The hospital seems small, and it smells as all hospitals smell. Nothing else about it seems to register as I'm led through some doors to a waiting area. Clinton hasn't left my side, and I'm torn between being grateful and wanting to blame him for what happened. In truth, if his shock and sadness at what happened weren't so obvious, blaming him would be much easier.
I can't sit, preferring to pace from one end of the small room to the other, while Clinton is quietly still. He tried to explain this hospital as we drove here, but I don't remember much. Something about the hospital being registered as a private clinic, and being staffed by Carnolans and those who already know about them – I assume because they married into the clan. Certainly, there are a lot of Mediterranean-looking types around, and my Slayer sense is buzzing constantly.
"I can't wait, I need to see him," I tell Clinton not for the first time, heading towards the door.
As with every other time, Clinton reaches the door before I do, barring my way. There's no threat in his posture, although there is some fear.
"Buffy, the doctors here are as good as any anywhere. Think about it. Given the average Carnolan lifespan, you've got doctors who've got more years of experience under their belts than humans can imagine."
"Experience with Carnolans. Spike's human."
"And these doctors trained among humans, with human patients. They keep up to date with human medicine too because they also treat the women who live among us. In fact, one of the doctors in there is human. How would you explain the cause of Spike's illness to anyone else?"
Much the same way as I'd explain the anomalies of treating me, which basically means a lot of avoidance, but I don't say it.
I'm about to argue again, when he adds, "Lucy knows what happened, and she's told Willow. Would it help to have her here?"
"Lucy?" I ask, bemused by the question.
"No, Willow. I can arrange to have her brought here if it will help."
I shake my head, trying to concentrate on answering the question.
"Yes," I say at last. "But make sure Wes knows to stay with Lucy. We've got to keep up the appearance that she's a hostage." Despite years of not having to be 'The Slayer', the thought comes clearly through my fear for Spike.
He nods, then his attention goes off again, and I hear his voice in my head again a moment later.
"She'll be here soon."
I go back to my seat, or at least the chair I've been occupying for short periods since I arrived. I really don't know how long I've been here. It seems like forever, but I know it's probably not that long.
Clinton moves away from the doorway, and I assume it's just because he doesn't think I'm going to try to get out again, but someone comes in a moment later, so maybe it's more than that.
If it wasn't for the scrubs, I wouldn't be able to tell him apart from Clinton, but he approaches me, and I stand, nervously.
"What …?" I manage, before he puts a hand on my shoulder.
"Spike is holding his own," he begins. Ok, not bad news, but not good either.
"Is he conscious? Can I see him?"
"No and yes. He's not conscious, although we have been able to stabilise his heart rate. I have no reason to believe he will not recover, but I admit to being surprised, given his general physical condition, that he's been affected as badly as he has. If you'd like to come with me, I'll take you to him."
We walk along a short corridor and through the last doorway on the right. There's a barrage of machines in the room, bleeping and flashing lights, and there, attached to it all, is Spike. My first thought is that he's shrunk. I go to him, sitting in the only chair in the room, and gather one hand into my own two. What is it about hospital beds? They always seem to make the occupant look impossibly small, but the effect with Spike is more extreme than usual. I know, he's not big. I mean, what, five ten in height, and slight build despite the muscles, but he never seems small to me. Of course, that's from my standpoint, and at five two, most men loom over me, but it's more than that. I think it's got more to do with the way he projects himself. It's the mannerisms, the way he straightens his shoulders and holds himself high. It's the way his presence within a room eclipses everyone else, although that particular effect might be limited to my rather biased perception.
"Hey, Spike," I say, quietly, not caring whether we're alone or surrounded by the non-humans who run this hospital. "Got to say, I'm impressed with the lengths you'll go to avoid risking a recital of some more of your poetry."
The joke sounds weak, even to me, and I sit, silently, unsure what to say now.
"He should be able to hear you," the doctor continues from behind. "And it might be good for him to hear a familiar voice, so talk away. That'll probably be easier if I'm not here, so I'll leave you. There's a cord next to the bed which you can pull if you need help, but the chances are that any change in Spike's condition will be obvious in one or other of the machines we've hooked up, so there'll be someone on their way before you can pull it."
"I'm expecting a friend to come," I say, turning just in time to see his retreating back.
"I know, and we'll make sure Miss Rosenberg is shown straight in when she arrives, if that's what you wish."
"Yes, thanks," I reply, but my attention is already back on the unnaturally still figure on the bed.
I consider hitting him. No, not hard, just a play punch to his shoulder, something to show him how upset I am. Because that's my way. Even now, with all that training I've done, with all that experience in getting other people to talk about what's on their mind, violence is much easier than telling him. Telling him that I love him, and that I can't do this without him. Not any more. Tried it, and I coped for a while, but that's all I was doing. Coping.
