Chapter 9

Monday afternoons were always busy in emergency rooms, she remembered that from all the time she'd spent hanging around Sunnydale General. People waited for two whole days because they didn't want to bother calling their doctor with their silly little problems over the weekend and then, on Monday, they'd flood the ER like a crowd of aggrieved, demanding children wanting to be seen by someone immediately. It had never occurred to Buffy that demons would be similar to humans in this respect but, glancing around the packed waiting area of the clinic, she found herself silently thanking whatever deities they all worshipped for providing such handy cover.

The place was heaving. A menagerie of monsters sat, squatted and stood all around her, muttering, growling and whining their complaints to anyone who would listen and, across the room, she could see that Carlo's yellow-spotted friend Vittorio was fully occupied by them. As a bonus the nurse beside him seemed to be the only one on duty and, sidling through the entrance, Buffy walked casually but swiftly over to the rank of wheelchairs on the right. OK. So...so far, so good.

Leaving Dawn outside in the car had definitely been the smart thing to do. Her little sister had already proved that her heart still ruled her head as far as Spike was concerned and, after sharing even a little of her fear for his safety, the youngest Summers had been ready to wage full scale war on anyone who might mean him harm, including Carlo.

"OK - he might be the finest-looking guy alive but if he thinks he can suck out my friend's soul and get away with it then he'd better damn well think again!"

"We don't know for sure yet that's what he was doing..."

"Buffy, I saw him. He was just like that creepy cat in that movie, the one that sits on the little kid's chest and sucks his breath."

"All I'm saying is..."

"I know. It turned out to be the little brown troll guy. But I still say the cat was way creepier."

In the end the only way to keep her quiet her had been to hand her the car-keys and tell her to 'keep the motor running'. A gangly, over-excited getaway driver had to be less dangerous than a gangly, over-excited sidekick, although right now any distraction would have been welcomed. The double doors that led back to the private rooms were a good fifty metres away, directly in Vittorio's line of sight and, scooting one of the chairs out of line, Buffy held her breath as she swung it in neatly beside a huge elephant-headed creature that was slowly lumbering towards the toilets. Peering sideways, the thing's eyes seemed to question her and, keeping pace, she flashed him a nervous smile.

"What's the betting that once you get there you don't want to go, right?"

It was further than she remembered to Spike's room, although maybe it was just her crazily banging heart and heightened senses that made it seem that way. Every empty length of corridor stretched out ahead of her like a yawning trap but, keeping her eyes and ears trained for the sound of voices, she pushed the chair onwards as casually as she could. Humans weren't unheard of here - or at least human-shaped demons - so there was no reason for anyone to stop her. Still, the idea that her soon-to-be-very-ex-lover might be waiting for her around the next corner was enough to bring her out in a thin sheen of sweat.

The fact was she still had no idea of his motives, which made guessing his next move nearly impossible. Carlo's mysterious unpredictability had always been one of his most attractive qualities - one of the things that had so drawn her to him in the first place - although at the time she had allowed herself to believe that, in this case, mysterious didn't necessarily equal 'evil'. With a shiver, she realised just how much danger she might have put herself in, not to mention Dawn, by letting her guard down so easily. Gritting her teeth, she shook her head yet again at her own stupidity. Wicked energy wins again. Why was it that, even after all this time, shewas still so darned predictable?

oooooooo

After hearing Dawn's description, Buffy hadn't been exactly sure what she'd find in Spike's hospital room, but a relatively healthy-looking vampire, silently watching TV, had probably not been at the top of the list of possibilities. Watching him through the glass, she almost smiled at the familiarity of the scene before she remembered her purpose and pushed open the door.

His face, as she entered, briefly registered surprise before becoming as emotionless as a snowdrift. Eyes shifted from her to the wheelchair and he studied it for a second.

"So what brings you here? Don't tell me you're a candy-striper as well now?"

The hard flippant edge to his tone felt like a knife between her ribs but, ignoring it, she pushed the chair over to the side of the bed and opened the closet there. Inside lay his belt, rings and a bill-fold and, transferring them into her purse, Buffy closed it again and turned to face him.

"I'm taking you out of here. Now can you stand or do I have to lift you into this thing?"

