After a long moment of silence, Giles asked, “What did Spike say? Did he tell Glory about Dawn?”
“No. He didn’t tell her. Glory doesn’t know.”
Buffy crossed to the table and sat down, kicking off the heels that went with the ‘bot costume. She tried to manage a smile for Dawn, but judging from her sister’s expression, it didn’t come off very well.
“You’re sure he thought you were the ‘bot?” Xander asked. “I mean, maybe he knew who you were and was pulling a fast one.”
“He was about one step from passing out when I talked to him. Definitely not up for plans and schemes. No, he thought I was the robot when he told me what happened.”
That wasn’t a lie. He didn’t know I wasn’t the robot until later.
“Wow.” Xander frowned down at his hands. “You know, that was one hell of a beating to take without talking.”
“Yes,” Giles said quietly. “Yes it was. I believe Glory and her minions brought Spike to the edge of the final death.”
Except death is my gift.
Dawn looked from one to the other with increasing upset. “But why? Why wouldn’t he tell her? Isn’t Spike supposed to be evil? Evil people don’t resist torture to save other people!”
“They don’t, do they?” Buffy reached out, brushed back her sister’s hair, and lied. “I don’t know why he didn’t tell her.”
Because it would destroy Buffy. And I’d rather die than bring her that much pain.
“Is Spike becoming less evil?” Tara asked cautiously. “Except the whole robot thing was kind of bad.”
Buffy laughed humorlessly. “Very bad. Also extremely nasty. And if I’d found out about it without him getting captured by Glory, I probably would have smacked him around about like she did.” She looked around the table. “But he didn’t betray us, guys. We have to remember that. When the chips were down, yes, I know, bad pun, Spike did what was right.”
The Scoobies faded away, one after the other, taking Dawn with them, until Buffy was left alone in the Magic Box with her Watcher. Giles moved around the shop quietly, putting things away, while she sat and brooded.
“Forgive,” she said at last.
He sat down in the chair next to her. “You’re thinking about what the First Slayer said to you?”
Buffy nodded. “Love. Give. Forgive. That’s what she said. Did she mean Spike?”
“There would certainly be a lot to forgive,” Giles said slowly. “Buffy, I have a feeling you didn’t tell us everything.”
“I didn’t.”
And I’m still not going to. You don’t need to know about the kiss. Hell, I don’t need to know about the kiss.
She took a deep breath and blurted, “He didn’t tell Glory about Dawn because it would hurt me. Spike took all that pain for me, Giles! Do you know what that means? He loves me, just like he said! And not nasty-sex kind of love. The real stuff. What am I supposed to do with that?”
“I don’t know,” her Watcher said helplessly. “Truly, I don’t. This situation has never risen before in the history of the Slayer. In a very real sense, you are the First One, here.”
“Great. There's no way I'm wearing that face paint.”
Buffy rose and began to pace, skirt switching behind her. “And besides all that, like Dawn said, Spike’s evil! He’s an evil demon, doing good things. How is that even possible?”
Again, Giles spread his hands. “All I can tell you is that it isn’t supposed to be. I’ve never heard of such a thing before.” He looked at her curiously. “What do you want to do about it?”
“I don’t know.” She leaned her head against a bookcase shelf. “Go back to when it was simple. Kill bad thing with stake. Get up next morning and go to school. The End.”
“That doesn’t work terribly well, I’m afraid. And is that really what you want? To forget how much you’ve seen and learned? Forget how much you’ve grown?”
“Guess not.” She returned to the table and dropped into her chair. “Like, I actually used to dress this way on purpose. Moving on was a good thing there.”
Giles chuckled. “You see? Change can be positive. Buffy,” he said more seriously. “No matter what Spike has done for you, I don’t want you to feel obligated to return or pretend to return his…affection…no matter how sincere he may be.”
Buffy smiled at him and shook her head. “Don’t worry. I’m grateful to him, but my ‘bot impression days are over. Still, I can’t treat him as an enemy anymore. He’s proven that he isn’t.”
“Yes. Yes he has, rather definitely.”
“Speaking of which, he was…uh…chewed up pretty badly, and I don’t know all that much about wound healing,” And being around Spike right now might be a bad idea. “Could you…?”
“Look in on him? Yes, I was going to.”
