A/N - This takes place when Spike is living with Giles.

Giles was not having a very good day at all.

In the morning, he had been woken up by Spike. Spike, who had been living in Giles' house for the past several weeks, drinking out of his mugs, sleeping on his sofa, and generally interrupting his schedule by being a nuisance. This morning, he had taken it on himself to make Giles breakfast. However, since Giles still felt safer when he was chained at night, what this had mostly involved was a lot of yelling at around six in the morning so Giles could unchain him. The breakfast hadn't even been particularly good. The vampire had abstained from using blood as an ingredient, thankfully, but it was still far too spicy for Giles' taste. Giles didn't understand how any self-respecting British person could enjoy food like that.

Then Giles had been met with a seemingly never-ending list of problems that it was his job to solve. First, Buffy had needed him to pretend to be Mr. Summers on a phone call with a prospective employer, which he did despite its dubious legality. Then, Willow had needed help finding an obscure magic candle. He had located it, by reaching out to no less than six of his contacts, but had she thanked him? No, she had just skipped off into the distance with her new Ellorien candle, not even giving him a backwards glance. He couldn't fault it for her, he knew she was just excited, but still. It hadn't been easy to find.

Then he had had to go to the hospital and pick up fresh blood for Spike, which was a resoundingly unpleasant task, and he'd been halfway home when he realized he'd also needed to get his dry cleaning, and then Spike had called him and told him they were out of ritz crackers again, and Giles was going to have to buy them for the second time this week….

Finally, finally, Giles and Spike had settled down for their weekly viewing of the renowned soap opera Passions. This, at least, was something that Giles could get excited about. Last week had certainly ended on a cliffhanger, with Timothy finding out that the woman he had married, Hannah, was actually Hannah's twin sister Amanda, who he had previously believed to be dead. Giles couldn't wait to see what Timothy was going to do next. And this was the one night a week where he was not only tolerant, but actually grateful for having the vampire in his house. No one else had ever wanted to talk to him about Passions. But Spike was just as excited about it as Giles was, if not more so. At this point, Spike could use all the goodwill he could get, after the breakfast fiasco.

But of course Passions had to be ruined too, because as soon as Giles turned on the TV, the news informed him of a museum robbery currently taking place only about fifteen minutes from Giles' home. Normally, he would find this concerning but not horribly pressing, except that none of the cops seemed to want to approach the building because there was an eerie silver light emanating from inside.

Giles had been planning on investigating on his own. Spike had asked to come, and Giles had of course said no. But then Spike had reminded him that Giles couldn't be Antonio without his Nathan, and of course how could Giles refuse a reference to his favorite buddy cops on Passions?

Which is how Giles had ended up in his present situation. Which was fighting three skull-faced demons with an ancient sword he had grabbed from a museum exhibit, while watching from across the room as Spike socked a fourth demon in the face.

Giles blocked one demon's strike and used the momentum to spin himself around, burying the sword deep in another demon's gut. The beast fell heavily to the floor with a squelch, and Giles seized the chance to look up and see what Spike was doing.

Spike was stomping on the skull of the demon at his feet, pounding it into an unpleasant jelly and looking far too excited about it. Giles considered genteelly throwing up, then abandoned the idea as the two remaining demons converged on him.

"Spike, if you're quite finished, I could use you…."

Spike tore himself away from his gruesome occupation and bounded over, launching himself at one of the demons. They rolled off in a tangle of limbs, Spike shouting intermittently about this being just like the time Ronald tackled Teyla's bookie right before he shot Louis.

Personally, Giles felt that it looked rather more like the time Nancy caught Sienna with her fiance, but he kept that thought to himself as the other demon circled, then attacked.

Giles backed away, barely able to keep the demon at bay. Its superior strength was proving difficult for Giles to match. He could feel his energy fading.

He raised his sword and feinted high, then struck low. Even as he committed to the swing, he could feel that it wasn't going to be enough.

The demon caught his strike on the hard plate on its arm, and the sword clanged out of Giles' hands and skittered across the floor. In some back corner of his mind, Giles automatically noted the horny plates on the demon's arm, unusual for the Subbok species. He would have to research the mutation. If he survived, that is.

Giles ducked under the demon's swing and backed away. The demon came after him, and Giles understood how mice must feel in the presence of a cat. He kept backing up, only to stop as his back hit something hard. One of the museum's exhibit cases. In the corner of his eye, he could see an ornate axe, safely encased behind the shatterproof glass.

The demon leapt, and Giles ducked again. The not-so-shatterproof glass cascaded to the floor, and Giles lunged for the axe as the demon staggered upright. Then, its head was on the floor and Giles leaned against the wall, panting for breath.

A few seconds later, he looked up to find Spike still wrestling his demon. He was just about to go and lend a hand when the shadows in the corner twisted, disgorging a man.

