“No, no, no-o-o-o,” Buffy shrieked, terror flooding her voice. Spike spun around and ran, faster than he had ever run in his existence. Fear may have inundated his limbs with adrenaline, but love drove him forward. Buffy’s screams filled the air, spurring him on. Just before he reached the opening, a light flashed out, blinding him. He ran on anyway, into the room, desperate to get to his girl.
Through the glare he could see a guy leaning over Buffy. He was a match to the two knuckleheads out in the cavern, only awake and extremely dangerous. He had his curved sword in his hand, the sharp blade pressing in it against Buffy’s bare abdomen.
Spike roared and leapt forward, but he was still half a room away. Suddenly, someone stepped out of the light, a young man. He reached out and ripped the soldier away from Buffy and tossed him across the room, head first into the rocky wall of the chamber, then turned and stood facing the fallen enemy, providing an effective barrier between Buffy and her would be assassin.
Spike came to a halt in front of the kid, panting harshly as he sucked oxygen in to his aching lungs. The lad was all tensed up and ready to fight, his own sword in hand. He glanced about wildly, keeping half an eye on the downed guard, and the other on the seeming phantom that had just roared into the room. His face was familiar, ahh yes, the young lad from Angel’s crew, Conrad or some such. He grinned. That meant … yes, there she was, Dawnie, fit and well and standing next to her big sis, scythe in hand, guarding her like a mother tiger.
“Niblet,” he cried out, rushing across the room to enfold her in his arms. To her credit, it only took Dawn half a heartbeat to sort out what being enveloped in an invisible hug meant, particularly with that gravelly voice saying her name like the answer to a prayer.
“God, Spike! What? How? Why are you invisible?” she babbled. “You’re lucky I didn’t clout you with Buffy’s axe. Oh Spike, poor Buffy, look at her, she looks so thin and sick. We have to get her home.” Dawn threw herself into Spike’s arms, sniffling loudly, tears of relief more than anything.
Spike was just about to allay her fears, let her know that everything would be fine now that she and her nifty portal powers were here, when the drumming tread of feet came from the door. The familiar heartbeat, and the conspicuous absence of any actual body immediately alerted Spike to Faith’s presence, but his companions were both out of the loop and tensed up ready for another attack.
“’S ok guys, ‘s just Faith. Been cleaning up the muck out …”
He didn’t get to finish his sentence. While they’d been greeting one another, the thug, Devrim as it happened to be, not that they knew or cared, had stumbled to his feet behind them. He was drunkenly trying to shake off the shock and probable brain damage that his unexpected flight had incurred. His weapon still in hand, the guy obviously had way more brawn than brains anyway, so the head injury didn’t seem to slow him down. Either way, he took advantage of their distraction and roared in, intent on doing his hostage some permanent damage.
It was Spike who reacted first, anger, fear and the thwarted frustration of his earlier deferred charge fuelling his response. He twirled round, drawing his blade as he twisted, and leapt towards the guard. The guy still couldn’t see him, but he could hear Spike’s footfalls and he’d caught his colleagues’ earlier altercation with Faith, he could add one and one together. Driven by his own frustrations, endless days and weeks of dragging his prisoner through hundreds of miles of winding tunnels, Devrim bellowed and tucked into a roll, hoping to slip under the phantom’s attack.
The move just riled Spike up all the more. He changed direction and charged in just as the guy leapt to his feet. He slashed at the guard with his blade, a move that was parried away quickly. Devrim, alerted by sound and movement, went straight on the attack, slicing the air in Spike’s direction, moving his blade continuously in a classic moulinette. The vampire reacted instinctively, lifting his own sword in a block, and the fight was on. One, two, three clashes, and suddenly the room lit up anew with another burst of light.
Spike’s sword was wreathed in fire, flames licking along the blade and extending at least a foot out beyond the point. Far from being shocked or afraid, Spike felt roused and exhilarated. Instinctively he knew that the blade was simply reacting as it was always destined to when wielded by its one true master. And instinctively Spike was able to wield it masterfully.
Swinging it in a broad arc above his head, he went in for the strike. Devrim continued to block and then again went on the offensive. Spike may not have been visible to the human eye, but the shape and position of his blade, limned in tongues of flame, could be discerned quite clearly. The guard took advantage of that, and his fencing skills were superior enough to keep even a preternaturally fast, magically invisible, mystically armed vampire at bay.
