Spike spent his second night watching over Buffy alone, though Dawn did bid him a timid goodnight through the door. He supposed he couldn't blame her - he hadn't exactly sounded in a mood to receive visitors when they had spoken earlier.
This time, not suffering from hunger, he was able to maintain control through the night. Instead of his own demon, he wrestled alternately with self-doubt and anger.
It would be so easy for me to kill her now. What if one day I just lose it? It's no wonder she's afraid to love me, when I can't even control myself. I have to prove to her that she can trust me somehow.
But then again, why should I? She always knew what I was and she came to me anyway. Why should I be the one grovelling here? People used to be terrified just reading about Dru and me. They would beg for their lives, and we would laugh and paint the town red with their blood- A momentary flare of pain cut this thought short.
I did this - I came back here to this place. This damn town. And why? Dru knew it before I did; that's why she left me. I'm in love with the Slayer. I swear, if she asked me to, I'd lie in the road and let her stomp me into the ground with those ridiculous heels she sometimes sports. She's already done that to my heart, so why not the rest of me as well? What the hell has she done to me that I should care what anyone thinks of me? I never did before.
I used to be proud of being a vampire. I was strong, fast, and dangerous. I did what I wanted and took what I wanted. And then I met her. And everything that I thought was important, every decision I had ever made, ceased to matter. All that did matter was the scent of her hair, the sound of her voice, the touch of her hand . . . Could you be any more pathetic, Spike?
I told Angel - we demons, we never change. Looks like the joke's on me, then. How far do I have to go? Turn myself inside out for her - would she even notice? I could be the best thing that's ever happened to her but does she see it?
I don't want to go on if it means being without her.
And so on, and so on, until the first light of day.
Dawn knocked hesitantly on the bedroom door a little after sunrise. "Spike? I brought you some - breakfast, I guess." She paused. "I'll just leave it outside the door, okay?"
Spike opened the door, startling her, and some of the warm blood in the mug she carried slipped over the rim and stained her fingers red. He jerked his attention almost physically from her hands back to her face.
"I'm sorry about yesterday, Niblet," he said. "Hunger can make a bloke a bit tetchy." He took the mug from her hands. "Go wash up, and then come sit with us for a bit, if you've got time." When she had gone, he drained the mug with a few swift gulps, and set it aside.
Dawn stood unmoving in the washroom for several minutes, staring at her stained fingers. I wonder what it's like, she thought, to need something so much. Does it even taste good, or does he just have to have it anyway? She brought her fingers to her lips and tentatively touched one to her tongue.
"Uaagh!" she gagged and spat, quickly rinsing her hands and reaching for the bottle of mouthwash. That was so disgusting. I'm never going to let anyone turn me - and I swear I'll never complain about Buffy's cooking again.
She made her way back into Buffy's bedroom, hoping that Spike hadn't heard and wouldn't ask what she'd been doing. She found him composed comfortably in the armchair, waiting. But before she could even ask how Buffy was, Xander's voice boomed up from downstairs.
Dawn shrugged regretfully and then, to the great surprise of both of them, darted forward impulsively to kiss Spike's cheek. "Thank you for looking after her, Spike," she said, and then dashed for the door. He sat there, stunned, and brought his hand up to his face.
*********
Tara and Willow returned in the late afternoon bearing supplies for the spell - a surprisingly small number of items, Spike decided, based on what little he knew of magic. Dawn arrived a little after, just as they had finished marking a number of symbols on the floor around the bed.
"Did you hear?" she asked breathlessly as she entered the room. "There was another robbery last night at the museum. The thieves took a couple of Inca enamelled medallions and a ruby necklace. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" she asked.
"The nerds?" Willow enquired, and Dawn nodded.
"You don't suppose they're the ones who cursed Buffy, do you?" Dawn asked. "So that she wouldn't be able to stop them?"
"We have to find them and put an end to this," Willow insisted. "They don't know what they're messing with now. They could unleash something even worse - if that's possible."
