A/N: Thanks for your reviews! I tried to do something different I hadn't seen before, and I'm glad people seem to like it. I work in a hospital, so I see every day that while aging is not fun, I really do think old people are beautiful, because it means they've seen and lived so much. People complain about growing old, but it's so much better than dying young. I see that in my hospital too.
On that note, I'd like to dedicate this chapter to my dad, who is turning the big 60 today. Happy Birthday, Dad! I love you!
Part 3: In Which Buffy Wakes Up (But Has a Setback)
Oddly enough, it was Xander who finally convinced Spike to eat. The boy entered the room, carrying a mug of blood. The scent of the warm liquid made saliva flood Spike's mouth, but he shoved back the hunger with practiced experience. He didn't even go into game face these days.
"You should eat something," Xander said without preamble, waving the mug dangerously over Buffy.
"Watch it," Spike snarled, pushing his hand away and being careful not to spill any on the sleeping woman.
"No really, I'm serious," Xander insisted. "See here's how I figure it is. There's your girl, and she's laying there, not doing anything, so you don't want to do anything. And I get it, I really do, because after Anya? Yeah, I wasn't doing anything useful. Then my friends kicked my ass, and made me keep moving."
Spike sneered. "I'd like to see you try."
"The way you are right now? Spike, Andrew could kick your ass. You're not much good for anything at the moment. I mean yeah, since you got here, Buffy's stopped getting worse, and maybe she's gotten a little better, but you really think she's going to want to wake up and see this?" He gestured at the recumbent vampire.
Spike snarled, "I knew it was coming. Not good enough for her, am I? Think I don't know that?"
Xander rolled his eye. "So not what I meant. You're already going to be in enough trouble with Buffy when she wakes up, you letting her think you were still dead."
By now everyone knew the story of how he'd come back. Giles had insisted on it, and Spike was willing to answer questions if it meant he would stay with Buffy.
"I mean, you want her to see you like this? I gotta say, deadboy junior not looking so pretty now," Xander continued. "You keep on like this, how much longer you going to be helpful before we got to put tubes in your veins next? Not to mention, there's a couple hundred girls out there who are way stronger than you, and they can feel that there's this really hungry vampire in the same room with their hero. I got to tell you, they all have itchy stake fingers to get you away from Buffy. You start eating something, not only are you going to be strong enough to defend yourself in case any of them start something, but maybe they're not going to worry so much that you're going to get snackish in the middle of the night."
Spike considered it for a minute. "Bloody hell," he growled, but seized the mug and began to drink it. Once he began, he couldn't stop. That first day he downed six liters of pig's blood. The animal swill wouldn't get him up to speed as fast as human, but at least it was plentiful. Surprisingly, all the Scoobies, even Giles, were willing to bring him blood when he requested it.
Dawn jokingly suggested starting a Slayer pool where each Slayer donated half a cup a week, but the idea was quickly vetoed by both Spike and Giles. There was only one Slayer's blood he would taste from now on, and only if she was willing. He regained condition quickly. He was no longer pining now that he was next to his mate, and soon he was as strong as he could be on a diet of animal blood.
As much as he hated to admit it, Xander was right. Hunger had weakened him and clouded his judgement. With his mind clear, he began to take a more active role in Buffy's care. He no longer laid listlessly next to her, but took part in her maintenance. He washed and brushed her hair. He massaged lotion in to her skin to keep it soft and supple. He gently exercised her limbs to keep them from freezing up, and rubbed ointment into her swollen joints. The nurses and Scoobies were grateful to have someone else who kept such a keen eye on her health, especially one with preternatural senses that could pick up what their machines and magic missed.
Those spells and wires were fine and all, but they didn't know Buffy. Not like he did. They didn't hear the blood rushing through her veins, or smell the subtle changes that told him when she was uncomfortable. And admittedly, the baby Slayers backed off when he no longer looked like he was about to chomp down on her.
Despite his improvements, he felt betrayed by his own body. Here he was, strong and healthy again, while Buffy remained sleeping day after day. And yet, not all hope was lost. There were improvements. Not so much outward, but he could sense her insides working better. The feeling of her Slayerness was stirring, slowly coming back alive. He felt it happening and could only shake his head in amazement. Surely she was daft, choosing a creature like him as her mate. He would still deny it, but the evidence was irrefutable. In thinking he was dead, she had nearly pined herself to death. With him back, she was returning to life.
