Part VIII: Hyperion Hotel / Part 2

"Spike?"

The girl at the top of the stairs seemed frozen in ice, her eyes locked rigid and golden-green on his own and, despite the roaring pain in his head, he couldn't seem to look away.

"Jesus Christ! Spike?!!"

It was her friend who had spoken, a slim dark-haired girl who seemed almost as surprised to see him as the redhead had been, almost as happy too. Had to admit, felt pretty good to be surrounded by all these beautiful women suddenly, all so bloody concerned and fussing over him, even if the little redheaded chit had given him the most unbelievable fucking headache as soon as she'd laid a hand on him. The touch of her fingers against his cheek had been electric, like a spark arcing to meet him, and with the pain had come more images, this time so vivid and numerous that he thought he'd blacked out there for a while. And these had been different to the others. More intense emotionally, and razor sharp - as if he were being branded by every one. Voices, places, smells, the terror and the blood and screaming but, folded inside them, moments of stillness, moments of calm and tenderness as well. Even as the pain rendered him unconscious he realised that he must know this girl, knew her very well, although their previous relationship appeared to have been a confusing and fragile one, and one often fearful on her part.

The brunette took the rest of the stairs in a single fluid jump and was on him in a moment, unusually strong hands taking his weight from the little one, the nurse, but still the other didn't move. The blonde. Staring down at him from above her eyes swam like dark sea water, one small, pale opalescent hand arrested midair, caught in the action of brushing her hair back.

"Jesus! What the hell happened to him?"

The redhead, Willow's voice, soft and full of uncertainty.

"I don't know, we couldn't find out. But he's not well. He's...when I touched him before it was like it was...burning him."

"Why's he so hot? Damn, he's like a volcano!"

The nurse's voice now, with just a touch of a tremble in it.

"His temperature's going off the scale. It was a little above normal before, but I just put that down to..." she gulped, swaying uncertainly, "We shouldn't have moved him. Oh god, I think we made him really sick."

"We couldn't just leave him there. You saw his chart. They had him down to see a neurosurgeon. God knows what they were going to do to him on the..."

The little one was shaking her head, eyes wide but adamant,

"No. No..I'm sure Angel wouldn't have let anything bad happen to him. He's not...like that. He was just being..."

"Angel? What, you're saying he knew about this?"

The dark-haired girl seemed shocked, pained even. Her expression wary now, she shook her head, took a step or two backwards.

"No, no, I don't buy it. Angel wouldn't do something like this. He's...he had to have a reason for not saying anything."

"Maybe he did have a reason." Willow's face clouded, weariness and confusion, "I just can't help thinking..."

Her voice died away as she too finally caught sight of the one on the stairs. Letting him slide from her arms into a chair, she took a step towards her.

"Buffy...he's alive." she said.

Even from where he sat he could see the shudder that passed through the other girl's body, and, frowned faintly when he saw that she had started to shake. She must be afraid of him too. Afraid of this person he had been, this Spike, the creature whose eyes he'd seen in those nightmare visions of blood and smoke. His throat worked convulsively as he looked at her, tiny and pale like a night-blooming flower, eyes hugely fearful, and he started to stand, pushing himself up out of his seat.

"S'ok. Don't be scared."

Her lip trembled for a moment and she blinked, lashes glossy black with tears. Still silent, still frozen though, and then a tiny sound. A soft moan escaped her,

"No. This isn't fair. Stop it."

"B, it's ok."

The dark-haired girl was speaking again, her tone calm and steady now. Like a parent to a frightened child. Reaching out a hand she grasped one of his own, squeezed it tight.

"See. He's real. Solid."

Her eyes widened a fraction more at that, and he swallowed, trying to find the right thing to say to reassure her. To let her know she had nothing to fear from him. She started to move, stilted and jerky at first, one stair at a time, seeming mesmerised. Still riveted to her, he jumped when Willow laid a hand on his arm.

"Buffy, wait...we don't..."