At least for a while anyway. Above the shuffling of feet and the clang of blades, Spike heard Buffy’s soft whimper. It was time to finish this off. But his slight distraction was just the opening Devrim was looking for. He quickly stepped in, sword extended as he thrust it towards where he anticipated Spike’s chest would be. Astonishingly he made a strike, the point piercing the thick fabric of the vampire’s oversuit.
It failed to sink any deeper though, which resulted in a vampire that was significantly more pissed off than injured. Before Devrim could recover and step back into guard, Spike brought his blade up in a short, strong diagonal parry, propelling both Devrim’s arm and his sword up in the air. He moved quickly into a riposte, a huge thrust into the henchman’s chest. The blade bit deep into his torso, metal and flame cutting through cotton and Kevlar, muscle and bone, severing arteries, cauterizing tissue.
Whatever the cause, the effect was the same. Devrim sunk to his knees, his groan turning quickly to a gurgle, and he fell, face first onto the floor of the chamber.
Without even a second glance, Spike sheathed his sword and ran towards Buffy. His three stunned companions, both seen and unseen, had viewed his actions, and they stood there, shocked at the sequence of events. Spike ignored them, his focus wholly on Buffy. She was out of it again, the terror and anguish of a near gutting enough to deplete the last of her reserves.
“Quick, one of you check that bastard’s pockets. Need the key for these chains.” He paused to check that someone was following his command. The lad was, rolling the guy’s body over so that he could access the pockets.
“Bit, gonna need you to get one of your doors open right smart. Big sis needs to get somewhere she can get help right now.”
At that moment Connor dashed over to Spike, keys in hand. Spike nodded at him, then crouched down to unlock the two padlocks. Simultaneously, Dawn opened up the portal, flooding the chamber with light from another world. The chains fell away and Spike gathered Buffy up in his arms.
“Someone’ll need to stay behind so that Bit can come back and pick up our prisoners,” he said as he paused on the threshold.
“I’ll do that sir,” the lad offered, while Faith’s weary, disembodied voice offered to remain behind as well, as long as Dawn came back for them as soon as possible. Spike nodded and stepped through, Buffy cradled gently in his arms. Just before Dawn stepped through herself, she hesitated. Then, coyly, she looked up to catch Connor’s eye. He was already gazing intently at her anyway, and at her signal, he strode over and quickly pressed a shy kiss to her lips.
Dawn froze, her lips stiff and unresponsive beneath hers. She was about to pull away and give him a piece of her mind when, without warning, a sizzle, a lightning bolt of frisson, shot through her. She gasped, and Connor pulled back. His blue eyes were dark and stormy as he peered down at her, an enigmatic look on his face. Nodding once, he turned her back towards the shaft of light and urged her through the portal.
Stumbling into the lounge room of Giles and Cat’s motel unit, Dawn was immediately thrust into the center of a maelstrom. Spike (she could actually see him again, muddy and straggly looking as he was, so one of the resident witches had obviously already removed the obscurum enchantment) had Buffy laid out on the coach. He was hovering over her, obviously reluctant to let her out of his reach. Cat was perched on the edge of the couch, observing Buffy closely. People were either clustering around the Slayer’s sickbed, or dashing madly around the unit, fetching blankets, or Cat’s medical bag, or popping on the kettle and generally adding to the air of confusion and disorder.
Cat glanced around the room, finally spotting the startled Key. She beckoned Dawn over towards the couch, had a quick word with her, then silenced the room with her quiet but authoritative tone.
“Okay everyone, we’re gonnae move Buffy immediately back tae Ashdown. It’s vital that she receives IV fluids, electrolytes, an’ antibiotics an’ is kept warm an’ quiet. I’m sure she’ll be braw, but we need to attend tae her as soon as possible. Spike an’ I will accompany her. If you're coming’ with us you’ll need to be ready reit now.”
There was a few seconds of stunned silence, then everyone cleared a path for them. Dawn was on portal duty once more, this time opening the gateway directly to the medical wing at Ashdown. In the end it was only the three of them, the others opting to stay behind to get things packed up and organized for an early departure.
Dawn ushered them through, blew them a kiss for luck, then stepped back and closed the portal. Cat wasted no time, getting Spike to lay Buffy down on the hospital bed in one of the treatment rooms, and pile on the blankets while she quickly raided her supply cabinet. She laid everything out on the bedside table, and took a quick reading of Buffy’s blood pressure, temperature and heart rate, getting Spike to record them as she went.