The only thing that continued to trouble them was that she had not regained consciousness. She did stabilize to the point where they were able to remove her magically induced coma. The moment they did, Spike picked her up from bed, tubes and all, and carried her outside. It was night of course, or he couldn't have done that. He regretted not being able to show her the sunshine, but he knew she wouldn't want to wake in that hospital room. Except that she didn't wake up. Not that night, nor the week following. Still he continued to carry outside for at least an hour every night. The fresh air was good for her, and he snarled at the nurses and Slayers until they stopped fussing over him. He'd cared for one crazy vampire for over a century. Did they think he couldn't coddle one Slayer for an hour each night?
He spent so much time with Buffy that the Scoobies began to encourage him to take breaks. He flatly refused, until Xander came and gave him another lecture about turning into a hermit vampire, and baby Slayers with stakes still green from being carved. Spike protested and rolled his eyes, but he agreed to take over one or two of the classes that Buffy used to teach. Many of the girls were only too happy to work out their frustrations on him, and he had no objections to take them down a peg or two.
They were strong, but not as strong or fast as Buffy, and not as cunning as him. They practiced with rubber stakes, but he was in no danger of an accidental hit. Give it a couple years in training and they might surpass vampire strength, but right now that were all clumsy ducks tripping over themselves.
Dawn was usually the one that sat with Buffy while he was teaching. He'd had a heart-to-heart with the Niblet when he first came, and now they were tight again. Spike didn't like to let on how much he needed people, but it was true. He didn't like being alone. It was his worst nightmare. His time with Angel at Wolfram and Hart had been his private hell. Unable to touch at first, and then nothing more than an annoyance after. They didn't want him, didn't need him.
And then he found out Buffy was pining, and dropped everything to reach her. Now, it was weird, but he was feeling a sense of belonging that he'd never had, even in Sunnyhell. The Slayers that didn't actively want to stake him actually respected him, he had his Bit back again, he got to sleep beside his Slayer every night, and Giles, Willow and Xander appeared to accept him. In fact, about the only person whose reception he was worried about was Buffy herself.
Dawn was alone with Buffy when it happened. Spike was away teaching his class—grumbling all the while about having to go. He had been the one that discovered that talking to Buffy, whether or not she could understand them, seemed to help her. Maybe the sound of her friends and loved ones served to anchor her to this world. There were several books on her bedside table. Spike preferred to read to her softly at night, when everyone else was resting.
Dawn had to admit that his voice was very soothing. She had fallen asleep more than once listening to him, and in those faint dreams she had imagined they were a real family again, still in the house on Revello Drive, and not in this new reality. Spike was always attentive to her sister, but he didn't forget about her either. His hand drifted over her hair on occasion, and the look in his eyes was vulnerable and desperate.
Secretly, she didn't understand him. She didn't care about the whole vampires-can't-love thing, even before he got a soul. But the way Buffy and the others treated him, especially back in Sunnydale, and he never left. That was what she didn't understand. Anyone who had been treated half as bad would have high-tailed it out of there as soon as they could. Angel did, so many times Dawn had lost count of his revolving door status. Riley did. Giles did. But not Spike. He stuck around, despite the animosity, despite the pain, often at Buffy's hands.
And here he was again, or was it still? Things were better in the group this time, all drawn together in an effort to help Buffy, but still, he'd forgiven them. Not only forgiven them, but wanted so badly to belong that he would have put up with the same level of abuse and pain to stay. No, she didn't understand him. But she was grateful he was here. Not only that, but he was proving useful. Helping Buffy, teaching classes, tracking down a baby Slayer that had gotten misplaced yesterday.
"We got a new girl in a few days ago," Dawn was saying. "She's like, super young, only nine years old. Which, I guess we've had younger, but still, always seems like such a shock. Her name is Emily, and she was pretty wigged when we brought her in. I guess she didn't have much of a home before, and it was actually someone in her neighborhood who saw this really strong little girl and called the Watchers. Anyway, she's so tiny, and she doesn't like strangers much, especially some of the guys. So she had floor duty yesterday, and you know how Mike is this great guy but he has this really booming voice? He said something to her about how she wasn't doing it right, and she freaked out right there. Ran away and everything.
"Well there was this collective panic, and especially when it turned out that the outside door was left open after deliveries. So we can't find her inside the buildings, everyone's now outside looking for her on the streets, no one knows what do to, and in the middle of everything here comes Spike—"
Was it her imagination or had Buffy's hand twitched when she said his name? It wasn't the first time her sister seemed to react to any mention of the blond vampire, so she continued her story.
