Title: Arterial Blues
Author: A. R. Evett
Pairing: Spike/Buffy
Rating: R
Spoilers: Angel: "Destiny"
Summary: Something bad happens: Spike becomes human. It's just goes
downhill from there folks. Except for at the end-Maybe. Angst, comedy
romance; This story's got it all!
Disclaimer: I live in a world of Joss, and when Joss is no more, the
world will no doubt crumble shortly thereafter.
Author's Note: Jumbo thank you to Monica, who did an outstanding
betaing job for me!



*one*


On Tuesday at 4:07pm, in the supply closet, on the 22nd floor of the
Wolfram and Hart Building, Spike became human. And it was all thanks
to Darrel, the Klaptawq demon from accounting.

Darrel was quiet. Your typical shy, awkward, 18 fingered, dorky
accountant. While he kept to himself mostly there was the occasional
chat with Irene (who occupied the cubicle across from his) about the
weather and American Idol, and friendly discussions with Gene from
Acquisitions about-hypothetically-how exactly one would go about
destroying the universe.

Gene was the office go-to guy. He had all kinds of funky button-down
shirts that really impressed the ladies, and shoes that seemed too hip
for anyone else to pull off. But what impressed people the most about
Gene were his connections. As if simply working for the most powerful
law firm in most known dimensions wasn't connections enough, Gene knew
things, people...or, well, things that W&H didn't even hear about from
a guy who knows a guy who knows a guy. Gene wasn't just in the
know-Gene was the know.

On Monday, Gene had approached Darrel at the espresso machine, patted
him on the back, greeted him in that macho, drinking buddy kind of
way, and then slipped something into Darrel's pocket before he left.

The thing was moving. Darrel cringed and reached a tentative hand into
the pocket. It was some kind of worm, or lizard---And that's when
Darrel remembered the friendly discussion he and Gene had shared last
Friday.


"You know," Gene had said "it's funny. The key to destroying or
controlling any given universe is always in some other universe."

"So, what are you saying? What I need to destroy the universe is in
another one? I can't do it?" Darrel had asked, dispirited.

"Let me ask you something, Dare. What's your motivation?"

"Huh?"

"Why do you want to destroy the universe? Do you really hate it that
much? Or do you just like blowing shit up?"

"Well, I guess I don't really hate it. I kinda thought it would be
fun, you know?"

"Sure, sure. I'm there with ya, pal. But wouldn't it be just as fun to
destroy some other universe?"

"I guess. Yeah."

"Cool. Because I've got this guy who can hook you up with a couple
Viraslian fire newts."

"And that's good?"

"It's more than good. It's evil. All you have to do is send those
puppies through a teeny tiny portal back to the Viraslian universe,
and presto, total destruction."

"How much?"


Darrel felt around again in his pocket. Yep. There were two of them.
And they were really gunky and gross. And antsy. He would have to do
something with them until he got off work. He needed something to put
them in.

The supply closet was filled mostly with office supplies, but there
were also supplies for the break-room which included sugar, soda, salt
and pepper, coffee and espresso beans, and for no apparent reason
Darrel could think of, Sanka. A big tin of Sanka with a plastic top.
It was just the right size, and Darrel figured that no one would miss
the outmoded coffee substitute if he were to just dump it. So he
emptied the contents of the tin into a garbage can in the corner of
the supply closet, and dropped his two slimy new friends in. Just as
he was doing this, however, the door opened. It was Harmony-Angel's
exquisite secretary. He fumbled to put the lid back on and turned to
face her.

"Hi. Oh, yuk! I hope you weren't planning on drinking that stuff. It's
like, really gross, and sooo 1990."

Darrel looked around and grabbed a bag of sugar. "No. Just came for
this," he said, avoiding eye contact, and blushing.

"Whatever. Just don't jerk off in here, okay? I caught this one guy, a
few weeks ago, and now, I'm just deeply scarred. I can't even talk
about it," she winced.

"What? No...I wasn't...I...sugar," he managed, and stumbled back out
to the hallway with all the grace of a chimp playing tennis.

"Eewwe," Harmony shuddered, and began her search for the rare, elusive
pink post-it notes.

After 2 minutes she was ready to call it quits, when a low, soft voice
sounded behind her, and the door slammed shut.

"Mmm. This where all the action is then?" Spike lay a cool, firm hand
on Harmony's thigh, teasing her skirt's hemline.

"What are you doing?" She tried to sound annoyed. Really, she did.

"All these pens and staplers and stir sticks really get my motor
runnin' luv."

"Hey! Who do you think you are? All ignoring me one second, humping me
the next? We're back to the humping again, I see."

Spike's response was to slide his hand a bit further up her leg, and
kiss her ear. She held back a giggle.

