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Chapter 14

Joyce rushed into the Emergency Room like a mad woman.  Nothing and no one was going to stop her from seeing her daughter this instant.  She was just about to burst through the double doors when a male nurse came out at hearing shouts of “Buffy!” cried repeatedly.  

“Mrs. Summers?”  

She paused in her tracks to focus on the man standing before her. It took a few moments but soon his words started to penetrate her panic-stricken haze.  

“…prepped for surgery.”  

“I’m sorry.” Her face showed her confusion.  “Surgery?”  

“Yes, ma’am.  Your daughter…well, she was hurt real bad.  She’s being rushed to OR as we speak,” he told her as gently as he could.  He tried as much as possible to prepare families for the worst, and this girl, with her knife wounds, definitely fell into the latter group. That she was even alive showed a strength of spirit he’d never before witnessed, her willingness to hold on amazing the very doctors doing everything within their power to save her.  “We’ve a special waiting room, away from all this noise that I can take you to while you wait.”  

“That would be most appreciated,” Giles murmured, settling a supportive arm around Joyce’s shoulders.  

The room the nurse led them to was fairly dark, the few scant table lamps providing more of a muted atmosphere than any type of actual lighting.  The shadows were numerous, and if it weren’t for the flare of a lighter some several minutes later, Giles would have figured that he and Joyce were alone.  

The watcher was just about to tell the man that the hospital was a “no smoking” zone, but the emotion in the eyes of the vaguely familiar man caused him to bite back the retort.  It was the same look he no doubt would see if he happened to glance in a mirror.  

Anguish.  

So, Giles let him be.  Besides, it wasn’t like Joyce noticed or even cared about the smoke, her mind consumed with thoughts of her daughter.  

The three sat there in the barely lit room, Giles and Joyce huddled together, staring at the neon-colored fish in the tank that formed a partition in the room, while the other man chain-smoked in a darkened corner.  

All of them, ironically, thinking about the same girl.  

~*~*~*~*~  

Spike sensed the moment the two humans drifted off to sleep, no longer able to fight the lure of the sandman – no matter how much they might wish it weren’t so.  He expelled an unnecessary breath that the Slayer’s watcher hadn’t seen fit to confront him.  The vampire really hadn’t wanted to alert the others to his presence, and he’d given his word not to harm the Slayer’s mates, no matter how much they might provoke him.  

With the two sleeping peacefully, he took a moment to observe the pair.  Something was brewing there.  Their unguarded actions spoke more than just Slayer’s mom and Slayer’s watcher, momentarily united during this latest crisis.  He’d noticed it the man’s touch, even if the watcher had tried his best to mask it.  

But, the vampire knew body language.  Knew, also, that the mom wasn’t averse to his attentions.  

They just needed some catalyst to spark the flame.  

He dismissed them from his mind and concentrated on the Slayer.  He could barely feel her through the claim, the mind-altering drugs sending her into too deep a slumber that even he could not penetrate.  It made him nervous.  No.  It made him want to get up out of his chair and find out what was taking so bloody long.  

Spike had been told the procedure would take several hours, the blade had nicked several internal organs that would require painstakingly precise sewing to see the damage corrected.  Then there was the matter of seeing the gaping wound closed.  

Just another thing to see that the Order paid for.  

The hours slipped by as the vampire imagined scenario after scenario of the final takedown of the Order of Taraka at his and the Slayer’s hands.  

~*~*~*~*~  

“Mr. and Mrs. Summers?” The soft-spoken voice cut into their light sleep.  The couple managed to rouse themselves on the second address.  

“I-I’m Joyce Summers.”  

“I’ve got good news.”  Remarkable, near miracle, news actually.  That the girl managed to live and was even now on the mend, her flesh knitting back together at an alarming rate, was something for the record books.  “Your daughter made it through the surgery without any complications.”  

The doctor watched as the woman seemed to sag into the man sitting beside her.  “W-When can I see her?”  

“We’re moving her from post-op to ICU for the next twenty-four hours, just to monitor her.  She had a very close call and we want to pay particular attention to any signs of internal bleeding.  When she’s settled, a nurse will be down to show you to her room.  You can visit for an hour, no more.  She needs her rest, and frankly, so do you.”  

“Yes…thank you, doctor.”  

“It was my pleasure.  It’s always nice to give these kinds of speeches.  Rather makes my day…”  He smiled at the pair then moved off, back the way he’d come.  

In his darkened corner, Spike sent up a silent prayer of thanks to a God that he’d forsaken over one hundred years ago in an abandoned alley in London .  He knew she’d pull through; once they’d started injecting her body with replacement blood he knew her Slayer healing would kick in and repair the damage done to her.  But, there’d been this small niggling deep in the back corner of his mind that told him if she were to die, then he’d really and truly be all alone in this world.   

Thirty minutes later, a nurse showed up.  Spike followed at a respectable distance, not wanting to alert the watcher to his presence.  He just needed to mark the room, then once the Slayer’s mom left, he’d slip in to make sure that she was all right, before nipping out for a bit of kip.  He wouldn’t go far, just to a secure spot away from any sunlight that would soon be beaming in through the various windows of the hospital.  