“Thanks, Giles.” She came to her feet and headed toward the door. “Dawn’s spending a last night at Xander and Anya’s, so I think I’m going to go home and perform some kind of dress-burning ritual”
He added extra pain-killer, antiseptic, bandages, and a flask of o-positive human blood to his standard first-aid kit and loaded the whole thing into the trunk of his car along with several extra pillows and blankets.
Giles had been truthful when he had told Buffy he had planned to check on Spike. He had been troubled over leaving the injured vampire in his crypt in the first place, but he had been so stunned by the sight of the beating and by the events in general, that he hadn’t been thinking straight.
However, he was glad she had asked him to do so. He had been rather annoyed with his Slayer when she made the comment about hoping his and Xander’s conversation with Spike had a dusty ending. Her quip had seemed heartless when compared with Spike’s wounds. But of course, she hadn’t known how badly he was hurt, and her attention and worry were, understandably, focused on her sister. And at that time, she had still regarded Spike as an enemy.
That didn’t seem the case anymore, he sighed, as he drove the short distance to the cemetery. Spike actions had seemed to finally prove that he was no longer a threat and that his love for the Slayer was real, and not as Buffy put it, just about ‘nasty-sex’.
Not that nasty-sex wasn’t involved. Spike’s feelings for Buffy definitely involved the physical. Even now, recalling what Xander had told him about Spike and the robot’s activities in the cemetery made the Watcher’s mouth tighten in outrage. The vampire might well count himself fortunate that he had proven himself with Glory before Giles could get to him to express his extreme displeasure with that particular situation.
Still, he had proven himself, which led to the issue of Buffy’s reaction. At the moment, she seemed more confused than anything else at Spike’s shift from enemy to ally. There had been quite a varied amount of upheavals in her life lately with her, her sister’s arrival, the problem of Glory, and her mother’s death.
Consider it dispassionately, he told himself. From a logical viewpoint, how would Spike be as a…partner…for Buffy?
On the one hand, he already knew about the Slaying, which saved explanations. He was a close match for her in strength, which had seemed to be a problem with Riley. He had shown himself concerned with her welfare.
On the other, he was a demon who had tried to kill her multiple times. His ‘good’ phase had lasted about 6 months, and had involved that bloody robot, not to mention the touching courtship technique of chaining Buffy up and offering to kill Drusilla for her. Finally, only God knew what would happen if Spike ever got that chip out of his head. Buffy had already had one lover turn to evil, and Angel had been actively attempting to redeem himself.
Giles pulled the car up to the cemetery gate, unloaded his supplies, and trudged through the cemetery. He was off to render aid and comfort to a vampire, unable to injure humans, who had resisted torture for the Slayer he had once done his best to kill.
One of the Watcher’s Diaries had spoken of a Slayer who had been the center of violent poltergeist activity with fires breaking out whenever she killed something. How restful that sounded. To think that the only thing that Watcher had to worry about was having buckets of water handy. Some people didn’t know when they were well off. Perhaps another Watcher would say that about him one day. If so, Giles heartily pitied them.
The crypt was quiet. Giles didn’t have a hand free to knock, so he used a hip to shove open the door.
“Spike?” he called softly, not wanting the vampire to think he was under attack once more. “Spike, it’s Rupert Giles.”
No answer.
He set the supplies down by the door and pulled out his torch, playing the light around the interior.
When the beam crossed the body laying on the tomb, Giles’ breath caught, and for a moment, he thought he wouldn’t have to worry about Buffy and Spike after all. The vampire wasn’t dust, but he wasn’t far from it.
The Watcher hastily crossed to the tomb and studied Spike’s supine form. The wounds on the face had worsened, swelling alarmingly and turning darker.
Giles brought the light nearer to Spike’s face, and he flinched, muttering something unintelligible.
“Can you hear me?” Giles said.
“Go ‘way. Won’t tell you…stupid bint,” Spike slurred.
Giles lightly touched Spike’s forehead and frowned at the feel of warmth, so unnatural for a vampire. Fever. Infection. Probably poison from the demon’s touch. Buffy had said that Glory’s minions looked sick. Spike must have worsened steadily since Buffy left.
He grabbed up the bag of supplies and returned to the vampire’s side. Moving swiftly, Giles poured antiseptic on a cloth, gently touched it to the wounded side of Spike’s face…
And found himself flat on the floor on the other side of the crypt with his ears ringing and a bruise of his own on the side of his jaw.
