"Whisper"

By: WickedFrex

Disclaimer: Yeah, you know, I'm not that creative. They belong to Joss. Yada, yada, yada...

Chapter One

"After The Fall"

At the edge of his consciousness, he saw her standing there. She looked nervous, even if all he saw was a blur. He wanted to cry out to her. All he wanted to do was scream. He wanted to let the world know how much it hurt. How it ripped through him like electricity and made everything burn. But he couldn't. Didn't have the strength. So, instead, he steeled himself as another wave of agony ripped through his skull. His vision, such as it was, grayed out again and he found white hot light flashing behind his closed eyelids.

For a moment he was floating. Blissfully floating. He could see nothing, hear nothing and best of all, feel nothing. He was numb and it was the best feeling he had felt all night...

But, it didn't last long. Something jerked him awake. A pressure at his elbow. It was only then that he felt the cold beneath his skull. He heard the muffled voices of men as they bustled about behind him. And Buffy. Where was Buffy? He couldn't feel her anymore. He couldn't sense her like he had before.

Oh, God, Buffy...

His thoughts quickly rose to alarm and he felt himself squirm and writhe, willing himself to move. She had left him. Alone. With the Initiative at his back, she had left him there.

"...give him another dose." a voice snapped close to his ear. He felt two strong arms grip him, trying to steady his movements. He felt himself being forcefully pressed back into the cold metal behind his head. It only made him struggle more. He wasn't going down without a fight. Not this time. Not again.

He growled low in his throat, trying desperately to free himself. But, he was weak and the only thing that came out was a muffled groan. He had nothing left to fight with. He was sapped and the only thing left to do was give up. And that's what he did. With a pitiful thud, he fell back against the gurney and waited. He wished Buffy hadn't left him. And at the same time, realized how childish it was for him to think that. What happened to the Big Bad? Where was the monster?

Being fried inside your bloody skull, apparently. He thought, smiling to himself. Along with what's left of you. His mind added, making him shut his eyes tighter. He hated his conscience. That's all the soul was. A voice. Something deep inside of him that was telling him what was right and wrong. And it was what was killing him. Not the chip. Not the jolts of pain coursing through his brain. But the soul. It told him that for a hundred years he had been wrong. And it was telling him now that it was right to die this way. For all the pain, he should die...

"Spike?" the sharp voice was back, cutting through his clouded thoughts to bring him back to reality. The scenery had changed. He was in a white room, which wasn't very white anymore. It looked old. He must still be in the Initiative. And that voice must be..

He jumped as a hand circled his bicep. "Hey, it's O.K. Just relax." the man said, releasing the pressure against his skin. How could he relax? He didn't even know what was going on.

"Buffy..." he whispered softly, begging for her to walk into the line of what was left of his vision. The hand loosed again and then left all together. His arm was cold again. He tried to look around, tried to lift his head. But he found that none of his neck muscles would work. A soft moan of defeat passed through his lips.

The hand returned, this time touching his wrist gently. Was that the soldier's job? Comfort the demon? Make sure he doesn't scream bloody murder while they violate his mind again? He blinked. Once. Twice. The clouds were still there, but he could at least make out the man...no, boy. He was young. About the age he himself was when he was turned...

"What's goin' on?" Spike asked, his lips not quite forming the words. The soldier's eyes went back to his and he squeezed Spike's wrist reassuringly.

"It's alright. We're almost through. Just relax." the boy repeated, his voice holding neither comfort nor hatred. Spike settled on the idea that that was his job. They paid him to hold vampires' hands. Spike laughed slightly at the idea. He got a strange look from the boy before his eyes went back to whatever they were looking at before. Spike felt his own eyes grow heavy. Speaking, just those words, had taken his energy away. He smiled a bit, at nothing really, and then, slipped blissfully into unconsciousness.