Parts: 71 - 80
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~Part: 71~
Buffy bit the inside of her lip so hard, it nearly started bleeding as she started up the car. She was determined that she wouldn't cry. After all, there was no reason. Any second now, Angel would come running out, telling her that he was sorry, that he didn't want to end things the way that they had, that he still loved her. Any second now. Any second. But the seconds stretched out, and Angel didn't come out, and Buffy eventually had to resign herself to the fact that he wasn't coming after her. Not this time. From the looks of it, he wouldn't be coming after her ever again.
Buffy's relationship with Angel had been rocky under the best of circumstances and one or the other of them had called it quits a dozen times. But even when things got rough, Buffy held on to the belief that Angel was her soulmate and that some how, some way, they'd be together in the end. Even when she sent him to hell, she never quite gave up hope. Parker, Riley, Ben and any other boy who held her interest was only a way for her to pass the time until she could be with her Angel again, at last. His love for her had given her the strength to face the demons and come to terms with her own powers. Because she loved and trusted him, she had come to trust and believe in her own strength to make a difference in the world. She had defined herself as a slayer and as a woman through her love for him.
It never occurred to her that he didn't feel the same way. He had told her over and over again that she was the love of his unlife, the only person on earth who had ever brought him a moment of true and complete happiness. She'd given him her virginity and he'd given her his soul. How could their love be anything less than forever? Her love for him had been his salvation and inspiration. Because he wanted to be worthy of her, he had pulled himself out of the gutter and become a fighter and a champion. Their love had allowed Angel to shed his self-loathing and make the contribution he was destined to make. Buffy simply hadn't realized that all she had been was the spark, the impetus. She had been the reason that Angel wanted to be a better person. Once he established himself on the right road, he didn't need her anymore. Angel had outgrown her.
If things had been different at that point in Buffy's life, then Buffy
might have been able to accept it. If Angel had come to her when she was
happy with Riley and told her that she had been an enormous inspiration
to him in the past, but that he was forming a new life and a new destiny
that she wasn't a part of anymore, she would have been hurt, but she would
have gotten over it and moved on from her feelings for him. But Buffy was
already hurting from Riley's rejection and Ben's betrayal and everything
else that had gone wrong in her life, seemingly all at once. She needed
the reassurance of Angel's unconditional love. When he rejected her, it
brought out in her all her weaknesses: her selfishness, her insecurity,
and her need to be the center of someone's world, no matter what the cost.
She drove away from Angel when she realized that he would never again be
able to give her the adoration that she craved, but her realization did
nothing to stop the craving, itself. And it wasn't
long before she reached some new conclusions. After all, just
because Angel couldn't love her anymore, she reminded herself as she glanced
over at the vamp next to her, that didn't mean there weren't others who
could.
Buffy still despised Spike. She always had, and she probably always would. He was a nuisance and an annoyance with the way that he whined and the way that he interfered and the way that he was both smarter and stronger than she was. Buffy was the slayer: she was supposed to be the leader. She could deal with the fact that Giles and Willow were smarter than her because they were far inferior fighters; they still needed her. But Spike was smart, cunning, and experienced. He was an excellent fighter with a brilliant mind and the only reason that she wasn't the third slayer notch in his belt was that he had gotten impatient and she had gotten lucky, lots of times. Since Buffy couldn't accept that Spike was, in many ways, her superior, she'd comfort herself with the knowledge that Spike was beneath her because he was a vampire. He was low, disgusting, vile. No matter what he did, he could never be the hero, not like her.
Buffy was comfortable in her hatred of him. It made her feel righteous and justified, hating him for being an evil creature. When he hated her, too, it had been perfect. It had proven, all the more, that she was right to despise him. She was the generous, noble-hearted heroine who took in even her enemy when he needed shelter, and he was the evil villain who repaid her with insults and plots against her, or the reluctant ally who only did good for the sake of the money they paid him or the threats they held over his head. The relationship they had at that point served only to reinforce her deep-seated belief that her goodness and decency made her superior to him.
But then he decided that he loved her. It threw things out of whack. She didn't want his love. If he loved her, and he fought by her side to earn her love in return, then he was operating under principles just as noble as hers. It made her hate him all the more, that she no longer had a legitimate reason to despise him. The more he loved her, the more she convinced herself that he was disgusting and inferior, and that he could never, ever be worthy of her.
But now. now Buffy was alone and heart-broken and her ego was in shreds. Her confidence was an essential part of herself, and it had been shattered by the proof that the man she had thought would love her, literally, for eternity, had lost interest in her long ago. She needed someone to make her feel desirable again. Spike could do that. He wanted her. He looked at her like she was the most incredible woman in the world. She needed to be looked at like that, especially now. She needed to be touched with reverence, and treated with adulation, and loved with a fierce strength that would wipe out everything else. Spike was low and vile but he was hard and tight and cold and strong, and she would lower herself to his level if it meant that she could find what she needed. After ten minutes on the highway, she saw a sign for a Motel Six and without so much as a second thought, she took the exit.
A glance over at Spike in the passenger seat showed that he was fast asleep, and she used the opportunity to examine his body with clinically cold eyes. He wasn't the body type she usually went for; Buffy preferred the tall, beefy type; but he had a lean, well-muscled frame and, she couldn't help but notice, a good-sized bulge in his tight jeans even when he was asleep. She remembered how it had felt during Willow's spell when they had been engaged. They hadn't had the opportunity to do any more than a little groping, but his firm, cool hands had felt blissfully good as they traced teasing patterns on her heated skin, while his talented lips and tongue had made her tingle and the massive rod pressed against her ass when she sat on his lap had made her squirm. She knew from experience that vampire endurance meant that he could please her for hours, and the chip would ensure that he wouldn't get carried away and take this as an invitation to use her for an all-purpose buffet.
It shouldn't take long. She could call Sunnydale and say they had car trouble. No one would ever need to know what really happened. She could keep Spike from talking by telling him that if he mentioned a word of it to anyone, it would never happen again. (It would never happen again, anyway, but Spike wouldn't know that.) Besides, even if he shouted it to the skies, who would believe his word over hers? She could get what she needed for an hour or two, with no consequences. She'd let Spike worship her for a little while, giving her the attention and the release that she craved, until she felt like herself again, and then she'd be able to move on with her life. Steeling her resolve, she parked the car, and exited to the lobby to get a room for the night. Once the arrangements were made, she could go back to the car and wake up Spike.
Spike, as it happened, was already awake. He had decided before they left L.A. that the best way to get back to Sunnydale undusted was not to talk to Buffy at all, so he closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep. A wonderful thing about being a vampire was that it was next to impossible for anyone who wasn't very familiar with his sleeping quirks and habits to tell whether he was actually asleep or not. Buffy either bought the act or didn't want to bother forcing him to reveal the truth, because she left him alone, to Spike's relief. He knew that being ignored by her was about the best he could hope for on this ride. He just hoped the drive would go smoothly, and he'd be back with Red, soon. Everything would be better when he was with his Red again.
Figuring that Buffy was at least as anxious to get the trip over with quickly as he was, he was surprised to feel the car come to a stop ten minutes after they hit the highway. As far as he could remember, they had a full tank of gas when they left L.A. He supposed he could "wake up" and ask why they were stopping, but decided it wasn't worth it. Spike didn't need anything from whatever gas station or fast food restaurant she had chosen to stop at, so he figured he'd keep up his sleep ruse. His resolve change, however, when soft, warm lips attacked his.
His eyes shot open in surprise and his mouth opened to ask what in hell was going on when he was faced with the sight of Buffy climbing on to his lap, straddling him in his car seat and kissing him brutally hard. Taking advantage of his open mouth, she shot her tongue down his throat for a long moment. Before he had a chance to decide whether he wanted to push her away or kiss her back, she pulled back on her own, opening the passenger side door and climbing out, over him.
"Room 212," she stated calmly, tossing a cardboard keycard into his lap. "Five minutes." With that, she walked away, not giving him so much as a backward glance.
Spike sat in the car with his mouth still hanging open, trying to process what had just happened. Maybe he really had fallen asleep and this was just a dream? God knows, he'd had plenty of dreams like that, where Buffy had finally decided that she wanted to be with him. In all his dreams, he just went with it, grabbing on to her for as long as he could. But now that it was actually happening, he didn't know how to respond. Yes, he wanted her. That was a given. He had wanted her for months. The thought of having her should have been the fulfillment of his fondest wish. So why did he feel so uneasy?
Two minutes before, his only thought had been how much he wanted to get back to Sunnydale, and there was still a part of him that wanted to do exactly that. The part of Spike that basked in Willow's friendship and affection and would do anything to make sure that she was safe and protected was yelling at him that getting home to his Red was more important than some meaningless fling with a woman who he knew still hated him. The voice reminded him that the slayer just wanted to feel better about herself after being rejected by Angel, and that he'd played the fill-in gig for nearly a century with another Angelus-obsessed woman, and had sworn never to play it again.
But the larger part of him was unable to ignore the temptation to go up to that motel room and see just what he could find. He'd dreamt of making love to the slayer so many times that his response to the suggestion was practically pre-programmed. It was all so exactly as he had always thought it would be. She was alone, and hurting. She was turning to him: the only man who had had the balls to stick around. She needed him. Wanted him. All he had to do was walk through the door and he could have everything he'd ever dreamt of. She'd handed him the key to paradise; all he had to do was use it. Glancing at his watch, he saw that the five minutes she told him to wait had already passed. Moving on autopilot, he climbed the steps up to the second floor of the motel and arrived at the door. Inserted the key, the door clicked open easily in his hand. For a moment, he just stood in the doorway and stared.
The lights were off and the curtains were closed, but his demonically sharp eyes could see her easily. The bedspread and blankets had been shoved off the bed onto the floor and Buffy lay sprawled across the queen-sized bed with the pillows stacked behind her back, completely naked. Spike's eyes ran hungrily over her form, taking in her tanned legs, her toned abs, her heavy breasts, and the lust evident in her eyes. The scent of her arousal filled the air and it wasn't difficult to see why, since her fingers and cunt were already glistening from where she had started to play with herself while she waited for his arrival. Her eyes locked with his. Slowly, deliberately, she pulled her fingers out of her twat, and spread her legs wide in obvious invitation. Spike stepped into the room, let the door swing shut behind him, and started walking toward the bed.