The newcomer stepped forward, eyes a solid black. Warlock. He raised his hand, glaring at Spike, and muttered the words of a spell that Giles could barely catch. He didn't recognize it.

Giles stepped forward, axe in hand, ready to do...something, but the warlock shoved his hand forward and a sudden flash of dark red lit the room. Giles braced to be dissolved, thrown backward, turned into a rat (you never knew with magic), but he felt nothing.

Spike, on the other hand, gasped and slackened his grip on his opponent's throat. The demon seized its chance, its fingers closing around Giles' abandoned sword.

"Spike!" Giles shouted, but it was too late.

Spike felt the sword slide in, puncturing his skin, muscle, and organs like so much tissue paper. He felt the world slow, then stop, crystallizing around the pain in his gut. He felt it start up again, and the pain spread outward and overwhelm him. He felt the slight breeze as the axe whistled by his head, and the reverberation as it buried itself in the demon's skull. He felt himself slide slowly down the blade to the hilt as his arms lost feeling, and then he felt nothing at all.

"Spike! Spike, open your eyes."

Spike did as he was told. Slowly, the world came into focus. Giles was leaning over him, looking worried. He had one hand on Spike's shoulder, and another pressed into the wound in Spike's stomach.

"What...what happened?" Spike asked weakly.

The second the words left Spike's mouth, he felt blood starting to bubble up his throat. His mouth was immediately filled with the taste of salt. There was nothing inherently unpleasant about it, except that the blood was his own, and it was accompanied by this excruciating pain….

He coughed weakly, and saw Giles eyes widen as what was presumably a fairly large amount of blood came out of his mouth.

"Don't...don't try to talk," Giles said quickly. Spike tried to sit up, and Giles used the hand that was on his shoulder to push him more firmly to the floor.

"Where are the rest of the demons?" Spike asked. From his position on the floor, he couldn't see any. And if there were still some here, why would they not be attacking them?

"There was a warlock," Giles said. "He did something with magic, I'm not sure exactly what. Then the demon stabbed you, and the warlock took that opportunity to escape. The demon that hurt you went with him."

Spike nodded slightly. He had a vague sense that that was not what they had wanted. They had wanted to stop the robbery, and instead they had apparently done essentially nothing. The warlock had probably still gotten whatever it was he had come for in the first place.

"Alright," Spike said. "Help me up."

Giles distractedly pushed his glasses up, looking worried. "Are you sure it's a good idea to be standing so soon? We really need to put pressure on this for a while longer, maybe even bandage it…."

Spike shook his head. The wound hurt, yeah, but it wasn't the most serious injury he had ever received. He didn't need bandages. What he needed was to get back to Giles house and drink some blood, so he could recover faster and they could go after the warlock again.

"Spike…."

"This is nothing," Spike said, which was a slight exaggeration but nothing unforgivable. "I can be back on my feet in an hour or so."

"Are you sure?" Giles asked, looking as though he wanted to fiddle with his glasses again.

"Yeah," Spike said with a breeziness he didn't feel. "Are you gonna help me up, or are you just gonna sit there gaping?"

Giles looked a little offended and got to his feet, offering Spike a hand. Steeling himself, Spike reached up and allowed Giles to pull him up.

Spike made it without screaming, barely. He couldn't quite hold back a muffled sort of squawk, but he thought it might have been quiet enough that Giles didn't hear it. He cast a quick glance at the ex-Watcher, who was staring determinedly at anything but Spike. Close enough.

Giles glanced at Spike, who was quietly coughing blood onto the ground, then looked hurriedly away. The vampire didn't look good at all, he'd gone a shade or two paler than normal and he was wincing with every step they took.

Giles knew that vampires healed far more quickly than humans, and had a higher pain tolerance to boot. He'd seen plenty of wounds that would have killed an ordinary human barely slow down a vampire. Still, it was a little different when the vampire in question hadn't recently been rushing at you, fangs bared, but rather watching a soap opera on your couch.

"Are you sure you'll be alright?" Giles asked, unable to stop himself, as Spike stumbled hard.

"Yeah," Spike said through gritted teeth. "Just need a little blood, some time. Right as - aah - rain."

Giles looked at him a little skeptically, but he supposed Spike should know. "Very well. Let's get you home, then we can decide what to do about the warlock."

Spike nodded, then seemed to perk up a little. "Ooh, maybe we can finish the episode of Passions we're on, do you think Tracy really-"

He broke off, coughing roughly. Blood flecked the edges of his mouth, and he doubled over, gasping in pain as he tugged at the wound.

Giles hesitated, unsure what to do. Spike clearly didn't want his help, and he didn't particularly want to give it. Still, he couldn't just ignore what was happening in front of him.

"There, there," he said awkwardly. "Try to get your breath, oh, you don't breathe, do you? Hmm…."

