CHAPTER EIGHT
There is activity now in Giles' apartment, replacing the piquant lethargy of the hours before. Most of the activity is centered on Giles' kitchen where a saucepot slowly simmers with the ingredients that will make a potion to cure the little girl who shivers under a dozen plus bags of ice in Giles' bathtub. Xander bought all the minimart had. With each addition to the pile, Dawn's eyes widen and she rises, as though ready to spring clear out of the tub. The burst of energy lasts only so long. Soon is under the fast melting glob of ice. Her pink shirt and shorts now gleam from down below like hints of morning in the clouds.
And it is almost morning.
"It's too cold…" Dawn says through chattering teeth. "I can't stand it!"
"I know, love, I know," Spike says as he strokes her hair. "It won't be for long."
"Spike, we don't know how much more to put in!" Willow's voice calls from the kitchen.
"Well you're the damn witch, Red! Double double toil and trouble and all that? You'll figure it out!" Spike shouts over his shoulder.
"It would help if you gave us some guide to go by!" she retaliates.
"The Indian said it should be a light blue color."
Willow looks down at the potion. Is sort of looks blue. Then again, it's in a black saucepan. Willow goes over to the cupboards. In the first cupboard is an assortment of cookbooks; in the second, some Fiesta plates; in the third, glasses. She seizes a small juice glass and hastily dips it into the now near boiling liquid on the stove. As she hoists it up into the light, it shows its true color.
"It's something blue, all right," Willow says.
In a few minutes, Willow is in the bathroom. She brings the potion in a tea cup. Spike doesn't see her when she enters. His chin is on the bathtub, his hands still stroking Dawn's hair. Dawn's eyes are closed, but her mouth is open slightly, emitting slow breaths.
"Is she asleep?" Willow asks.
"I don't know," Spike says. "She'll speak and then go back to where ever she is in her mind." Spike turns to Willow. "You got the potion?"
Willow extends her arms, the cup between her hands.
Spike motions for her to give her the cup.
"It's still really hot," Willow warns.
When Spike takes the cup in his hands, he knows what she means. "Bloody hell! She's got a fever so you're going to scald her to death?" He dips his hand in for some ice and plops a few pieces into the cup. "Here, Dawn," he says, cupping her head in his hands, "Drink this…carefully…"
There is some protestation is Dawn in the form of a vague, I don't wanna. But Spike forces the bottom of the cup to the bottom of her lip.
"Drink this, dear. It'll help you. And Buffy. You want to help your big sis, don't you?"
"Mmmmm," Dawn responds. Her eyes open lazily for a second before closing again.
"Sweet Bit, please. Drink this. You've got to do this, love. Please?" Spike implores, pressing the cup closer to her lip.
Her top lip folds over the rim of the cup. A bit of the liquid invades her mouth and falls down onto her chin.
"Drink it all, Bit," Spike encourages. "Every last sip."
He dips the cup a little further. More flows into her mouth. She swallows, eventually. And there are more swallows to come.
"Drink, love," Spike insists. "Drink every bit of it. And you'll be better. I promise."
Willow waits by the door until Dawn finishes the cup. She doesn't know if Spike knows if she's still there. He seems oblivious to anything but the small girl's sipping. He watches every gulp as though he's taking it himself and occasionally mutters, "That's good. Drink it down." When he returns the cup to examine it for emptiness, he presses on. Within five minutes, she has finished the brew. And Spike holds the drunk-up cup in his pinky, as he leans closer to Dawn, pressing a kiss on her forehead.
"You did well, Dawn. You'll be better soon."
"And Buffy too?" Dawn asks, through the grating of her white, evenly spaced teeth.
"And Buffy too," Spike says.
Willow walks away slowly down the hall from Giles' bedroom. She has just helped Dawn into her pajamas and put her to bed. She has left the vampire to tend to the girl. He will not sleep tonight, he said. He will stay by Dawn until she wakes. In the living room, she finds Xander and Anya curled up with each other on the sofa, slowly sipping from ceramic mugs. Tara is taking her turn at the laptop. As Willow passes, she notices the screen. There is a sprig of light blue flowers…the Columbine.