Then, without delay, she thoroughly cleaned and sterilized the girl’s inner arm before inserting a needle and cannula into the vein and taping it down. Next, she hooked up two I.V. bags, one of warm saline, glucose and the other containing vitamins and a broad-spectrum antibiotic to stave off any respiratory, urinary tract, gastrointestinal or abdominal infections Buffy may have developed. Finally, she connected the two lines to the cannula.
Spike stood on the far side of Buffy’s bed feeling useless and superfluous to need. All he and Faith had gone through to reach his lovely girl, and now there was nothing he could do for her. Doc, astute woman that she was, must have picked up on his feelings.
“Right Spike, if you feel up to it, I’m gonnae need ye in here to monitor Buffy carefully an’ administer a blanket bath,” Cat said gently.
“Course,” he agreed eagerly, “Anything, just tell me what to do.”
“Okay, good. Well first I need ye to be clean and well fed yerself.” She paused, seeing that Spike was going to disagree. “No, I’ll have nae arguments from you. Ah can’t have you washing Buffy if yer covered in all sorts of mucky cave bacteria yerself. You’ll just ending up transferring it back onto her. An’ besides, yer more than a little fragrant yerself. So a hot shower and warm, clean clothes to start with, then food mister, and some blood, of which I’m sure you’ve nae had since you left Ashdown a week ago.”
“I had some pig that Tara sussed out for me in Gagra on the morning we headed up the mountain,” he said gruffly. “I’ll be fine with just the shower.”
“Nae ye won’t William Pratt, dinnae be daft now. You’ll be nae good tae Buffy or me if ye pass out from low blood sugar.” She paused, eyeing the stubborn tilt to Spike’s jaw. “Alright, I’ll offer you a compromise. Get yerself cleaned up an’ get at least a pint of blood down ya an’ I’ll organize some food to be sent across from the kitchens fur baith ay us. Och, an’ a warm clean nightgoon an’ robe for yer lass would nae gang amiss while yer at it.”
“Yeah, alright,” he agreed reluctantly and stood up to hurry off, grinning silently to himself about how anger and worry seemed to strengthen Cat’s accent almost to the point of incomprehensibility.
“An’ Spike,” Cat added, “By th' time we gie tae eatin', Ah may need tae order three meals. Who knows, she might be awake by then.”
Spike nodded and headed off to the Lodge, using his vamp speed to get him there as quickly as possible. It was late afternoon, and the autumn sunlight gleamed softly through the trees. There was precious little heat in those meager beams, and even the light was diffuse, but as exhausted and worried and strung out as he was, Spike couldn’t help but rejoice at the sight, the smell, the feel of the world around him.
He’d been buried below the surface of the earth for less than a week, but it was long enough to have missed this sunlit life he’d become so accustomed to. It was long enough to make him pause, just for a moment, at the Lodge entrance, and soak up those feeble rays of pale gold life.
There’d be time for reflection and gratitude and sentimentality later. Impatiently, he dashed through the unlocked door and into his and Buffy’s unit, his senses bombarded once more, the sights and smells adding up to represent their home, their life together. It was almost more than the shattered vampire could handle. He could sense how close to the edge he was, pushing him self beyond the point of even preternatural exhaustion.
That Doc was a wise one all right he thought as he headed to the kitchenette first, pulling a bag of blood out of the mini freezer and tossing it in the microwave to defrost. Fifteen minutes later he was back there, clean, dry, warm and sipping on his first mug of heated blood while watching the microwave spin a ceramic travel-mugged second helping to 37°. Another five minutes and he was out the door, mug in one hand, Buffy’s warmest nightie and dressing gown in the other, his own duster fluttering in the twilight breeze. He’d felt in need of his favorite leather, his Big Bad attire a soothing suit of armor for his battered self.
Cat looked up as he hastened through the door. She’d been busy herself, collecting towels, facecloths, a basin and a clean set of bed linen for Buffy’s blanket bath and had obviously reset the thermostat to high; the room was toasty warm.
“Well, lad, yoo're lookin' a bit better noo. Yoo’ve a bit more colour in ya cheeks an’ all.” She stood up to fill the small basin with warm water, and moved back to Buffy’s bedside.
