A/N: There's a whole weird dream sequence thing at the end of the chapter. So, if stuff doesn't seem to make a lot of sense, it's supposed to be that way. J

Buffy was greeted by anxious faces as she crossed the threshold into her house. Andrew looked concerned, and Kennedy was uncharacteristically thoughtful. Molly sat Indian-style on the floor, sharpening a sword. She glanced up when the door opened, and gave Buffy a half-hearted smile.

"That bad, huh?" Buffy asked, trying to make light of the strained situation.

"Giles is with him," Kennedy supplied, as if to pacify the Slayer's concern.

Buffy nodded in thanks and headed up to her room. She walked down the hallway, fear creeping through her body from the very core of her being. Her mind refused to wrap around the possibility that Spike was permanently injured.

With the pads of her fingers, she pushed her door opened and took in the scene. Rona was standing off to the side, fear and confusion prevalent on her face. Giles sat in the desk chair, watching the vampire with a studious gaze.

Walking to the bed, Buffy felt she was in slow motion. Like she would never get there. Giles turned in his seat as if he was underwater, his hands removing his glasses from his face with what seemed like incredible concentration.

And suddenly the world snapped into place. She could hear Giles' voice telling her about Spike's miraculous awakening and the fright he'd given poor Rona when he'd first showed signs of consciousness.

She could feel her heart pounding in her chest and knew it would be enough to wake the vampire, even in his weakened state. It's always blood.

The crinkle of the sheets as he stirred. The tick of her wall clock as the seconds steadily passed. The scraping of her chair as Giles rose to give her room. Who knew how loud such simple sounds could be?

Buffy looked down at him, at his healing wounds and his healthier pallor. Disregarding the chair, she seated herself beside him on the bed and watched as his eyes fluttered open and struggled to focus on her face.

Reflexively she reached for him and put her hand on his far shoulder, so that she was now close enough for him to see her easily. A tiny smile was all he could muster, a mere raising of the cheeks and an almost imperceptible tugging at his eyes. It didn't reach his mouth.

"I'm here," she said soothingly, marvelling at the eyes she never thought she'd see again. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but drawing breath seemed too difficult for him. His whole body seemed to wince at the effort, and she hushed him into stillness.

"It's okay. You don't have to talk."

Spike continued to stare up at her, the need to speak expressed clearly in his gaze. He tried again, struggling for breath that fought to be drawn, and he managed to wheeze out one word.

"Important."

Buffy stiffened. It was important. She'd listen. She'd make time.

Turning to the others, she spoke. "I appreciate all you've done so far, but it'll be easier for me to talk to him if we can both concentrate."

Giles glanced at the vampire, then back at his Slayer, and relented under her determined expression. With a sigh, he agreed and left the room, Rona following close behind.

Now that the audience was gone, Buffy turned down the quilt to take a look at him. She felt his chest and his sides and realized that some of his ribs were broken, which was probably why he was having trouble breathing. A human would be dead by now.

He desperately wanted to take pleasure in the tenderness Buffy was showing him, but Spike didn't have the energy. It was draining him just to keep his eyes open.

"We'll need to bandage these up," she said to him. "You won't heal properly if we don't." Glancing back down at him, she saw his eyes drifting closed.

"Hey! Stay with me, here. You wanted to tell me something."

Spike once again struggled for breath, but she placed a quieting hand over his mouth. "Don't breathe, just mouth it."

He frowned slightly at her, but saw the logic in her demand. Licking his lips, he concentrated on the words he needed her to know.

As his mouth began slowly moving, Buffy watched it intently, trying to decipher his message. Wow, I never realized how hard lip-reading must be.

"Okay, so you just said, 'The First raised an ugly-ass vampire with your blood'?" she voiced. He began to nod, but she quickly added, "Blink once for yes, twice for no, k?"

One blink.

"Okay, go on…it tried to turn you over to the 'dark side'?"

One blink. He continued.

"It tried to make you lose faith. Faith in what?"

He paused, looking uncertain.

"It's okay, if you don't want to talk about it, you don't have to."

Pursing his lips, he weakly returned her gesture, and placed his fingers on her mouth. She smiled despite herself, and took his hand in her own.

He licked his lips and answered her. That you believe in me.

Her heart lurched in her chest as her words from that fateful night echoed in her memory. Unconsciously she gripped his hand tighter.

"That thing is so evil!" she complained. "Did you know that it posed as one of the Slayers in Training to try to get into the Scooby Circle?"

At his blank look, she frowned. "Oh, guess not, you weren't here. Well, anyway, 'The First Evil'? Perfect name for it, you know?"

This time a real smile graced his drawn features and she grinned at him. "Yeah, I know, major flakage. But, it's been a stressful few weeks. What with your vamp-napping and our unexpected guests and then there was my huge battle with the Ubervamp…you would have loved it. I kicked his ass."