Even now his demon was telling him to seek shelter, the approaching dawn causing prickles of awareness to skate up and down along the back of his neck.  

The Slayer’s mom and watcher didn’t stay long, wanting only to reassure themselves that she was ok before moving out of the way of the nurse that was seeing to her care.  After they left and the nurse moved off to see to another patient, Spike slipped inside her room.  One hand sought to hold hers, while the other pushed the hair back from her face.   

She was pale.  Paler than normal.  But Spike could see faint traces of returning life in how she seemed to lean into his caress.  The soft mumble of his name on her lips.  

He didn’t smell her blood, or any signs of disease, to which he was extremely grateful.  After a soft kiss to her brow, Spike slipped from the room and took the stairs to the basement.  

Crouched in a darkened corner, the vampire leaned back against the wall and let sleep overtake him.  It was a deep sleep, rife with dreams.  About the Slayer…and him.  In the last segue, he was racing after her, her pleas for help getting further and further away until he could barely hear her call his name…  

Spike woke with a start.  

In a flash, he was on his feet and racing up the stairs leading to her room.  The sunbeams filtering in through the windows of the staircase singed parts of his skin, but he didn’t care, paying little mind to the pain.  His one thought: reach the Slayer.  

She’d been calling him.  

~*~*~*~*~  

For the first time in over a month, Buffy awoke alone, no sign of the vampire that had been her constant companion anywhere in sight.  That freaked her out almost as much as the fact that she’d woken in a hospital with various monitors hooked up to her body.  

She began pulling at the lines, setting off various alarms.  Moments later, a nurse showed, and as Buffy continued to struggle to gain her freedom, another, and then another, rushed into her room to get her to calm down.  It wasn’t working, the people holding her squirming body down flat against the bed just increased her anxiety.  When she felt one foot secured by a restraint, quickly followed by one to her hand, Buffy lost it.  

“Spike!” she screamed his name over and over as she struggled to be free.   

The Slayer was oblivious to the nurses as they attempted to calm her down, reassure her that she was ok and just recovering from surgery – she didn’t hear any of it.  Her mind cried out for the vampire to rescue her, to take her away from these people and this place.  

She felt the familiar tinglings that signaled his presence and she stopped struggling briefly – just long enough for a nurse to inject her with a sedative.  Her eyes grew heavy, the drug rushing through her system quickly lulling her to sleep; she tried to stay awake to tell him not to hurt anyone – that she just wanted out of here – but her body was no match against the intravenous injection and went lax against her restraints, sinking back into the mattress.  

Buffy didn’t hear the noise as people went crashing into equipment scattered about the small room.  Nor did she feel the cool fingers that ripped sensors and IVs from her arms, legs, chest, and neck before the vampire hefted her into his arms and close to his chest to make good his escape.  

~*~*~*~*~  

The next time Buffy woke was to find her face pressed up against a cool, bare chest.  She snuggled closer and felt the arms wrapped loosely around her back tighten in reflex.  If it weren’t for the bandages wrapped around her middle, and the fact that there wasn’t a spot on her that didn’t ache in some way, she would have thought the confrontation with the assassins was just a dream.  That her waking up alone and seemingly abandoned in some hospital room, no more than something conjured in her mind.  

She lifted her head and wasn’t surprised to see him awake and watching her.  

“Hey,” she mumbled.  

“Hey there yourself, kitten.  How do you feel?”  

“Like I’ve been run over by a truck,” she grumbled.  

He smiled at her response. “Yeah, well, I imagine a sword to the gullet tends to do that.”  

Amusement lit her eyes, his gentle teasing just what she needed to take her mind off her aches.  She snuggled back against his chest and closed her eyes, the two just laying there in companionable silence.  Buffy must have fallen asleep, because when she opened her eyes it was dark.   

Spike wasn’t in bed with her, but he was near.  She rolled over and watched as he walked out of the bathroom, a towel slung low on his hips.  

“Jus’ gonna nip out and get us a bite to eat.  Hungry?” He walked over and sat down on the mattress beside her.  Tucking a lock of red hair behind her ear, he eyed her intently, looking for any signs that she might still be in pain.  “How do you feel?”  

“Sore…but better.”  Her hand reached up to grip the one he still held against her cheek.  “Hurry back?”  

Spike nodded then rose to slip into a dark pair of slacks and pullover shirt, forgoing his Doc Martins for the casual shoes he’d been wearing when he arrived in Sunnydale.  

Buffy watched every move he made, the unconscious sensuality of his movements making her wish she wasn’t quite as banged up as she was.  She spotted his glasses lying on the nightstand and reached her hand out to grab them.  

“Don’t forget these,” she called out, dangling them between thumb and forefinger.  

The vampire quirked his brow at her.  

“What?  I think they’re sexy.”  She tried to wiggle her eyebrows at him, but failed miserably.  

He grumbled under his breath but snatched the glasses out of her hand, nonetheless.  

“Don’t open the door for anyone.”  

Buffy rolled her eyes at him.  “As if I could get out of bed.”  

“See that you don’t.”  

Then he was gone and already she was missing him.

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