"I'm...alright," Spike said, straightening up. But he had started shaking quite badly, and Giles really wasn't sure that he was. Giles waited a moment for him to start moving on his own again, but when he didn't, Giles gently took his arm. Spike frowned a little, but didn't say anything, and allowed Giles to guide him slowly back to the car.

By the time they arrived back at Giles' car, it seemed to be taking all of Spike's effort to stay vertical. Giles didn't even try to ask him any questions, because he didn't think he would be able to answer. He looked exhausted, and with every step he seemed to sway slightly. The front of his shirt was soaked with blood.

"Come on," Giles murmured. "We're back to the car now, alright, alright, just...stop for a minute now, don't worry, I'll open the door for you…."

Giles knew he was rambling a little, but it was keeping the vampire's attention on him rather than the gaping wound in his chest, and that was the biggest thing that mattered. At this point, Spike seemed to be taking this whole thing in stride, but Giles was afraid if he got a good look at the wound he would start to panic. He knew vampires healed fast, but he also wasn't sure Spike really understood how serious it was. He didn't think that Spike had really examined the wound yet, and in Giles' opinion, he seemed to be a little out of it to be accurately judging that sort of thing.

Giles reached around Spike to open the passenger side door. And just in time too, because the second the door was open Spike's knees buckled and he reeled into Giles. Giles managed to catch him, barely, and manhandle him into the seat. His eyelids were fluttering weakly. Giles wasn't sure if he had any idea what was going on anymore.

Giles considered the vampire for a moment, and then reached across him to strap him in. Even though the seatbelt would probably dig into the wound some, it would also keep him from getting jostled around. And Giles was certainly not one to ignore road safety.

"Hey," Spike said, rousing slightly as Giles leaned across him. "Get...get off me…."

"It's alright," Giles said in his best soothing voice. "It's just the seatbelt."

Spike mumbled something about seatbelts being for sissies, which Giles duly ignored. He started the car and pulled out of the parking lot, trying to accelerate as smoothly as possible. Even so, Spike moaned slightly as Giles turned into the road and the momentum jostled him.

With every successive turn, Spike curled in on himself a little more, until he'd ended up in a nearly fetal position in the passenger seat, arm wrapped protectively around his stomach. Giles looked over at him, unsure what to do or say, then looked up just in time to see the car in front of him come to an abrupt stop.

Giles slammed on his brakes, automatically reaching out in front of Spike to stop him from moving too far forward. The vampire whimpered as the seatbelt dug into his wound, and Giles relocated his outstretched hand to Spike's shoulder.

Shockingly, Spike didn't protest. Giles searched for something to say and came up empty. He settled for giving Spike's shoulder a comforting squeeze.

Ahead of them, the light turned green, and Giles reclaimed his hand and slowly pulled into the intersection, ignoring the honks from cars behind. In the seat next to him, Spike stirred feebly.

"Almost there?" he whispered plaintively, and Giles felt an odd surge of responsibility and sympathy. He still wasn't sure why they hadn't staked Spike at the earliest opportunity, and he was even less sure why he now seemed to be part of the group. Perhaps Angel leaving had resulted in a vampire-shaped vacancy; that was really the only reason that Giles could come up with.

Spike was still looking at him through half-lidded eyes, the pain evident on his face. Giles nodded at him.

"Yes, yes. We're almost there. If you could hold on just a little longer…."

Spike blinked at him, and Giles found himself suddenly adding "You're doing wonderfully." It seemed the proper thing to do.

Spike didn't respond, but Giles thought he saw the vampire relax ever so slightly. Giles had a few seconds to congratulate himself before he pulled into the driveway and Spike tensed again, clearly on the edge of crying out.

"Alright," Giles said, breaking. "That's it. We're back."

Spike made a small, murmuring sound that Giles could only assume was some sort of assent. He didn't respond aside from that. His eyes were still shut tight, head resting against the window, the picture of defeat and pain. His hand was curled protectively over his wound. Blood seeped through his fingers.

Giles opened the car door, and got around the other side to help Spike. By this point, the vampire seemed nearly completely unconscious, to the point that Giles wasn't sure how he was going to get him into the house.

"Spike!" Giles hissed, grabbing onto his shoulder and shaking him slightly. "Spike, wake up. We...we need to move you, alright?"

Spike mumbled something. His eyes fluttered weakly, but stayed closed.

"Come on, Spike, you...you need work with me here…."

Finally, Spike managed to open his eyes. "Yeah, yeah," he said, voice small and weak. "I'm coming."

He moved to unbuckle his seatbelt, but he missed and his bloody hand glanced off the metal. Giles wasn't sure he would have had the strength to unlock it anyways. He reached across Spike and unbuckled it for him, and this time, Spike didn't protest.

