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Chapter 17


Buffy felt the clouds slowly fading away when she opened her eyes. A
sterile smell filled her senses and she could feel pressure on her hand as
she struggled to remain conscious.

“Buffy?”

Slowly turning her head, she was surprised to see Spike sitting at her
side, holding her hand.

“How are you feeling, luv?”

Buffy opened her mouth to reply, but quickly closed it when she felt as if
it was filled with cotton. Taking a deep breath and swallowing as hard as
she could, Buffy tried again. “What are you doing here?” she asked in a
raspy whisper.

“I was worried about you,” he said softly.

Flashes of her memory began to come back as she remembered what happened.
“You didn’t let him kill me,” she whispered in confusion.

“No,” he whispered, watching as Buffy turned to look at him.

“Why?” she asked, tilting her head as she watched him.

“Why do you think?”

Buffy turned away with tears glistening in her eyes. “Because you want the
honor for yourself,” she said in a choked whisper.

Spike’s hand immediately came up to grasp her chin in a strong grip. “Do
you really believe that?”

“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” Buffy whispered as tears spilled
down her cheeks.

Spike took a deep breath before standing and pacing in small circles around
the hospital room. “So…this is the moment of truth, is it?” he muttered,
rubbing the back of his neck before facing her again. “What do you want
to know?”

“Drusilla,” Buffy said simply.

Spike opened his mouth to respond but paused when a nurse walked into the
room.

“Oh, you’re awake,” the cheery woman said with a smile, handing Buffy some
water. Buffy eagerly swallowed the liquid, breathing a sigh of relief that
her cotton-mouth was gone. “How are you feeling?”

Buffy gave a slight shrug. “As good as can be expected.”

“Good,” she said with a grin. “I’ll send the doctor in, whenever he gets a
chance. Right now you get some rest.” The woman turned to walk out the
door but stopped with her hand on the handle, turning back to face them.
“You should really get some rest, too,” she said to Spike before turning to
Buffy. “Your boyfriend has been worried sick. I’ve never seen a man so
concerned.”

Buffy turned her gaze back to Spike as the woman left. “Is that true?”

“I thought I’d lost you,” he said softly.

Buffy took a deep breath, wanting to ignore the comment until the truth was out. “Okay…back on topic.”

“Right,” Spike said with a nod. “Dru…Dru was my sire.”

“And you loved her,” Buffy whispered, already knowing this part of the
story. “What happened?”

“She died,” Spike said quietly, raising his eyes to Buffy’s, trying to gauge
her reaction.

Buffy nervously played with the blanket, swallowing the lump in her throat.
“I killed her,” she stated.

“How did you…”

Buffy looked up at him with sad eyes. “If it wasn’t me, then who? You came
to Sunnydale wanting my blood, being Mr. Cryptic and saying that you had
your reasons for wanting me dead. Are you telling me I didn’t dust her?”

“You did,” he whispered. “In Los Angeles.”

Buffy thought back to the summer, remembering the woman in the alley. Her
hand unconsciously drifted to her abdomen, which still housed the scar from
the attack. Spike watched her hand, coming over to sit next to her on the
bed. His own hand slipped underneath hers, gently caressing her stomach
through the thin fabric of the hospital gown.

“Am I supposed to feel sorry?” Buffy asked, more harshly than she intended.

Spike’s brow furrowed as he looked at her. “It might be a nice gesture,” he
mumbled, pulling his hand away and standing up.

Buffy looked in the opposite direction, taking deep breaths to control her
emotions. “She was a vampire, I’m the Slayer…should I be reading you the
warning label?”

Spike turned around with amber flashing in his eyes. “I don’t know,
Slayer…should you?”

Buffy looked at him, tightening her jaw to keep her chin from quivering
anymore than it was. She gave him a hard look before throwing the sheets
away from her frail body and climbing out of the bed.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” Spike asked, walking
around the bed to grab her arm.

Buffy pulled free of his grasp, grabbing her jeans off the pile of clothes
on the chair and slipping them on. “Leaving,” she stated simply before
pulling the IV out of her hand, wincing at the twinge of pain.

Spike watched her in shock as she turned her back to him and let the gown
slip from her shoulders. He controlled his reaction to seeing her naked
form, but just barely as he watched her pull her shirt over her head and
slip her shoes on.

“You shouldn’t be leaving, Slayer,” he finally said in a low tone. “You’re
not well.”

“What does it matter?” Buffy asked, turning around throwing her arms in the
air. “Slayer healing, remember?”

Spike watched for a moment as she turned and made her way out the door,
bracing herself against the wall for balance.

“Buffy,” he called, chasing her to the elevator when he snapped out of his
daze. Slipping in before the doors shut, Spike pushed her against the wall,
looking deep into her eyes for a long moment. “What the hell got your knickers in a twist?”

“Get away from me, Spike,” she whispered, tears threatening to fall.

“What-“

Spike was cut off as Buffy shoved him away, walking through the doors as
they opened. With a heavy sigh, he followed her out of the hospital into the
night air. After a few moments of silence, Spike finally spoke. “Are you
mad because I finally told you the truth?”

“I’m mad because you wish she was here instead of me,” Buffy said softly,
stopping when she felt Spike grab her arm.

“What?”

“You expect me to feel sorry for killing her…if she didn’t die, then I would
have and that’s what you really want.”

Spike’s stomach dropped as tears began to slip down her cheeks. “I never
said that,” he whispered.

“But it’s what you want,” Buffy murmured, walking away from him.

“Bloody hell, woman, I just killed my grandsire for you!”

Buffy stopped, nervously biting her lip as she turned to face him. Her eyes
were downcast, but Spike could still see the tears clinging to her cheeks.
“I can’t do this, Spike,” she whispered in a heartbreaking voice.

“Can’t do what, luv?” he asked, his tone softening as he wrapped his arms
around her waist.

“I can’t compete with someone you loved for over a century…someone I took
away from you, I just can’t…”

Buffy trailed off in a choked sob as Spike pulled her closer, letting one
hand come up to the back of her head, stroking her hair as she cried.
“There’s no competition, kitten,” he whispered. “You’re here, she’s not.
End of story.”

Buffy clung to his duster, scared that if she let him go, he would disappear.
“I love you,” she whispered through her sobs. “I love you so much and it
scares me to death.”

Spike took a deep breath, trying to keep his own tears at bay, letting his
head drop to her shoulder and leaving a gentle kiss in his wake. “I know,”
he whispered, feeling her relax in his arms. “I love you, too.”





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