He sat up warily, braced for further attack, but Spike fell back on the tomb moaning and snarling unintelligible curses.
Spike was simply reacting, Giles realized, his brain too fogged and delirious to even form intent, which meant that the chip wasn’t going to stop him.
He needed more supplies than he had to counteract this, such as herbs to counteract the poison and provide a healing sleep. He also needed someone capable of restraining a delirious vampire without injuring him further.
With a sigh, he reached for his cell-phone.
Buffy arrived out of breath, having run most of the way from her house, to find her Watcher seated on the crypt porch, with his eye starting to blacken. She dropped the two quarterstaffs Giles had requested and hurried over to him.
"Are you all right?"
"I'm fine." He climbed stiffly to his feet. "It's been quiet. He may be unconscious once more.”
“I guess we'll find out.”
Cautiously, she peeked around the door, and hissed when she saw Spike on top of the tomb. His condition had startled her a little the first time she had seen him, but then, most of her concern had been to find out whether he had told Glory about Dawn. Now, with nothing to distract her, she was shocked anew by the severity of his wounds.
“He was nowhere near this bad when I left,” she whispered.
“The infection hadn’t taken hold,” Giles answered softly. “And these aren’t the best conditions for someone injured.”
Guilt swamped Buffy. She should have done something earlier, something more practical than a kiss, at least seen if he needed anything.
Giles followed her thought processes without difficulty. “Xander and I shouldn’t have left him here, but it’s too late to worry about that now. All we can do is try to repair the damage.”
“All right.” She squared her shoulders. “You said you wanted to take Spike to the Magic Box?”
“Yes. I have the herbs there to fight this infection. And we can make him somewhat more comfortable. The training room at the back doesn’t have any windows, and your tumbling mats will make a reasonable bed. I’ve moved the car as close to the crypt as possible, but we still have to get him there.”
“Ok. Let’s do this.”
She preceded her Watcher into the crypt and stood by the tomb, looking down at the vampire. There was sweat on his forehead, and his left cheek was swollen to the point that she could hardly see his injured eye. Compared to his present state, Spike had looked healthy the first time she saw him that day, and pain clutched at her.
I don’t want anyone to do this for me. I’m just not worth it.
Buffy took a deep breath. This wasn’t helping: like Giles said, the past was done. Now, they had to fix what they could.
“I’m ready,” Giles said.
Turning, she saw that he had attached blankets to the quarterstaffs, making a stretcher.
“Spike,” she said gently. “This is going to hurt, but don’t fight, ok? Giles and I are trying to help you.”
He didn’t move, didn’t speak. Except for the fact that he wasn’t a pile of dust, she would have thought he had already reached the final death.
She slid her hands under Spike’s arms while Giles took hold of his feet. “I’m pretty sure he’s got broken ribs, so we’ll try to do this together. On ‘lift’. One, two, three, lift.”
They moved together as smoothly as they could, but Spike howled and began to thrash, and it was all they could do to lower him to the blanket without dropping him.
“No!” Buffy dropped to her knees and caught the flailing hands, using all her strength to bring Spike’s arms to his sides. His good eye snapped open, flared gold as fangs began to descend. He arched against her hold and snarled in pain as his broken ribs stabbed him.
“Stop it, Spike,” she pleaded, afraid he was going to manage to kill himself before they could get him out of there. He ignored her, continuing to struggle against her hold. “WILLIAM! Calm down! Stop fighting me!”
He stilled, looking confused, as the vampire features faded and his eye flicked back to blue. “Buffy?” he whispered.
“Yes, it’s me.” She thought of adding, ‘the less pleasant Buffy’ but decided now wasn’t the time for bitchiness. “Just be quiet now, and let us help.”
Spike’s eye closed, and the clenched muscles relaxed a little, due either to understanding or unconsciousness, and she nodded to Giles. They each moved to an end of the stretcher and stood, lifting it between them.
I hope nothing attacks, Buffy thought, as she and her Watcher hastened through the cemetery. She had a vivid picture of having to drop her end of Spike to fight off something, but the fates seemed to be helping out the tiniest bit, and they made it to the car without incident.
They set the stretcher down and looked from each other, to Spike, to the small back seat of Giles’ car.
