“Spike… he isn’t… dead?” Dawn finally stammered.
“Yes! No!” Clem replied.
“What happened? In God’s name, speak up man!” commanded Giles as he grabbed the trembling demon by the arm.
“The shaft caved in. The ceiling timber broke and buried him. I can’t reach him and pull him out… He’s bleeding…” Clem stumbled over his words and pulled again at Buffy’s sleeve.
This shook Buffy out of her stupor. She took a deep breath and firmly put a lid on the bubbling pot of fear in her stomach. If she let her imagination run free, she would break down in tears. Spike needed help, needed her to be strong, to be her efficient Slayer-self.
She turned towards Clem, put both her hands on his shoulders, and stared into his eyes. “Calm down, Clem. Where’s Spike? What happened?”
“At the Amarra cave where he’d been mining for the last few weeks. I’d run out to fetch some more support beams and planks when it happened. I can’t pull him out. A huge beam’s lying over him and… and… there’s so much blood.”
“That damn idiot!” Buffy cursed under her breath.
Her brain went on autopilot. “Giles, call Xander. We need a car-jack, a hydraulic lift, and metal support beams… and a stretcher and his truck.”
She paused for a second. “We’re gonna need some blood. If Spike has lost very much, we’ll need potent blood, human blood. Ask Willie if he’s got some O-neg. If he gives you any lip, tell him I'll tear his booze can apart if he doesn't comply.”
Elin grabbed her coat. “I have medical equipment, syringes, and bandages at my apartment. We’ll have to put Spike on an IV if he’s lost lots of blood. Drinking it won’t help him quickly enough. Where’s this cave?”
Buffy told them the location. Elin and Giles left in a hurry, taking Tara with them.
“Clem, we’ve got to get changed. Wait here.” Buffy grabbed her sister and hurried back into the training room.
Dawn squeezed Buffy’s hand desperately. “He’ll be alright, Buffy, promise?”
Buffy pulled her sister into a tight hug. “Let’s hurry.”
Half an hour later, Buffy crouched in the narrow tunnel which was just large enough for her to crawl through. The mess was spectacular.
Spike had cleared the big pile of rubble under the entrance to the cave. A ladder led up to the winding shaft that burrowed deep into the gravel which had filled up the cavern after the cave-in two years ago. The ceiling of the tunnel was underpinned with a patchwork of wooden poles and planks. About twenty feet in, the tunnel had partially collapsed and splintered wood stuck out of the debris.
Why had he started something so dangerous? Hadn’t he agreed with her that it would do no good to dig for the rest of the treasure? He’d only wanted the money for her anyway, and since she now worked for the Magic Box, she had enough cash to pay all her bills. He must’ve known that.
Buffy wiped a loose strand of hair out of her face. The dust was everywhere, the grit irritating her eyes and making them water. She did not weep for that stupid vampire.
She pushed the flashlight ahead of her and then she saw it. A hand, sticking out from under a pile of dirt. She suppressed a sob of relief. Clem had told her that Spike was still alive, but to actually see him lifted a heavy weight from her heart.
Carefully, she crawled nearer and gently touched Spike’s hand. “Spike? Can you hear me?”
His fingers twitched and she heard a low groan. “Buffy?”
“I’m here. We’re all here. We’ll get you out.” Her voice was grim and determined.
She shifted a large boulder to the side and freed his arm up to his shoulder of dirt and debris. Clem had been right; the gravel was sticky with blood. Spike was lying on his stomach, the back of his head facing towards her. He was pressed to the ground by a huge beam across his back, its splintered end sticking out over his right shoulder. He must’ve been on his way out when the support gave and the ceiling fell on him. Thank God, he didn’t need to breathe.
Softly, her fingers caressed the back of his hand. “Spike, where are you hurt?”
“Shoulder… Splinter… Left…” He coughed, a wet, gurgling sound. “Lung…”
“Don’t talk. Tap your finger on my hand. One time means yes, two times no.” She gently slipped her hand under his fingers.
“You’ve a splinter through your left shoulder.”
Tap.
“Your lung is pierced.”
Tap.
“Are you bleeding somewhere else?”
Tap. Tap.
Tap.
“You don’t know?”
Tap.
“Can you move your left arm?”
Tap.
“Your legs?”
Tap. Tap.
“Listen, here’s what I want to do. I have a hydraulic car-jack. I’ll put it under the beam and take off the pressure. I’ll only move it a bit till I can see where your shoulder is hurt. That sounds okay?”
Tap.