Meanwhile, in Sunnydale General Hospital, the mysterious red-haired patient let out a nearly silent gasp of despair, causing the exhausted-looking boy dozing in the chair beside her to jump awake. Xander was hopeful at the first sign of life Willow had shown in hours, but his hope rapidly vanished as he saw the look of desperate pain painted on his friend's face. Whatever it was that had just happened to Willow, it was more than just the fever and it had hurt her more than anything ever should. Xander tried to speak to Willow, tried to get her attention. He wanted to know what it was that was hurting his friend so badly, in the vain hope that he might be able to do something to help, but Willow seemed unaware of his presence. She was busy concentrating on her own hurt.
"Spike," Willow whispered softly, the one word holding an infinite amount of pain.
"He'll be here soon, Wills," Xander replied earnestly. "I *know* he'll be here soon."
Willow had been clinging to consciousness, in spite of the agony that it caused her, because she had been waiting for Spike. In spite of her delirium, she knew, instinctively, that if she let herself slide into that oh-so-tempting darkness, there was very little chance that she would ever wake up, and she couldn't bear the thought of going to sleep forever without saying goodbye to Spike. Through the bond that tied her to him, she had felt his impatience, his eagerness to come home, and the thought that he wanted to return to her had given her the strength to fight. But then the eagerness and impatience had disappeared, replaced by a massive amount of confusion, mixed with the phantom sensation of lips that she knew must be pressed against his. A searing bolt of jealousy shot through Willow as she waited anxiously to see how Spike would respond. A few moments later she got her answer, when the confusion disappeared to be replaced by an overpowering surge of lust and anticipation.
Willow turned her head slightly to look at Xander, her eyes locking on to his, actually aware of his presence for the first time in hours. "No," she stated with surprising clarity. "He won't be coming for me now. So I won't wait anymore."
A single tear slid out of Willow's eye. With her body's depleted water resources, it was all the liquid that her body could spare, but it held in it all the bitterness of the death of her hopes and wishes. It dried rapidly on her painfully heated cheek as her eyes slid shut. Ignoring the desperate pleas of the boy beside her, she succumbed to the darkness. In the cool comfort of that infinite blackness, nothing would hurt anymore.
~Part: 72~
Spike shrugged out of his duster, not paying attention as it hit the floor. His over-shirt was next, quickly unbuttoned and tossed to the side. He reached the bed just as his hands untucked his t-shirt from his pants, and Buffy helped him lift it over his head. As soon as he was free from the shirt, her arms wrapped around his neck, attacking his lips with hers and pulling his body down to lie on top of her. He groaned at the feel of her hardened nipples pressing against his chest and the wet heat of her core as she wrapped her legs around his left thigh, rubbing herself against the denim and soaking the thick cloth. He pushed his leg against her hard, delighting in her gasp of pleasure, as he unfastened his fly to relieve some of the almost unbearable pressure against his erection.
"Did you check in with the watcher to let him know we'll be a little. late?" Spike purred in her ear as his hands drifted down to her ass, squeezing it firmly while bringing her body into even harder contact with his thigh.
"Yessss," she hissed as his cold mouth engulfed one aching nipple while his fingers pinched at twirled around the other. "I left Giles a message," she answered in a gasping voice when she got her breath back. Bucking her hips up hard against his, she used her strength to flip him onto his back. Turning around on top of him, she straddled his hips with her back to him and her ass grinding into his throbbing erection while she tugged at the laces on his boots. With her concentration focused on untying the laces in the dark, she didn't notice the way that Spike had suddenly stilled.
"Left a message?"
Buffy threw an annoyed look over her shoulder, wondering why he wasn't taking advantage of the opportunity to grope her ass a little, or at the very least rub against her some more. "Yeah. He didn't answer the home phone, so I called the Magic Box and left a message on the machine. He'll get it eventually." She let out a little cry of triumph as she got one of his boots off, and proceeded to attack the other with the same enthusiasm. Spike, meanwhile, was far less pleasantly distracted.
<Two days,> he thought to himself. He hadn't talked to Red or the watcher in two days. As a general rule, Spike didn't much care for Giles. It was, after all, hard to really like someone who kept you chained up in their bathtub for weeks on end. But he did respect the man, and he believed that Giles would go to any lengths to stick to his word and keep his promises. Giles had promised that he'd look out for Willow and make sure that she was alright while Spike was away. But now it had been two days and Spike hadn't been able to get a hold of either Giles or Willow. It's possible that there were a thousand entirely innocent and rational explanations as to why neither of them were reachable and why they hadn't returned his phone calls, but Spike couldn't think of a single one.
"You sure he's been getting your messages?" he asked, not noticing her annoyance at his continued questioning.
"Of course he has. Why wouldn't he? Besides, in all the messages I left for Mom, I told her to check in with Giles, so she'd let him know, even if he didn't get the messages."
A flare of fear shot through Spike as he realized there was something very wrong with what the slayer had just told him. If he could just stop and think for a moment, he'd figure it out, but. Then all thoughts fled as Buffy, having finally succeeded in removing his boots and socks, spun around again on his body and eagerly jerked on the waistband of his jeans, pulling the material down to his hips. Spike let out a strangled gasp as her hands reached roughly into the parted cloth and pulled out his hard, heavy cock. There was no gentleness or consideration in her touch as she stroked him to full readiness, just hungry need that he could feel in her grip and taste in her mouth when she lowered her body on top of his for another devouring kiss. She shifted her hips, positioning the tip of him at her entrance and was about to slide down over him when his hands grabbed hold of her hips, stopping her movements.
"Wait a tic, love. You said you left a message?"
"Yes, that's right," Buffy stated through teeth clenched in annoyance, "I left a message." She tried again to thrust down her hips, but Spike's hands were unyielding, continuing to keep her from moving.
"You left a message for the watcher or for your mum?"
"I left messages for each of them," she answered with a huff of annoyance. So damn close. She couldn't believe he was stopping her.
"You told me you had talked to your mum yesterday. You said she told you that there was nothing wrong."
Buffy shrugged. "So I exaggerated a bit. We were about to start fighting a gang of vampires and I had to pacify you so you wouldn't get distracted and lose the fight for us." Her aggravation just made her hotter and hornier and she pushed harder against Spike's restraining hands. If she could just get him inside her, he'd stop asking question. She was convinced of it.
"That's not my point," Spike stated, growing aggravated with her for missing his point as his grip tightened on her hips, keeping her from moving. "Have you talked to anyone from the Hellmouth in the past two days? Your watcher? Your mother? Any of your friends? An actual person, not a bloody machine?"
"They're busy," Buffy gritted out as she started fondling Spike's cock again, hoping to get him back on topic. "We've talked about this before."
"We didn't talk about not a single member of your sodding gang answering their bloody phones!" Spike hissed. "God, woman. You call yourself a friend! Doesn't it *bother* you that you haven't spoken to any of them in two days? What if they're hurt?"
"Why the hell are we talking about this?" Buffy yelled, climbing off of him to sit beside him on the bed, her arms crossed over her chest and a glare on her face. "You've been panting after me for months, sneaking into my room to *sniff* my *underwear* and now that I'm finally letting you get what you want, you keep changing the subject! Don't you want me?" she asked, her voice hard and challenging.
"You know I do," Spike answered automatically.
"Then have me," she answered, pressing her body against his side. Her hand snaked back between his legs, wrapping her fingers around his balls and giving them a firm tug. "Don't you want to fuck me?" she asked, her voice dropping again to a seductively husky tone and smiling triumphantly when he inhaled sharply at her touch. She took his gasp as encouragement and continued rubbing and squeezing his tense sacs. If she could just make him give into his natural, base instinct, she could get the fuck she needed without having to deal with any more annoying questions. Her smile grew as she noticed the increased tension in his body. It was obvious that she had him close to the breaking point. "What else matters?" she whispered, bending over him to kiss him again.
She was completely caught off guard when Spike violently pushed her away. She tried to catch herself, but she overbalanced, landing in an unattractive sprawl across the bed as Spike yanked away from her touch and rose to his feet.
"What else matters?" he asked, his voice a combination of shock and disgust. "Your friends and family have been on the *Hellmouth* without a slayer and they've been incommunicado for two days, and all you want to do is fuck? You're the slayer, for crying out loud! What if they need you?"
"What about what *I* need?" Buffy screamed in reply. Spike looked at her in disgust. This was the girl he had loved? This was the strong, vulnerable, challenging heroine he had begged to be allowed to worship? She was a greedy, spoiled, selfish girl who placed her own needs and desires above everything else, even the safety of her friends. Spike's love for Buffy had made him see her as something higher than himself: something brilliant and glowing and perfect. He had never blamed her for the way that she treated him since he honestly believed that he was beneath her and therefore deserving of her contempt. That glowing perspective shattered as Spike felt his love for the slayer disappear. For the first time since he laid eyes on her, he saw not the powerful slayer, not the indomitable opponent, not the tantalizing enigma or the irresistible conquest or the untouchable goddess, but a fully fallible, full culpable, fully human girl. Spike's period of worship had ended.
Spike felt his idols crumble to dust around him and had a moment of sick despair. As a human, as a demon, as the *man* that he was and always would be, all he had ever wanted was someone to love. It was physically painful for him to realize how lavishly and extravagantly he had wasted that love on an unworthy object. Then the thought of Willow hit Spike like a tidal wave and he felt disgust for himself rising up to match the new contempt he felt for the slayer. He'd been so busy looking staring at the flash and dazzle of Drusilla and then Buffy that he had completely missed the only woman of his acquaintance who was worthy of worship. His Willow, his Red, his beautiful, wonderful, adorable friend. She was the only person in his life that was truly irreplaceable.
The strength he had admired in the slayer was present in a different
form in Willow, centering itself in strength of mind and strength of will
and strength of courage to go into a fight without slayer powers, just
because she felt it was the right thing to do. The vulnerability that had
drawn him to the slayer was present in Willow in spades in her quiet insecurities
and the way she automatically allowed everyone to prioritize her last,
or not at all. The spirit and humor that made Buffy stand out from slayers
of the past was evident in Willow as well in a sharp wit hidden under gentle
comments and the unabridged enthusiasm with which she faced every task.
The loyalty that Spike had observed so covetously in the slayer practically
defined Willow in the way that she protected her friends and stood by them,
no matter what. She matched the slayer point by point in strengths and
where the slayer was weak; in matters such as compassion, patience, and
understanding; Willow shone like a
beacon.