“We seem to have a logistical problem,” Giles sighed.
“If you mean it’s going to be a trick getting him into the car, I’d have to say yes.”
“I can think of one way,” he said, not looking at her.
“You mean one of us gets into the back seat and pulls and the other one pushes? I thought of that too. Plus, somebody should sit back there to keep him from falling on the floor.”
“I have to drive,” he said apologetically.
“And I can tell you just hate not to be the one to cuddle Spike,” she answered sarcastically. “All right, all right. I know we have to, so, let’s go ahead.”
Buffy knelt on the back seat of the car, gripping Spike’s shoulders to keep him from slipping, while Giles propped the stretcher against the side. As slowly and carefully as possible, they worked him into the car. Buffy pulled back into the corner as far as she could and gathered Spike’s upper body across her lap, his head resting on her arm.
“Are you all right back there?” Giles asked as he settled into the driver’s seat.
“I’m peachy. Try to drive a little faster than your normal five miles under the speed limit, ok?”
“Right.”
Well, this was different. Had she been told at any time from three years ago until this afternoon, that she would be deliberately cradling an injured Spike in her arms as opposed to finishing him off, she would have laughed herself sick. But here they both were.
She sneaked a look down at him. He was quiet, and she hoped that was good sign, but otherwise nothing had changed. Spike looked awful, and not in a pale, injured hero sort of way. He didn’t look romantic or glamorous. He looked like somebody who had been tortured almost to death.
We have something, Buffy. It's not pretty, but it's real.
What you did for me, and Dawn, that was real.
She sighed.
Real or not, I don’t want to think about this.
At that moment, Giles took a curve a little too fast, and Buffy automatically tightened her grip on Spike. He shifted as the car straightened back out, and his head was suddenly lying against her breast instead of her arm.
An expected wave of sheer heat shot through her, and instincts deeper than those of the Slayer screamed to draw him closer against breasts that were suddenly hard and aching. She swallowed down a noise that wanted to be a moan and resolutely moved him back down.
“I know I said drive fast, but watch the Indie-car stuff, Giles,” she said as steadily as she could.
“Sorry. Almost there.”
“Slayer?” The voice was a bare whisper, but when Buffy hesitantly looked back down, there was recognition in his eye.
“What?” She said as matter-of –factly as she could, as if holding him against her were an everyday occurance.
He swallowed painfully and croaked, “There a reason I’m in your lap?”
“Long story. Hang on.”
“’kay.” Spike relaxed against her again, apparently trusting her utterly to get him out of this, and before Buffy realized what she was doing, her hand came up to stroke the pale, matted hair.
Fortunately, they arrived at the Magic Box before she could give into any lullaby-singing impulses.
They got Spike back onto the stretcher basically by reversing the procedure used to get him into the car, Giles lifting his feet while Buffy pushed on his shoulders. At last, they got him inside the training room and onto a hastily constructed mattress consisting of two of the thick tumbling mats covered by a blanket. Giles lit a small lamp providing a diffuse light instead of the usual bright overheads.
“Now what?” asked Buffy.
“Stay here, and keep him quiet while I mix up the potion,” Giles instructed. He handed her two flasks. “Water and blood. If he can take either, it should help.”
“Right.”
She sat down by Spike’s mattress, watching him worriedly. The vampire stirred a little, moaning, flinching away from even the dim light of the lamp, so she switched it off, leaving the spill of light from the partially open door as the only illumination.
“Easy,” Buffy said softly. “You’ll be ok.”
She could barely see him, but she caught the movement as his head turned toward her voice.
“Slayer?”
“I’m here.” She shifted closer until her leg was against the mats. “Can you drink something? Giles has blood.”
He nodded slightly, and Buffy opened the flask, turning back to him as Spike began to struggle to rise.
“Cut that out,” she said briskly and slid her arm under him, supporting him against her shoulder as she held the flask to his lips.
Spike swallowed twice, then coughed painfully, and she laid him back.
“Should…get hurt…more often,” he whispered.
“I’m sure something can be worked out.”
As the herbs steeped, Giles watched Buffy and Spike from the doorway, unseen by either.
Did he notice, Giles wondered, how her touch was gentle, even as her words remained abrasive? Did she see how her voice reached him when the jolting of the stretcher had not?