"And he's got that duster all swirling around him, you know how he can just fill up a place without even trying? He was like that, and he says something like, 'You sodding gits, why don't you call in the bloody dogs?'" She badly imitated Spike's accent, watching Buffy's eyes flick back and forth.
"Then he takes this deep breath, smelling everything, and walks right over to the linen closet and yanks it open. Sure enough, there's Emily, she somehow wedged herself up on the top shelf, in this little tiny corner you swear wouldn't be big enough for a mouse. Which is funny, because Spike called her a mouse, and she seemed to like that. You know how he is with nicknames. He had to talk her out of the shelf, because Slayer strength, we couldn't just pull her out without taking the entire closet with her.
"So he gets her out of the closet, and Mike is just beside himself, because he never meant to scare her, he was only trying to help her. He's sitting there, and he's got his head in his hands because he feels bad about it and all, and Spike has finally got Emily calmed down, and what do you know, she goes up to Mike and pats his shoulder!"
Dawn shook her head. "I'm telling you, that boyfriend of yours is the real deal. If you can't see how good Spike is when you get out of this, I don't know, I might move in with him or something. I mean, not that I'd date him, because he never looks at anyone but you, and I actually think Mike is really cute, but I don't want him to leave again. So you better be nice to Spike, you hear me?"
Buffy was visibly shifting every time Spike's name was mentioned, and it was the most activity she'd shown in weeks. Dawn watched eagerly, repeating the name as much as possible.
"Spike loves you, you know. Spike really does. Spike came back for you, and he's not leaving this time, as long as you don't do something stupid and push Spike away. And come on, how stupid would you have to be to do that, when missing Spike is the reason you got into this mess in the first place?"
Then it happened. Buffy's eyes actually fluttered open. Not fully open, only halfway. Sometimes she did that when she had a particularly vivid dream, but this seemed different.
"Buffy?" Dawn asked in a tiny voice.
Her sister blinked once, then twice. Her eyes moved, and slowly tracked toward Dawn. Her lips moved, a word that Dawn was almost sure was Spike.
"Buffy, can you hear me?" Dawn asked again. Buffy blinked, looked at Dawn, met her eyes. She tried to speak again, but only a croak came out. Dawn jumped up and grabbed the cup of water that was always on the bedside. She used the straw to carefully put a few drops in Buffy's mouth. Buffy licked at the water, swallowed, and desperately sucked at the straw for more. It was empty, but Dawn didn't dare refill it.
"Take it easy, Buffy," she said, tears in her eyes. "You've been out for weeks and they said you wouldn't be able to handle a lot at first. Oh my God, wait until I tell everyone that you're awake!"
Buffy's eyes wandered around the room almost frantically, searching for something.
"Buffy? It's okay, really, they said you'd be weak, and it will take a while to get back to normal."
Her sister looked back at Dawn, and there was a look of such despair, heartbreak and betrayal in her expression that she felt a terrible foreboding on the back of her neck.
"Buffy?"
The Slayer mouthed the word, tired, and closed her eyes. Her body went slack. Without warning the numbers on the heart monitor started to plummet, from her normal 60-70 range to forty, thirty, twenty, beginning flatline.
"No, Buffy, you can't do this!" Dawn cried, jumping on the bed and shaking her sister as shrill alarms erupted from the machine. She began clumsy chest compressions, but it was hard. An actual living human chest was nothing like the plastic dummies they had in class, and the bed was too soft under her, absorbing the compressions. She was screaming for help as nurses poured into the room. They shouted and ran around, grabbing medicines and magics. Someone pulled Dawn away. She fought viciously, but it was one of the Slayers, too strong to resist.
Someone else took her place performing CPR, placing a hard board under Buffy to make it more effective.
"Get Spike!" someone was yelling, and Dawn realized it was her. Spike had brought Buffy back before. He was the reason she had woken up. If he'd only been here this wouldn't be happening! They worked frantically over the Slayer's body, but the only pulse she had was the one they were giving her with their hands.
Dawn never knew if they followed her advice to get Spike, or if he just sensed something wrong, but suddenly he was there. With a roar he threw the nurse doing compressions across the room. The poor girl hit the wall and slid down, but she jumped back up with a Slayer's resistance. Spike straddled Buffy on the bed and resumed compressions, harder and faster than even the Slayer nurse could do it. The bed creaked in rhythm; the way Spike's body thrust as he pounded on her chest made it seem obscene, almost suggestive.
"Don't you dare do this to me, Slayer!" he yelled furiously. "You had your chance to go, and you didn't take it! I fought too hard and too long for you, and you're not leaving me now!"