He loved her, he realized. He loved her for being his friend when no
one else would, and he loved her for wanting to take care of him when no
one else ever had, and he loved her for being the first woman in his life
to actually care about him. He loved her laugh and the brightness of her
smile, and the way she bounced with excitement during her favorite parts
of a movie. He loved her warmth, her humor, her intelligence, her gentleness,
the way she babbled, the way she smelled, the way those green eyes of her
glowed when she looked at him, and the way she made him feel valued and
essential. He loved the way she felt in his arms, and he wanted nothing
more than to hold her for the rest of eternity. He loved every sweet, soft,
delectable inch of her. He felt like a thousand pound weight had been lifted
from his shoulders as he relaxed into the stunning novelty of a love that
actually made him happy. The last remnants of his lust for Buffy scattered
into nothingness, and Spike tucked his
fading erection back into his pants.
Buffy's eyes narrowed in rage as she saw Spike refastening his jeans. "Don't you dare put that away, I'm not through with it yet."
"Oh yes, you are," Spike answered as he picked up his t-shirt from the floor, pulling it over his head. "We're finished here. We're going back to Sunnydale now."
Spike felt nothing but disgust as he looked at the naked body spread on the bed, still trying to entice him. It was a pointless attempt. The only woman in the world that Spike wanted to make love to was Willow. It didn't matter that she didn't want him like that. It didn't matter that she was a lesbian and, most likely, would *never* want him like that. All that mattered was that he loved her.
On top of that, he was worried about her. It simply wasn't like her not to return phone calls, and Spike was determined to get back to Sunnydale and make sure she was alright. The uneasiness that had been plaguing him intensified now that the fog of lust had passed, and he felt an urgent need to be with his Red. If the slayer thought he'd allow her to waste any more of his time, then she had another thing coming.
"You want me, Spike," Buffy declared. "You know you do." She trailed her hand slowly down her neck to her breasts in a move that was designed to drive any man, and especially any vamp, wild with desire. It was wasted on Spike who wasn't even looking at her as he pulled on his socks and refastened his boots.
"No," Spike answered as he slid on and buttoned his over-shirt. "As a matter of fact, I don't. Congratulations, slayer. This is your lucky day. Your prayers have been answered." He locked his eyes with hers as he spoke with slow, deliberate precision. "I'm not in love with you anymore."
Spike walked over to the cheap dresser and picked up what he recognized as the car keys. "I'll tell them at the desk that an emergency came up and we had to check out. I'll be waiting in the car. You have ten minutes to clean yourself up and get dressed, and then I'm leaving, with or without you." Spike slid on his duster and walked out the door, without looking back.
~Part: 73~
The drive back to Sunnydale was silent, thankfully. From the moment when Buffy slipped into the passenger seat of the car (exactly ten minutes after Spike left the hotel room and just as Spike was putting the car into reverse and preparing to leave) Buffy did not so much as open her mouth. In fact, this time Buffy was the one who pretended to be asleep, keeping her eyes and mouth firmly shut while she nursed her wounded ego and simmering rage. Spike could tell that she was faking sleep, but he wasn't about to call her on her less than stellar act. In fact, he was grateful for it. He had nothing to say to her, and there was nothing she could say to him that he would be interested in hearing. All he wanted was to get back to Sunnydale and if Buffy was going to make things easier on him by keeping quiet, all the better.
He knew it wasn't over, of course. She had been betrayed or rejected too many times in the past few months by men she actually cared about and every single betrayal and rejection had hurt. For her to be rejected yet again by someone she considered beneath her, someone she didn't even *like*. it was more than she would be willing to allow. There was no way that she would take such an injury to her pride lying down. One look at the tension in her shoulders (visible despite her woefully fake 'sleeping' act) was enough to tell Spike that when they got back to Sunnydale, he was in for a thrashing he wouldn't soon forget. The odd thing was that he didn't much care. Buffy wasn't a priority to him to him any longer, and he didn't much care what she did. Her actions and opinions were no longer of importance, especially when all he could think about was Willow and the fact that she was still over an hour's drive away.
Their little detour hadn't cost them too much time, probably only tacking on another hour or so on to the total driving time, but Spike couldn't stop his restless gaze from sliding over to the clock every few seconds. One hour's delay *shouldn't* make much of a difference in the grand scheme of things, but he couldn't shake his uneasiness. He was starting to get a very bad feeling about things.
It had been bad enough when he had been worried about her earlier, before the battle began. After all, it wasn't like Willow not to return his phone calls and he had, at that point, spent most of the day trying to get her on the phone. But between the battle itself, sleeping off the after-effects of the battle, packing his bags, eavesdropping on the conversation between Buffy and Angel, and drinking himself into a senseless stupor for the rest of the afternoon (not to mention the time spent earlier that evening during Buffy's misguided attempt at seduction), it had been nearly twenty four hours since the last time Spike had even *tried* to call Sunnydale, and closer to forty eight hours since Spike had last spoken to Willow.
Now that he was no longer wrapped up in the distraction of Buffy-related angst, it was starting to kick in that he hadn't spoken to anyone in Sunnydale in nearly two days. Utter lack of communication from the Hellmouth could never be a good thing. He knew *something* had to be wrong. He just didn't know what. Given the track record the Scooby gang had, it could, literally, be anything, and no matter how many times he told Willow to stay safe, he knew that she was a throw-herself-to-the-lions kind of girl when it came to the safety of those that she loved.
If something was putting one of her loved ones in danger, Willow would throw herself in the path, regardless of the consequences. Therefore, if something was wrong, then something was almost definitely wrong with *her*. And until he found out what exactly was wrong, and made sure that his Red was as safe as he could make her, the fact that the slayer felt the need to stew and pout and work up some energy to take out all her problems on him at some future point in time seemed singularly unimportant. He'd deal with her later. Willow was what mattered now.
In record time, they arrived at the Summers' house. Spike threw the car into park and climbed out without even turning off the ignition, fully focused on getting to the Rosenberg house as quickly as possible. He didn't even bother getting his bag out of the trunk. He'd come back for it later. Joyce probably wouldn't let Buffy torch it between now and then. The bad feeling in the pit of his stomach just kept building and he knew it wouldn't go away until he got to Willow. Moving as fast as he did, it was sheer chance that Joyce was able to stop him as she came flying off the front porch.
Joyce felt her heart jump into her throat when she saw the car pull its way into her driveway and Spike step out. She had been put on porch duty ever since the sun had set, and she was enormously relieved to see that they were finally there. After Willow slipped into a coma, Xander had called everyone to let them know. Giles had gathered everyone into the hospital room and told them the truth that, up until then, only he and Joyce had known. Once they found out that Willow wasn't likely to wake up, Dawn, Anya and Xander had refused to leave her side, determined to do everything in their power to try to convince the girl to hold on.
~~~*~~~
Joyce had wanted to stay as well, but they had realized at some point in the afternoon that Spike would have no way of knowing to go to the hospital when he got back into town. *Someone* had to be waiting in front of the Summers' house so that when Spike and Buffy returned, they could be sent straight to the hospital and Willow. It was just chance that Joyce was the one who had the shift when they arrived. For the first time in a long time, Spike caught a lucky break.
~~~*~~~
No human short of a slayer could have moved fast enough to stop Spike as he barreled out of the car and the one slayer within range was only too happy to see him go. Moving at top speed, he could have been down at the end of the block before a person even had the chance to call out to him. So it wasn't Joyce's movement or her voice that stopped Spike in his tracks, since there wasn't time for either of them to reach him. Instead, he was halted solely by her scent. Pouring off of her in almost overpowering waves was the combination of her own, unmistakable aroma combined with heavy doses of both fear and despair. Smelling such pain coming off of one of the few people in the world he actually liked and respected made Spike freeze, and that gave Joyce enough time to run up to him and grab hold.
"Spike, thank God you're here," she whispered in a choked voice as she threw her arms around him. Spike awkwardly wrapped his arms around her as well, as much to keep her from falling as to return the embrace. Before he could open his mouth to ask her what was going on, she had grabbed hold of his hand and was dragging him back to the car, where the engine was still running. She opened the door to the backseat and shoved him in, ignoring his exclamation of surprise and confusion as she rushed over to the driver's side and seated herself quickly, slamming the car door shut behind her. Within seconds, the car was squealing down the driveway, and then roaring down the street to the utter confusion of both Spike and Buffy, who hadn't had a chance to get out of the car before she found it in motion again.
"Mom, what the *hell* is going on?" Buffy squealed, throwing her hands up against the window to brace herself as Joyce took a corner at a dangerously sharp angle.
"I have to get you to the hospital *now*," Joyce replied, grim determination evident in her voice as she kept her eyes glued to the road, looking for any and every way to dodge around traffic and get to the hospital faster.
"Why? Who's in the hospital?" Buffy demanded, immediately going into slayer mode.
"It's Willow," Joyce answered. "She needs you, Spike."
"Spike?" Buffy blurted out, before she could stop herself. "What on earth could Willow need with *Spike*?"
Joyce's mouth opened to explain, then realized she really didn't know what to say. She glanced into the rear-view mirror, cursing when she realized that Spike's face wouldn't reflect. She shut her mouth. Trying to explain the situation to Spike while operating a moving car was a recipe for disaster. Thankfully, at that moment they pulled into the hospital parking lot. Joyce jerked the car to a stop in the handicapped parking near the door. If they wanted to give her a ticket, she'd deal with it later. All that mattered at the moment was getting Spike to Willow as quickly as possible.
"It's the bond," Joyce stated, twisting around in her seat to face Spike. She froze for a moment when she saw him. Vampire or not, she hadn't known it was possible for anyone to get that pale. It looked like not just his face but his entire *body* had been drained of blood. "She needs you," Joyce finally managed to say. "Now. Room 305."
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Spike was out of the car and a blur of black leather was all that was visible as he burst into the emergency stairs, not willing to wait for the elevator, and charged up the staircase three steps at a time. When he arrived at room 305, he threw the door open so hard, the doorknob lodged itself into the wall.
Dying hurt less than the pain that seared through him at the sight of Willow on the bed. Though she had only been in the hospital for a day and a half, she looked like she had been sick for months. She must have lost fifteen pounds and her face looked gaunt and pinched. Her skin was flushed with fever so overpowering, Spike could practically feel the heat of it from where he stood, but her body lay dangerously still.
"You bastard!" Dawn hissed, crashing Spike back to awareness by smacking him across the face as hard as she could, which was pretty damn hard. She wasn't the slayer's sister for nothing, and she had held nothing back. "Look what you've done to her!"
"What did I do?" Spike whispered, stumbling over to Willow's bed and dropping to his knees beside it. "Red?" he asked softly, grabbing hold of her hand and holding it tightly in spite of its almost blistering heat. "Red, what's happened to you?"