But her friend was deaf and blind to anyone else now, her slow steady progress dreamlike. As she neared him he felt his heart twist in fear at all the emotions he read swimming in her face. Whatever he'd done to her, it must have been something terrible. Had to have been something awful to make her look at him like that, as if her whole world was crashing down around her ears. As if any minute she would shatter into a million pieces and fly apart. She came to a stop and he swayed unsteadily as her scent wreathed around him. Jasmine and night air. Sunlight and sandalwood, and drawing it in he suddenly understood. Who she was. What she'd been to him. All she'd been. Everything. She'd been his everything.

Her lips opened, breath expelling, mingling with his.

"Is it you?"

He could see her heart beating, almost see it, through the golden skin of her breast, a faint fluttering of movement. She smiled at him then, the tiniest smile, a ghost.

"I dreamed this before, you know? Two nights ago. I dreamed this."

Something cracked in her throat but she fought against it, won.

"You were standing right here, just like this, but it wasn't you. Wasn't really you. Just a shell, nothing left inside. But still looked like you. Still..." she breathed in again, closed her eyes, "Still smelled like you. But when I kissed you...."

One of her hands trembled, lifted from her side as if to touch his face,

"When I kissed you just...you fell away under me. To nothing. Ashes."

The hand halted, faltered to her side again.

"Where did you go Spike?"

His head hurt just from looking at her, the emotions she was pulling from him, thrumming and buzzing like bees inside his chest. Confusing the fuck out of him. She was stranger to him, nothing, but her voice was like a thread worked deep within the cloth of him, dragging at the fabric, pulling him undone.

"Don't know. Don't know where I've been."

"You died. I saw you die."

"I did?"

He blinked, surprised, and then realised that he'd known that somehow, on some level. This was new life singing in his veins, that everything about him was new.

"Were you in heaven?"

For some reason he wanted to smile at that, lips twitching.

"No, pretty certain of that,"

His voice dropped a notch, soft now, just for her.

"Was in Barstow for a bit. Can't say there was much heavenly about it."

Something broke at that, tears spilling down out of her eyes. She gasped weakly, almost a laugh, and this time the hand almost made it all the way up, fluttered half an inch from his skin though as if she could felt the heat radiating from him. She swallowed.

"If I kiss you now, will you promise not to dust on me?"

He held her gaze, wondering, wondering. Felt himself leaning into her touch, leaning into her lips, like a tree towards the sun.

"Do my best."

"Buffy, wait...!"

And then everything just exploded.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Tell me you love me."

"I love you."

Sharp pain, followed by another, splintering bone, slamming, thrashing.

"You don't ...know...what love is. How...the fuck...would you?"

"You're twisted."

"Yeah. And I'm not the only one.."

"Fuck you Spike."

Leather clad and sweat-streaked naked, writhing above him. Eyes flashing like knives as she smiles,

"Let's do something...wrong."

Music, there's people laughing, talking in the darkness, breath like honey on his face.

"Tell me to go."

"Go."

He presses into her, crowds into her.

"Now mean it."

Her face, silver blue moonlight, wet with tears and broken. So broken. His hand on his back, and she jerks.

"Don't."

"This is so fucked up."

"You are so fucked up."

"Jesus, when did my life get so fucked up?"

"Shut your face and get on with it will you."

"Oh God, was that supposed to be...romantic?"

A laugh, like water, soft and warm in the dark.

"Come here.."

He's blind, tied, scrambling to escape.

"Will you just...come here?"

"No you're going to do something."

A chink of light and she's laughing at him.

"Jesus Spike! Don't be such a baby."

"What happens on Saturday?"

"Don't even think about it."

"What? I was just..."

"Well don't."

Her face, and a thousand expressions of joy and disgust. Like a bullet passing through, blurring every moment together, kaleidoscoping pain and rapture into a ribbon of light, and even as it ripped and shook him he surrendered to it. Embraced it. It felt like he was dying. And maybe he was. She'd said he was. Dying. Dead. Had died. Maybe he had been dreaming. Dead dreaming he was alive. Alive dreaming he was dead. Sun flares and he could still feel her lips.