Willow squeezes Tara's shoulder as she passes into the kitchen, where Giles remains, cup in hand, sitting at the table.
"Preventive medicine," Giles says. "There's still some on the range, if you want it. I gave it to the others, just in case."
Willow
dips a mug into the saucepan on the stove.
She tastes it and then understands Dawn's reluctance to finish it.
"It's bitter," Willow says.
"I know," Giles says, "It tastes a little better with honey."
"You got some?"
"There's a bear of it up in the cupboard."
"Ooh, a bear!" Willow says, going in search of the honey.
As Willow is swirling a golden strand of honey into her cup, she regards Giles, sitting at the table, rubbing his temples. He looks completely exhausted and Willow wonders what is keeping him awake at this point. His thoughts are ringing loudly throughout the room and they're all about Buffy…and Spike.
Willow slips into a chair across from Giles, though for a minute he doesn't seem to notice she's there. She sips carefully from the cup, remembering the care that Spike took cooling the brew with ice cubes before he let Dawn drink. In that small, simple gesture she saw much that she hadn't allowed herself to see before. And she was beginning to think Buffy wasn't completely out of her mind the other night when she sat on the floor of her apartment, among the burning candles and wilting rose petals, and said, "Thing is, I think I really love the guy…"
"How's Dawn?" Giles asks.
"She got it all down. Spike insisted."
"Spike…" Giles says in a disparaging voice. "If he's the hero in all this…" Giles cannot find the words to finish, but Willow suspects they would have gone something like, "I may kill him anyway."
There's something Willow needs him to know, but she doesn't quite know how to phrase it, because Giles' attitude is clearly still "down with Spike." Finally, she sputters, "I've been thinking…about Spike and the no violence thing even with the V-chip not working thing anymore." Giles peers at her quizzically. "I mean, he's sat here all evening and hasn't made a move towards any of us, except Xander, and he kinda deserved it because he was being a smartass. But, all-in-all, he's been kind of a non-creep and…sweet and all with Dawn. Like he really cares about her."
Giles sighs. "To tell you the truth, Willow, I am just as perplexed as you are about all this. When Buffy first told me that Spike loved her, I couldn't even begin to fathom what was going on in his mind. I rationalized that by the chip controlling his instinct to kill, he was feeling vulnerable and subconsciously allied himself with Buffy to protect himself. As time went on, I began to think that Spike was embracing memories of his humanity because he couldn't act the part of the vampire anymore. He was recalling feelings he once had, not experiencing them in his current reality. He moved in with Buffy and Dawn and felt the closeness of a familial unit again. He wanted to be a part of their bond, because his own kind had rejected him so brutally and with Buffy and Dawn he felt protected and safe."
"He felt," Willow says.
"Pardon?"
"You said, he felt, twice. I didn't think vampires weren't supposed to have feelings."
"They don't. They rely completely on instinct and desire."
"But he's acting like he really cares about Buffy and Dawn and has for a long, long time."
"If he thinks that he loves Buffy, then naturally he would think that he loves all that is important in her life. I don't believe his efforts were entirely charitable when he agreed to look after Dawn. He was looking for a way to Buffy, and evidently, he found it. Now it appears he's convinced her she loves him as well."
Willow hesitates before venturing to say her next comment. She takes another sip of the brew and says behind the shield of the cup, "She does."
Giles raises an eyebrow.
"Now, Giles, don't be mad. I wasn't going to tell you this because Buffy made me promise I wouldn't. But I think you should know now. Tara and I were at Buffy's apartment the night before she got sick. We came to put the de-invite spell back on the apartment, but our timing was a little off. He had been there that night. And he had stayed with her the night before."
"I had some idea that. She was hiding something from me when she was training the other day. Why did he leave this time?"