"It was the bond," Giles replied, as tactfully as he could. His attempt at tact was wasted as Spike jerked around to face him, snarling at him in full vamp face and looking more feral than any of the gang had ever seen him, including Buffy who reached the door at that moment, along with Joyce. No one noticed them arrive as everyone's focus was directed at the vampire who looked about to snap. Sweat broke out on Giles' forehead as he looked at the sheer fury reflected in Spike's eyes and realized that Spike's fangs would be much closer to Giles' throat, headache be damned, if Spike could find a way to attack Giles without letting go of Willow's hand.
"You said the bond wouldn't hurt her," he growled.
"And it wouldn't have!" Giles retorted, temper rising in spite of himself. It wasn't his fault that he hadn't been given all the necessary information. If anyone had bothered to keep him informed, maybe none of this would have happened. "But no one saw fit to tell me that she gave you her blood again when you took her to L.A.!"
The anger vanished from Spike's eyes as if someone had snuffed a candle and he turned away from Giles, focusing again on Willow.
"So now you *care*?" Dawn questioned venomously, practically spitting out the words as she approached the vampire. "Couldn't you have cared a few hours ago when it could have done some *good*?"
"Dawn, don't-" someone whispered, Dawn wasn't really sure who, and a hand reached out to her shoulder to pull her back, but she jerked away from the hand and ignored the voice, stepping closer to Spike who had Willow's hand pressed against his cheek now, holding it in place with one hand while his other hand gently stroked her limp, sweat-soaked hair.
"Do you have any idea how many times we've tried to reach you today? We've been calling Los Angeles every twenty minutes for *the past twenty-four hours* just to hear that the line's out of service. And then when I tried calling an hour ago, do you know what happened?" Spike didn't reply, but Dawn didn't let that slow her down. "I got Angel on the phone and he told me that the phone line had been out *all day long* and no one noticed until tonight, *after* you and Buffy left. She's been lying here *dying* for you and you couldn't be bothered to pick up the phone to call and see if she was alright? Couldn't even drive *quickly* to get back here? Angel said the two of you left nearly three hours ago! What the hell took you so long?" Spike remained unresponsive, his eyes focused on Willow. Dawn lost what shreds of patience she had left.
Throwing herself onto the floor next to Spike she began pummeling the vampire, striking blows blindly through her tears. "*All day long* she's been asking for you and we kept telling her just a little longer, Willow," Dawn struck a particularly vicious blow that Spike didn't even attempt to block, "just a little *longer* and Spike will be here. And I believed it! I believed that you'd be rushing back to her! I believed you actually *cared* about her! I believed it all the way up until she woke up crying a few hours ago, saying that you wouldn't be coming for her and then she *just stopped fighting*!" Dawn's punches trailed off, her energy slowing draining from her as anger was replaced with the more familiar ache of despair.
"What did you *do* to her?" Dawn asked in a pleading voice. "You *promised* me you wouldn't hurt her! You *promised*! You *prom*." Dawn's voice trailed off as she started sobbing too hard to do anything else. Xander was finally able to pull her away from the vampire and she ended up in her mother's arms moment later, crying bitterly. Anya, on the other side of the room, collapsed in a sobbing heap in Xander's arms. Giles was slumped in a chair, looking as lifeless as a puppet whose strings had been cut. Buffy was frozen in the doorway, visibly too shocked to move.
And Spike was still kneeling on the floor next to Willow's bed. He hadn't moved a muscle during the whole of Dawn's tirade, not even when her fists battered his face and drew blood, except to keep tracing small, achingly gentle circles on Willow's cheek with the tips of his fingers. He just knelt there, silent and unmoving, caressing Willow's cheek softly and holding her scorching hand against his cheek as he wet both her hand and his own with his silent tears.
~Part: 74~
Spike might have stayed like that forever, unmoving and oblivious to everything around him, if Giles hadn't made a very stupid choice. He tried to pull Willow's hand out of Spike's grip. Any attack on Spike, himself, would have gone unnoticed, but an attempt to pull him away from Willow, the woman he had only just realized he loved, could not be ignored. The human part of Spike's mind had shut down. All that was left was pure instinct. and the demon.
Spike sprang to his feet, snarling. His vampiric features were fully in evidence as a low growl rumbled through his throat, threatening horrific pain to anyone who tried to separate him from the woman he recognized as his mate. Giles spoke in a low, soothing voice, trying to calm Spike down, but all Spike heard was an annoying buzz. His mind simply refused to process the words when all it could hear, all it could focus on, was the weak, strained sound of Willow's sluggishly beating heart. Seating himself on the bed, he gathered Willow into his arms, pulling her close and continuing to growl at the man who was trying to separate the two of them. He wouldn't, he *couldn't* let her go, and he'd leave in pieces anyone who tried to get between them.
Willow's limp body showed no resistance as he pulled her close, her face landing in the crook of his neck. They made a tragic picture, Spike with his demon visage twisted in a fierce expression of mingled pain and rage while tears continued to pour from his eyes and blood continued to spill slowly from the bleeding facial wounds Dawn had caused, and Willow, as pliant and unresponsive as a doll, looking impossibly weak next to Spike's strength, and impossibly lifeless next to the energy he radiated. No one in the room could bear to look at Willow and see her like that, so they all focused their attention on Spike and trying to calm him down so he'd let her go.
They didn't notice the trail of blood that slid from his cheekbone down his face, over and off the line of his jaw onto his neck and into Willow's slightly parted lips. Spike was the first one to even become aware of it. when he felt Willow's lips start to move against his neck, working ever so slightly against his skin to pull in the blood.
Spike's tears stopped abruptly as his amber eyes filled with shock. For a moment, he didn't move, then, before anyone could stop him, he reached his hand up to his neck, just next to Willow's lips, and slashed his nails across his own throat. The blood spilled out, dripping onto his shirt, the sheets on the bed, and Willow's white hospital gown, but it also poured itself straight into his beloved's mouth. Willow's mouth worked harder against his skin now, her throat muscles visibly shifting as she swallowed down mouthful after mouthful of Spike's blood. Spike's arms tightened around her, cuddling her closer against him while his hands stroked her hair, holding her mouth against his neck to help her to drink from him. His demon visage melted away and his voice was quiet and gentle as he whispered soft words of encouragement into her ear.
Chalk it up to shock, or fate, or instinct, or merely far too long without sleep, but none of the Scoobies made a move to stop either of them. They just stood there, stunned speechless, barely able to breathe as Willow drank from Spike. They seemed frozen in place, unable to move as they watched Willow's eyes, the eyes they thought they'd never see again, drift open.
"Spike," she whispered, so softly that it never would have been heard in anything less than the complete silence that blanketed the room.
"I'm here, love," he said softly, his arms tightening around her just a fraction more. "I'm right here with you, and I won't leave you again." She smiled weakly in response, nuzzling his neck a bit before letting her eyes slip closed again.
For a long moment, no one moved. Then Xander and Buffy reacted at the exact same moment, both coming to the same dead-wrong conclusion.
"You turned her, you bastard!" Xander screamed, charging toward the bed. Buffy didn't speak, but the look of intent on her face was unmistakably clear as she pulled out a stake and headed straight toward Spike. Spike, with his arms full of Willow, wouldn't have had a chance to react without endangering her even if he had noticed the slayer approaching. Fortunately, calmer heads prevailed. Simultaneously, Giles stepped in front of Xander and Joyce stepped in front of Buffy.
Buffy's ingrained instinct overcame her rage as she automatically stopped at the sight of her mother in her path. No matter how many vampires or demons or hell goddesses Buffy fought, nothing was better at stopping her dead in her tracks than a single look from her mother. Xander, on the other hand, was not so easily deterred, and it took all of Giles' strength to keep him from attacking the vampire. It wasn't until the words that Giles shouted at him finally sank in that he stopped struggling.
"Listen to the heart monitor!" Giles yelled over and over again to the raging boy. "Just bloody listen to the damn heart monitor!" All the shuffling and struggling had easily overpowered the quiet beeping of the heart monitor machine, but when Xander stopped fighting, he finally heard what Giles was trying so hard to bring to his attention.
Just minutes before, Willow's heart rate had been distressingly slow and strained, as if her body could barely muster the energy to stay alive. But now. now, Willow's heart was beating louder and clearer than it had all day long. It didn't make any sense, but it was obvious that whatever it was that Spike had done to her by feeding her his blood, he clearly hadn't turned her. He hadn't, apparently, harmed her at all. In fact, if the steady improvement in the sound of her heartbeat could be believed, he had somehow actually made things *better*.
"What did he do?" Xander asked, his voice barely above a whisper as if he was afraid that by referring to the improvement, he might somehow make it go away. "Giles, what did he *do*?"
"I." Giles cleared his throat and fought the urge to clean his glasses, the way he usually did when someone asked him a question to which he did not know the answer. Truth be told, he had no idea what Spike had done. There was no record of a bonded pair exchanging blood again after the initial bonding, and consequently, there was no record of what might happen if they did. But one thing was quite certain. "I believe Spike just saved Willow's life."
They all simply stood there while they processed this new information. It was, to say the least, something of a shock. When they had first discovered that Willow was sick, there had been a restless, frantic energy to all of them as they tried to find a way to save her. When they discovered what it was that was wrong with her, the energy had seemed to drain out of all of them as they settled in to watch and wait. And once Willow slipped into the coma, a part of each of them that they tried to ignore was already preparing for her death. While they exchanged words of strained optimism and hoped wildly for a miracle, they were already mentally picturing the funeral. None of them had really believed that she would live. Hoped, yes. But not believed. To discover now that she was getting *better* instead of worse and that Spike, by whatever means, had saved her life was almost too shocking to be processed. The concept that Willow actually wouldn't die left them rather bewildered.
At that moment, the steady beeping of the heart rate monitor stopped completely, snapping each of them out of their daze and back into reality. Everyone's eyes flew over to the bed, where they saw Willow sleeping peacefully, still breathing in and out regularly, while Spike unhooked and unplugged and detached all the various bits of machinery from her body.
"I'm getting her out of here," Spike stated without looking up from his task, knowing their eyes were on him and knowing what it was that they wanted to know. "I'm taking her home."
"Spike, no!" Giles commanded, taking a step toward the vampire to stop him. He was held at bay once again by a vicious snarl.
"I'm getting her out of here," Spike repeated in a deadly tone.
"Spike?" Joyce asked gently, relieved to see Spike's eyes soften as they turned to her.
"She needs me," he explained quietly. "And I won't leave her again. But the blinds aren't thick enough to keep out the sunlight, and no matter how oblivious the hospital staff might be, they'll notice if we nail blankets over the windows. She doesn't need these machines anymore; she needs me, and I need somewhere we can go where I won't have to leave her. If I take her home I can take care of her."