"I can't fall in love with you, you know."

"You can't?"

Her eyes are wide and hollow,

"But if I could...I would. I'd try to."

Featherlight on his cheek and she smiles at him,

"Kiss me Spike."

"Why do you...do that?"

"Because it's how I feel."

"Well, don't."

Her eyes are dark and pleading.

"Please. Don't feel it."

She turns away and he sighs.

"Can't help it. Just the way I'm made."

Vitrola scratching sounds. They're dancing and it's funny. She laughs at him in his tie, trying not to laugh at him, looks down at her feet and frowns.

"Where did you get these shoes.?"

"You like em.?"

"Ooky. They're grandma shoes. Like the ones in that coffin down...."

She stares at him wide-eyed,

"Oh my God! You didn't..."

"What?"

He laughs at her face as he twirls her round

"I'll put them back on her after."

"Let me do it."

"No."

Her face is angry and bright,

"Stop acting normal."

She zips herself up and steps away, mumbles under her breath.

"It's...creepy."

She's killing him and he can feel it, but he wants it too. Wants everything that she is. Thinks if he does turn to dust, to ashes, then maybe that's ok too, because he'll be on her skin, be all over her and that's where he wants to be. Wants to coat her skin, crawl inside her and sleep there, die there.

"Deeper."

"...what?"

"Want you...deeper."

Her legs shift backwards, opening up to him, her throat naked and exposed as she rolls her head back, fixes him with eyes like dying stars.

"All the way inside."

A gasp as he answers her, rocking with her, pushing so far into her that he's sure they're melting together now, fusing like molten metal.

"Want you inside. Come inside me."

And just the words are enough to undo his will.

"Why did you come back here?"

"You want me to go? I'll go."

Silence.

"Just give me the word and I'll..."

"Oh shut up. Since when do you ever do as you're told."

"Is it bad."

"No it's...he just caught me. It's no big."

"Better let me clean it up. S'right hand."

Her thumb traces his palm softly as he holds the hand tight.

"S'ok. Doesn't hurt so much now."

"Spike, will you show the girls one or two quick throws...just so they..."

"Like that."

She's glaring at him, but the sparkle is there as he holds her pinned her to the earth.

"Yeah. Like that."

"You know you could be a wicked short-order cook?"

"Rather than a wicked creature of the night you mean?"

She laughs through a mouthful of pancake,

"What? It's an honest living? Plus tips? With those cheekbones?"

Blushes when he looks at her,

"I'm just saying."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Sound more than pictures now, voices, snatches of conversation. Somewhere he thought he heard the other one, Dawn's. His little Dawn. Muffled, querulous and sharp though, angry.

"When? I just don't see why I can't.."

And a man's, soothing and paternal.

"You know why. Just give them a while longer. Buffy'll come tell us when it's ok."

The room was dark and silent now, incredibly warm and he lay, listening to the night sounds outside. Traffic, and a few blocks away the low city-wail of a cop car. His eyelids shivered open and everything was midnight, deep dark shadows. Cloying velvet. His head felt lead heavy but when he was finally able to shift it seemed the most natural thing in the world to find her beside him, one hand tucked up under her cheek for a pillow, eyes dark calm and still as she looked at him. She smiled.

"Hello stranger."

His skull hummed and throbbed but her voice was like a balm on it all, smoothing away at the edges and he smiled as well. Couldn't not when she looked at him like that. Like he was the night sky and she a moonstruck hare.

"...hey."

His throat felt raw and scratchy, like tarmac, and he tried to clear it, tried to swallow and then she was lifting a glass to his lips. Ice-water slid over his tongue and he gasped a little, sighed from the relief of it. Leaning forward she removed the flannel laid over his forehead, turned it cool-side down against him. Her eyes glimmered in the street lamps as she moved back, tucked her head in a little closer to his, her long hair whispered on the pillow.

"You've been out all day. It's almost eleven-thirty."

He tried not to look at her lips but it was difficult when they were so close to his, and when she spoke they softened and glowed. Slowly she lifted a hand from her side, moved it to his face like before, only this time she didn't hesitate and the touch of her fingertips on his brow was as cool as milk. She frowned,

"God, you're like a furnace Spike."