"I was thinking, Harm, that we should just start over." He wrapped his
free arm around her waist, and pulled her towards him. She feigned
resistance.

"And, this is what? A first date to you?" she asked indignantly.

"You talk too much," he said, and stuck his tongue down her throat.
This time, she pushed him off of her, violently.. He fell back against
one of the shelves, and it broke under his weight. Bags of coffee and
sugar, and a Sanka tin, all tumbled onto the floor. Spike looked up
at Harmony, shocked, and a little hurt. She was pissed.

"You think you can just fuck me whenever you're feeling a bit tight in
the shorts? I won't let you use me anymore. I found something when I
started working here, Spike. It's called self-esteem!"

"Harmony," Spike sighed, his head bowed "I'm a prick." Harmony only
crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows, as if to say, "well, duh."
Righting himself, Spike looked her in the eyes. "You really have
changed, haven't you pet?"

Harmony, however, was having thoughts of her own, and oblivious to
Spike's question, she posed one herself. "What's up with you lately?
Every time I talk to you, you're a different vampire."

"Oh, I dunno. Coming back from the dead really does a number on your
hormones, I suppose."

"No. It's something else... Oh! You're still hung up on the slayer
aren't you! Oo, that pisses me off. What's so great about her anyway?
Well, I will not be your rebound girl! Especially not the rebound of
the girl you rebounded off me onto."

"Buffy was not a rebound!"

"Sure..."

"Ewe." Spike grimaced, peering down at his feet.

"Ewe?"

Spike pointed at the floor, without looking this time. Harmony's gaze
followed the direction of his finger.

"Ewe," she agreed.

Next to Spike's foot was some kind of slimy red lizard. Of course it
was one of the Viraslian fire newts, but they didn't know that. Also,
it was kinda squished, and very dead. That much was obvious.

"What the hell kind of office supply is that?" Spike griped.

"Don't ask me. And I'm not touching it!"

"Well, me neither!" Spike said, coming across sounding a little too
grossed out than was appropriate for a menacing, ex-evil vampire.

"You stepped on it!"

As a seemingly unrelated development, the walls started shaking.

"Earthquake," Harmony sighed with utter disinterest when a puzzled
expression appeared on Spike's face.

And then, a fissure of blue light materialized over his head. He
looked at her again, with a question on his face.

"I have no clue," she said, staring at the blue glow as it grew. And
it seemed to be growing down, as in, around Spike. He didn't seem too
happy about it either.

"Harm?" This couldn't be good. Spike tried not to freak out as he
realized that whatever was happening, whatever this light was, had
left him unable to move. And it was already surrounding the entire top
half of his body.

"Hold on Spikey, I'll go get Angel," Harmony said, as if it were a
tremendous reassurance. She turned, and dashed down the hallway.

He felt cold, as if the light was actually liquid ice, freezing him in
place, like some kind of cave man who thaws out 10,000 years later and
learns how to skateboard, and pick up girls in the food court. He was
covered by the light entirely now, and he could feel it starting to do
something to him, something not right.

There was a loud thud. It felt like someone had stabbed him. And it
was strange, because, while on the outside he felt frozen, on the
inside, starting in his chest, he felt a terrible burning sensation,
as if someone set fire to his heart, and now the fire was beginning to
spread throughout his whole body. His skin felt the fire now too, and
Spike noticed that the light was fading. At the same time, he got the
distinct impression that something was being taken from him, that he
was being...violated.

"Spike!" It was Harmony, and she had Angel with her.

"I don't see any light Harm," Angel said, as though he were humoring a
child who saw monsters in her closet.

"It was here! Spike?"

"Spike?" Angel finally took a good look at him, and knew immediately
that something was wrong. Spike was staring straight at him with his
fists tightly clenched, but he appeared to be too terrified to move or
even speak.

The fire inside of him had dulled to smoldering embers, and something
was pounding on his chest, from the inside, trying to get out. He felt
as if he were suffocating, as if at any moment, he could die. That's
when he opened his mouth. He gasped for air, and the horrible truth
came crashing down on him.

"No," he whispered, just before he fell unconscious.

*four*

She presumed Angel had told the others what had happened. They were
nowhere to be seen, though. Had he asked them to stay away, Buffy
wondered? After all, this wasn't going to be easy. Not for Angel, not
for her, and especially not for Spike.

He was sleeping now, in bed in Buffy's suite, on the 23rd
floor-sleeping, or whatever state it was that vampires went into after
they were turned, and then typically, buried by a grieving family and
left in the ground to dig their way out. Unless of course their sire
took a particular interest in them.