“Right, pop this on Buffy’s head,” she said handing Spike a shower cap. “We’ll do her hair later when her body temperature’s back up tae normal and she’s awake. I’ve just taken her temperature again an’ its up tae 30°, that’s a good two degree rise since we brought her in. The sooner we can get her up tae 36 the better.”
With that Cat showed Spike how to give a blanket bath, starting with the face, hands, arms, legs, torso and back. She helped him strip of Buffy’s clothing, cutting it away for the most part, and peel back the linens, covering her instead with a thick cotton blanket. Then she left him to it while she headed off to the kitchens to rustle up some food.
Spike was thrilled to be able to do this for Buffy. He worked carefully but quickly, aware of how rapidly she could loose heat, only uncovering the area he was cleaning, leaving the rest of her concealed beneath a layer of warm blankets. Tears filled his eyes and rained down upon her pale skin as he washed, rinsed and patted dry her beautiful face, her long slim arms and her shapely legs. Her limbs seemed thinner than ever before, but it was her chest and torso that really showed the significant loss of weight she’d undergone. Her clavicle and ribs stood out starkly beneath her tightly stretched skin, in bony contrast to the roundness of her breasts and belly.
Spike had never, ever looked upon Buffy’s naked form without feeling an erotic thrill shoot through him, the mere sight of her curves and edges, her sleek golden skin enough to cause aching desire and a rampant erection. But to see her lying here now, he felt nothing salacious, just a combination of concern, compassion, tenderness, fear and underpinning it all, deep abiding love and connection.
To have that connection back was so special to him. He knew she would be feeling it too, even in sleep, that warm and fuzzy little hum down in the depths of her psyche. They were linked to one another in a very unique and astonishing way, a link that was essential to their individual well-being.
And so as he cleansed her body, he focused on using the link to strengthen her spirit. He sent her images of the two of them lying side by side in the warmth and comfort of their room, walking arm and arm through the Woods on a summer’s day, holding her on his lap as they snuggled in an armchair in the lounge, surrounded by the love and laughter of their friends and family.
Finally, her ablutions were finished. She had on a clean nightgown, and she was swathed in clean, dry sheets and blankets. Slowly, the color was returning to her face. Spike threw the cloths, towels and linens in the hamper, emptied out the basin and collapsed into the chair beside her bed.
“Hey Spike,” Cat said softly, her voice jerking him out of the light sleep into which he’d fallen. She was carrying a large tray containing four double stacked, covered plates, two bottles of beer, Newcastle Brown Ale, and an insulated mug. Spike leapt up to push the small table over so that she could put them down. “Sorry tae wake you, but ye need food in you as much as sleep.”
Before sitting down with her own plate, Cat grabbed the digital thermometer, sheathed it and took Buffy’s temperature again. Despite the blanket bath, she hadn’t lost any of her core warmth and had in fact added another degree to her reading.
“Well done Spike. She’s clean an’ dry an’ warmin’ up nicely. Good job.”
He blushed, reluctantly accepting the doctor’s praise. Then they both tucked into their meals, lamb chops with baked potatoes and baby peas, followed by sticky date pudding and vanilla ice cream. The food was delicious, the first proper meal he’d had in four days, and the Newkie Brown was going down smoothly but it made him feel guilty for the fact that he was savoring such a delicious feast while his girl lay there malnourished and dehydrated.
Cat of course guessed how he was feeling and why, and reminded him that while hers may not be as tasty, Buffy was getting all of the fluids and nutrition that she needed. He might as well do the same. At that point his stomach let out a loud rumble, so without further argument he polished his meal off.
Cat went to make them each an instant coffee using the set up in her office, then sat down next to Spike and looked at him seriously.
“I wanted tae talk tae ye aboot some aspects of Buffy’s condition that are nae only of concern, but also a might puzzlin’.”
“Yeah, pet, guessed we’d get to this eventually. Things don’t quite add up do they?’ he mused.
“Spike, Buffy’s the Slayer. She’s blessed wi’ nae only superhuman strength, durability and accelerated healing, but I’ve long suspected, resistance tae everyday illnesses and frailties.”
“’S true enough. She hardly ever gets sick. She’s as strong as an ox with the constitution to match.”
“Ah don’t doobt that she’s been through a fairly traumatic experience. But e’en if she was given nae food and only a wee water, and made to march night an’ day, she’s only bin gone a week. So why, given her physical abilities does she look like someone who’s bin in a concentration camp for two months?”