Just the contact of her skin on his made him feel like purring, singing, covering her face with kisses. Couldn't understand it, but didn't want to analyse it either. Knew that he was safe now, that he was home with her, even if he had no idea where home was. Her fingers moved up tangling in his damp hair, and when she looked at him he saw tears shimmering again, threatening to spill out.

"I thought I'd lost you."

She swallowed, pressed a hand to his cheek and when he closed his eyes, stroked along the length of his eyebrow with her thumb.

"Your scar's gone. Did you know that?"

And then the hand was on his chest, laid against his heart. Cold, cold, and his bare skin burned against it, like she was ice and he was fire. Pressed hard against him, as if she wanted to feel the beat, reassure herself it was there. Opening his eyes she looked strange, confused and amazed and elated all the same time, as if she'd never heard a bloody heartbeat before.

"Willow told me but I didn't believe it."

She drew the hand along his chest, then laid it flat against his abdomen and watched it slowly rise and fall with his breathing.

"No one believes it. Giles says it's impossible. No vamp has ever..."

She blinked as if suddenly remembering something, went silent.

Just looking at her in the half-light made him feel giddy. That she could have been his, this beautiful, powerful shining girl, that he might have been hers. Everything he'd seen when he'd kissed her, a past between them that had blown through him like a bush fire, told him that that she was the one. The only.

Her head dipped down and she sank against him, head to his chest. Eye to his eye, her breath fluttering against his face, cooling him.

"They said you don't remember, but you do, don't you?"

She moved and her mouth brushed against his, the wraith of a kiss, and smiled against him when he responded, weakly at first and then with gentle ardour. Pulling her lips with his own. She sighed into him.

"You remember that don't you?"

Rolled her cheek against his, frowning gravely at the heat of him.

"Spike, something's wrong with you. You know that right?"

He sighed yes, although he didn't feel it, felt just perfect now.

"Willow thinks that whatever power that amulet used to make you human, it's got all messed up somehow. It's making you sick now and we don't know why."

His eyes were flickered closed and for a moment it was as if he was falling, then her voice grounded him again.

"We think it happened when I touched you. Do you remember that?"

A hand slid inside his, meshing fingers and he sighed again, because it felt so right, familiar.

"Do you remember what I said?"

A soft tentative tap at the door brought them back to reality and she bent, brushing his forehead with a kiss before sliding off the bed to answer it. Cracking it, yellow light spilled over the floor and he blinked painfully as he recognised the tall narrow frame of Wesley Wyndham-Pryce silhouetted. Bowing his head a little he looked past the girl's shoulder, frowned.

"How is he?"

Buffy folded her arms, turning her body slightly to block him from view.

"You're not welcome here Wesley."

"Buffy I..."

"When were you planning on telling me? You and Angel? Let me guess, it was for my own good right?"

"We just wanted to..."

"Protect me? That one's getting pretty old Wes, you should tell Angel he should try writing a few new ones."

"We wanted to be sure. We just wanted to be certain before we told you anything."

"O.K."

Her voice was hushed but cold, ice crystals in it. Her back ram-rod straight as she faced him down, eyes steady. She was a viking this girl of his, a valkyrie.

"You wanted to be sure before you told me what? That this wasn't the way it was supposed to play out? That this 'shanshu' thing, that was Angel's prize? That Spike has no right? Save it Wesley, I know all about it."

"No, I..."

Her hands were fists now, the nails biting down into the flesh of each palm.

"You think just because he hasn't spend the last two hundred years suffering for what he did, that he doesn't deserve this? Well, you're wrong. He deserves this."

She threw her hair back with a snap,

"We both do. And you know what? Even if I'd known what that amulet could do, I still would have chosen him to wear it. I still would have chosen Spike."

"No. No, I don't think you would have."

Wesley's face was pale and drawn as he stared back at her, helplessly he shook his head.

"He's dying and we can't find any way to stop it."