"She and Spike had a fight. He was angry that she had asked us to re-spell him out of Buffy's place. Angry enough to put a hole in the door with his boot and smash the table, but not angry enough to kill her. He didn't even threaten her. And she was worried that she had hurt him so much that he wouldn't come back." She won't divulge why, but she remembers Buffy's words with all the clarity of a playback in her head. When we make love, it's the best thing I've ever experienced. When I feel him close to me, I just want to get closer. When he touches me, I want his hands all over me, everywhere. He makes me completely, totally insane and it's like I get lost somewhere with him, in a place where I'm not the Slayer and he is not a vampire. We're just two lovers locked in a passionate embrace, loving each other 'til it hurts. We shake and we quiver until we almost cry…And then it's over and we're the Slayer and a vampire again and I can't love him and he can't love me. But I do. I really do love him…Willow shakes off the memory of Buffy's confession and settles back into the conversation at hand. "I know you're just going to yell at me for this and give me one of your disapproving stares, but Spike really loves her. I mean, it's hard to forget all the psycho stuff he's pulled and the tally of innocent people he's put six feet under, but…maybe, his love for Buffy has really changed him."
Giles is silent for a long time. And the look on his face isn't one of disapproval. It's one of acceptance.
"I think you may be right, Willow," he says softly. "I don't know. Perhaps it's the late hour or the fact that I've had precisely two hours of sleep in the past two days, but I do see some alteration in his general directive. But that doesn't mean that he still isn't dangerous, though. Something keeps telling me that once he gets what he truly wants, we might see shades of his former self again in Technicolor."
"I don't know, Giles. Do you think he would really go to all this trouble of trying to save Buffy just to kill her? I mean, if you could see him up there with Dawn. I almost cried. He's going to be totally devastated if something happens to Buffy and Dawn."
Giles lifts the mug to his lips. There are doubts forming in his head about the words he is saying, but he won't confess them. Why is he fighting so hard to keep her alive? Is there love in that cold, dead heart? Or something else? He has seen the evil in this vampire far too often to think that it could be vanquished by any human touch other than the thrusting of a stake. But maybe there is something to this…
Giles sips at the brew and stares off in another direction. Willow, sensing the conversation is over, grabs her mug and heads for the living room.
There is a soft touch of morning now glowing in the apartment. The first sunbeams fall on the sleeping forms of Xander and Anya, entwined on the sofa. On the floor lay Tara and Willow, snoozing on a pallet of blankets and pillows. Giles remains face down on the kitchen table where he has been all night, except for the times he made periodic checks on Dawn, who slept in his bed. Spike remains by Dawn, his head resting on the edge of the bed, his hand still on her shoulder. Presently he is waking to the touch of a warm hand on his and the gentle mewling of a girl.
"Spike?" she says.
"I'm here, Bit," he says, automatically, as he's said about a hundred times during the course of the night. But now he feels the warmth of her hand…
He lifts his head slowly. When his eyes finally focus, he sees brown eyes staring back at him, wide, brown, awake eyes. There is a red flush on her face, not from sickness, but glowing health.
"Dawn?" he gasps. He scoots closer to her. A smile springs to his lips as he reaches for her. "Sweet Bit, are you all right now?"
"Tired," she says
"I'll bet you are, Nibblet. I'll bet you are," he says softly as he presses a hand for her forehead. "But you feel better?"
"Yeah, I think so. I don't feel like something in a meat locker anymore."
He smiles again as he leans over and kisses her healthy cheek. And then in a voice that everyone can hear, he says, "Hey! It worked! The bloody thing worked!"
Within seconds the sleeping bunch in the living room are crowding the door for a look.
"She's OK?" Willow asks.
"There's no fever now," he says proudly.
Giles is now making his way into the bedroom. "Are you certain?" Giles asks as he reaches to touch her forehead.
Spike shines his eyes up at the Watcher. "Cool as the proverbial cucumber, eh, Rupert?"
"We'll see," he mutters as he reaches for the thermometer by the bed.
As Spike is securing the blankets around her, Giles inserts the thermometer into her mouth. Her teeth clatter against the glass as she tries to speak.