Carefully, she cleared the ground of all loose gravel and rolled onto her back. She looked at the planking over her head. She’d tested the poles supporting it, and they proved to be still stable. She slid the car-jack under the end of the beam and slowly started to work the lever. The wood groaned and gravel shifted.
Spike let out a loud growl of pain. Immediately, Buffy stopped and grabbed his hand.
“Should I lower it again?”
Tap. Tap.
“Is the pressure less?”
Tap.
“Hang in there, Spike! We’ll clear the rubble away ‘til I can see where you’re hurt.”
Buffy crawled back towards the tunnel entrance and stuck her head down. Anxious faces looked up at her. They were all there, helping her, helping Spike, without hesitation. Even Xander hadn’t made one sarcastic remark, one lame joke.
“Spike’s lung is pierced; God knows where else he’s inured. He’s covered in lots of gravel and dirt and has a beam across his back. I’ve secured it for the moment. We’ll make a bucket-brigade to remove the debris. Dawn, can you help me up here? You’re the smallest. Xander, Giles, you stay at this end. Dawn will pass you the buckets. Empty those down there somewhere, Clem can show you the best place. Let’s hurry.”
Endlessly, they hauled dirt and stones out of the tunnel. Buffy’s nails were broken, her hands scratched and raw from shoveling the gravel. Dawn took a filled bucket and pushed it to the opening where Xander passed her an empty one back. Dawn’s face was encrusted with dirt and trails of tears had left streaks down her cheeks.
Buffy grabbed her sister’s sleeve and stopped her. “Can you hold the flashlight for me?”
They had uncovered most of Spike’s body. His head was now free but still turned away, immobilized by the beam. Buffy took stock of his injuries.
Dust and blood matted Spike’s white hair. The blow had grazed his skull and left a big lump at the back of his head; he was drifting in and out of unconsciousness. His left leg was twisted between two boulders and broken. Ivory splinters of bone were sticking out through a rip in the fabric of his twill coverall. A large iron clamp had buried itself in his right calf.
Buffy peered into the gap between Spike’s back and the beam. She inhaled sharply and bit hard on her lower lip. The coppery taste of her blood filled her mouth.
A wooden splinter pierced his back between his left shoulder blade and spine, precariously near to Spike’s heart.
“Looks bad…?” rasped Spike’s voice.
Buffy swallowed and cleared her throat. She tried to speak, but no sound came out.
“Buffy, how bad is it?” Dawn’s voice quivered and the beam of her flashlight danced in the cramped space.
“It’s near his heart, Dawnie,” Buffy finally whispered. “If I lift the beam more, I can’t tell how the splinter will move inside his chest.”
“What…” Dawn’s voice broke in a sob.
Buffy took the flashlight and once again assessed the damage. They couldn’t cut the beam, that was clear; it still propped up the remaining planks that supported the ceiling. The splinter in Spike’s shoulder was attached to the beam from which it was ripped off. If they could saw it off, they could lift the beam a bit more and pull Spike out from under it. But that might be dangerous too – sawing it off could also cause it to move within his chest, no matter how careful they were.
Buffy put her trembling hand back under Spike’s fingers. “Does the splinter stick out of your chest? Just tap.”
Tap. Tap.
“Then I’ll cut the splinter from the beam and we’ll pull you out without removing it first. We’ll get you out. Don’t you dare leave us!”
Tap.
Buffy’s chuckle ended in a small sob. Dawn looked frightened at her, eyes wide and glittering with tears.
“We need a very sharp, very slim saw, like a hacksaw, Dawn. Can you explain that to Xander?”
Her sister nodded and crawled out the tunnel.
Left alone, Buffy bowed her head. She stroked Spike’s fingers, which lay still and pale against the earth. Images of him flashed through her mind. Spike, always so full of laughter and life.
He had changed her existence. He’d shown her that her Calling wasn’t a burden, that she could enjoy it, that fighting was invigorating, liberating. And he’d shown her what else her body was capable of. His hands, his mouth, his cock let her body sing, her skin quiver, and her heart dance. He had wormed himself into her life, into her heart – and into her soul.
On the brink of losing him, she fiercely took possession of him. She wanted Spike, true, but it was more than that, more than just a physical attraction.
She loved him.
Over the past few months, she’d fallen in love with him. Even more surprising, she didn’t shy away from this emotion. She liked it. A lot.
She wanted to keep him. Forever.
“Don’t you dare to leave me, you stupid vampire!” she repeated, furiously. “Don’t you dare!”