My God, he thought in wonder, it may really happen. They may really fall in love. That is, he’s already there, and Buffy’s well on her way, as if she had been only waiting for confirmation that Spike could be trusted.
He shuffled through his memories, trying to see what signs he had missed. She had entrusted her mother and sister to Spike’s care once. It could be argued that the action was born of desperation, but if she had thought he would harm them, Buffy would never have done so. True, he couldn’t harm them physically because of the chip, but nothing had prevented him from turning them over to Glory.
Buffy had remained entirely unaware of Spike’s interest until Dawn pointed it out, but that was strange, surely? She was not oblivious of her surroundings; no Slayer could be and survive. Could she have been afraid to recognize it? The First One had said Buffy feared love. Was that fear of receiving as well as giving?
And what, if anything, should he do about it? The Council would collapse in horror and insist he stake Spike at once. But was that the right thing to do? Like it or not, the vampire had been ready to sacrifice himself for Buffy’s happiness. Who was Rupert Giles or anyone else to say Spike was unworthy or incapable of love?
Poltergeists. He knew what to do about poltergeists. Why couldn’t she have poltergeists, or the ability to trigger rains of frogs, or a desire to collect china cats?
The teakettle whistled, and he sighed and went to collect the herbs.
The blood seemed to have strengthened him a little, but Spike was still drifting in and out of wakefulness, as Giles reentered the room. Buffy turned the lamp back on and frowned at what she saw the Watcher carrying. The poultice was all right, but the scalpel in his hand didn’t look promising, and his expression was grim.
He knelt on the other side of the mattress and brought the lamp near to the vampire’s face. Spike started to twist away from the light but forced himself to lie still.
Giles studied the injuries for a few moments, then sighed. “I was afraid of this. The wound on your cheek has closed, and it looks to be the source of the infection. I’m going to have to cut it open again, so the herbs can work. I’ll be quick, but it will hurt like hell.”
“Guessed as much,” the vampire muttered. “Do it then.”
“I need you not to fight me,” Giles said. “Buffy?”
“Ok.”
She knelt on the mat next to Spike and put her hands on his shoulders, holding him down.
“No.” Spike feebly tugged at one of Buffy’s wrists until she released him. “I’m awake enough not to fight.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” As if to prove it, he fisted his hands around the blanket.
“Very well then.” Giles took a deep breath and raised the scalpel.
“Wait.” Buffy unclenched one of the vampire’s hands and took it between her own. “Now.”
The scalpel slashed down. Spike didn’t scream, but a groan came from between his clenched teeth as black blood and pus poured from the wound. His hand tightened to bruising force around Buffy’s but she made no effort to pull away.
Giles set the poultice against the wound, letting the herbs absorb into the cut. Spike shuddered deeply, but didn’t try to fight, the demon features not even surfacing.
“Now, drink this. It will help you sleep.”
Already almost unconscious from the pain, Spike obeyed, his working eye never leaving the Slayer until it finally closed in exhaustion.
They traded watches through the night, Buffy or Giles sleeping on a third training mat while the other watched over Spike. Or at least Giles slept. Glancing over at Buffy during her supposed sleeping periods, he usually saw that her eyes were open, staring into the dark, although she closed them when she sensed his gaze.
Toward morning, he moved over to sit beside her mat.
“What is it?” he whispered. “I think Spike will be fine, you know. The fever’s gone down and now that the infection is care of, his own healing powers should be able to deal with the rest of his wounds.”
“I know,” she whispered back. “It’s just…strange. All of it. I don’t know what to think. Love is pain, the First One said, and the Slayer forges strength from pain. But what does that mean? What am I supposed to do?”
“I wish I could tell you, but that’s something only you can decide. I can tell you I will be here, whatever happens.”
“Y’know, all this metaphysical yammering is keeping me awake,” drawled a weak but snide Cockney voice. “And I’m a sick man.”
Both Slayer and Watcher glared at the vampire. “I didn't realize she was talking about pain in the ass,” Buffy snapped and flounced over.
Giles returned to his book and seat against the wall. “Was that really necessary?” he asked the vampire in a low voice a few moments later. “Buffy went to a lot of trouble for you tonight and…”
Spike grinned with the less split side of his mouth. “She’s finally asleep isn’t she?”
Giles looked over and saw that Buffy was indeed sleeping contentedly at last, a slight smile on her face.