Spike let Buffy's limp body slip from his shoulder as he reached the front door of her house. Balancing her against him and supporting her with one arm, he pounded the door with his free hand. "Dawn! Willow! If one of you isn't down here in ten seconds, I'm kicking the bloody door in!" he yelled.
Lights went on at the top of the landing and soon he saw the two women making their way down the stairs. Dawn reached the door first and peered out anxiously. Willow held back, grim-faced, determined to muster a magical defence if necessary and to hell with the consequences.
Dawn's eyes widened as she identified the two figures outside; Buffy hung loosely in Spike's grip, clearly unconscious - or worse, she feared. The vampire himself didn't appear to be in much better shape, sporting several contusions and scrapes. Blood matted his blond hair above one ear and trailed down his face and neck.
"Spike!" she exclaimed as she opened the door. "What happened? What's wrong with Buffy? Is she--?" Dawn couldn't finish the thought, as though putting it into words might somehow make it come true.
"I can tell you what I saw," he said, as he lifted Buffy again into his arms to carry her inside. "But I don't know what it means. As to your second question, I was hoping Red here," he jerked his chin up, indicating Willow where she stood by the stairs, "would be able to help me with that." He looked at Dawn levelly. "She's alive, Bit. But I don't know what caused this, and I don't know why I can't wake her."
Willow came forward, clutching her floral print dressing gown more tightly about herself. "Put her on the couch," she directed, pushing back the coffee table.
Spike knelt in front of the couch and gently deposited Buffy's unconscious form, straightening her legs and folding her arms over her. He smoothed the tangled strands of hair back from her brow and whispered, "I'll make it right, love. Somehow." He twisted around and looked up at Willow. "You brought her back last year from something like this when Glory had captured Dawn. You can do it again." His expression said that he wouldn't take no for an answer.
"I'm not sure it's the same situation as it was then, Spike," she replied, gathering her thoughts.
"She's dreaming," said Dawn, suddenly. "Look! Her eyes are moving." Willow and Spike leaned forward to see for themselves.
"Your eyes move when you dream?" Spike asked.
"It's called REM sleep - for rapid eye movement," Willow explained to him, glad for the momentary distraction of being able to slip back into what she thought of as eduspeak. "It has to do with a certain level of consciousness . . . though the associated brain wave patterns were discovered probably quite a while after you were in school, I suppose," she added, almost apologetically.
"If it's just dreaming, then why can't I wake her?" Spike demanded, having quickly lost patience with her lecture and turning back. "Buffy? Buffy, love, come on - it's time to wake up." He popped the palm of his hand briskly against her cheek. "Rise and shine, greet the day and all that." When she didn't respond, he gripped her shoulders and shook her vigorously.
"I don't think--" Willow began.
"Slayer!" he roared, and drew back one hand to bring it down with a resounding crack across her face.
"Spike!" Dawn cried in alarm, clutching at his wrist with both hands as he drew back again. "You're hurting her!"
"Slayer c'n take it," he growled. "We've done more than that, us two, just playing at--" he bit off his words suddenly, remembering to whom he was speaking.
"Ewww." Dawn wrinkled her nose. "TMI, Spike." He quirked a brow. "Too much information," she added, at his puzzled glance.
"I know you're afraid for Buffy, Spike, but this is not helping her," Willow admonished. "We can't do anything until we know exactly what's happened."
He rose to his feet and stood over her menacingly. "Then do something, witch. Work your mojo and figure it out."
Behind him, Buffy moaned and twisted on the couch. Her forehead was beaded with sweat and her cheeks flushed angry red. Dawn bent and ran her hand over her sister's heated skin. "It sounds like the dreams are really nightmares," she said fearfully.
"She's been complaining of nightmares for the last few days," Willow reported. "I thought it was just, you know, the stress of having to work at the DoubleMeat and then - seeing Riley again, well - she took finding out he had gotten married kind of hard . . ."
"Tell me something I don't know," murmured Spike.
"Willow . . ." Dawn began.
"Do something," Spike finished for her, in a small voice completely unlike his usual brash tones. "Please."