Buffy ran her hand gently over Spike's bare torso. There was almost no
trace of the bullet wound. Once again, she tried to wrap her mind
around the fact that he had attempted suicide. It was just so . . .
out of character. She could imagine him speaking on the subject: "Only
a pathetic, miserable git with no bloody spine would even contemplate
such a thing," he'd sneer, and emphasize the sentiment by spitting on
the ground. Then, she remembered the summer of her death, and wondered
if maybe then he had thought about it as a serious option. Sheesh! She
was so full of herself!

He looked at peace. More so than she had seen him in a very long time.
The last time probably being the night before the big fight, their
last night . . . together. It was almost nice, sitting there, watching
over him, waiting for him to wake up. The waiting was nice. The waking
up part, however? That scared her big time. What was she going to tell
him? What was he going to think? How was he going to feel? And most
importantly, was he going to wake up with or without his soul?

It might be nice if he just stayed asleep, she decided. Yeah, she
could lie down there next to him, wrap her arms around him, and they
could just sleep. Nothing bad would happen, no one would cry, and
everything would be really peaceful.

Of course, that was the point in Buffy's interior monologue at which
Spike decided to open his eyes.

"Spike?" She grabbed his hands like a mother afraid of loosing a child
in a crowd of strangers.

His eyes finally focused on her face. He looked so tired. Weren't
vampires supposed to be extra-energetic when they first woke up? All
the ones she had seen had been, anyway.

"What . . . Buffy . . . `m not . . ."

"Dead? Nope. Did you really think I'd let you pull a dumb stunt like
that?" She asked, wiping non-existent tears away. Her eyes had been
drained hours ago.

"What did you do?" he asked, staring down at a scar on his chest, that
on a human, would have been months old. He knew the answer perfectly
well.

"Technically, it was Angel."

"Why would he . . ."

"Because I asked him to."

"Right."

"How are you feeling?"

"Apart from dead? Fine."

"Spike, you-you tried to . . ."

"Don't bloody say it!" he yelled, sitting up abruptly.

"But you did. I was there, Spike."

"Oh, god." He slumped back into the bed, and curled in on himself,
facing away from Buffy. The idea of it made him sick. How would he
ever be able to look her in the eyes again? He had been such a coward.
Couldn't handle being human. Human! Other people seemed to be pretty
okay with it-like bloody well everyone alive! Why would it make him
want to die? But it had, and he had. So he was a vampire again. That
was what he wanted. But he had been too pathetic to even pull that off
himself. So he'd bought a semi-automatic and a bottle of Jim Beam, and
tried to end it all. Had to be turned by the bleeding Prince of Prats
of all people. And she had to ask him to do it. Could his un-life be
any more pathetic? How had he let this happen? He curled his arms up
over his face, trying to squeeze the horrible memories out of his head.

"Spike, we need to talk about this. You have to deal with what
happened," Buffy told him sternly.

"I didn't want to hurt you, but I . . ." Spike mumbled from behind his
arms.

"You should know that watching you . . .back there. . . it was pain.
All pain. Everything inside me was screaming. And there was some
screaming from me directly, too. But forget about me now." She paused,
sighed, and put her hand firmly on Spike's shoulder. "God, I'm not
here to blame you for anything, or to lecture you. I just want you to
be okay. Knowing that you're going to be okay, that's what'll make me
feel better." She was resting her chin on his shoulder now, and
holding his right arm in her hand, trying to make him face her.

Finally, he turned, slowly, as if he were afraid she might disappear
if he looked at her, like an apparition seen only out of the corner of
one's eye.

"That person, Buffy? Dunno. Wasn't me."

"It's okay. I know."

"You . . ." He didn't expect her to know. He just said it, hoping that
she would take it as some kind of metaphor, and accept it. He looked
up at her, and she was looking back at him, not just at his eyes, but
his lips, nose, forehead, chin. What was she looking for?

"It's crazy, and I don't quite understand it, but I think you lost
something when you became human-a part of yourself, or something."

"I did." It was hard for him to say. It conjured the memory of the
blue light, how it burned and ripped a piece of him away. It had felt
like a limb being torn off with a dull kitchen knife. "They took it
from me." He said it aloud, and laying the blame, finally, came as a
relief. He was angry, and it felt good.

Buffy drew her head back. He looked dangerous all of a sudden.




It was a slow Thursday. Angel sat at the bar, nursing blood-spiked
scotch, and wondering if Wesley was ever going to shut up. A handful
of regulars were there, mostly Wolfram and Hart employees. His
employees. Otherwise, the place was empty. That was good. Angel wasn't
big on crowds.

"It's beginning to make some strange kind of sense," Wes said, as he
fiddled with his whiskey sour's swizzle stick. "Spike enjoys being a
vampire, I suppose." He paused, to glance over at Angel, who was
signaling the bartender to make him his 5th drink. "But I still don't
understand why you did it, Angel." He sounded genuinely perplexed.