Nodding in understanding, Joyce stepped forward and helped him detangle the cords and needles from Willow's body. "The nurse's station is at the other end of the hall," she stated conversationally as she wrapped Willow carefully in a sheet. "They probably won't even notice if you slip out through the emergency stairs."
"I'll drive you home," Anya volunteered, knowing that they must have come in Joyce's car and would need a lift back to the Rosenberg's house, unless Spike wanted to carry Willow's unconscious body through the streets half-way across town.
"I'll come with you," Dawn added, "to make sure you have everything you need to get her better."
"I'll stay here," Giles contributed, "and make up some story for the hospital as to why Willow had to leave immediately.
"I'll." Xander started to say, then paused. "I don't know what I'll do. Anya," he asked, turning to his fiancee, "what will I do?"
"You'll go home and get some sleep, then call later to see if there's anything they need," Anya informed him.
"Right," Xander nodded tiredly. "I'll do that."
Spike tenderly gathered Willow in his arms, making sure that the sheet was wrapped securely around her to protect her from a draft, and carried her to the doorway. His exit, however, was blocked.
"Out of my way, slayer," Spike growled.
"No." Buffy stood her ground firmly and refused to budge from the door. "I won't let you leave with her. Bond or not, you're a monster and she isn't safe with you."
"She needs me."
"No one could ever need you," Buffy replied cruelly. "She'd be better off without you. All of us would."
"Buffy, he's right. Willow *does* need him," Giles interjected. "To protect her, we need to let them go." His eyes narrowed when Buffy did not budge. He didn't understand the pure hostility that Buffy was directing at Spike. She had always been biased against the blond vampire, but this undiluted hatred was a new development. Giles wasn't sure what had caused it, but he didn't want to think of the consequences if Buffy didn't put her feelings to the side and let Spike out.
"Buffy-" he began, but was cut off by Spike.
"Slayer, you have five seconds to step away from that door before I stop caring whether or not there's something in my way."
"You wouldn't hurt me," she sneered. "Even if you wanted to," she continued, her tone making it very clear that she didn't believe he wanted to, "you couldn't."
"Can't I?" he replied.
"There's a government chip in your head that says that you can't."
Spike took a step closer until they were nearly nose to nose, with only Willow's sleeping body separating them. "I did this to her, slayer. *I* did this. And if I'd been to hell by my own hand, it couldn't hurt worse than how I feel, knowing I've done that to her. I doubt a headache would even register at this point. Move. Now."
Buffy's arrogant certainty faded a bit and a hint of indecision and confusion shadowed her features, but she still didn't move. Spike's jaw clenched, and he seemed just on the verge of knocking her out of his way when Dawn grabbed hold of her sister's arm, jerking her to the side. Buffy, who had been completely focused on Spike, was caught off guard enough to lose her balance, making her stumble to the side. As soon as she cleared the doorway, Spike was through it, sailing toward the stairway in a whirl of black leather and white hospital sheets, without looking back. There was no reason for him to look back; the only thing in the world that mattered to him was at that moment wrapped safely in his arms.
~Part: 75~
Buffy was not pleased. That much was obvious to a casual observer, just from looking at her. She had that unmistakable not-pleased look in her eye, and the hazardous looking not-pleased tension in her mouth and, most importantly (and potentially dangerously), the not-pleased fists currently clenched at her sides that signaled the imminent transition from the not-pleased state to the punching-anything-within-range state. The gang knew her well enough to read these signs, and to know that they needed to get out of dodge as quickly as possible.
Anya was the first to take a look at Buffy and decide that discretion was the better (and safer) part of valor. She scurried out the door almost immediately after Spike and Willow. She snagged Xander's sleeve on her way out and dragged him with her. The boy was too tired to pick up on the danger signals, himself, and she wasn't about to leave him behind. She'd spent too damn much time in the hospital over the past few days; she had no desire to spend another week there visiting Xander while he recovered from too-close proximity to slayer-style wrath. Dawn was quick to follow her example. Finally, only Buffy, Giles and Joyce were left.
"You let him leave," Buffy stated flatly.
"Yes, well. ah." Giles stammered, trying to look for the best way to deal with this situation and mentally cursing himself for letting the other children escape so neatly. They were younger than him, damn it, they had more energy to deal with this kind of thing. He was exhausted, drained of all energy physically and emotionally from the ordeal of the past few days. Arguing with his obviously overwrought slayer was more than he was prepared to handle at the moment. "Spike was quite right, of course, when he said that letting him be near Willow was the best way for her to heal just now, and Willow's home is much more practicable for allowing that closeness-"
"You let him leave," Buffy repeated.
"He did seem to have the situation under control," Giles continued, trying to make her understand, "and there isn't really any possible way to explain his. method of treatment to the doctors here. I'm quite confident that Spike will take care of Willow. It isn't as if she's in any danger now."
"Of course she's in danger," Buffy snapped. "He's dangerous and she's with *him* because *you* let him leave!"
"Yes," Giles answered firmly. "I let him leave. And I don't regret it."
"Are you *out* of your *mind*?" Buffy screeched. "This is *Spike*! Since when do we trust him? Since when do we believe in him? Since when can we count on him to do the right thing when it comes to us, or take care of anyone, or care about anything other than himself? Since when."
It was on the tip of Buffy's tongue to ask, 'since when does everyone side with Spike instead of me' but she held it back. Even in her rage, she knew it sounded petty and childish, and that wasn't how she wanted to sound. She wanted to sound strong and reasonable and capable. She wanted to be the slayer that her friends trusted and believed in, the leader of the group that everyone counted on to take care of the problems and fix things that went wrong. And most of all, she wanted to know how *Spike* had become the one that everyone believed in and trusted, instead of her.
Her mouth closed with a snap and she mentally cursed Spike yet again for somehow twisting the situation so that she was always in the wrong. She didn't want to yell at her watcher and her mother. She didn't want her closest friends and her little sister to practically sprint out of the room because they were afraid of her temper tantrums. She didn't want Angel to. no, she couldn't let herself think about Angel. This wasn't about Angel, or what had happened in Los Angeles. This was about Spike and how everything he did made everything in her world that she counted on go askew. She didn't know what had happened to Willow, but she knew that it was because of the bond that Spike had *forced* upon her, and that meant that it was Spike's fault. So why was everyone handing Willow over to Spike like a bagful of take-out Chinese? Why were they stopping *her* when she all she did was try to stop him and protect her friend? Why was Spike supposedly always right these days, leaving her no option when she opposed him but to be always wrong?
"He can't be trusted," Buffy argued stubbornly. "Just because you *think* he cares about her doesn't mean he actually does, you know. Or even if he does, he could change his mind. He's a soulless demon and he's not *capable* of really caring for anyone, or being there for someone when they need him. We can't just leave Willow with him! It's *his* fault that she's like this in the first place and so help me, if it's the last thing I do, I'm going to take him out of the picture. I don't care about the chip in his head or that it isn't a fair fight. He's made enough trouble for us and I *refuse* to put up with it any longer. If you hadn't stopped me, I would have been able to make him into a nice pile of ashes just now and then we would *never* have had to deal with him again, and-"
"Buffy, stop." Joyce's voice was quiet but commanding.
"But Mom-" Buffy tried to argue.
"No, Buffy. Stop." Joyce's eyes flickered over in the direction of Giles, and Buffy turned her head to face him as well. She blanched at bit at what she saw. She's seen Giles angry before, most recently when she argued with him about going to L.A., but it had been a long time since she had seen him look so enraged.
"You have no idea," Giles stated in a low, deadly voice, "what we've been through in the past few days. You have no idea what it was like watching Willow get weaker and weaker as the fever literally ate away all of her strength. You can't conceive what it was like for us to watch her slip into a coma and know that the odds were infinitesimally small that she would *ever* wake up again. Whatever your snit is against Spike, it ends now. Willow's safety is more important than your petty problems. He saved her life and right now, he's the only thing keeping her alive. If you take so much as a single step in his direction, I will use everything in my power to stop you and I can guarantee, you will *not* like the results. If you have problems with Spike, get over them, or Willow actually *will* die this time and none of us will ever fully be able to forgive you. Have I made myself clear?"
"Yes," Buffy answered hesitantly, sounding very much like a scolded child. She didn't agree with Giles' point of view; yes, Spike might have saved Willow, but she wouldn't have *needed* saving if it wasn't for Spike. How could it possibly be *good* for Willow to be around him right now? How could they trust him to take care of her? Buffy wanted badly to argue her point, but she knew from experience that this version of Giles was not to be trifled with. She could tell that talking any further would not go far to convince Giles of her point of view. But her inherent stubbornness insisted that she made one more attempt to get him to see reason. "But Giles-" she attempted.
"Not. Another Word. Any anger you want to work off, go take it out on the local vampire community. Do not come back until you have spent at least an hour on patrol. And if I find that you made the slightest attempt to take out your aggressions on Spike. I. Will. Be. Very. Displeased. Now go."
Buffy made an irate huffing sound before stomping out the door. Giles and Joyce stood silently and watched her go.
"Is it wrong for me to feel just a little sorry for the vampires who will meet her on patrol?" Joyce asked out of the blue, a few moments later.
"Wrong, perhaps," Giles answered, sighing as he pulled out a handkerchief and began meticulously cleaning his glasses, "but certainly understandable."
Joyce looked at Giles. Giles looked at Joyce.
"I need some coffee," Joyce volunteered.
"I need a drink," Giles muttered in reply. Joyce laughed out loud, the sound startling both of them. None of them had laughed in the past few days. It sounded a little strange. Not bad, and certainly not unwelcome, but strange, nonetheless.
"Let's get out of here," Joyce suggested when the last of her giggles faded away.
Giles smiled. "Would you. ahem." Giles blushed a bit, "would you do me the honor of allowing me to take you out for a celebratory dinner? I do believe that the occasion calls for it."
Joyce's smile grew. "I agree," she answered, stepping closer to him and taking his arm when he offered it. "And I accept."
"What will we tell the nurses?" she asked as they headed down the hall.
"Let's tell them that Willow was kidnapped by her bond-mate vampire so that he could heal her through an elaborate blood ritual. With any luck, the Sunnydale denial syndrome will kick in and it will go in one ear and out the other. We'll be gone before they think to ask again."
Joyce nodded sagely. "Good plan."
"And do you know the most wonderful part?" Giles added as they approached the nurses station.
"What's the most wonderful part?" Joyce asked, obediently.
"They won't be able to ask us for further clarification when we return, since we won't be coming back."