"I don't - I don't do magic anymore. I can't," Willow stammered.
"You picked a bloody great time to stick to principles," Spike protested. "If you won't, then get someone here who will," he demanded. "Now!"
"Please Will," Dawn chimed in. "Buffy needs help."
"I'll call Tara," Willow said suddenly and resolutely, "She should be able to figure out what's happened." She headed for the kitchen phone; glad to be able to take some action.
Spike and Dawn stood at a loss for something to do. "Spike," said Dawn into the silence at last, taking his hand, "I'll stay with Buffy. Why don't you go upstairs and get cleaned up? It's probably going to be a long night."
He dropped his head. "Five minutes and I'll be back down," he agreed, resigned, and moved for the stairs. "You call me if anything changes, mind."
"I will," she assured him. "Go on, you look terrible."
"Matches how I feel, then." He shrugged out of his battered duster and left it folded over the banister before climbing the staircase.
In the upstairs bathroom, Spike leaned both hands against the mirror frame and stared intently - at the wall of the room behind him. He wondered just how many hundreds of times the mirror had contained her reflection, though it could never contain his. The scent of her in the room drove him nearly to distraction, so he ran a sink full of hot water, and then used his cupped hands to sluice it over his face and head. The water in the basin became tinged with pink as he rinsed the worst of the clotted blood from his hair. The heat of the water warmed his chill flesh, but did nothing to ease the cold inside. He was lost in contemplation when a sudden sound at the door made him whirl about, scattering shining drops from his skin and hair.
"I'm sorry," Dawn said softly, "I didn't mean to startle you."
"Good thing my heart's already stopped," he complained, gruffly but not unkindly. "Is she--?"
"No change. Willow is with her now, and Tara's on the way. Since there's nothing else we can do right now, I thought I'd see if you needed any help." She smiled. "Is this your idea of washing up? Pouring hot water over yourself?"
"Cures a remarkable variety of ills, Niblet," he replied, "if properly applied."
She glanced speculatively at the mirror, then back at him. "You can't even tell that you missed a spot. Here-" She wet a washcloth and wiped gently at the remaining bloodstains. "How do you shave?" she wondered out loud.
He snorted mirthless laughter. "I'm a man of many talents," he said as he towelled himself dry.
Dawn drained the water from the sink, and then opened the medicine cabinet to retrieve some gauze and a bottle of alcohol, which she applied to the gauze liberally. She dabbed at the gash on Spike's temple.
"Hey!" He drew back sharply at the sting. "What is that stuff?"
"It's only alcohol, Spike," she answered, smiling. "Don't be such a big baby about it."
"I am not being-- Besides, alcohol's for drinking, not for pouring over my bloody head," he retorted.
"Actually, this alcohol is just the thing for your 'bloody head'," said Dawn, mimicking his accent - badly. "You want that cut to get infected?" She attempted to apply some more, but Spike caught her hand.
"Ow! I appreciate the thought, Niblet, I do, but I doubt that there are too many little beasties that would find me an appetizing meal. Let it be. I heal quickly." He slipped one arm around her for a brotherly hug. "Let's get back."
Willow met them at the bottom of the stairs. "Tara's coming," she confirmed, "but it may be a while before she can manage to find a ride from campus with all the stuff she'll need to bring." She turned back to the living room. "Buffy seems to become more agitated if there's no one near her, so I think we should take turns staying with her until Tara gets here." As if in agreement, Buffy moaned and tossed her head until Willow had moved back to her side.
"There's no need," Spike said. "I'll stay with her. You two should get some sleep."
"Like that's going to happen," Dawn replied, sitting on the couch and taking Buffy's head into her lap. "I'll stay too."
"Me too," added Willow. "You know, in case you need something."
Spike acknowledged their support with a nod. He lowered himself to the floor beside the couch and hugged his knees to his chest. Taking Buffy's hand, he brought it first gently to his cheek, and then interlaced his fingers with hers. He settled his weight back against the couch and dropped his chin to his chest as though to defy anyone to shift him from his chosen position.
Willow composed herself into one of the armchairs and all three descended into silent waiting, broken only occasionally by Buffy's murmurs.