Xander had given Buffy two types of saws, a wire saw and a slim, Japanese hand saw with a long bamboo handle. The wire saw slipped easily between the beam and Spike’s back, but the sawing motion twisted the splinter.
She carefully slipped the slim blade of the Japanese saw into the narrow slit. Gently, she pressed the blade against the splinter and pulled. The razor sharp teethes bit effortlessly into the dry wood and fine sawdust trickled onto Spike’s shoulder.
Her hand stilled as the last sliver of the splinter broke from the beam with a sharp crack. The wood shook and quivered in the wound as the tension released. Buffy pressed her eyes tightly shut, fearing she’d hear the soft sigh of a vampire disintegrating to dust.
The only sound she heard was a low groan.
She handed the saw to Dawn. “Please, go back to the others. I’ll lift the beam now. If the ceiling holds, I’ll need your help to pull Spike out.”
“But…” Dawn complained.
“No, Dawn. It’s too dangerous and you can’t help me anyway. Just get out. Wait until I call you.”
After her sister left, Buffy turned back to the car-jack. Carefully, she pumped the lever and the beam started to lift. The supported plates shifted and creaked; a trickle of dirt rained down her back. Slowly, the beam lifted off Spike’s back and shoulder, freeing him. He finally could turn his head.
Buffy stopped and bent forward and their gazes met. A flood of relief roared through her, swept all anxiety away, and left only fierce determination. Tears poured from her eyes, blurring her vision. Spike’s ghostly white face was cut and bruised, but he was still the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen. She reached out with her trembling hand and placed it softly on his dirt encrusted cheek.
“Spike… Thank God…,” she whispered.
“Love you…” Spike answered and coughed again. Bloody foam trickled out of his mouth, reminding Buffy that time was of the essence.
“Your leg’s broken. I’m sorry; it'll hurt a lot when I pull you out.” She gently stroked his cheek.
Spike nodded slightly and closed his eyes. “No …worries.”
Buffy turned around in the tunnel and saw that Dawn had already returned. “Didn't I tell you...” she began, then shook her head as her sister stared stubbornly back at her, lifting the first-aid kit.
Buffy pointed at the flashlight. “Focus it straight on the splinter, Dawn. Yell if it moves at all.” She gripped Spike's right arm and started to pull him slowly out from under the beam.
Half hidden under his body, his left hand grabbed a long object, the fingers tightly wrapped around it. As it came free from the rubble, Buffy saw that it was a leather scabbard with a huge sword, its hilt intricately decorated with ivory inlay.
As his broken left leg was pulled from its confines, Spike cried out in pain and passed out.
“Quick, Dawn. Let’s get the splinter out while he’s unconscious. Lean on his shoulders with all your weight and hold him absolutely still.”
White-faced, Dawn did as she was told.
Buffy grabbed the end of the wood and slowly pulled. With a sickly, squelching sound the tip of the splinter finally came free. She could see the white surface of a rib that had deflected the wood away from his heart; it was cracked. Blood welled out of the opening in his chest. Dawn handed Buffy a compress and she pressed it to the wound.
As exhausted as Buffy was, she knew there was still a lot of work ahead. Wearily, she grabbed Spike’s shoulders and started to haul him down the narrow tunnel to where her friends were waiting.
He was so still.
Spike lay motionless on Buffy's bed. His skin was pasty and yellow tinged, with dark violet rings under his sunken eyes.
With her hand, she flattened a crease out of his blanket. Gently, she laid her fingers over his left hand, careful not to hinder the flow of blood through the drip which Elin had fixed into his vein on the back of his hand.
“Everybody helped pull you out of there.” Her soft voice felt too loud in the quiet room. “Even Xander. Not one acid comment or dumbass joke came out of his mouth – can you imagine?”
How could she tell Spike about the painstaking process lowering him out of the narrow tunnel? About the ride back home, holding his hand like it was her anchor in a stormy sea. If she were a praying woman, she might have prayed to the patron saint of vampires. She wouldn’t have cared if the devil or the ghost of Bela Lugosi answered, as long as someone heard her pleas.
“Elin cleaned the wound. Don't worry, all the splinters are gone, no wandering time bomb left.” She paused and listened to the hypnotic 'drip-drip-drip' of the blood trickling into the IV.
Elin had explained that wooden fragments could wander through his body, like shrapnel, and one day, maybe years from now, or maybe next week, pierce his heart. It took the healer nearly an hour to thoroughly clean Spike's wound.
“Your leg's broken and you've got a nasty bump onto your head. I hope that will knock some sense into you. God knows I haven’t been able to.” Why had he done this stupid excavation? Oh, he was in for a third-degree interrogation by her and Dawn when he was well enough.