Joyce grinned at him and squeezed his hand. He was right; that was the most wonderful part. After two of the most nerve wracking days of her life, knowing that the tension and the pain and the fear were over, for now, and that she and her children were home and safe and protected once again was, indeed, the most wonderful part.
~Part: 76~
It made a kind of funny image, Anya noted to herself, glancing away from the road to look in the rear view mirror. According to the mirror, Willow was floating very gently a few inches above the cushion of the backseat while her hair shifted back and forth for no discernible reason. The mirror didn't show the vampire who had wrapped himself completely around the girl, forming a protective shield around her to brace her against any bumps in the road, one arm covering the length of her back to hold her pressed against him and the other hand buried in her hair, stroking it gently. The mirror didn't show the way his hands were shaking slightly for the first time in a century over how close he came to losing her. And the mirror certainly didn't show the delicate movements of his lips as he alternated between soft words whispered in her ear and even softer kisses pressed against her feverish skin, using every means in his power to assure the unresponsive girl that he would take care of her, make her well once more, and never, *ever* leave her again.
Spike focused on Willow as if he could make her well again by sheer force of will and his concentration on her was unwavering. except for when the car hit a bump or hole in the road. The rear view mirror didn't show his reaction to that, either, but Anya didn't need a mirror to hear his growl of annoyance or to remember his all-too-obviously sincere threat to Buffy in the hospital. No chip would hold him back tonight from eliminating anything he saw as a threat to Willow. Angering Spike when he was in this state was a Very Bad Idea, and telling him that it wasn't her fault that Sunnydale spent so much of its municipal money on cemeteries that it didn't have enough to keep the roads in good repair wouldn't do any good. Fortunately, the drive to the Rosenberg house was short.
Just as soon as Anya pulled into the driveway and put the car into park, before she even had a chance to turn off the engine, Dawn was out of the car and rushing for the front entrance, eager to hold the door open for Willow and Spike. Of course, with his vampiric strength and dexterity, Spike would probably have been able to open the door and carry Willow at the same time without any outside assistance, but Dawn wanted badly to be helpful. After spending all those hours holding Willow's hand in the hospital room, watching Willow's face twist in pain and knowing there wasn't a damn thing she could do to make it better, it was such an overwhelming relief to have something happen that actually made things *better*. Anything she could do to make it easier for Spike to help Willow, she was ready, willing, and incredibly eager to do.
She needn't have rushed. Spike's usual shocking speed had vanished as he moved toward the door with almost glacial slowness and deliberation, carrying Willow like she was made of crystal that could shatter in his arms at any moment. Dawn had the incongruous thought that Spike was carrying Willow like a bride, holding her impossibly gently as he lifted her over the threshold and into the house. She shook the thought out of her head once they cleared the doorway, racing ahead of them up the stairs to make sure that the path was clear to Spike's bedroom.
Dawn shuddered as she stood in the doorway of Spike's room and her eyes fell on the bed. It was still unmade from just a few days before, when Dawn had found Willow there, burning up with fever. That had been one of the worst days of her life. Willow was one of the constants in Dawn's life: someone she counted on to always be strong and capable and there for her, no matter what. Finding Willow hurting and helpless with nothing to be done about it had been beyond terrifying. Tears pricked at her eyes as she thought about what they all had been through for the past few days. While the relief of knowing that Willow would be alright had left her faintly euphoric, it couldn't cancel out the strain and tension from nearly two solid days of worry and fear.
She was knocked out of her memories when Spike and Willow reached the room, gently nudging Dawn aside so Spike could lay Willow on the bed. He sat unmoving on the corner of the bed for a long moment, with his hand pressed against Willow's cheek. That sight was all it took to push the frightening chill of the memory out of Dawn's mind. Willow looked far worse than she had when Dawn had first found her; she seemed to have lost close to fifteen pounds in just the past few days (pounds her already thin body couldn't easily spare) and her face was chalky white; but with Spike hovering over her like a black-leather guardian angel, Dawn knew that Willow was safe. Nothing would hurt her now. The Angel of Death himself would have a hell of a fight trying to get Willow away from Spike.
Spike looked. well actually, Spike looked kinda scary. He wasn't quite in vamp face, but there was a tightness to his jaw and a flickering of amber in his eyes that made it clear that the demon was more than willing to come out if anything should prove itself a threat to Willow's safety. His expression was fierce, made even more frightening by the dried on blood from the scratches Dawn had inflicted. Willow had removed all the traces of blood from Spike's neck, but his face was still bloodstained. Stepping quietly out of the room, Dawn headed for the bathroom, digging out a washcloth and soaking it in warm water. Heading back into the bedroom, she noticed that Spike had not stirred so much as an inch. He showed no sign of awareness that she had left the room in the first place, much less that she had returned.
Slowly and tentatively, remembering the way that Spike had reacted to Giles approaching him in the hospital, Dawn approached the pair. Spike didn't react as she stepped closer. He didn't react when she placed her hand on his shoulder. He still didn't react when she lifted her hand to his face. The only sign he gave that even acknowledged that she was there was his soft sigh of annoyance when she tried to turn his face away from Willow to face her.
Realizing that there was no way she was going to be able to get him to take his eyes off of Willow, Dawn compromised by edging herself into the small corner of space between Spike and the bed. Slowly and carefully, she lifted the washcloth to his face, afraid of what his reaction would be. She should have known better. There was no reaction. He didn't say a word or move a muscle as Dawn cleaned the blood off of his face and dabbed gently at the shallow scratches she had inflicted less than an hour before. After a few minutes, she was satisfied that she had done as thorough a job as she could, and stepped back away from the vampire. She was headed to the bathroom to rinse out the washcloth when she was halted by the sound of Spike's voice.
"I'm sorry I broke my promise to you, Nibblet."
Dawn thought about it for a moment before responding. She was sorry he had broken his promise, too. She was sorry that her friend had been hurting, and she was sorry that Spike had been the cause of it. She was also not the least bit sorry that she had attacked him when he entered the hospital room. After the way that Willow had suffered, Spike deserved a bit of pain. But in spite of that.
"I know you are," she answered, her voice calm and steady for the first time in what felt like weeks. "I know you didn't mean for this to happen, and I know that you're sorry that it did." There. She had said it. She wasn't *quite* ready to forgive him for all that he had put Willow through, but she would acknowledge that he was, at least, very truly and sincerely sorry for it.
"Do you want me to promise I won't hurt her again?"
Spike's voice sounded strangely vulnerable. Again, Dawn thought carefully before formulating a response. "No," she answered at last. "You can't promise a thing like that. You never know what might happen. Just. just promise me that you'll try to keep her from getting hurt."
"I promise," Spike whispered. "I swear I'll do everything in my power to make sure that she doesn't get hurt, ever again."
"I believe you."
A brief flash of something that resembled a smile slid across Spike's face, but faded as quickly as it appeared. For several long moments, there was nothing but silence and stillness in the room. Dawn became increasingly uncertain what she should do. She and Spike had settled their differences, and didn't really have anything else to say to each other. And now that they were reconciled, she couldn't think of anything else that she could do.
She wanted to stay and help and make Willow better, but she knew there wasn't really anything that needed to be done. At least, there wasn't anything that needed to be done that *she* was capable of doing. All Willow needed now was rest and time and Spike. And it was quite obvious, from the way he was looking at her, the way he was touching her, and the way he was focusing every ounce of his attention on her, that there was nothing Spike needed other than Willow. Dawn felt very superfluous. She had just made up her mind to inch quietly to the door and give the two of them some privacy when Spike spoke.
"Bit, could you go over to the dresser and pull the swim trunks out of the second drawer? They should be stuffed in the back somewhere."
Dawn brightened as she rushed over to the dresser. Yes, she could do that! She could help! She could be useful! She could get swim trunks! Digging enthusiastically into the drawer, she rooted around until she felt the distinctive silky material, fishing them out (rolling her eyes when she noticed they were black; typical Spike) and turning around with a triumphant smile on her face.
The smile became obscured when her jaw dropped nearly low enough to bang against the floor. Spike was. he had. there was. lots of Spike. *all* of Spike actually, with, um, nothing hiding any of him. Naked Spike. Really, completely, thoroughly naked Spike. Bare as the day he was born from the top of his bleached head to his naked chest, uncovered waist, exposed hips and. and. oh dear Lord, that equally unclothed part of him just below his waist that Dawn couldn't quite manage to take her eyes off of.
The temptation to stare was just too strong. She'd never seen a naked man before in person (and with her over-protective sister ready to bring the wrath of the slayer on any hapless boy who asked her out, who knew how long she would have to wait before she could see a naked man again?) and Spike was. quite a lot of man. Pouting mentally, she wondered why all the guys who had fallen in love with Buffy were all built like porn stars while the only guy who showed any interest in her was Josh Graham in her French class with the horn-rimmed glasses and the habit of sniffing glue.
Fortunately, at that moment Spike's full attention was totally focused on Willow, his eyes glued to her face while his hand continued cupping her cheek, running his thumb softly over her still-feverish skin. This kept him from noticing Dawn's scrutiny, along with her growing inclination to drool.
"Found those trunks yet, bit?"
"Um. yeah," Dawn stammered. "R-right here. You, um, you know that you're naked. right? I mean, you did notice that, didn't you?"
In spite of himself, Spike felt his lips quirk into something resembling a grin. "Yeah, Nibblet. I noticed. That's what the trunks are for. Red needs as much contact with me as she can get right now, and skin on skin is best. Jeans would only get in the way if I left them on. Those trunks you've got there are the closest thing I have to underwear. Wouldn't want my girl to be embarrassed when she wakes up."
Dawn's eyes slipped over to the pile of clothes Spike had left on the floor when he stripped. Duster, boots, socks, jeans, undershirt, overshirt and nothing else. That meant that underneath the jeans, he had been. and if she understood him correctly when he said that the swim trunks (that he obviously never wore) were the closest thing he had to underwear, then that meant that *every* time she saw him for as long as she had known him, all he had underneath his jeans was.
"Embarrassed?" Dawn squeaked. "Yes! Right! Embarrassed. *Willow* might be embarrassed to see you. to see your. um." Dawn's voice trailed off. "
"The trunks, Nibblet?" Spike interrupted, reaching out a hand for the garment with even more of a grin on his lips.
Dawn handed them over with a squeak before rushing for the door, muttering something about going downstairs to get a pitcher of water for Willow in case she was thirsty when she woke up. Spike chuckled as he heard her scurry down the stairs, barely catching a remark made under Dawn's breath about how waking up with *that* in her bed would certainly make *her* mouth go dry, before returning his focus to Willow. Slipping on his trunks, he slid into bed beside her, wrapping the blankets securely around the two of them. With surprising delicacy, he peeled away the sheet he had wrapped her in, leaving her in only the insubstantial hospital gown. Once that was done, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her fully against his body.