“I don’t know Doc, I don’t know. And on top of that …”
“Och aye, on top of that her pregnancy seems tae have advanced at least four weeks, maybe more.”
“When we saw her belly in the cave, Faith and I, well we weren’t sure you know, but we both thought, or guessed, that that might be the case.”
“So she’s been somewhere Spike. If only a week has passed in our world, but five or six in hers, weel who knows whit she’s bin through.”
“Yeah well, we knew she was somewhere other didn’t we. It’s why the connection unravelled. Didn’t think about time passing by at a different rate, but it makes sense don’t it? Fuck, hope she wasn’t in a hell dimension.”
“Weel there’s nae much point speculatin’ at this point. Buffy will fill us in on whit she can once she’s awake.”
At that moment, there was a stirring from the bed. Spike raced back to Buffy’s side. Her eyes were still closed, but she was frowning and her lips were moving in a mute soliloquy.
“Hush pet, you’re safe now, safe and warm.” Spike bent over her and stroked her face. “We’re back home Buffy, and you’re fine.”
“Spike?” she murmured, her voice still raspy with disuse. Slowly her eyes fluttered open and Spike finally got to gaze upon the beautiful hazel eyes he’d missed so badly. Mind you, it was difficult to view them clearly through the watery film flooding his own eyes.
“Oh God baby, missed you so much. Was so scared for you. But you're home now my strong, brave girl. Home safe and sound where you belong.”
“You came for me Spike, you found me,” she said woozily, a faint smile gracing her dry lips. “My hero, my courageous champion!”
“Not a hero kitten, just a man deeply in love, willing to go to the ends of the earth for his girl. Reckon anyone with something so precious at stake would do the same. In fact, don’t think I was nearly as courageous as you pet, scared and alone in that dark hole. You’re the real hero.”
Her smile wobbled then widened and she reached a shaky hand up to clasp his. Her left to his right; just like in the Hellmouth. As always, a little tingle danced between their loosely pressed palms, and leapt and ran wildly out across their bodies. Spike grinned, delight etching itself across his face, and he bent down again, this time to drop a soft kiss on her mouth.
Her skin still felt cool to the touch, certainly cooler than his own, which was a sad irony given the history of their relationship.
“Cold,” Buffy whispered against his lips.
“How aboot somethin’ warm to drink,” Cat asked from beside them. “If ye sit up, I’ve a hot cocoa here that’ll warm ye up a treat.”
Spike helped Cat raise the head of the bed and grabbed Buffy’s robe to wrap around her. Propped up, she seemed more alert, more herself, although still a worryingly thin, pale, quiet version of herself, and Cat passed her the insulated mug.
“Mmm – mmm, compliments to Dave next time you see him,” Buffy said as the warm, creamy, chocolaty drink slipped down her parched throat. “I think this is the best thing I’ve ever swallowed in my life.”
“Really?” Spike asked silkily, his eyebrows raised in teasing fashion.
“Spike!” she hissed, just a hint of pale rose colouring her cheeks. “Don’t be such a pig.”
“God lassie, you kick him intae line,” Cat said, laughing. “An’ you Spike, behave yerself.”
Spike chuckled before sobering; a serious, almost boyish look adorning his face. “So Doc, it’ll be okay if I spend the night here won’t it. Don’t want to leave my girl’s side.”
“I think, if ye can promise to keep things above board, it’d be braw. And if you can share some of yer body heat wi’ her,” Cat added, surprising the vampire, “We can put it down as part of her treatment plan.”
Spike nodded and bid the doc goodnight as she slipped out the door and closed it gently behind her. He toed off his boots and duster and slid into the narrow cot beside Buffy.
“This alright kitten?” he said, snuggling up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his palm on her belly, feeling the leaps and bounds of their child beneath the thin veil of her tightly stretched skin.
“Mmm, Spike, hold me tight. So tired sorry, can’t seem to keep my eyes open,” she mumbled, more than halfway sunk into sleep’s healing embrace already.
“Its alright pet,” he replied sleepily, drawing his girl even closer. “Plenty of time to talk tomorrow. Got the rest of our lives for talking now that I’ve got you back.”
And with his family cradled safely in his arms Spike drifted off as well, relaxed, happy and at peace for the first time in over a week.