"Watch her ribs," a nurse unwisely advised. Spike roared at him, flashing his demon face.
"Ribs will heal," he snarled. "She's not leaving me!"
He continued to work away on her. They all did. When it came time to shock Buffy, Spike merely stood on the bed, grabbed a strut in the ceiling and pulled his feet up. Once the shock was delivered, he dropped down and began compressions flawlessly. Without him, it was doubtful they would have been able to bring her back. Even with other Slayers available to take over, he never faltered. He didn't need to breathe, though he panted as he growled and shouted and threatened Buffy. Vampire endurance was legendary, and it came into play as he kept going beyond what a Slayer would have been able to do. If anyone thought it odd that a vampire with a long history of killing Slayers was now attempting to bring one back to life, no one commented on it.
Finally, Spike paused, lifting his hands and sitting back on his heels. Dawn screamed at him as the lines on the monitors fell again. But then they came back. Spike's chest heaved for silent breath as he closed his eyes and listened. His delicate senses had picked up the change in Buffy's heart more the machines could have. Her pulse was weak and thready. Technically she was still alive, but the hospital staff read her numbers and shook their heads. They'd seen this before. They knew it was only a brief reprieve. This was the part of their jobs that they didn't like, when the patient was clearly suffering and longing to die, but the family was hanging on and forcing them to keep living.
Spike growled warningly at them before their defeatist air could infect the room. Wisely they chose to leave. Giles, Xander, Willow and Dawn stayed. Spike moved from straddling her to lying next to her. The electrodes they used to shock her had left burns on her chest, and he began to lick them clean. There was a faint noise of protest, but it was quickly silenced by three other voices. They had almost lost Buffy, and the vampire saliva would help her heal better. Now was not the time to turn squeamish.
Spike was in for the fight of Buffy's life, and he knew it. Anger thrummed through him, at the Slayer, at himself, but his hands were still gentle as he massaged her palms. How dare she try to leave him now, after he'd already invested himself in her? Yeah, he told her that first day if she wanted to go she could, but she hadn't wanted to then. If she didn't want it then, he wouldn't let her now.
Dawn shakily told them about Buffy waking up right before her crisis, and that was all he needed to know. He knew exactly what had happened, and he was furious about it. For two weeks Buffy remained weak and on the edge. It never quite reached the point of a full hospital code again, but only because Spike wouldn't let it. The second her rhythm faltered, he was there, forcing her into action again. If he had to tear open her chest and massage her heart by hand, he would.
Her torso was mottled with bruises from the compressions. He'd felt the crackle in her chest as he'd worked on her, and knew he had damaged her ribs as well. That was fine. Ribs would heal, as he said. Death would not heal, not again for his Slayer. He knew with a certainty that her next death would be end of the line for her. And after that, what was for him but to meet the sunrise?
He hoped that she could feel the bruises he'd put on her body, the broken ribs, the burns from the electrodes. He hoped they hurt like a bitch. She should feel pain, for what she tried to do to him. Life was pain. Pain reminded her to keep moving, keep going. At one point during his struggle with her he bit her neck, over the vampire scars already in place there, and growled loud enough to shake the bed. His blunt human teeth didn't pierce the skin, but they left another beautiful bruise on her. He bit his own wrist and touched her tongue with his blood. He dabbed a couple drops under her nose, where she would smell them with every breath. Because she was his, and he was hers.
Late at night, when Dawn had drifted off to sleep in the hospital chair and everyone else had gone back to their own rooms, he spoke to Buffy.
"I know what you did," he said in a low, angry tone. "You woke up, and I wasn't there. You thought I was only a dream, that I didn't really come for you. You doubted me, again Buffy! You really got to get over that, 'cos you're stuck with me, you daft bint. You went and chose me as your mate, enough to pine for me, but you didn't think I'd be there for you? How could you?" His voice broke, and he suddenly flashed back to his last moment in Sunnyhell.
I love you.
No, you don't. But thanks for saying it.
No, he hadn't believed her either when she said it. He cried silently as he continued talking. "I love you, Buffy. God, I love you so much. And if you go, I got to tell you, I'm not long for this world. I'd just pine away like you're doing now, and I think I'd rather make it quick, you know what I mean. You woke up in this room, and I wasn't here for you, and you decided you'd rather just go than deal with being without me. Well, I'm here, and I'm going to make you believe, anyway I have to. My blood is yours, Buffy. Just you remember that, and next time you feel like taking a header, remember that you're dragging me with you."
