CHAPTER SEVEN

            Spike comes into the apartment and instantly dumps the contents of his shopping bags onto the coffee table in front of the sofa.  On top of Giles' copies of Architectural Digest and National Geographic is now a virtual cornucopia of dried herbs. 

            The Scoobies have gathered around, curiosity temporarily rousing them from their grief as they look on.

            "I raided every health store and hippie guru shop in town.  Even popped by your little Merlin hut, Rupert.  Didn't find what I needed there, though.  Most of this came from Helena's House of Herbs.  And if this works, I owe Helena a new plate glass window."

            "Spike put his hand through that glass like it was I Can't Believe It's Not Butter,"  Dawn says with admiring eyes. 

            "How do you know this is going to work?"  Giles asks.

            Spike pauses, looking at the myriad ingredients on the table and wondering the same thing himself.  "An Indian told me,"  he says.

            "An Indian told you?"  Xander says.  "Was this before or after he told you to organize a concert called Spikestock?"

            Spike frowns.  "All right.  Long story short.  After I left Sunnydale in February, I went on a journey.  I ended up in the desert.  I almost died, an Indian saved me, told me about how his grandfather had rescued his tribe from a deadly fever with a combination of herbs and flowers, how to overcome the pain in my head when I hurt someone, ya da ya da ya da, I killed the bloke.  Seemed like the right thing to do and the tasty way to do it at the time, but now…"  He avoids their eyes as he says this.  "I think he may have cursed me when I killed him.  And since I'm already cursed in some respects, I think the curse may have been passed onto Buffy."

            Spike knows Giles is coming for him.  But as his back slams against a bookcase, there's something that tells him he deserves this.

            Giles' voice is close.  His left hand holds Spike's shirt; the other, a stake, close to Spike's chest.

            "You did this,"  Giles hisses.  "This sick, obsessive love you have for her.  The Shaman couldn't curse you with this fever.  You've passed it onto Buffy."

            But on Spike's face there is nothing but the sincerest of apologies.  "Rupert, if I had known…Rupert, I would never hurt Buffy.  Not now.  You know that,"  Spike says.

            "Do I?"  Giles asks, forcing the stake a little closer to Spike's heart.

"If I had known…you have to know I love her so much.  I love her more than anything in the world.  When I was at her bedside, I felt things I haven't allowed myself to feel for years.   I love her, Rupert.   It crushed me to see her like that.  And to think that I had something to do with it…I can't.  But if I did, I'm going to make damn bloody certain that I make things right.  Only I can save her now."

            Giles regards the struggling, white-headed figure in his grasp.  He has always tried not to look into his eyes.  Eyes are the windows to the soul.  And Spike has none.  But for a minute there he sees something mingling in the irises that looks like pain, and it has nothing to do with the fact that the stake is close to piercing his chest.   It's as though in this moment Giles knows every bit of turmoil Spike went through when he sat at Buffy's bedside.  He sees the pathetic figure he was, crumbling from the sight of his love hovering so close to death.  But his grip on the vamp remains strong, as well as his doubts.

            "I never thought I'd say this in a million years,"  Xander pipes up, "but Spike may be our only hope right now."

Giles knows this.  Spike isn't stringing them along.  He's not going to suddenly flash demon eyes and have a feast.  He hasn't so far…but things can change on the turn of a dime.  He remembers this as the stake remains strong and constant at Spike's heart.

"I love her, Giles.  I love her more than you can ever know.  If anything, I'll wager I'm the only one in this room who's made love to her,"  Spike says.

            This is the last thing Spike should have said.  And he realizes this quickly when the stake twists into him even further.  He swears he can feel it poking at the vena cava with teasing ease.

            Giles turns off any further exploration of Spike's "soul." 

            "I could stake you where you stand,"  Giles says.

            "Yeah,"  Spike says.  "And I could kill you where you live."  He doesn't dare vamp out, though the thought does occur to him, if only for extra emphasis. 

But apparently this is all Giles needs to know.  The hand and the stake both fall away. 

With the sudden emergency over, all part and return to their chosen places.

 "Well, if it's a curse, Tara and I can reverse it,"  Willow says hopefully.

            "Not so, Red,"  Spike says.  "You and your lady love may rock with the levitation and relocation spells, but there's something else at play here.   Mysticism is not magic."   

            "Spike's right,"  Tara concurs.  "You may think that what we're doing is intermingled with all the spirit world, but there is a definite difference.   The Indian's spirit appealed to a whole different level of spirits.  And to explain the difference is like comparing…Apples to IBM's."

            "I have to agree as well,"  Giles says reluctantly.  "There are forces at work that none of us can begin to understand.  I may have a few books on Indian mysticism, but from what I've read, these curses cannot be reversed unless the intended victim learns something from the calamity that befalls him once the curse has been placed.  And often times, that's too late."