"You're safe now, love," Spike whispered into her ear as he cuddled her close. "Safe and sound, and I'm right here to make sure that nothing will hurt you again. I won't let it. I'd rather die again than let you get hurt." Tears pricked in his eyes at the same moment that a soft smile quirked on his lips when he felt Willow snuggle closer to him, even in her sleep. Analytically, he knew that the bond would cause her to seek him out and get as close to him as she could, but he allowed himself the luxury of fantasizing for just a moment that she nestled closer because she *wanted* to be close to him, just like he wanted to be close to her. He tightened his arms around her and buried his face in her hair, closing his eyes and willing the pleasant fantasy to last.
~Part: 77~
It had been a very long time since Spike had lain peaceful and still in the arms of a woman he loved. Too long. Too long since he had been able to curl up close and memorize beloved features unhindered and undisturbed. Too long since he'd been unwilling to move even a single muscle for fear of reducing the perfection of skin on skin. Too long since he'd forced himself to breathe: slow, deep, regular breaths that allowed him to absorb an intoxicating scent he already knew by heart. Too long since he had felt so complete. The relief he felt at the increasingly strong and steady sound of Willow's heartbeat, mixed with the peace he felt from holding her in his arms, and the soothing rhythm of his breaths matching hers were more than Spike could handle. Despite all his best intentions, he fell asleep.
At first, Dawn or Anya peeked in on the two of them every couple of minutes, just to make sure they were still alright. It was a pleasure and a relief to look in on them and know that they were doing fine, and getting better every minute. But the truth was, after a while, it got more than a bit boring watching a couple who did nothing but sleep. The check-ups went from every five minutes to every fifteen minutes. Then Xander showed up to see if he could be of any help, and the visits trailed off still further, meaning that Spike and Willow were left mostly alone. Anya, Xander and Dawn were, in fact, in the middle of a movie fest downstairs that kept them from checking in on the pair for over an hour. They were completely oblivious to anything taking place in the bedroom when Willow finally awoke.
Willow's first reaction when her eyes fluttered open was surprise. Waking up at all was. unexpected. She had a faint recollection of waking up in the hospital to the taste of something in her mouth; something sweet and wild and powerful and *right* in an indescribable way; but the memory was vague at best. Besides, she could have sworn that the sweet substance filling her mouth came from Spike, and that was impossible. Spike hadn't been there with her; he had been somewhere with Buffy. The feel of Spike's arms around her body and his skin beneath her lips couldn't be anything more than a frighteningly realistic dream or an illusion. Therefore, the last clear memory she had was when she realized that Spike wasn't coming home and she had no reason to hold on anymore. She had not expected to wake up again after that.
The rest of the gang, excluding Giles, might not have done their research into the Tzeranza bond, but Willow had, in exhaustive depth. The hallucinations twisted her perceptions, but they didn't affect her mind. She may not have been able to understand what was going on around her, but she knew full well what was happening inside her. She knew she was dying, and that falling into the coma was one of the final, irreversible stages of death. She knew that once a bond-mate slipped into a coma, they had never woken again. She had known that as she allowed herself to fall unconscious. And she hadn't cared.
When she closed her eyes after letting that last tear fall, she knew the dangers inherent in letting herself slip away. She made the choice to climb into the peace of that coma freely and willingly. She hadn't thought she'd ever wake up again. She hadn't thought she'd *live* more than a day or two more. And she hadn't thought she'd ever see Spike again. She was, therefore, understandably confused to open her eyes and realize that she was awake, alive, and sharing a pillow with an unmistakable bleached blond head.
She shifted slightly to get a closer look at his face, and came to another interesting discovery. While Spike's head rested only a few inches away from hers, their two bodies were, from the neck down, far more closely intertwined. Bare legs were tangled with hers, and her hands were trapped between her cloth-covered chest and his. not cloth-covered chest. She couldn't see the rest of her body without lifting up the sheets and blankets, so she was left to wonder if the whole of the torso she could feel pressed against hers was not cloth-covered as well. Maybe she had died? Maybe this was heaven? But if this was heaven, wouldn't she be naked as well, and doing something a lot more interesting than sleeping? And would she feel so hot and drained and weak if she had died and gone to heaven?
It was the sound of Willow's pulse speeding like a runaway train that finally woke Spike up. At the scent of her confusion and fear, he slipped instantly and instinctively into 'protect' mode, dropping into game face and using his enhanced senses to try to find any threat in the room. A low growl rumbled from his throat as he pulled Willow more tightly against him, mentally promising destruction on anyone or anything that hurt or upset his witch. When he realized there was no one in the room other than Willow and himself, his game face melted away.
"What is it, love?" he whispered softly. "What's gone and gotten you so upset?"
"Am I. am I dead?" she asked, in a very small voice.
The game face stayed gone but the growl returned as Spike tightened his arms around Willow still further, till she had to turn her head to keep her nose from being mashed into his chest. She turned her face instead, resting it on his chest. She could feel the coolness of his muscled torso against her cheek, and the vibration of his growl reverberating through both their bodies. It didn't answer her question. but it felt quite nice, so she decided she wouldn't complain.
Spike could feel the warmth of her breath against his skin, and could hear the gentle beating of her heart, close to his. These small proofs that she *was* still alive and that he hadn't lost her, *wouldn't* lose her, were enough to calm him down enough to allow him to answer. "No, love," Spike replied quietly, running his fingers soothingly through her hair. "You're not dead."
"W-why not?" Willow stammered uncertainly. She didn't want to upset him, but she still didn't understand what had happened. By all rights, she should be dead. She wasn't disappointed to be alive, especially since she was alive in the naked arms of the man she adored, but she still wanted an explanation. Spike didn't answer, and Willow tried squirming slightly to put some distance between the two of them so she could look at his face and ask him again. She gave up when Spike simply clamped his arms more firmly around her. "The last thing I remember, I was in the hospital, you were still in L.A. and I was. um. dying." Spike's only reply was to shift his head over closer to hers, nuzzling her soft hair and breathing in her scent.
"I nearly lost you, Red," he murmured. "You almost." He shuddered, and Willow could have sworn she felt him press a soft kiss on top of her head, almost lovingly. "Don't you ever scare me like that again."
"I won't," Willow promised. She didn't know what to say or how to respond. She knew that Spike cared about her, that he considered her his best, if not his *only* friend, but she had no idea that the thought of losing her would scare him this much. If she didn't know better, she'd almost think that he loved her. It was a fortunate thing, therefore, that she did know better. She knew not to get her hopes up or to jump to any ridiculous, love-struck conclusions. She'd just comfort her *friend*, her very good *friend*-and-nothing-more who had been so worried about her.
Tentatively, she shifted her hands out from where they were trapped between the two bodies and stroked Spike's hair with a gentle, soothing touch. Spike was quick to take advantage of the resulting space between their bodies to pull her even closer, wrapping himself more firmly around her body which was now pressed to his, chest to chest. If her hand trembled just a bit at their new-found closeness, or at the feel of his hair slipping between her fingers while he nuzzled her neck, it was easily passed off as weakness or lingering traces of fever.
Spike purred contentedly, the man and the demon in him both soothed by the feel of his love's soft caress. He could have stayed like that forever, luxuriating in her touch and her scent and the feel of her wrapped in his arms as close as he could get without actually crawling inside her skin. It was just like his girl to wake up from a debilitating fever that nearly cost her her life and immediately begin comforting *him*. She always thought of herself and her needs last, and while he loved her all the more for her sweet concern, it made him determined to shower her with all the pampering and attention she deserved. Starting now.
"Um. Spike?" Willow questioned tentatively, breaking into Spike's thoughts. "This isn't the hospital."
Spike hid a grin in her hair. Classic Red. He knew she wanted to know what happened, how she had been saved as well as how and when she had been brought home from the hospital, but she didn't dare bring up her former condition again, for fear of upsetting him. So instead, she'd ask roundabout questions to try to get him to talk about it without prompting. "Right you are, pet," he answered innocently as he pulled away just enough to slip his hand between her face and his, curling the red hair around his fingers playfully. "This bed is much more comfortable than the one they had you on at the hospital."
"Why aren't I in the hospital?"
"Because there's nothing they can do for you there that I can't do better, here." Spike continued playing with Willow's hair brushing the ends of it against her face, tickling her nose. There was a hint of a possessive growl underneath his playfulness when he continued. "It's *my* place to take care of you. Not theirs."
"You mean, you'll be staying?" Willow asked, unable to keep the surprise and disbelief out of her voice.
Now it was Spike's turn to be surprised. What was she getting at? Why would she think he would leave? "Of course I'll be staying. Where else would I be?"
Willow bit her lip and looked away. "I thought that maybe now that you were back. from L.A., I mean, you might not want to-"
"I'm not leaving you," Spike cut her off, his voice firm and uncompromising. He wanted her to know that he wasn't going anywhere, that he wasn't going to leave her hurting or alone ever again. It was *essential* that she know that. He was so wrapped up in how to convince her that he'd never abandon her again that he didn't even stop to wonder how she knew what had happened in L.A.
All playfulness vanished from his eyes and his hand detangled itself from her hair to gently cup her chin, turning her face so that he could look into her eyes again. "Please say you forgive me, Red?" he pleaded.
Willow's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "For what?"
"For not being here when you needed me. For hurting you."
"Spike, you couldn't help that; you had to go to L.A.! And you didn't." Willow's voice trailed off as she thought carefully about what she needed to say. She wished she could tell Spike that he hadn't hurt her, but it wasn't true. The pain of separation from him reacting through the bond had been intense and very real. There was no denying that. On a deeper level, the pain of abandonment she felt when sensed Spike's lust and anticipation through their bond and realized she was miles away from his thoughts while he remained front row, center in hers had broken her heart. Yes, he had hurt her. She couldn't lie and say that he hadn't.
"You didn't hurt me on purpose," she concluded.
"It was still my fault that you were hurt," Spike replied firmly, his voice still resonating with that same quiet earnestness.
"I forgive you."
"I'll make it up to you, Red. I promise I will."
"Spike, I forgive you."
"And I swear I won't leave you like that again. Next time any seer shows up with a vision that calls for my help, you're coming with me, and bollocks to anyone who tries to convince me otherwise. You'd never have been hurt in the first place if I had just listened to my damn instincts and realized-"
"Spike, stop!" Willow couldn't help but smile a little at the look on Spike's face when she cut him off. She reached her hand back up to his face, stroking it gently with the tips of her fingers before covering his mouth playfully with the palm of her hand.