"Mwows Buppy?" she asks.
Spike smiles warmly. "She's going to be fine now, love. You're the proof. We're going to get your sister back."
"Of course," Giles says. "the ice submersion could have something to do with this."
When his statement is met with exasperated looks, he back peddles feebly.
"But, then again, the potion couldn't have hurt."
"Speaking of which," Xander says. "Shouldn't we be getting it over to the hospital?"
"Yes, right. We should," Giles says. "Straight away."
"I'll stay here with Dawn," Spike says.
"Oh no, Spike. I'll stay with her," Willow volunteers. "You should be there when she wakes up."
Spike nods towards the streaming rays of light coming through the window. "This isn't my time of the day. I'll sit tight here. But you give me a ring when something happens, and I'll be there."
"But we may need you to play Chewbacca in case the doctors aren't too keen on using non-FDA approved Indian herb cures," Xander says.
"Sorry, mate. Wookie costumes's at the cleaners," Spike says. "You go. This is the sort of thing you folks do all the time. After defeating evil government zombie makers and a hell bitch, a team of Harvard Medical School grads should be no problem for you to get past." He looks at Dawn who is smiling at him with such affection it's as though he's loving her for the first time all over again. "This is my job."
It is a little after eleven o'clock when Spike gets the phone call he has been waiting for all morning.
"She's all right now, Spike," Giles tells him with reluctance tensing his words into hushed bytes of sound.
Spike releases the breath he's been holding since the night before, it seems. "Oh, thank God."
"They've brought her fever down to about 99.7 which is the coolest she's been in days. And thankfully, there's no evidence of any permanent damage to the organs the fever affected. She's awake and sitting up in her bed having a late breakfast now." Giles pauses. "And she's been asking for you."
Oh, my love…he thinks as he closes his eyes. "Tell her I'll be there as soon as someone can relieve me of Dawn patrol. And I'll need the cloak from my crypt."
"I'm sending Tara and Willow now."
Spike is waiting outside Buffy's door, wondering just what he'll see inside. His memories of the previous night are haunting him. Everything recognizable about his love vanished by the ravages of the fever. He remembers the swollen face, the blackening skin. He remembers how it was a struggle for her to even grip his hand. It was a touch that was foreign to him. He sensed she was letting go. She was prepared to die. But he wasn't going to let her. She should have known better.
But now she knows that he brought the fever on her. He prepares himself for an adverse reaction to his appearance. She may not be so willing for him to rush into her arms if she thinks of him as her would-be killer.
He presses the door and swings in with it. First he sees Xander, Anya and Giles all huddled about the bed. And then he sees her, sitting up against her pillows, her face still showing the fever's wrath. Her skin is slowly returning to its slightly tanned and rosy hue. Her eyes are bright and shiny as she smiles over at him.
Giles turns slowly to the figure inspiring the twinkle in her eyes.
"Right," he says. "Well, we'll leave the two of you alone for a bit, I suppose," Giles says. He leans over and brushes his lips across her forehead. "Glad you're feeling better, Buffy."
"Well, not comatose anymore, at least. But slowly getting to the better part," she says.
Giles nods slowly and starts for the door. As Xander and Anya file past Spike, they both smile, knowingly. Xander curls his fist and gives Spike an "atta boy!" punch to the shoulder. He supposes this is his way of saying thank you. When Giles walks by, he acknowledges Spike with a slight shift in his lips that suggests a smile, but he can't quite go through with it. Spike understands. Giles is a very proud man.
"Oh, and Spike," Giles says, turning around before heading for the door. "Tara did some checking on the formula last night. It turns out that the Columbine wasn't really necessary. It's the flower that gives the potion its unique, blue coloring."
Spike only rolls his eyes.
"But, who am I to be a nay sayer now. The damn thing worked after all." As Gives leaves the room, he is still muttering, "the damn thing worked" as though even now he can't believe it.
"Killjoy!" Spike says in annoyance.