            "So how are these tumblin' tumbleweeds going to help Buffy?"  Xander asks.

            "When brewed together,"  Spike says, "they combine to create a powerful potion that wipes out the source of the fever, whatever it may be.  There's Carline Thistle, Cayenne, Chamomile, Horseradish, and Wild Root.  Everything we need…all except one."

            "And which one is that?"  Giles asks.

            "That's what I don't know, Rupert.  I searched and searched my memory banks and came up with nothing.  But I know there is something I'm missing.  There were six key ingredients.  I've only got five.  That's where you come in, Buffy pals.  So, Red, get clicking on that computer.  Rupert, slip those specs back on your nose.  Anya, supply your clueless wit.  Xander, keep being the wise-acre wanker we've come to love and loathe.   And Tara…"  He swishes his hand around in the air.  "You do whatever you do to contribute as usual."

            "But you have so much of everything…how do you know what amounts to put in?"  Willow asks.

            "I don't know.  That's why I stole lots.  If too little is not enough, we've got more."

            "And if too much is too much?"  Giles asks slyly.

            Spike regards Giles who is still wanting to hate him so much he isn't surprised that the stake remains in his hand.

            "Rupert, it's still more than we have now.  It's hope at least."  He realizes he needs to be a little more demonstrative about his intentions.  He's not going to get through to them without some dazzling display of their shared affection.  But she is not with them… He knows even now they are thinking this is some bizarre hoax and in the morning they're going to be participants in an involuntary blood drive.  "She told me she loved me tonight."

            There is a moment of silence, as though all are participating in a requiem for the death of all their preconceived notions of Buffy.  But reason rules again. 

            Giles speaks.  "She was in the throes of fever."

            "But I offered to save her the only way I know…"  Spike says.  "And she said no.  And I didn't do it.  I came to you.  Doesn't that say something?"

It says a lot.  More than Giles is willing to admit. 

Dawn is at his side, hugging him close.  He returns the gesture, wrapping his arms around her as well.  He kisses her on the forehead as the others look on.

"It's OK, Little Bit.  I'm not going to let a thing happen to your sister.  I'm the Big Bad, remember?  Who's afraid of the Big Bad?"

"The fever, hopefully,"  Dawn says as she snuggles closer to him.

This is the first time any one of them has seen this kind of fondness for the vampire from a human who is not a determined victim.  It collectively startles the Scoobies…makes them wonder…

Giles is all too aware of the demises of the two Slayers that Spike has laid claim too.  And tonight Spike chooses to save one.  There has to be something else…there HAS to be something else…

"Please don't let Buffy die, Spike,"  Dawn implores.

"I won't.  You know that,"  he answers.

"I love you, Spike,"  Dawn says.

"I love you too, Little Bit,"  he answers.

And Giles has a new reason to worry.

It is much later.  The night has that past midnight feel, but no one has bothered to look at a clock in a while.  Willow remains at her laptop, with Tara close by as they peer into the screen, scrolling through endless names of herbs and their properties.  They have tapped into a massive herb glossary on the web and have spent the past few hours combing through definitions and descriptions of every type of herb known to man on every continent in the world.  Willow has made it through the all the way to the S's now when she finds something that might jog Spike's mind

            "Sanguinary,"  she announces.  "Real name, Achillea Millefolium.  Also known as Band Man's Plaything, Bloodwart, Carpenters Weed, Devil's Plaything, Milfoil, Nose Bleed, Old Man's Pepper, Soldier's Woundwort, Staunchweed, Thousand Weed, and Yarrow.  Do any of those ring a bell?"

"They all sound delicious,"  he says, tiredly, "But no, I don't think that's it."

"I don't think it is, either,"  Willow says.  "It says it's found mostly in Europe."

"Oh, and it may cause sensitivities,"  Tara adds.

Dawn adjusts her head on Spike's shoulder.  She is dosing, but is not completely convinced she's ready to sleep.  She doesn't want to leave Spike, but his body is making her chilly, she thinks.  She folds her arms as his arm goes around her. 

"You know, Spike,"  Giles says.  "We may be able to find this elusive herb a little quicker if you could simply remember the name of the Indian's tribe."

He closes his eyes and thinks.  In a minute, his lids fly open again.  "Oh!  Ogakor!" 

He sits back in self-congratulation, waiting for someone to grab a book and look for the name.  But his answer is only met with sheepish glances.

"That's a tribe on Survivor,"  Xander says.

"Oh, bloody hell!"  he says.  "I watched far too much telly when I was at Buffy's."

"If you can't remember the name of the tribe, they how do you expect to remember the name of the herb?"  Giles asks.

"It will come to me soon.  Now I really wish I hadn't killed him.  I could just get Red to e-mail him and ask him."

