Title: Blood Loss

Author: KeepTheFaith (Laura)

Feedback: May be provided here or sent to aeryncrichtonhotmail.com

Disclaimer: Buffy is owned by Joss Whedon and ME, I'm just borrowing them

Spoilers: Set during season 4, after "Fear Itself"

Pairings: Buffy / Spike

Rating: R

Subject: More dancing between Buffy and Spike as they try to deal with the consequences of their attraction, Sequel to Here and Now

Blood Loss

Chapter 5 - Blood Letting

"Are you ready for the claim?" Buffy heard Spike's words as though they drifted to her out of a hazy, contented fog. She nodded her assent and waited expectantly for Spike's next move.

Spike reached down and pulled Buffy to her feet.

It had been too long since she'd felt this happy. She wasn't sure her skin was elastic enough to contain this much emotion. Especially when the feelings boiling up within her were directed towards her mortal enemy.

Spike allowed the demon to take possession of his outward appearance, while he held her hands in a loose grip. His brow furrowed and ridged and his blue eyes turned mustard yellow, with black slits. He could feel the change. Especially the bloodlust, the urging from his demon to rip into the Slayer's throat and drink deep.

Turning Buffy was the last thing on his mind. He liked -- no, he loved -- his hot little Slayer just the way she was: heart beating, blood flowing, and lungs pumping. He had no desire to turn her blood ice cold.

Buffy had agreed to the claim and nothing would ever be able to bloody well tear them apart once it was forged.

Spike remained immobile as Buffy reached out to caress his ridged brow. She gazed into his yellow eyes, no hint of a flinch. He could tell that his demon didn't repulse Buffy, even though she was well aware of what his ridged brow and yellow eyes meant. He was one of the monsters; a demon she was born to fight and kill. Spike didn't know how it had happened, but somehow he'd become Buffy's monster when he gave her his heart. There wasn't a bleedin' thing he wouldn't do for her.

Spike recalled their first kiss in the basement of the frat house.

Despite the influence of a fear spell, all he remembered was the warm silk of her lips teasing his mouth. The tantalizing sweetness of her tongue dueling with his. The way she melted him, when he sipped from the furnace between her lips.

Buffy bared her neck, sweeping a swath of curly blonde hair off to one side. The come hither look in her leaf green eyes beckoned him, the blood rushing beneath her skin called him with its siren's song, surging and throbbing through her veins: ready to pour out in a rush over his tongue and down his throat.

If there was a prior claim in place, say one made by that ponce Angel, it would be even more dangerous for Spike to make Buffy his own. Supplanting another vampire's claim to a mortal was risky at best; worst case, it could turn deadly.

A pair of razor sharp canines pierced velvety soft skin through to her carotid. Buffy's blood was sweeter, more powerfully heady than that of the Chinese Slayer he'd drunk from during the Boxer Rebellion. Buffy's blood imbued him with strength, trust and love.

During the moments before the claim snapped into place, it was all up to him, to keep Buffy safe. He had to be sure he didn't drink too much. It would be too easy to push her past the brink of death if he took too much blood.

Spike could feel the chain that held Buffy to Angel weakening. Until the ever more tenuous connection between them broke, he had to continue drinking her down. Or he'd have to start all over again later, if she let him. Only after her bond with his grandsire snapped could he forge his own claim.

When Buffy's heartbeat began to falter Spike felt the bond between Buffy and Angel weaken and finally shatter. His tie to Buffy tightened, binding and pulling them together like a sturdy hemp rope. Moments later, he pulled his incisors free of the wound in her neck.

He felt for Buffy's pulse -- expelling an unnecessary breath -- it was weak and thready. She could die. Now that she was his, nothing could be allowed to take her from him, especially not his own foolish excess. Once he realized that Angel's prior claim put her at risk he should have stopped, but he was too caught up in Buffy's spell and the magic her agreement wove around them.

Spike almost tripped as he frantically pulled on his jeans, stepped into his boots and pulled a rumpled t-shirt over his head - cursing under his breath over each wasted moment. Then he wrapped Buffy in his black leather duster, scooped her up and raced outside to his DeSoto.

He turned the key, put the car into drive and stepped on the gas to rush her to Sunnydale General. It was the closest hospital to St. Dominic's Cemetery, where he'd turned a deserted crypt--previously belonging to the Richardson family--into his lair.

Squealing tires and exhaust swirled a gray cloud when he came to a sudden halt. The stench of burning rubber didn't register on Spike's preoccupied mind as he plucked Buffy out of the car and ran through the doors of the Emergency entrance. He jogged inside, looking around for someone, anyone to help him.

"A woman with severe blood loss here, mate!" Spike yelled, as he grabbed a passing doctor, spinning him around. "She needs an immediate transfusion."