Slowly, the door opened and Dawn slipped in. “How is he?” Her eyes flickered between Spike and Buffy as she held a plate out to her sister. “I made you a sandwich.”
“He's... I can't really see a change yet. Elin said we've just got to wait. Eventually, his body will start to heal when the infusion begins to work.” Buffy looked helplessly up at her sister. “There’s nothing to do now but wait. You should go to bed, Dawnie. It's late.”
“The others are gone. Elin said you can call her anytime; she left you her number.” Dawn pulled Buffy's phone and a piece of paper out of her pocket and placed it on the bedside table. She briefly laid her hand on Buffy's shoulder and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “He'll get well, he's way too stubborn not to. You'll see.” Then she turned and left quietly.
Buffy hated waiting. Waiting was the bane of her existence.
She shifted in her chair. Beside the far side of her bed a leather scabbard leaned against the wall. She'd had to pry Spike's fingers open to release it from his grip. “You definitely have some explaining to do. What's so important about that stupid sword that you risked your life for it?”
Spike had been unconscious most of the time, but during his rare, lucid moments, he’d asked for the sword. Only after she'd shown it to him and he saw it in her hands had he quieted.
As the minutes ticked by, Buffy thought about what else she could do. Ever since Elin had confirmed that Spike urgently needed blood, she'd known what she could offer him. Slayer's blood. The most potent blood in existence.
She looked at his haggard face. She would do anything for him. She knew the risk, after Angel had nearly drained her, but she knew also Spike and Spike's demon.
Determined, she stood up and pulled a small, razorsharp knife out of her weapons cache. As she sat down on the far side of the bed, his eyes began to move behind his blue-veined lids. She pulled off her shoes and socks and leaned against the headboard. Tenderly, she ran the back of her hand down his sunken cheek.
“I trust you, Spike.”
In one short, expert movement she opened a vein in her right arm. Slowly, her blood poured out of the small cut. She held it in front of Spike's nose and waited for his reaction.
His nostrils flared and his face changed slowly into the visage of his demon. Suddenly, yellow eyes opened and locked gaze with hers. She saw hunger in them, the need for nourishment, but also recognition and gratitude.
“There you are.” Buffy smiled into his fierce face as she pressed her bleeding wound against his lips.
His rough, long tongue slid out and licked the blood from the cut. It sent a quiver running down her body, tickling along the inside of her thighs. Spike's yellow eyes clouded in delight. Sharp incisors scratched at her arm, not breaking the skin as he started to suck.
The pull went directly to her core. Her muscles involuntarily constricted and her opening longed to feel his touch. His tongue licked again and she felt it sliding directly over her clit. Oh my God! She'd heard that giving blood to a vampire was addictive, but never had she expected it to be so sensual, so erotic.
He pressed his fangs over her wound, but stopped and looked her steadily into the eyes. Was his demon asking for her permission?
This was so different from the time when Angel's demon had torn into her neck, so wild, untamed, and painful. With Angel, the primary sensation was pain and Slayer senses of violating the rule against letting a vampire near her neck.
As she nodded her consent, she felt no protest well up inside her, no warning that this vampire was a fiend, her natural adversary. Instead, she felt anticipation.
Slowly and carefully, his sharp fangs entered her wound. She felt his penetration doubly; his incisors gliding into her arm, and between her legs, a phantom penetration into her channel. Seeking release, her left hand unwittingly cupped her mound, pressing urgently between her legs. As the flow of her blood increased and spilled into Spike's mouth, her juices seeped out and tension filled her stomach. Another pull and she exploded into an orgasm, tremors rippling through her belly, down her legs, a hot gush wetting her panties.
Trembling, she sank down from the high and felt the demon purring at her side. He slowly licked the last of her blood trickling from her cut, his incisors already pulled out. As she looked down at him, the yellow faded and stormy blue eyes stared up at her.
“Buffy, luv...” His brow smoothed and the demon had fully receded again. “You shouldn't 'ave done that. Dangerous, it is...”
Buffy smiled at him. “But it helped. Look at you, awake again! Your color's much better too. I even think the bruising has faded.”
She leaned her head back against the headboard. “Oh God, I'm so tired, but I need to clean up...”
With his right hand, Spike reached up and twirled a lock of her hair around his finger. He sniffed and grinned. “You smell delicious, pet. No complaints here.”
He opened his arm invitingly. “Slip down under the covers and rest.”
With a sigh, Buffy complied.