked hard to build a new life for yourself, so don’t muck it up now on a hopeless cause? But when she finally met his eyes, she found unexpected sympathy there along with the anger.
“It’s not Spike I blame, Buffy, as difficult as that may be for you to believe. I hold responsible whatever bloody powers there are that think of us as nothing more than pawns, as puppets dancing at their whim. They must find this all so terribly amusing…the wankers.”
Hearing that familiar word coming from Giles made Buffy laugh, even as her eyes filled with tears. She dropped into the chair next to the bed and looked over at Spike, a sleeping statue once more.
Giles’ voice softened. “Right now, Willow is concentrating all of her energy on locating Angel. Spike is here, and he’s alive…more or less. And we’ll continue to search for another way. But I promise you, Buffy, if it comes to that point and Willow is still willing to take the risk, which I very much expect she is, then we’ll reassess the situation.”
Buffy couldn’t take her eyes off Spike’s deathly still face. She knew Giles was waiting for a response, but she didn’t seem to have one. Instead, she reached over to adjust the sheet, letting her hand linger on his chest, covering the spot where she would have felt his heartbeat if he’d had one.
When the door closed, she didn’t look up.
---------------
TBC in Part 3
[Reviews - 146]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story | 
Chapter or Story
Has been viewed 4955 times
- Text Size +
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story | Chapter or Story - Text Size +
Author's Chapter Notes:
This is currently a WIP written in response to a Spuffy Kinkathon challenge. The story requirements were as follows: The requested kink was hurt/comfort. Three other requests were to show Spike reluctantly biting Buffy, include Dawn and/or Xander in the story, and set it anywhere from Season 5 to Post-NFA.