The dark haired doctor, leaned closer to peer at her ashen complexion. "What happened?"

Spike shook his head, trying to think of a plausible lie. The truth most definitely wouldn't help. "Animal attack. A German Shepherd took her down and was ripping at her throat. She's lost a lot of blood."

"Take her through to exam room 2," the doctor instructed, pointing. "Do you happen to know her blood type?"

Spike looked at the doctor blankly, as he gently laid Buffy on the exam table. Then he shook his head, cursing his lack of foresight. "Her name is Buffy Summers, and her blood type should bloody well be on file here already," he snarled, hoping that his words were true. She must've had at least one transfusion after some close call or another, either with a vampire or some other supernatural beastie, likely from the occasion when Angel forged his prior claim.

I should have asked her, Spike thought. The one question that could have kept her safe and I didn't ask it.

Spike sat on the edge of one of the hard molded plastic chairs in the waiting room, his head propped between cupped hands. All he wanted was to bolt into the room where they were treatin' Buffy, but the doctors would try to keep him out. He knew if he got too demanding, they might bar him from her room. Separation from Buffy was torture. Completely unacceptable.

He could feel the hazy, muddled dreams leaking into his brain from hers. Buffy was unconscious.

Finally, when only action could keep him from forcing his way into her room, he stalked over to the bank of payphones and inserted a quarter and a dime. Soddin' Americans and their poxy public phone kiosks, he thought as he dialed the number, not even private.

"Hello," he said, answering the voice on the other end. "Mrs. Summers. It's Spike. I'm at Sunnydale General. I brought Buffy here." He could barely hear Joyce's questions, much less form a coherent reply to them, so in the same vein he added, "She's been hurt. Please hurry."

Spike's clompy motorcycle-boot-clad steps echoed in the empty hallways. He paced from the waiting area and back, as close to the entryway of Buffy's examination room as he dared, until the nurse told him to take a seat in the waiting area. Countless dirty looks wouldn't have put his butt in the contoured plastic chair, except for the fact that Buffy needed him.

When Joyce entered through the Emergency Room doors, Spike jumped up from his seat and crossed over to her.

"Where's Buffy?" Joyce asked, worry lines etched in her forehead.

"She's in exam room 2."

"What's wrong with her?"

"Blood loss," Spike replied. "They won't soddin' well tell me anything, regardless of the fact that I'm the one that brought her in."

Joyce motioned Spike toward the seat he so recently vacated, while she stalked up to the Nurse's desk. "Buffy Summers, my daughter was brought into Emergency tonight by a friend. She came in with severe blood loss. Can you tell me anything about her condition?"

Wilma, the nurse's name according to the badge clipped to the pocket of her hot pink jacket, keyed the name into the computer. "She's being examined in room 2. The doctor will be with you shortly." She pulled a clipboard with medical information clamped to it and put it in Joyce's hands. "In the meantime, if you could provide her insurance information that would help expedite matters."

Joyce sat down in the chair next to Spike, clicking the pen and holding it poised over the paper. As much as she wanted to yell at Wilma for her cavalier attitude -- she didn't give a damn about providing medical information, she just wanted to know how her daughter was alright --she reined in the impulse. Going off on the nurse wouldn't do anything to make Buffy better faster.

"Mrs. Summers, did you find out anything about Buffy's condition?" Spike asked.

"Joyce, my name is Joyce, Spike. And no, I didn't find out anything about Buffy's condition. The nurse said the doctor would talk to us once he's through with Buffy."

After Joyce finished the forms and returned them to the nurse at the desk, she returned to waiting beside Spike. Now that she wasn't occupied, it gave her time to think. What few thoughts she had, revolved around how Buffy might have lost enough blood to wind up in the hospital.

"How did this happen Spike?" Joyce asked.

Spike looked over at Buffy's mum and realized that he'd almost stolen the life of her only child. She wouldn't be well pleased at his actions. He wasn't. He'd come close to killin' Buffy and the thought was driving him wild with guilt and remorse. It was his job to protect her now that she was his, but he was the one she'd needed protecting from.

"Joyce, I... I'm the one that did it to her," Spike admitted, hanging his head in abject misery. "I didn't mean to. It was a bloody accident. But it's my fault, what happened to Buffy."

Despite the terror she saw in the Spike's shimmering aquamarine gaze, Joyce hardened her heart. How could he do that to her baby? It was hard enough dealing with the fact that her daughter was the Slayer with a lifespan that in all likelihood wouldn't exceed hers. Dealing with another vampire -- boyfriend? She wasn't exactly sure what Spike was to Buffy, but she didn't think they were enemies anymore. So how could he almost drain her life's blood?