"What if I hadn't?" Angel asked, glancing in Wesley's direction
without actually looking at him. "What then? Spike would be gone, and
it would be my fault."

"Why? He shot himself. And you could hardly be expected to- to . . ."

"To what? Watch him die in Buffy's arms? Watch her cry and scream her
fucking guts out? Say no? Say no when she begs me to give her . . .
give her what? I don't know. More time. A second chance. Are those
such horrible things to want?"

"No."

"It was insane. I know that. But I had to do it. If I hadn't, I would
have been taking those things away from her. That's something I could
never do, Wes."

"Well, it's a bloody shame Harmony wasn't there," Wesley sighed, and
cynically swigged down his entire drink. "I'm sure she would have
jumped at the opportunity."

"Yeah. There would definitely have been some jumping of . . . things."

"You must be wondering-"

"Hmm?"

"All this time, we've just assumed that if the Prophecy does turn you
back into a human that you would, er, be happy. But Spike's reaction .
. . well, what are the implications?"

"If you mean, will I try to off myself? The answer to that exceedingly
obvious question is: no. Spike and I are very different. If you tell
anyone I said this I will hurt you-but Spike . . . he's unique. It's
like his soul and his demon are connected," Angel grumbled spitefully.

"I see," Wesley replied, the little wheels in his head turning. You
could tell by the way his eyebrows tilted up ever so slightly. "You
suppress your demon, and so it plays little or no part in the Angel
that we all know, whereas Spike accepts his demon, uses it, and so
it's a huge part of who he is."

"Pretty much."

"So when he became human and lost the demon, he literally had a piece
of himself ripped out," Wes continued, examining his empty glass as if
it were evidence in a murder investigation.

"A pretty important piece, I guess."

"It's no wonder he . . . he must have been utterly lost."

"Yeah. Whatever."


Spike's demonic visage had surfaced, and Buffy sprang up from the bed
and backed away. He crouched there, a hungry predator scanning the
room for prey. He wanted to inflict bad, painful things on whomever
was responsible. He wanted them to suffer. Not just for hurting him,
but for hurting Buffy. Making her see him . . . like that. It wasn't
right. But there was no prey, he realized. Not in this room, not in
this universe. And the worst part was that whoever they were, they
hadn't even meant for it to turn out like this. It had all been some
massive cock-up. An exercise in Broken fucking Telephone.

He looked at Buffy, who had taken a defensive stance, and fell back to
reality. His yellow eyes and bumpy forehead melted away easily. Buffy
was visibly relieved.

"Sorry `bout that," he said, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. She
approached him without hesitation.

"Don't apologize. You're angry. You should be."

"But there's nothing for me to go kill, is there?"

"Nope. Just a smushed newt, and a reference in some dusty old book
about some lame universe that expelled them `cause they were taking
over. We can go burn the book, if you want," Buffy suggested happily.

"Nah. It's just not the same."

They sat there in silence for a while, neither of them looking at the
other, neither of them touching the other. Eventually, Buffy spoke.

"Spike, do you . . . your soul, is it-?"

"Yeah. It's here. That's weird, I guess, isn't it?"

"I don't know. Weird seems to redefine itself on a daily basis with
me." She peered up at him and smiled.

"Why didn't you ask earlier? I just assumed you could tell."

"When you were unconscious, that was all I could think about,
honestly. But when you woke up, it really didn't seem important."

"Not important?"

"Somehow, even if you had lost your soul, I don't think I would have
had to worry. You would still be Spike."

"I don't get it."

Buffy simply gazed at him with the wise eyes of the woman she had
recently become, and pressed her hand against his cheek. Spike stared
back at her, intimidated, curious, confused.

"Buffy?"

"Give it time. You'll catch on," was her only explanation.

"I wish I had been strong enough. I wish I could have been a man for
you, Buffy. I wanted to be a man for you. Instead, I bloody well
pissed it away."

"You didn't piss anything away! That wasn't a man you became, Spike.
That was a half a person. A shell. It wasn't you."

"Well, I'm certainly not a man now, am I?"

"Maybe not. But you aren't a monster either. You're you. You're Spike.
You're the Spike that I love." She took his hand in hers, and he
looked down at it with even more confusion than before. None of it
made sense. What was she saying? She'd rather he was a vampire than a
human? No. That was ridiculous! Wait. Did she say that she . . .

"I do love you." She said it, and this time, he let himself believe.

She wrapped her arms tightly around his chest, and kissed him
passionately. It was her way of saying: "Spike, you're an idiot."


THE END


"Not where I breathe, but where I love, I live."

Robert Southwell