"He had a computer?"  Willow asks.

"Oh, yes!  He was on it all the time playing Keno and checking his stock quotes.  At first he let me use it, but he changed the password 'cos he said I was downloading too much porn."

"I had to do the same thing with Xander,"  Anya says. 

"Anya, I told you I didn't know how those sites ended up in the history.  I still think the super is to blame."

"Xander, he's seventy five years old!"

"So?  Spike's, like, 120."

Spike cuts Xander a look.

"And you wear it very well, my friend,"  Xander says quickly.  "Do you moisturize?"

Spike decides to let this one go.  "Onto the next one, Red."

"Santonica,"  Willow says.  "Also known as Levant, sea wormwood, worm seed…"

"But it's only found in Iran,"  Tara says.  "And is mostly used to treat round worm.  Has no effect on tapeworm, though."

"Well, that's disappointing,"  Xander says. 

Giles has been consumed by his own reading for the most part.  Though a librarian, he owns few books on Indians and even a few titles dealing with Indian mysticism.  But finally he does come upon something that does have an air of familiarity about it.

"This is interesting,"  Giles says, pushing his glasses further up his nose.  "Yes, this might be useful.  But it's from Armand Peltier's Tales of the Old West, so I don't know how much merit the story warrants.    It seems there was a settler, one Morris Colby, who encountered an Indian on the plains, and for no better reason than to just to prove he could do it, he shot the Indian and killed him."

"Ooh, little existentialism on the prairie,"  Xander says.

Giles reads from the text now.  "'Colby returned to his home, not the least bit remorseful for what had transpired on the plains.  His wife inquired of his whereabouts that night, but he said nothing, seeing there was a cozy fire and stew for supper.  He set about eating his supper and then retired early.  He awoke the next morning to find his wife shivering at his side, wracked by a terrible fever.  His sturdy son, in a room nearby, also awoke to the clutches of this fever.   The fever was such that it caused them to see visions and disabled their movements, as well as their breathing.  Within forty-eight hours, both were dead.'"

            In the silence following his reading, thoughts are forming all around the room.  And then all eyes turn to the pale, blond headed man seated calmly on the sofa and the teenaged girl snuggled next to him who has not moved from his side since he arrived.

            Spike touches his chin to Dawn's head and feels a slight singe.  He then turns, taking her face in his hands.

            "Dawn?"  he asks.

            She is slow to respond.  Her eyes look as though they want to open, but she can't seem to make them.

            "Her head's hot,"  Spike says.

            All start to approach as Spike continues to try and rouse the girl.

            "Dawn?  Dawn, answer me,"  Spike commands.

            "Mmm….so cold…"  she says.  Her lips open to the sight of her white teeth chattering together.

            "Oh, dear God,"  Spike says. 

            "Don't tell me…"  Giles says.

            "I think she's got it,"  Spike says. 

            It's becoming all too clear to Giles now, especially in light of what he has just read.

            "The curse killed the two most important people in the settler's life,"  Giles says, "effectively destroying everything the man loved…"

            "She was exposed to Buffy,"  Spike is saying, "She could have caught it from her…"

            "You killed that Shaman with your thirst for blood.  You try and pretend you're this docile, domesticated creature curled up in Buffy's living room like a bleeding cocker spaniel, but you're a killer, still,"  Giles says through clenched teeth.

            "Dawn and Buffy are the most precious things on earth to me,"  Spike says, gently lifting Dawn's hair away from her face.

            "And that is precisely why they are ill,"  Giles says.  "We've got to get her to the hospital."

            "No!"  Spike says.  "There's nothing they can do to help her there.  They don't know what they're dealing with.  We do."

            "Spike, Dawn needs to be in hospital.  If her fever is as high as Buffy's is, she could go into convulsions."

            "Then we'll have to control it ourselves.  Put her in a tub with ice or something.  And when I've come up with the last ingredient for the potion, we can test it on Dawn."

            "Are you really suggesting that we use Dawn as a guinea pig for this little concoction that probably won't work anyway?"  Giles says.

            Spike frowns.  "You people still don't trust me, do you?  I'm wracking my brain trying to remember this formula, and you think I'm only doing it so I can see you squirm.  You don't believe I can do anything good because of all my evil past deeds."

            "Well, it is kinda hard to forget all those years when you treated the world like your own personal Columbine High School,"  Xander says.

            Spike is about to respond when his mind is jarred by something Xander has said.  It wasn't the insulting tone in his voice, it wasn't the "yes, let's make Spike feel even worse about what he's done" tenor of the statement.  It was the content.  There was something there…something that sounded like an answer to his prayers.

            "What did you say?"  Spike asks.