Then it occurs to me. There is another way, something else I can do to show him what I find so hard to say in words. I stand, and bend down to plant a kiss on his lips. I survey the various attachments to his body, and carefully move some things aside, making room beside him, and for once, being small is a distinct advantage. Fortunately, most of the wires and so on go off the other side of the bed, and I sit on the bed beside him, one arm over him and supporting me, while the other is free to stroke his face and comb my fingers through his hair. Once, I used pain to communicate with him. But that was when I couldn't admit, even to myself, that he was a man or that I could care about him. Now I know the truth, I can touch him lovingly and I know he'll understand.
Lulled by the contact, grounded by it, I find I'm able to relax, physically at least, and the relief is tremendous. I hadn't realised just how tense I'd been, tightly wound and ready to fight.
Willow comes in a short while later, ushered by someone whose face I don't see. She seems unsure at first, but I gesture to her, and ask her to sit down.
"I think Spike'll find it easier to know I'm here this way," I say by way of explanation. "He's just such a … tactile sort of person."
Willow smiles her understanding, then asks, "What did they say? I only heard that he'd collapsed. What happened?"
I explain about the detuning, and how it made me feel inside, and how much worse it seemed to be for him. She nods as I speak, apparently understanding more than I've told her.
"And now, they've stabilised his heart rate, and I think the doctor's actually puzzled as to why he hasn't come around yet."
"But that's good, isn't it? I mean, there's no reason he shouldn't just wake up, and everything be back to normal. Or as normal as you can have when you're an ex-vampire brought back as possibly the only ever male, human Slayer."
I smile at that, because she's right, even if she's taking the most positive possible angle on things.
I squirm round a bit so I can see Willow better.
"So, anything happen while we've been gone?"
"Look, Buffy," Willow answers. "You don't need to worry about anything else just now. We can …"
"I know you can, Willow. I know there's a lot you and Wes can handle without me. But this is personal. Not only are they responsible for Gina being kidnapped, they've done this to Spike. Now, I really don't know if it's just the Senior Partners, or if it's the whole Carnolan race that's really responsible, but either way, they've pissed me off big time. And someone's going to regret that. So, what's been happening?"
"Well, I don't know the details, but Wes and Lucy have been closeted together since you left. I think Lucy's in contact with someone else, because of something Wes said when I told him I was coming here. Anyway, they've been going over the contract with a fine tooth comb, and I think he's optimistic that they've found something, but he wasn't saying too much."
"Optimistic? You mean there might be a way of me getting out of my contract to destroy the Carnolans?"
"I think that's what he meant. I kinda get the impression that Wes has thrown himself into sorting out every detail so he doesn't have too much time to think about Gina."
"Yeah," I answer, stroking Spike's arm.
"Still nothing more from Lucy about the source of the Senior Partners' power?"
"I did ask, but she wasn't talking. I get the impression she's not going to say until she's pretty sure which way you're going to jump on this. I mean, she's sort of holding the information hostage."
"Yeah, that's the impression I got, and while I understand, it's going to get old pretty fast. Whatever we do, I want to get it done fast, and for that I need information up front."
"So the detuning worked, well, as far as you know," Willow says, changing the subject.
"Clinton seemed to think so, but we didn't get a chance to check it out."
"No, of course, sorry, I …"
"It's ok, Willow. We checked it out before, though. Got the chance to go rummaging around in his mind. I was only looking for some poetry, but afterwards, all I felt was how wrong it was. The thought of Lilah having access to all that …" I shudder involuntarily at the idea.
"Creepy," Willow agrees.
"So, what's next?" I ask, thinking aloud more than actually wanting a reply.
"Well, if you can strike against the Senior Partners and leave the rest of the Carnolans alone, will you do that?"
"I suppose so," I admit. "I really do get the feeling they're just like humans – trying to do their best and that most of them aren't inherently evil. And I'd really like to be able to cause the Senior Partners some serious pain."
"You might have to share that with Wes when it happens. That's a man who really needs to hit someone right now."
"Twitchy?"
"No, not really. More eerily cool, almost cold and calculating. Kind of like an efficient version of the one we met back in Sunnydale. You know, it's all about the mission and nothing else matters, except now I can take him seriously."
I smile at the memories of Wes from then. I was a child, but he actually seemed younger. For all the facts at his disposal, he hadn't actually seen much of life then. Now, it feels like he's caught up and overtaken me because he's got the experience to match the wisdom that was hiding under that tweed.
"You want a coffee?" Willow asks, getting up.
"Yeah, if you can get one," I answer. I don't really want the coffee, but I do need something else to focus on, even if it's only for a few moments. Willow goes off in search of some, and I go back to my thoughts.