Despite the incredulity of the hospital staff, Buffy did eventually get better. She suffered a setback, and it was taking her longer to heal, but she lived. That was the important part. Spike was now an immoveable fixture from Buffy's side. He refused to leave for an instant. It was a good thing he didn't need bathroom breaks, because he would have found a way around that as well. He didn't dare be absent for when Buffy woke again, for fear of the same thing happening. He didn't teach classes, and if no one brought blood, he would have starved rather than stir for one minute. But he didn't starve, because people were willing to bring him as much blood as he needed.
Xander came in one day, with that look on his face.
"Don't start, Whelp," Spike snarled. "I'm not leaving again. If I do, she could die."
Xander held up his hands innocently. "No leaving," he agreed. "This is me telling you to be non-leaving guy. I just thought you might like a new book to read." From his back pocket he pulled out a paperback and handed it to Spike. The vampire took it, oddly touched.
"Ta, mate," he said, and nodded to the man.
It was three weeks before Buffy stirred again. Spike had been reading her poetry—they were alone, so he didn't worry about looking too poncey, and in any case it wasn't his own work—when he recognized the signs of her starting to wake. The small twitches in her limbs, her eyes moving restlessly, the hitch in her breathing as she tried to drag herself from the deep well of sleep. He didn't stop talking, but it was impossible to read with all his attention focused on her. He closed the book and laid his head on the pillow next to hers.
"So my girl likes poetry, does she?" he murmured, cupping her cheek tenderly. "Figures that, just don't ask to see any of mine, yeah? I guarantee it'll send you back to sleep, if you don't choke from laughing too hard first." He watched her struggle against months of sleep. His thumb stroked her face.
"It's okay to wake, you know," he told her. "I'm here for you this time, and I'm not going to let you fall into the darkness." He breathed softly into her face, washing her in his scent.
And then she did it. Her eyes slitted open a tiny bit. Her gaze was unfocused, her expression confused and discontent. No doubt she was wondering why she wasn't dead when she'd tried so hard to do it.
"Hello cutie," he said softly, before she could get any funny ideas about taking another swan dive. She froze, her body tensing. A human wouldn't have noticed the tiny movement, but he saw everything. Her eyes fluttered, and with a great effort she opened them further. Those hazel orbs were the best things he'd ever seen as they locked on his.
Her lips moved, a faint whisper leaving her body that only a vampire inches away could have heard.
"Spike?"
He nodded. "Yeah, luv, it's me. I'm here for you." He ran his finger over her lips, revealing in the sensation of her gasp. He could see her confusion and delight, and her frustration as she tried to move but her body wouldn't listen to her. He brought her hand up to his face and pressed it there. Her fingers twitched, tracing over the scar on his eyebrow.
She whispered another word. "Heaven?"
He chuckled. "Not Heaven, pet. Just regular old earth, billions of Happy Meals on legs, the whole bit."
Her lips quirked. He moistened them with a damp cloth, and then fed her a few drops of water in the way that Dawn had. She accepted it, but frowned.
"How?" She stared at him desperately, touching his face as if she couldn't bear to let go. That was fine by him, because he wasn't releasing her any time soon.
"That's a long story, and I think you're still a bit tired for it. Get some more rest, and I'll tell you once you're better."
She shook her head minutely, even as she sagged with weariness. She began to do something odd, closing first one eye, and then the other, as if alternately winking at him. He was vastly entertained by it.
"What are you doing, luv?"
"Don't… sleep. Wake… gone."
He felt like crying. She didn't want to sleep, or even close her eyes, because she feared if she did he would disappear again.
"Not going to happen. I'm kind of a long-term bloke, yeah? Not going anywhere, now or ever. Sleep, Buffy. I'll be here when you wake."
Still she resisted him, until he leaned forward and gently kissed one eye shut. He ran his fingers down the other, and once both were closed she relaxed instantly into slumber.
Willow came in a few minutes later, carrying a mug of blood for him and lunch for herself. She saw the way he was lying and hesitated.
"Spike?" she asked fearfully, eyes darting to the monitors that they had all become adept at reading over the last few months.
"Shh, Red," he cautioned her quietly. "She's sleeping."
"She's—oh! You mean she—she woke up?" Willow was practically jumping in place, squeezing her sandwich to bits and trying to keep her voice from squeaking. He smiled fondly at her, tears of gratitude in his eyes. Without warning Willow flung herself at him and hugged him hard. He was startled, but accepted it gratefully. He would have expected it more from Dawn, but he didn't mind at all.
"Thank you, Spike," Willow whispered, straightening and wiping at her own face. "We wouldn't have her but for you."