"When we get back, I'll hunt them down and kill them myself," Spike interjected. Willow and Dawn shared the same disbelieving look. "Oh, all right," he admitted, "I'll have to hire it done. But if I find they're the ones who are hurting Buffy, they won't be around for too bloody long."
"We're almost ready to start," Tara said, to make them focus again on the predicament at hand. "As soon as the sun sets, we'll begin. Better get something to eat and take any bathroom breaks you need now."
**********
They gathered together again in Buffy's bedroom at dusk. Tara handed Dawn several fat candles. "Set these into the markings on the floor, Dawn," she instructed. "Then bring me those jars and brushes from the dresser." When Dawn had done so, Tara turned to Spike.
"We need to draw a number of symbols on you as well," she said, almost apologetically. "Forehead, throat, chest, hands and feet. They'll help focus the energy of the spell that sends you into Buffy's dream world."
"Right," he said, matter-of-factly. "Where should I be?"
"Umm . . . it would probably be easiest if you lie on the bed next to Buffy," she said.
Spike complied; first sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling off his boots and socks, then reaching up and pulling his tee shirt over his head. He lay back on the bed, resting his hands on his thighs.
Tara handed a jar of pigment and a small brush to Willow, who moved up beside the bed. "You okay with this, Red?" he asked.
"Oh, I'm not activating the spell," she explained. "I just have better handwriting." The amount of laughter this provoked from the four of them was all out of proportion to the humour of her statement, but it helped relieve some of the tension in the room. She proceeded to brush several intricate signs all over Spike's prone form. "I hope you're not ticklish," she murmured.
He was, but there was no way in hell he was going to admit it. 'Former Sunnydale Big Bad Vampire Reduced to Giggles'. I don't bloody think so. He bit his tongue to maintain his control. Buffy knew, of course - she'd taken advantage of the fact several times. He cut off that thought sharply; it hurt too much.
Willow stepped back and surveyed her handiwork critically. She sat on the edge of the bed again and leaned over to modify some of the markings. When they were corrected to her satisfaction, she looked down at Spike, who was lying back with his eyes closed. As though by instinct, she bent forward and barely grazed his lips with her own. His eyes flew open, and she jumped back, startled.
"For - for luck," she whispered shyly. "Please bring her back safely." Then nothing would do but that Dawn should come around the bed and repeat her action.
Spike looked expectantly across the room at Tara, who only smiled and shook her head. "You're not my type," she murmured.
"What, and spoil my luck?" he asked with a grin, laying his head back on the pillow. "Let's get this show started."
"Right," Tara agreed. "Dawn, light the candles." Tara dragged the armchair to the foot of the bed and held the open spell book in her lap. She paused before beginning the spell that would send Spike into Buffy's nightmares for a last bit of advice. "When you arrive in her dreams, somewhere on yourself you'll find a talisman that represents my link to you. You'll have a second one for Buffy as well. When you find her, get her to put it on. I'll know then that you've found her, and I can bring you both out."
"Talisman, right," he confirmed. "What's it look like?"
Tara only shook her head. "I don't know. Its form will be dictated by the dream world. I only know it will be something you wouldn't normally wear."
"Just my luck it'll be a bloody crucifix," Spike muttered darkly.
Tara unfolded the sheaf of papers where she had made her notes and began to read in an ancient language. The air rang like a bell with her words, and Spike felt a tingling whisper of a breeze caress his skin. He reached for Buffy's still hand with his bandaged one and clasped it tightly.
A kaleidoscope of images swallowed him.
Buffy fallen to the floor and wrapped in . . . a shroud? Fire engulfing her room. Dawn struggling as Buffy held one hand over her nose and mouth. His own demon visage, fangs bared. Willow lying on the floor in a lake of blood. Angelus mocking her. Joyce's lifeless body on the couch. A figure whose face was obscured by a dark hood. Staking Dawn as she emerged from a fresh grave. Xander face down in a pool of scummy water. Trapped in a cold, dark space.
The mad whirl of visions threatened to make him physically ill - only he couldn't feel his own body anymore. She's had three days of this? he despaired, and then was suddenly cast headlong onto a dew-drenched lawn.