Spike couldn't stop the laugh from escaping, and he paid for it in a coughing fit. He wrapped his arms around his chest, trying for all the world to keep it from exploding. Buffy helped him sit up and rubbed his back soothingly.

As his coughing subsided, Buffy laid him back in the bed and wrapped him tightly in the quilt. She smoothed down his unruly curls and smiled kindly at him.

"Try to sleep. I need you to get healthy again. I need my best fighter by my side."

She watched as his eyes danced happily before her. Her stomach flip-flopped unwontedly and she broke eye contact with him. Distractedly, she smoothed his blankets and stood, suddenly feeling nervous to be around him.

"Well, I've got to get back to work, but I'll send Giles up with some blood or something. I'll…see you when I get home."

Buffy turned and headed to the door, once again moving in slow motion, but this time she wanted to get away. As reality shifted into focus, she thought of something, and turned around, her arms folded.

"I'm gonna search your pockets for my underwear when you check out of Hotel Buffy."

His eyes widened in shock, giving her the response she was looking for. A wry smile crept onto her face, and he realized she was teasing him.

With that, she left him to rest in the cozy blankets and made her way downstairs.

****

Getting comfortable, Spike spread himself out in the bed and revelled in its warmth. It was soothingly soft and safe, he never wanted to leave it. As his eyes began to drift closed, he remembered whose bed he was in, and a huge grin spread across his face.

****

He opened his eyes. The first thing he noticed was the warm body spooned against his chest. The second was the pair of large blue eyes staring at him over the edge of the bed.

Spike sat slowly, careful not to wake his lover. She moaned softly at the loss of contact before snuggling into the sheets, oblivious to the world. The girl continued staring at him, her straight brown hair eerily familiar.

"Dawn?" he whispered. She turned and headed out the bedroom door, casting a glance over her shoulder to make sure he was following.

He stood from the chair and walked across the room, his bare feet making slapping sounds as skin met wood. Glancing in the mirror, he made sure he looked perfect before heading downstairs.

Looking down at his bloody hands he thrust them under the tap, watching as the clear water turned scarlet as it swirled down the drain. Satisfied that they were clean, he dried them off. He didn't want to leave traces of his crimes in Joyce's immaculate house.

"Come on," came a voice on the other side of the door. "We're going to be late!"

Spike stepped out of the bathroom and the woman swept him down the stairs. "Take them two at a time, that a boy, now straighten your tie and try not to make a fool of yourself."

He self-consciously pulled at his lapels as the woman began fussing with her already perfect red satin dress. She placed her gloved hand in his elbow and let him lead her to the dance floor.

As the kitchen door swung open, Spike smelled fresh cocoa. He gratefully accepted the mug Joyce placed in his hands and sat with her at the kitchen island.

"How was the date?" she asked him.

He chuckled lightly. "The usual, violence and death."

Just then Buffy strode into the room, a stake gripped tightly in her clenched hand. "Get away from her!" she cried.

Spike rose slowly from his chair. "It's all right, love. I'm leaving."

"Not fast enough," she retorted, and drove the pointed wood into his chest.

The woman placed one hand on his shoulder as he rested his own on her waist. Their free hands met in the air and they twirled in time to the waltz.

"You've gotten good at this," she murmured. "Have you been practicing without me?"

"Of course not, ducks. Though I may have spent an evening or two in the company of a mop."

The woman laughed gaily at this, brown eyes twinkling at him with mirth. She stepped closer to Spike, and he moved his hand around to the small of her back.

Smiling seductively up at him, she whispered, "What do you say we liven this party up a bit? The orchestra isn't quite to my…taste."

"Let's," he smirked, a wicked gleam entering his eyes. The woman stepped back from him and her face contorted into the mask of a demon.

"My Spike knows how to make his mommy happy," she cried gleefully as she ripped the throat out of her first unsuspecting victim.

"That he does, Dru. That he does."

He rolled over in the bed, draping an arm across the body beside him. Smiling to himself, he pulled her closer and snuggled against her, nuzzling her hair. His fingers traced the contours of her naked body, from chin to knee.

And suddenly he realized there was something sickeningly wrong. Her body was cold, cold as ice, cold as death. He sat up, panicked, and reached across her to turn on the lamp.

When he looked down, he died again. There, laying beside him, was the love of his life. Dead. Dried blood trailed from two puncture wounds on her neck. Her golden hair was messed and chunks of it lay on the pillow, scalp still attached.

He had killed her.

****

He jolted awake as the bedroom door squeaked open. Giles came towards the bed, a mug of heated blood in his hands. Spike tried to shake the fear and disgust the dream had stirred in him, but he couldn't.

The Watcher handed him the cup and he drank it quickly, not wanting the coppery taste to linger any longer than necessary. Once it was empty, he handed it back to Giles with a raspy thanks.

The man simply nodded at him and told him to get some sleep. When Giles had gone, Spike tried to get comfortable, but every time he closed his eyes, he saw the last image of his nightmare imprinted on his eyelids.

Buffy.