"He's really jealous, you know. He's my Watcher. He felt that he should have come up with something to cure me," Buffy explains. "So…I understand that you had something to do with this. Both the getting really sick and almost dying thing and then the waking up not feverish and not seeing scary visions stuff in my head anymore thing."
He knew this was coming. "Buffy, I didn't mean---
"I know you didn't, Spike," she says softly. "I know you'd never do anything to hurt me on purpose. You don't have to apologize for anything." She reaches out her arms to him. "Come here."
She doesn't have to even ask. He is there the minute he sees her arms are open wide just for him. Once he's there, he doesn't know if he's going to burst into tears or burst into song. He leans heavily against her, pining inwardly to get closer, as close as he can manage. His lips are traveling across her cheek now to her mouth. There is apology in this kiss. And relief.
"I never thought I'd be able to do this again," he says. "I was so worried I was seeing you for the last time last night," he says against her breast and she holds him close to her. "Buffy, I just couldn't make it without you."
"I know. The whole time I was sick, I kept having these dreams that you were dead. I couldn't believe how lost and alone I felt in those dreams. It was like I couldn't stand to be alive without being able to find you anywhere in the world ever again."
"Oh, Buffy…" he says, kissing her again. But then something occurs to him. What she said last night. Does she remember? Was it real? Or was it the fever talking?
He takes her hand and presses it against his lips. "Buffy, while I was in here last night, you said something. And I was just wondering---
"Yeah, I know. I told you I loved you. And I do. I love you."
Now that he can hear her say it with her eyes looking straight into his it means so much more. Now he wishes the others were here. He hopes Giles is listening outside. He hopes old Rupert is about to beg for a nitro tablet as he hears what's going on between the two of them.
"Say it again, love," Spike begs breathlessly as he kisses her.
"I love you," she says, with a slight laugh in her voice.
"And again and again and again…" he says, his hands bringing her face closer to his.
"Now you're just getting greedy," she says.
"Oh, Buffy, I've waited so long for you to say that. Humor me," he says.
"All right. I love you, I love you, I love you…" she coos. And then finally, with her hand caressing his cheek. "I love you, Spike."
He still can't believe this. He hears her speaking. He sees her mouth forming the words. And she's looking right at him. He thinks to himself that if all this is being caused by the aftermath of the fever, then may she never see 98.6 again.
"Buffy, the thought of you dying terrified me, even more so the thought that I was partially to blame," he says, continuing to kiss her.
"Oh, well. At least maybe you've finally learned your lesson about blood sports," she says.
"I almost lost you, Buffy."
"You got me back," she reminds him, returning a kiss. "Would you do me a favor?"
"Anything, love," he says.
"Will you stay with me this time and not run away?"
He looks at her a minute with that sloe-eyed look of someone deeply smitten. "Buffy, I've got an eternity ahead of me. And if I had to go through it without you, I'd stake myself. There's no me without you, love."
She pulls his close to her, letting his head fall on her shoulder. He is trembling, and his breath is slow and labored against her neck. She lets him kiss her there. She trusts him now.
"Spike, what are we going to do? I mean, my friends will never accept you. Giles won't accept you."
"And I would say that I don't bloody well care, because you're the only one I want to have orgasms with. But I know your friends are important to you."
"I don't want to have to choose between my friends and you."
"And I'd never make you do that, love. They'll come 'round eventually. They liked Angel, didn't they?"
"You're no Angel," Buffy says without a trace of irony in her voice.
"Damn straight, I'm not that poof. Angel left you go. Somebody would have to kill me to get me away from you. Only death will part us now, love." He snuggles closer to her, whispering into her ear, "Only death."
She feels a shadow pass over her. She shivers a bit and pulls Spike closer. He is almost lying in the bed with her now.
"No Slayer has ever lived past 25," she says.
"You'll be the first, Buffy. I'll make sure of that."
Just then the door comes open and a woman dressed in pink scrubs enters with a small cup. She automatically sees she is interrupting something and rushes to apologize.