"Spike, I forgive you. Do you understand?" Using her thumb underneath his chin, she guided his head so that it nodded. "I don't blame you for what happened; do you understand that as well?" Again, she forced his head to nod, grinning a bit as she felt his lips curl into a smile against her hand.
Spike reached up to pull away her hand, but Willow shook her head scoldingly, batting his hand away as she maintained her grip against his jaw. "I'm not finished yet," she informed him primly. She grew serious for the next part. "Spike, you're my friend. One of my *best* friends. I care about you and I know that you care about me. I don't need any fancy promises; I trust you already. You know that, don't you?" She held her breath and kept her hand still on Spike's mouth, not prompting him this time, just waiting to see how he would respond. For a long moment, neither one of them moved. Then Willow exhaled in relief as she felt Spike slowly nod against her hand.
"Good!" she praised, smiling widely at him. "Then we don't need to have this conversation again." She started to pull away her hand, but Spike grabbed it before she could, holding the palm of it over his mouth again so he could give it a soft kiss.
"You're letting me off far too easily, you know," Spike stated conversationally. He kept hold of her hand after dropping it from his lips, holding it loosely in his and hoping that she wouldn't notice so she wouldn't pull it away.
"I'm sick so you can't argue with me," Willow replied brightly. "If
I want to let you off easily, then I can, and you can't complain about
it. Now that that's settled," she continued hastily, eager to change the
subject, "what does a girl have to do to get a glass of water around here?"
"Just ask, Red," Spike answered, rubbing soft circles on the back of
her hand with his thumb as he accepted her insistence on dropping the subject.
"As long as I'm here, anything you need, all you ever have to do is ask."
~Part: 78~
Fortunately, the pitcher that Dawn had brought in for Willow was sitting on the bedside table, so Spike didn't have far to go to pour Willow a glass of water. They hit the first problem when Willow tried to sit up so that she could take the glass from him. Spike refused to allow her, putting the glass down out of her reach on the table and pushing her back down against her pillows.
"Spike, I kinda need the glass if I want to drink the water," Willow reminded him. "And sitting up would help, too," she added, struggling weakly against his restraining hand.
"You shouldn't be straining yourself," Spike stated firmly while plumping and arranging the pillows behind him against the headboard so he could lean against them while sitting up. Once he had them arranged to his satisfaction, he lifted Willow with heartbreaking tenderness, settling her body against his with her back against his chest so that she could sit upright, fully supported by him.
Willow managed to bite back a moan as Spike pulled her in against the line of his body, but she couldn't repress the slight shiver. She'd been in Spike's arms plenty of times before, but there were usually two layers of sturdy cloth between them. This time though, the thin hospital gown offered little protection against the feel of Spike's cool, strong, deliciously *bare* chest pressing against her back. If her body had had enough water to allow it, tears would probably have sprung to her eyes. After days of endless, stifling, agonizing fever that made it feel like someone had set her very blood on fire, it was unspeakably wonderful to feel cool sensations of pleasure instead of pain.
"Am I too cold, pet?" Spike asked, concerned when he felt her shiver. He knew that the worst of the intense fever had faded hours before while she slept, but he also knew that the aftereffects of the attack would take longer to pass. For the time being, she was still weak and shaky, and her skin was still hot and hypersensitive. She needed to be close to him in order to wipe away the last of the fever, but he wasn't sure whether her skin was too tender to be pressed against the natural coldness of his body. If it was uncomfortable for her, he supposed he could prop her just as securely with pillows, but he had so liked the idea of her in his arms while he took care of her. No matter though; he'd do whatever his Willow needed to make her more comfortable.
"No!" she corrected him quickly. Too quickly. Her skin grew a few degrees warmer, and Spike bit back a grin at the realization that she was blushing. "It. it feels nice," she confessed a moment later. "Temperature-wise!" she clarified quickly. "Because I'm hot. fever hot, I mean, because it would be really arrogant to just go around and say that I was hot, especially now when I'm all sweaty and stringy-haired and wearing a hospital gown and all, but I'm still a bit. warm and all, and you're *not* hot. Not that you're not hot! But you're cool. I mean, cold. I mean. room temperature? That's what I meant. Right? Right. And it's nice. Feels nice, I mean. Do you know what I mean?" She craned her head around to look up at him, worried that she might have offended him at some point in her babble-fest. Spike didn't bother holding back the grin anymore. How he loved it when she babbled.
"Eh, I think the hospital gown suits you, at that," he teased in reply. "Brings out your eyes." Willow relaxed at his teasing tone and stuck her tongue out at him before turning her head again to rest against his chest.
"Feels nice for me, too, love," he added a moment later, tightening his arms around her fractionally, and fighting the urge to nuzzle against her neck.
Did friends nuzzle? He seemed to remember seeing Xander cuddling with Willow on the couch a couple of times with his lips dangerously close to Willow's neck. (Just the thought of it made him want to track down the moron and give him a fat lip. It would be worth the chip-induced migraine if it meant that the boy couldn't even think of nuzzling Spike's girl without pain shooting through his lips.) Would she accept it if he tried it? Would she think it was a more-than-friendly thing to do? Would she be upset with him if he gave into his urge to bury his face in her neck, maybe cover the soft skin with gentle kisses, using the tiniest, most imperceptible amounts of tongue so he could relish her taste as well as her delicious scent?
She said the coolness of his skin felt good against the hot flush of hers; didn't it stand to reason that more contact, skin to skin, from his body to hers would feel even better? Couldn't it be argued that it was sensible and possibly even medically sound for him to caress every single inch of her glorious body with his hands and his lips, covering her body with his as he took the heat and the pain away and replaced it with cool, deep caresses that brought nothing but pleasure, possibly bringing some of that coolness inside her body in addition to his attentions on the surface by sliding his tongue into her mouth and maybe inserting himself into another part of her body that would be equally hot and wet and ready for his cool caress?
Ruthlessly, Spike reined in his thoughts. Willow would decidedly *not* take it as a friendly gesture if he offered to cool her off by stripping her naked and making love to her, and if allowed himself to continue thinking about it, then even the genuinely well-intentioned choice of holding her in his arms so he could support her weight would be ruined when she felt just what kind of affect she had on his body. Best avoid nuzzling then; it would be too much of a temptation to slip back into his uncomfortably erotic thoughts while he was running his lips against her throat. He couldn't be certain that he'd stop himself before he crossed the line.
It was so odd to worry about what actions were and were not appropriate, now that he knew that he loved her. One of the most freeing things about Willow; one of the things he loved most about her; was that he had never had to worry about how she would respond to anything he chose to do. His girl wasn't the type to judge him as less than a demon because he knew how to love, or had adapted to being one of the good guys, or liked hot chocolate with little marshmallows in it. On the other side of the coin, she never treated him like less than a man because he had an unsavory history, lived off blood, and still enjoyed his spot of violence now and again. She accepted him for who he was, and it had been a very long time since he had ever bothered to think through his decisions around her before reacting. He never had to hold himself in check and wonder if he was about to do something that would make her think less of him because he knew how very completely she accepted him, just as he was.
But he'd never been in love with her before, and that made it a whole new ballgame. Every instinct in his body, from the man and most especially from the demon who firmly believed that she belonged to him already, was calling out for him to show her exactly how he felt, but he was too scared to give in to the impulse. She'd already gone through far too much pain for him. (Every time he saw her wince as a movement overstrained her weakened body, he felt like a holy water-soaked stake had been thrust into his heart.) She needed him to help her heal, and he wasn't about to endanger that by making her uncomfortable with protestations of love that she could never be expected to accept, much less return.
He'd be her friend, and that would be all. He'd take care of her in a perfectly friendly way, and make her well again in the spirit of pure friendship and she would never even suspect the love that he hid. It would be better for both of them that way, so that he would be spared the pain of rejection, and she would be spared the pain of rejecting. With that thought in mind, he manfully bit back his longing to reach out and caress her hair, and instead reached for the glass of water sitting on the side table.
"Thank you," Willow stated politely, reaching out to take the glass from his hand. Spike refused to turn it over. He might be on his best friends-and-nothing-more behavior, but that didn't mean that he wasn't going to take proper care of her. The glass was heavy, she was weak, and there was really no reason for her to hold it at all when he was there and could do it for her. Using one hand to push hers down, he used the other to raise the glass to her lips, waiting for her to drink. She didn't. Instead, she turned to face him again, pinning him with a look of annoyance.
"Spike, I've been drinking out of cups since I was two years old. I think I still remember how," Willow argued, trying to raise her hand again to take the glass.
"Brilliant girl like you probably remembers everything she ever learned," Spike agreed. "Still doesn't mean you're strong enough to take care of yourself."
"It's just a glass of water," Willow grumbled. "I know I'm not at 100% and I certainly don't have any plans to go out and run a marathon, but drinking a glass of water shouldn't be too difficult for me. I'm not paralyzed, you know!"
"Trust me, Red, after the way you're squirming against me, I'm *very* convinced that you're not paralyzed." Willow, who had been shifting her body against his, trying to grab the water glass from his hand, instantly turned bright red and stopped moving, just as Spike had intended. Oh, that wasn't to say that he didn't enjoy the squirming. At some point in the distant future when he was once again willing to let Willow out of his sight for more than five minutes, he knew he'd play the memory of her barely clothed body rubbing against his nearly naked skin in Technicolor detail with all the lovely little additions his imagination could create, while becoming better acquainted with his right hand. But that could wait. For the moment, all he wanted was for her to sit still and relax, so he could take care of her.
"But paralyzed or not," he continued. "I'm still going to take care of you."
"You don't have to do that," Willow protested.
"Never said I had to, did I? Said I was going to. And I will. I know you're stubborn, love, but I've had over a century of practice in getting my own way. Trust me, as stubborn as you are, you've got nothing on me." Again, he held the glass up to her lips to allow her to take a drink.
She shot him a dirty look. "Do you really expect me to let you hand feed me?"
He raised a single, scarred eyebrow. "Do you want to drink it or not?"
She continued to grumble slightly (he caught the words 'annoying' and 'overprotective' along with two or three curses in a variety of demonic dialects), but she stopped trying to reach for the glass. She just looked so *cute* when she pouted, that he gave in a bit and allowed himself to stroke her hair softly. If he hadn't been so enraptured with the soft texture, he might have noticed that the grumblings stopped instantly as soon as he touched her. Willow sat perfectly silent and still as Spike used one hand to caress her hair and the other to hold the glass up to her lips as she slowly drank the water down.
And that was that.