Giles carefully began easing Spike out of the car. Giles could tell that Spike knew what was going on still, at least. He seemed to be trying his best to work with Giles, although a lot of what he was doing wasn't particularly helpful and just got in the way. Finally, however, Giles managed to get him out of the car and into a relatively upright position, with Spike's right arm around Giles' shoulder and Giles' hands around Spike's waist, careful to avoid the wound itself.

Spike hissed with pain as soon as Giles tried to move him. Giles could tell he was struggling to get his legs to support his weight. The wound itself must be agony, and Giles was impressed that Spike was only protesting as much as he was. His face was deathly pale, and with every exhale he made a pained little whimper in the back of his throat.

Giles moved Spike into the house as slowly as he dared, not wanting to rush the process and make the wound any worse. It was a little difficult to get the door open, when taking a hand off Spike for even a second seemed to put him at risk for falling to the pavement. Giles finally managed to get the door open, glancing around to make sure none of his neighbors were around to watch him dragging a blood-covered vampire into his house. The widow Johnson next door had been nosy ever since Spike had decided to test out the volume range of Giles' record player at 3am, and Giles would rather not give her anything else to be suspicious of.

Luckily, she seemed to be minding her own business for once. Giles half-carried Spike into the house and maneuvered him carefully onto the couch, wincing at the blood covering Spike's stomach.

"I'm just going to get a towel," Giles told him. "Erm, try not to bleed on the upholstery if you can avoid it." He felt mildly guilty about this, but the couch had been expensive.

Spike didn't reply (Giles hadn't expected him to) and Giles went looking for something to protect his furniture.

Spike curled around his wound, trying to think of something beside the pain. He closed his eyes, trying to remind himself that it wouldn't hurt like this much longer. All he needed was a little blood and a little time, and it'd barely hurt at all.

There was a touch at his shoulder, and Spike managed to peel his eyes open. Giles was there, hovering with an old sheet and a mug of blood.

Spike managed to move slightly, enough for Giles to tuck the sheet over his couch, and Giles helped him settle down again.

Giles held out the mug for Spike to take, and Spike reached for it, noting with mild interest that his hands were shaking badly. That probably wasn't a good sign.

Spike tried to take the mug from Giles, but he couldn't get his fingers to close on the handle. He tried again, frustrated.

"It's alright," Giles murmured. "I'll get you a straw." He set the mug down on the coffee table and vanished into the kitchen. Spike closed his eyes again, silently grateful to Giles for getting him a straw instead of helping him drink like a child.

Giles reappeared, straw in hand. He raised the mug closer to Spike and Spike managed to drink, finally. The torn flesh and tissue in his gut protested at the movement, and Spike tensed against the pain.

"Is it...feeling better yet?" Giles asked cautiously.

Spike considered. He didn't think the healing process had started. He still felt exactly the same. Worse even, from all the movement and the steady loss of blood. The pain was excruciating

"Not...not yet," Spike managed.

"Drink a little more blood," Giles said encouragingly.

Spike nodded. He wasn't sure how much blood he was going to be able to get down. Obviously, his insides were pretty damaged, and drinking was already starting to be a struggle. But he knew he wouldn't be able to start healing until he could replenish some of the blood he had lost, and the only way to do that was to drink it. Giles held the mug close again, and he swallowed a few more mouthfuls before shaking his head.

"No more…," Spike said weakly. He watched through slitted eyes as Giles set the mug on the coffee table. He expected Giles to immediately leave, but instead he remained next to the sofa, a tall, blurry outline in Spike's fading vision.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" Giles finally asked. "Anything I can get you?"

This question rather blindsided Spike. He wasn't sure that anyone had ever asked him if there was a way they could help him in his entire life. He tried to think back, determine if that was really true. He supposed Drusilla may have done it once or twice. Mostly, it had seemed like he was the one helping her, getting her anything she asked for. Spike wasn't even sure how to respond to the question. What sort of things might he want, if he really had someone to take care of him?

It was a stupid question anyways. What could a moldy old librarian possibly do to help? Hah. He'd probably try to give him books to take the mind off the pain, or dress him all in...in tweed, or try to talk to him about hyphens….

There was nothing Spike needed from Giles. The idea was almost comical.

"I'm fine," Spike said. In his head, his voice was sharp. In actuality, he thought he just sounded weak and tired.

"I'll be right back," Giles said. "I'm going to get some supplies, to try to dress it."

"I don't need...any of that," Spike said, attempting to casually wave his hand. "I told you, I'll be all healed up in an hour."

"Well, maybe if we treat the wound properly, you'll be all healed up in a half an hour."

"Whatever." Spike closed his eyes. If he didn't look at Giles, he wouldn't see the pity (or was it worry?) in his eyes. Whichever it was, Spike had never needed either before, and he certainly wasn't going to start now.