It had been too long.

The thought flittered through his brain, bringing with it a chain of worries, each more serious than the last.  Maybe he'd made a mistake.  Maybe slayers couldn't be turned in the first place, and he had taken away even the tiny chance of her getting well with his rash decision.

            "Or maybe," he said out loud, "Slayer's just taking her sweet time getting up and'll be along in a few."

But what if something had gone wrong…

Annoyed, Spike punched the nearest wall, feeling the stone part with satisfaction, even as his bones protested.  Much more of this, and he'd be joining Dru in crazy land. 

The watcher had been by twice already, flanked the first time by the hysterical parents, crying about oh how pale their little girl looked and how cold and clammy her hands were.  Idiots.  Did they think dying had the same effect as a hot bath?  Apparently they did, and it had taken telling the watcher in no uncertain terms that if they showed again, he'd eat them, to guarantee their absence in the next visit.

And the watcher was no help either.  Touching and prodding at Elizabeth, even attempting to stick some sharp and metallic object into her arm.  And then the bloke had actually turned on him, walking around Spike in circles and poking randomly at his arms.  Apparently, he'd never gotten close to a real vampire before, only the pretty little pictures drawn by something he'd referred to as the 'All-knowing Council.'  Council of wankers, more like, if they were anything like this specimen.

            "Is it normal for her to be out for so long?" he'd kept on asking.  "Surely it can't be much longer now…"

But thankfully, both he and the family had gone, something about not wanting to leave Dawn alone.  Which left him in peace and quiet, staring at the corpse of the woman he loved.  Who just wouldn't wake up.

            "Elizabeth," he whispered softly, tracing his fingers down her cold cheek.  "Buffy.  Need you to wake up now, okay?  Please, baby.  Just wake up for me."

There was no response, and Spike hung his head, defeated.

            "Course talkin' to her's not gonna wake her up, you poof.  She's dead.  For the moment." He turned back to Buffy.  "Maybe if I kiss you, you'll come back to life, you stubborn bitch."

Careful not to jar her, he slowly leaned down, carefully searching her face for the slightest movement.  Seeing none, he lowered his head further, grazing her cold lips with his.  He lingered for a moment before coming up, tongue tracing away the uncomfortable coldness he felt.  It was so strange when she was colder than he was.

He waited, the seconds ticking by as she made no movement, then sighed in defeat. 

            "Bloody fairy tale's not gonna wake her up, mate."

It was no longer a haunting suspicion but a fact.  Something was wrong.  Even the weakest humans didn't take so long to rise, and his Buffy was no human. 

So how to wake up a dead slayer who was turned? 

Dubiously, he placed the stake she'd gone in with into one of her tiny white hands, and tightened her fingers around it.  So bloody cold.  Delicate too, like one of Dru's china dolls, whose lips she used to paint with blood. 

Blood.

            "Bloody hell!  Why'd it take me so long to think of?" Spike cried out, bringing his finger to his mouth without hesitation and biting down.  Several drops of red blood came out and he brought it to her pale lips, staining them crimson.  He pressed on his finger for more blood to come out, watching her face carefully.

Her cheeks looked a little brighter…

Carefully, he swept her hair away from her neck, exposing its smooth surface. 

            "Gonna wake you up," he murmured, before vamping out.  Giving her still face one last glance, he bit, his fangs sliding into her skin.

Her body jerked up, and it was all he could do to keep his fangs lodged in.  She was trembling, thrashing around, but instinct told him to keep going and he did.  The lips around his finger started a faint sucking motion and Spike let out a sigh of relief, moving his face away.

            "Buffy?" he whispered.

She stopped sucking, and for a second Spike thought he'd imagined the whole thing, when her two eyes opened, flashing gold, and she sat up with a roar.

            "Buffy!  You're okay, thank bloody god you're okay, had me worried there, pet…"

Spike cupped her cheek, delighting in the how the coldness of death was receding.  Her gold eyes followed his hand and focused, staring fixedly.  Then she smiled.

He couldn't hold her down as she leapt up, catching him on the chin with a roundhouse that carried him crashing into the wall.

            "Elizabeth, what're you –"

When he managed to stand, her laughing eyes were only an inch away.

            "This is fun," she informed him.

            "Bloody hell!  What 'appened to you?"

            "I woke up," she said simply, kicking him in the chest. 

As he stumbled, she grabbed onto his shoulders, steadying him, and sloppily bit down on his neck.

Spike's brain was screaming at him to fight, but it was like all his energy had gone, and he weakly sank to the floor, Buffy still at his neck.  The sucking ceased for a second and he moaned in loss, then felt himself being dropped on her knees.

            "Oh god, oh god, Spike!  Spike I'm sorry, wake up!"

He sleepily wondered if it was his imagination or if he'd really gone loopy.  He'd screwed up.  Killed his slayer and turned her into a true monster.  Damn whatever put the idea that slayers might keep their souls into his head.

            "Spike!"

Hazel eyes peered at him, soft and full of tears.  Wait a minute…hazel?

            "Spike, please, p-please, I d-don't know what happened, why w-wont you get up, Spike!"

His strength was slowly seeping back, and he was able to focus on Buffy, wringing her pale little hands over his body.

            "You okay?" he gasped out.

Her face broke into a delighted smile.

            "Yes, yes I'm fine.  What happened, Spike?  I feel so strange, is there something wrong with my teeth?  Why is it so cold…"

Fear slammed into him – what if she didn't want to be a vampire? What if she didn't believe him when he said it had been the only hope?  And what had happened when she first woke that had been stopped by his blood?

He couldn't tell her.  Fear froze his tongue and he could only stare as her smile slowly melted away and her eyes became wary.

Buffy cautiously stretched her arms in front of her, feeling the new power running through her veins.  She felt strong – like she could do anything – but so weak at the same time, as though something irreplaceable was missing forever. 

And her heart wasn't beating.

He knew the moment she figured it out, saw the shock, bewilderment, and finally resignation beam out of her expressive eyes.  But he still couldn't say anything.

            "Spike," she whispered, somehow sounding younger than he'd ever heard her.  "I'm a vampire now, aren't I?"

            "Elizabeth, I-"

            "No.  Don't call me that.  Elizabeth was alive, and I'm dead.  You…you killed me."

            "Eli-Buffy.  There was no choice, you gotta believe me.  I tried to get there, but you were dying, an' I couldn't let you go.  'm so sorry.  I could never let you go."

She wasn't listening to him.

            "Oh…oh God.  I'm dead.  I'm a walking corpse, like in those stories that mother used to tell Dawn and me when we were bad."  Wide eyes shot up to his.  "I have no soul."

            "No, no, you do," he interrupted.  "Something about slayers, they don't lose their souls.  You kept it, love.  You're you."

            "I'm going to live…forever?  God.  Watch my family and everyone I love die, live in loneliness?  Drink blood?  Kill…kill people?  I'm a killer."

Not being able to help it any longer, he crossed over to her, hugging her tightly against his chest even while she struggled against him.

            "Not alone," he whispered into her hair.  "Never alone, I'll always be with you baby, as long as you'll have me.  Never have to kill anyone, we'll get along somehow, I s'pect.  Just please.  Elizabeth.  Buffy, please.  's not so bad, I promise."

Her struggles ceased and she fell limply against him, snuffling quietly at the fabric of his shirt.  His hold on her relaxed as well, and he breathed in her scent – same scent as always.  It was still her, dead or alive.

            "Never leave me," she said quietly.

            "Never," he promised.

            "Spike?"

            "Yeah, baby?"

            "It's – not so bad.  Being a vampire.  Not when I'm with you."

He kissed her neck and she smiled.