Dedicated to RAGAnne, RKF22, ElysiumPhoenix, and madcloisfan.

This chapter is relationship-focused with lots of sprinkles of plot/set-up in there.

Curiously, there's a fairly big person in Buffy's life who we haven't seen yet... Next chapter, perhaps?

Chapter 25

When Spike woke up, the room was bright. The Slayer had finally changed out of her fuzzy robe, had on a long skirt already and was currently pulling a soft green shirt over her head. Spike stretched in her bed, watching her move. She swiped hair away from her face, digging around in her closet for something or another. When she pulled away and started for the end table, she stumbled, only just catching herself before she ended up on the floor.

"You alright?"

"I swear I had my extra box of earrings around here somewhere..." she muttered. She started for the other side of the room. Suddenly, her face paled. Buffy clutched to the knob of her closed bedroom door, her other arm wrapped around her torso. Spike tensed, and when she didn't say anything, snapped to his feet.

"Buffy?"

"I'm—I—Holy crap."

"What is it?"

"I just feel all achey. And my head feels like it might explode."

Spike chuckled, though his entire body was tensing. "You have too much to drink last night, pet?"

Buffy groaned, holding her hand over her face. "Too early for snarky vampy-ness," she mumbled into her palm.

Spike took a step back. "What? You want me to go? Hate to break it to ya, but the sunshine 'n I have a long-standin' feud."

She glared at him, nostrils flaring. "Drama vamp."

"Dra—" The rest of the word was lost in an indignant scoff. "Well, Summers, if I'm causin' you so much grief—"

The phone ringing made the pair of them jump. The Slayer headed over to her nightstand, picking it up. Spike chewed on the inside of his cheek, finding his boots. He sat on the edge of the bed, shoving his feet into them. If the bossy bint decided she wanted him to go all of a sudden, he didn't want to sit there lacing himself up like a wanker.

"Wait, slow down. Who is this?"

Spike, tugging his shirt over his head, turned, watching the girl over his shoulder. She locked eyes with him. He could tell by the furrowed brow that she was trying to suss somethin' out. She jerked her head toward the door, leaving through it herself. Spike grabbed his duster on the way out, following her down the stairs to the living room, where she turned on the TV. The news was on, and in the top right corner, a picture of...

"Professor Margaret Walsh was found in her office on the UC Sunnydale campus today with multiple stab wounds. Police are still uncertain of whether this was a random attack or if she was perhaps targeted for some reason. They will release more details as they become available."

"Yeah, multiple stab wounds," Buffy said into the phone. "You think it's Adam?" She looked to Spike, her raised eyebrows asking for his opinion.

"Powerful bird, got in the way? Sounds more like Warren's M.O.," he said. Buffy nodded, her nose scrunched up as she thought.

"And in other news, Sunnydale Memorial Hospital is currently full to capacity." Buffy and Spike turned at the same time, mouths hanging open at the TV. "An epidemic has been declared by the mayor's office, and Sunnydale will subsequently be quarantined until further notice. Patients have been reporting fever, hallucinations, loss of balance, seizures, laryngitis, and, in the most severe cases, death."

"How does a patient report that they're dead?" Buffy blurted out.

"S'pose the corpse does that for 'em, doesn't it?" Spike said.

"Medical professionals are at a loss for the origin or type of illness, but strongly urge any citizen who may have symptoms to avoid contact with others, as this disease appears to be airborne. If you are showing symptoms, please call..."

"And you guys all have it? Huh. Alright. Yeah, let me talk to Spike, alright? Yes, he's still here. Xander, look, I—Hold on, my mom's on the other line." Buffy hung up the phone and pitched it at the couch.

"What was Harris on about?"

"You know how Tara and Wills stayed at his place last night to avoid the Initiative mess on campus? Apparently when they woke up this morning, the two of them could barely sit up without major pain. And now Xander's got it, too."

"Laryngitis?" Spike said, shrugging his duster on. "You don't think it's those silent gits again, do you?"

Buffy shook her head, chewing her lip. Her eyes sparked up, the way they did in a fight when she knew she was about to win. "Adam!"

"What about him, love?"

"The powdery stuff yesterday! He got it all over me and you and Willow and Tara. Maybe that made us sick?"

"And the wiccas passed it onto the boy. Could be."

"Oh God. Mom! What if I got Mom sick and she's in the hospital and—"

"Your mum's not in the hospital, love," Spike said. He reached into his pocket, fiddling with his lighter so he didn't correct himself with a yet on the end. "She's just at work. I'm sure she's fine."