And thinking about tweed inevitably makes me think about Giles. For years he was at the centre of my life. More a parent than my father, he understood my life better than my mother did for a long time. But that last year in Sunnydale destroyed something in our relationship that we've never been able to put right. Oh, we made our peace. We didn't part as sworn enemies or anything, if fact, we parted as friends. But he was more than a friend before that, and that 'something extra' that was built on respect was destroyed when he wouldn't trust my judgement about Spike and conspired with Robin Wood to destroy him.
I know every child needs to realise that their parents are human. My dad … well, I found that out earlier than I should have. My mom? I was just getting the idea when she died, so she's always going to be a sort of 'super-mom' to me. The only one I've actually had the full, adult disillusionment about is Giles, and he's not even technically included in the roster. And you know what? It still hurts. Deep down, the fact that he wanted to see Spike gone hurts. If he'd had his way, I'd never have known the joy that's been around these past weeks. Even though we've never had a time when everything's been right, it's been the first time since I was called that I've felt like I've got a hope for a normal life. Not normal the way I used to think of it. I'll never be normal. I've seen too much, and done too many hard things to ever be normal. But some parts of normality, like having a partner in life who really understands me and who'll be there for me whatever happens, I was just starting to think I might get that.
I look towards Spike's face, and it's out of focus. I take my hand from where it's been running up and down his arm and wipe my eyes. I'm not going to shed any tears. There won't be a reason for shedding any tears, and if there is, then I still won't do it until I've destroyed whoever's responsible.
I return my hand to Spike's, squeezing it tight. It just feels so good to be holding it that I can imagine he's squeezing it back. And then, I know I'm not imagining it. He really is squeezing my hand. I look from our joined hands to his face, and his eyelids are fluttering. Mesmerised, I watch for seconds or minutes, but that's all I see, just that slight movement of his eyelids. I'm torn between disappointment and joy, unsure what to make of it.
I hear approaching footsteps, and there's another Carnolan standing behind me, and judging from the uniform, he's a nurse.
"There's been a change in …" he starts, approaching the bed.
"Yes," I agree. "He squeezed my hand, and his eyelids were moving."
The nurse nods and does a quick scan of the equipment, pausing only to glance at the fact that I'm sitting on the bed. He doesn't comment, and I'm not sure whether I'm disappointed that I'm not going to get the chance to argue, or not.
"It could be he's coming out of it," he offers. "But it may still take time."
"But he is coming out of it," I say, looking for confirmation.
"It's possible," he agrees, before leaving the room.
"You hear that, Spike?" I say once we're alone again. "It's possible. And since it's only the impossible that we have to work at, this should be easy. Just, please don't keep me waiting too long."
Willow returns after a while, bearing two large lattes from a coffee shop, and a couple of sandwiches.
"Didn't like the look of what they had here, and someone suggested using the Espresso Pump about a block from here, but there was a line, and then they had some sort of problem with the machine and …"
"It's ok, Willow," I reassure, taking the proffered cup. I sip it, pleased to note it's just the right temperature.
We chat over our coffee, starting with telling her about Spike's squeezing my hand, but then ranging far and wide, and long after the cups have been drained. We haven't chatted this much since we were in high school, and it feels comforting. All the time we talk, I keep touching Spike, stroking his arm or his face, sometimes squeezing his hand again in the hope of getting a response, just letting him know I'm here.
There've been a couple of interruptions, while someone has come in to check on Spike, but generally, we've been left alone. I hear footsteps approaching, and I'm surprised to find that it's a nurse pushing a fold-up cot.
"It's getting late, and I thought maybe you'd like to get some sleep," he suggests.
I glance at my watch, and I'm surprised how late it is. I thank him, then turn to Willow.
"Will, you should go and get some rest too. You haven't stopped since you got here, and you must be tired."
"I'm fine," she argues, but I know better.
"Go. Seriously, I'll be fine. Anyway, I need someone to let me know what's happening with Lucy and Wes, and if we do come up with a plan, and it needs some magic, then I need you in top form."
Naturally, with Willow, it's the argument that I'm going to need her that makes the difference. "Ok, if you're sure," she decides, standing up.
"Is there anything you need before I go?" she asks. "I can do another coffee run if you like, I think they're open late."
"No, I'm fine. More coffee and I'll just be awake all night. Go, sleep, and I promise I'll call if anything changes."
"Make sure you do. I'll come right here."
She hugs me, and I hug her back, feeling closer to her than I've felt in years.
Once she's gone, I set up the cot close to Spike's bed, but it's too low, and I can't touch him. I fold it back up again, and take another look at the bed. I make a couple of minor adjustments to where I've been sitting, and I make (just) enough room for me to curl up. I climb onto the bed, close to Spike, able to feel his closeness along the length of my body, and before I know it, the sense of being at home has relaxed me enough that I sleep.