"I know you probably don't ever want to speak to me again, much less look at me Joyce. But I can bleedin' well promise you I'll never do anything to endanger Buffy like this again."

Joyce opened her mouth to speak, but was unable to articulate her feelings beyond a mumbled, "Damn, this is such a mess," before she walked off. She needed a cup of coffee, something to occupy her hands, so she wouldn't try to strangle Spike. At least he was honest about what had happened. She had to give him credit for that, didn't she? It seemed so. She shook her head wearily pondering just how her little girl managed to keep getting involved with the very monsters she was sworn to destroy. Giles would help her get a grip on this situation.

She opened her purse and pulled out her address book. Giles' number had to be in there. Ah, there it was: Rupert Giles. Fishing a quarter and a dime from her wallet, she slipped them through the slot and dialed the number, waiting while it rang once, twice and then a third time. Before the fourth ring, she heard a voice on the other end.

"Hello," Giles said.

"Mr. Giles, this is Joyce Summers. Buffy is at Sunnydale General," Joyce explained.

"Is Buffy alright?"

"I believe she will be," Joyce replied. "She was brought in with acute blood loss. I'd really appreciate it if you could come right away."

"I'll be there in 10 minutes."

Joyce hung up the phone in a daze, wondering what to do next. Go back to the Emergency Room, she supposed. She realized she hadn't told Giles where to find her when she called, then she shook her head realizing he'd probably check Emergency first. It wasn't like Buffy hadn't been brought there before.

An involuntary sob escaped her throat, before Joyce pulled herself together. She walked back to the Emergency Room waiting area. Spike was up and pacing when she arrived. Joyce wasn't sure why she felt compelled to offer him comfort, yet she motioned for him to come sit beside her.

"Joyce, I'm sorry." Spike almost added that he'd take it back if he could, when he realized those words would be a bleedin' lie. He'd do anything to have her, she was his now --forever and always. "I love Buffy. I'd do anything for 'er, or you."

Joyce reached out to touch Spike's cheek, unaccountably moved by the tears he didn't seem to realize were rolling down them in a steady stream. She brushed her thumb across his tearstained cheek, then gathered him into a hug. "It's alright Spike. I was upset about Buffy. I called Giles. He'll be here soon."

Spike wasn't sure whether to feel happy or worried at her news. Rupes didn't exactly like him. Not that he could bloody well blame him. He had tried to kill the Slayer... several times in fact. It was a bloody surprise that Joyce could stand the sight of him, especially considering what he'd almost done to her girl this very night.

Joyce jumped up from her chair when Giles arrived, though Spike made no effort to rise. Giles could make of that what he bleedin' well wanted and he probably would.

"What is he," Giles paused and pointed to Spike, "doing here?"

"Vampire hearing here mate," Spike said. "Or did you forget?"

"What are you doing here Spike?" Giles asked, directing his question toward Spike.

"I think that's a question better answered by your Slayer, Rupert," Spike dodged. He had no desire to get into a fight with the man and get himself kicked out of the hospital. Not when he didn't know how Buffy was. He needed to be here. To protect her, care for her, hold her hand; whatever she bloody well needed him to do. He'd do anything she needed.

Spike turned from the Slayer's mum and her Watcher. It was all he could do, to hold himself together when Joyce's worry was beatin' down his defenses. With Buffy's bloody father figure standing at the ready to defend her bleedin' honor, Spike was torn asunder.

He needed to concentrate.

Something he couldn't do around them. Not here. Not now. Time to take a walk. Have a smoke and calm down. Buffy wouldn't want him to have a meltdown. She'd need him near when she woke.

"I'll be back in a bit," he called over his shoulder to Joyce, before taking his leave.

Giles looked at Joyce, cocked an eyebrow and waited.

"What happened?" Giles asked, irritated yet unaccountably relieved to find Spike in such a cozy, domestic scene with Joyce. It was like the two of them were family. Good lord, what am I thinking? he pondered.

Joyce looked up at Giles' worried visage and sighed. "Like Spike said, I think it'll be better if Buffy tells you."

"I don't see how waiting could be better," Giles argued.

Joyce shook her head. "From me, it'd be secondhand. I'm sure that Buffy will be better able to tell you her story than I could ever hope to."

"It has something to do with Spike, doesn't it?" Giles surmised. It wasn't hard to guess, based upon Spike's presence, his dodgy answers and Joyce's deliberate evasiveness.

"Yes, it does. But I don't pretend to understand it, so either Buffy or Spike will have to explain it to you. Since Spike won't, it seems you'll have to wait for her to tell you."

Joyce took a seat on one of the hard plastic Emergency Room chairs. Giles sank down beside her, resignation or perhaps implacable British reserve, plastered on his face.

To be continued...