            Xander's eyes bug out of his head for a brief instant.  "Now look, Spike, if you think you can start something with me, I'm in the presence of friends and Giles has plenty of stakes for all of us.  Aside from that, I've been working out and---

            "Oh, shut it, Xander.  You couldn't hurt me if your workouts consisted solely of running about with a minivan strapped to your back.   What did you say to me just now?  The name of the high school?"

            Xander reflects back.  "Columbine?"

            There is a light in Spike's visage now.  A slow, relieved smile spreads across his face as he begins to laugh.

            "That's it!"  he says through his chortles.

            "What?"  Giles asks.  "Columbine?"

            "Columbine is the last ingredient!"  Spike says triumphantly.  "How could I have forgotten Columbine?"

            "Are you certain, Spike?  Columbine has no medicinal purpose whatsoever.  It's just a wildflower."

            "I know for certain.  I remember when the Indian told me.  Columbine, he said.  Like the high school."

            Giles is still not convinced.  He stands with his arms folded, scowling down at Spike and drawing his tongue across the bottom row of his teeth.

Just then, the phone sounds.  It is a sound that startles the group, collectively.  After midnight a phone call is always bad news or a sad apology.  In this case, they are all suspecting both.

The phone rings again.

Willow clutches a hand to her heart.  "Oh, God…"

Giles makes his way slowly to the phone.  On his face is a look of expectation.  He is rehearsing the words in his head again, planning his reaction.  But when he answers after the third ring, he can barely remember to say "hello."

Tara and Willow draw near one another.  Anya grasps Xander's hand.  Spike keeps his eyes on Giles' face as his hand reaches for Dawn's small, sweaty fingers.

"Yes…"  Giles is saying.  "Any news…"  His face falls.  "Oh, God…"

This utterance inspires a premature tear to slip down Willow's cheek as she leans in closer to her, trying to decipher the words coming from the receiver.

"Is she all right?"  Giles continues.  "Oh, I see…I see…"  He closes his eyes for a minute and there is a perceptible rise in his chest.  "Well, thank you.  You will call if there's any change, won't you?  Yes, fine.  Thank you again."

They know by his words that Buffy is still alive.  But what happened?  Giles is hesitant to divulge anything after he sets the phone down, though in the air, his present company's questions are being fired at him wordlessly in the form of furrowed brows.

Finally, he says, "Buffy went into cardiac arrest about an hour ago…"  He waits for that information to be digested before getting on with the rest of the news.  "The doctor was able to get her heart started again.  She was down about twenty minutes.  And now…"  Giles looks down at the floor.  "She has…she has slipped into a coma…"

Willow is the first to speak.  "Well, comas aren't so bad, are they?  People come out of comas all the time…"

Her hopeful words do nothing to raise the group's spirits.  Giles looks over at her as if to say, "Buffy won't come out of this one…"

There is no talking as Giles strides across the floor and heads for the door.  No one tries to follow him.  He needs to be alone now.

In his absence, all eyes fall to Spike and the shivering girl on the sofa.  Spike has thought that Dawn's euphoria has prevented her from hearing the news.  But she knows.  She is whispering to him now, in a distant, laborious voice.  He bends near to hear her better.

"Ulll be nes,"  she says.

"What did you say, love?  I can't hear you,"  Spike says.

She licks her lips as she struggles to amplify her voice.  "I'll be next," she says clearly.

Spike is quick to soothe her, though the only words in his head now are dark thoughts of the inevitable.  He looks at her lying there, helpless in his arms.  How many times has he held someone like this, marking a victim for death, endeavoring for a feast.  And now, here he is, wanting to pummel this demon curse with his fists until it's broken and shamed away, until it's nothing at all but a slight scare.

The door opens again.  It is an effort for everyone to look up.  It is as though if they look up, they might see the fear in each other's faces and what is going to happen to Buffy will be real. 

But inquisitiveness directs their stares to a bunch of light blue flowers in Giles' hand.  He brings them into the room as though he is carrying a bridesmaid's nosegay.  They look so pretty and out of place, so cheerful.

Spike is still looking down at Dawn when Giles comes in.  He doesn't see the flowers until they are almost right under his nose.

 "Here,"  Giles said.  "I had some growing in the courtyard."

Spike regards the flowers with an open mouthed stare.  "Columbine?
            Giles nods slowly.  "Columbine."  He snaps the flowers away from Spike just as the vampire is about to touch them.  "This had better work,"  he says in a dark and threatening voice.

            "It will work.  I swear it.  And if this doesn't work…"  he takes a breath, remembering the Indian's words the day he saw him in his crypt.  Remember nothing and you will die…           He swallows hard before speaking.  "You can kill me.  As a matter of fact, I'll lend a hand."  He touches the side of Dawn's stilled face.  "If something happens to these two girls, there's not much point in being around anyway."