"Oh, excuse me," she says, her eyes widening behind her large-framed glasses. "I'm just here to give Miss Summers some acetaminophen." She pauses for a minute as though something has grabbed her. "Oh! I know who you are. You must be Spike."
Buffy and Spike exchange disturbed glances. Did you tell? No. Did you tell? They seem to be asking one another.
"I'm Spike," he says.
"Oh, good to meet you. Buffy, you talked about Spike the whole time you were unconscious," The nurse hands Buffy her meds and then a cup of water from the bedside table. "You kept saying that you had something to tell him."
"Yes, I did," she says, after swallowing the pill.
"And did you tell him?"
"Oh, yeah. Message sent."
"She was having some very strange fever dreams about you, Spike," the nurse says, shaking her head. "In one of them, you were a vampire."
Spike cocks his head to one side as a slow smile spreads across his face. Buffy is silently berating herself for not dreaming more quietly. She wonders what other secrets she has divulged while lost in slumber.
She laughs. "Vampire!"
Spike is laughing too, his eyes mercurial and loving. "Slayer!"
Later that night, Giles is alone with his thoughts. The house is empty for the first time in days. Only Dawn remains and she is presently sleeping on the sofa. He has checked her temperature every hour since he's been home and it remains at a comfortable 98.6, just where it should be. She is exhausted and has slept most of the day. Tomorrow she will go home and Buffy will be released from the hospital. She too has not shown a sign of the fever's return. She is lucid and slowly returning to her strong, capable self. Giles wouldn't be surprised to see her back slaying by week's end.
He has his journal open to the part where he left off the night before. His hopelessness returns once again as he reads the dreary passage. No, there wasn't much hope last night. He was recounting the final battle of a Slayer who was, as two of her predecessors, dying because of Spike. And in a move that would have surprised the hell out of Watchers throughout history, he saved her. This is on his mind as he starts to write.
Buffy Summers survived the terrible fever as described above. A potion was made from common herbs and one, as it turns out, useless wild flower and she recovered and is now slated to be released from hospital tomorrow. She is still very weak, but becoming more robust with every passing minute. At present a vampire sits by her bed, tending to her. And for those of you in ages after me who are reading this, yes, you did read that correctly. As William Shakespeare said, the course of true love never runs smooth. And to add to that, it sometimes doesn't make any bloody sense at all. Buffy's heart has been won by a vampire, one Spike, a.k.a. William the Bloody. I truly believe now he would lay down his life for her. Of course, this contradicts everything I've ever known about the nature of the vampire. They don't feel. They don't love. They don't have emotions. They are evil and they kill. But Spike is here to hold up his hand against all those previously held perceptions. I would like to think he is a special case. There are circumstances that may have some bearing on his behavior (see journal entries from October 1999). But a part of me, the hopeless romantic in me, likes to think that he has been changed by his love for Buffy. It's the classic story, isn't it? Bad boy meets good girl. Bad boy loves good girl. Bad boy becomes good boy. My only hope is that he will be good to her and that his intentions towards her are true She is a remarkable girl. I don't ever want to see her hurt in any way. I don't think he does either. I will never say that I think she is in safe hands. I believe she is in capable hands.
Giles looks at what he has written. As he reads he can hear his inner self shaking its finger and saying, "Shame on you!" A vampire showing and expressing love for a Slayer, and a soulless one at that. He wonders where his mind is sometime.
"Oh, piffle!" Giles says, ripping the page from the journal and tossing it into the wastepaper basket.
The FOU in room 816 in sleeping now and at her side is a man, dressed in black, his head on her pillow, his hand holding hers. Visiting hours have been over since 9:00, but he's not going anywhere. He insists. And he's not hurting anyone by being there. All evening the nurses have checked on her with the question, "Do you need anything?" and always the reply is, "No, I have everything I need." As sick as she was, the nurses on the ward are showing a little humanity by relaxing the rules. Her white-headed visitor thought he was going to lose her, after all. They need time to be together, the nurses have decided. He will be there all night. And he will be the first thing she sees when she wakes in the morning.