"But if we were together, even in the same house, maybe—"

"You didn't talk to her, though. I imagine, bein' the Slayer and what all, you're probably a bit immune to it, anyway. Might feel like a bad case of the flu. And I can't get sick. Since I'm the only one who had a chat with her, I doubt that—"

"You spoke with my mother last night?" Now Buffy's eyes were wide and panicked for a whole new reason. "What did she say? Did she know you stayed the night?"

"She's the one who made the tea. She was... more acceptin' than you might think. Though I don't imagine I'll be walkin' around here in nothin' but your bathrobe anytime soon. C'mon. Let's get you to Harris'."

"And what?"

"Get the witches on how to fix this. Gotta be somethin' magic or medical or somethin' they can do. You and Harris can talk about how to kick Adam's metallic arse."

"And what about you?"

"I dunno. Never was much use with the pre-battle bit."

"Maybe you can see if the demon types know where to find Adam, or Warren even? Warren strikes me as the evil lair type."

"Sure. Think I still remember where his mum lives..."

"Spike!"

"What?"

"You can't eat his mother."

Spike threw back his shoulders and rolled his eyes. He choked back the urge to call her daft, and a few other less pleasant things. He didn't know the Slayer got even bitchier when she wasn't feeling up to snuff. "He used to live in her basement? Thought he might've set up some sorta headquarters there."

"Oh." She winced. "Look, I just—I'm the Slayer, alright? Assuming that vampires go in for the kill is kinda in the job description."

"Yeah, well..."

Buffy laughed, shaking her head. "We kinda suck at this whole new relationship thing, don't we?"

"'cept for that brief thing with Harm, it has been over a century for me."

"And Dru was a few fries short of a happy meal," Buffy muttered.

"And your one and only was the Great Forehead," Spike countered, more fire in his voice than the girl probably approved of.

Buffy's eyes widened with recognition. "Angel!"

"Fine. Angel. Big Puppy with Bad Teeth. Call him whatever you like."

"No! He's a vampire too!"

"Yeah..." Spike cocked his head at her. The wheels were clearly turning inside that blond head of hers, but what they were trying to get at was a bloody mystery to him. "Do you need to take a seat for a mo', love?"

"He'll be immune, too! We can call him into town to help."

"Like hell we can." Spike turned from her. "This ain't his Hellmouth anymore, and I'm not gonna just stand by and..." The image of her kissing Angel "hello" when Buffy'd been fighting the priest still stung inside his head.

"Spike." Buffy's small hand was on his arm. "You know I care about you, right? I wouldn't hurt you like that."

Girl had more going on upstairs than she let on. "Yeah, that's what they all say." Dru, again and again and again. His poor princess couldn't help it, wasn't in her right mind, all thanks to good ol' Angelus.

"Hey." Buffy's steely voice made Spike turn this time. Her entire expression was firm, determined, though her lips were starting to pale more visibly. "I'm not that kind of person. What, do you think I've just been with you because I'm bored? Or—or because there weren't any other options? Hell, might as well be with Xander, right? I mean, he's right there. And bonus—heartbeat!"

Spike shrugged, eyes to his boots. "I know you'll never love me," he said, something that repeated in his thoughts and dreams with fair frequency. "I know that I'm a monster."

"I'm not Malibu Barbie looking for her Ken doll, alright? I'm the Slayer, complete with super powers, a mega powerful immune system, and, likely, an expiration date within the next five years. Parker? Riley? They're not going to happen for me. And Angel..."

Now she was shrinking away from him, retreating into herself. Spike reached toward her, but didn't make contact.

"What's been our happiest moment, for you?" she asked.

Spike rubbed the back of his head, exhaling slowly and deliberately. "Holdin' you at night, when you're peaceful."

"Angel's happiest moment with me was after we slept together," she said, her voice small. "That was the one thing we could never do: sex. It's how he achieved true happiness. And that causes major soul-losage and massacring of anyone I love... and population of their fish tank. But you... You're happy just holding me, and I'm happy..."

She grinned to herself, lost in thought. "When we patrol together and you know when I want you to redirect a vamp toward me... When we're teasing each other in bed... How awkward you get around my mom or Tara... The way you look at me..." She licked her lips. "I thought Angel was all I'd ever get. The big one-and-only love of my life. It's not the kind of thing I... It's only been a couple of months, Spike. I don't know that I love you. But I... I do care about you. And I'd never..."

"Shh, shh.." Spike wrapped her up in his arms, his chin against the top of her head. "I'm sorry, kitten. I didn't mean anythin' by it." She was getting warmer by the minute, her silky tan skin starting to sweat. "If you want me to do it, I'll call him in. Let's just get you to where you won't be able to infect your mum, yeah?"

Buffy pulled back, smiling warmly up at him. She reached up, caressing his cool cheek with her too-hot palm.