It took a moment or two for him to register her words. The intensity in her voice seemed to have unsettled him, his lips opening as if he was going to answer, but then they closed again and his expression went blank. Turning back to the muted television set at the end of the bed, he lifted his shoulders in a half-hearted shrug.

"I thought we'd covered all of this yesterday? I told you, you don't have to worry about me any more Slayer. Docs have fixed me up good. I'll be right as rain in no time."

"Slayer?"

Her eyes dropped to the floor and she gave a hollow laugh. Slayer. When was the last time he'd called her that? Probably just after he'd gotten back with his new soul, when he was still trying to pretend he was the 'same old Spike', the one without all the messy complex emotions. Slayer. It was a word they'd both used to keep distance between them.

"Just when was it you stopped loving me?"

The words were out of her mouth before she'd even had a chance to edit them; make them sound a little less raw and needy. Clenching her jaw, she forced herself to look at his face.

"Can you tell me? I mean when was it exactly? Was there a morning when you just woke up and thought 'hey...over that'? Or was it more of a lightning bolt?

You see, when you came here back in May, I know you still felt it then. You had to. And then at the apartment, it was like part of you was still there. I know you saw me with Carlo and that Angel probably told you to back off, but I know you still loved me then. I know you did. So what I don't get is when all that changed. And how? I mean, how is it you just stop loving someone that you've spent almost your whole life looking for and waiting for and wanting?" It sounded desperate, even to her own ears, but somehow she couldn't stop herself from asking the question. "Do you even remember what you said to me that night before the Hellmouth? Because I do. I remember every single word."

The silence that stretched between them was palpable and, frowning deeply, Spike reached a hand up to rub at his head. It was a casual enough gesture, but then his fingers began to tangle in his hair, twisting it into knots, and for a second Buffy was eerily reminded of his days in the school basement.

"Spike. It's ok...I mean you don't...have to tell me. Not if you don't want to I mean."

"No...."

He was genuinely troubled now, his face a mask of confusion and, after hesitating for a second, Buffy sat down on the bed beside him. The corridor outside was still deserted, but she guessed that it was only a matter of time now until someone came by to check on the patients.

"...I don't...know."

His manner of speech was oddly stilted, the similarity to the old basement-Spike was becoming truly disturbing and, against her better judgement, she reached for his hand and threaded her fingers through his. To her intense relief, he didn't pull away.

"What don't you know?"

"When I stopped. Being in love with you I mean. I don't...exactly know when that...was. Now you come to mention it."

Cocking his head to one side, he strained as if he were trying to hear something; something far off and difficult to discern. Then he started to speak.

"There was...I had this dream before. While I was back in the box. You were asleep in bed, at home and you looked...so beautiful. All golden and light. Except I wasn't looking at you...I was you. I mean - I was me still - but I was in your body. And then in walks The Immortal and...shit...I'm really fucking pleased to see him! I mean really really fucking happy, like I love him or some shit and then he leans over me and puts his hand right on me - I mean you - and then... weird." He laughed and the sound was like jarring, rusted metal.

From his first words, Buffy had felt a creeping chill of realisation and now, inside her chest, she felt her heart start its crazed hammering again. His dream was starting to sound an awful lot like hers and, even though she still had no idea what that meant, she had to know how it ended. Continuing, Spike closed his eyes.

"Then he opens up his shirt and inside there's this great gaping fucking hole in his chest. I mean massive, the size of a frigging fist almost and he shows me that - inside - there are these fucking picture frames. Loads of these little decorative picture frames with really old-looking pictures of girls in and they're all stuffed down in the hole, all covered with gore.

And then he reaches into this big hole and gets out one of the pictures to show me and...it's you, except it actually takes me a second or two to recognise you because you're all dressed up in this wacky Victorian get-up, with your hair all starchy. But when I do - I suddenly realise...it's gone. I don't feel anything for you any more. No love, no like...crazy passionate thing...just nothing. It's like...his showing me you in that picture-frame just made it all...go away."

His voice faded, petering out to nothing and, opening his eyes, he stared at her in bewilderment. Took a sudden sharp breath inwards.

"So yeah...I think it was...then."

Behind them, the door suddenly slammed inwards and the sound exploding into the tiny silent room almost threw them both out of their seats. Instinctively blocking Spike, Buffy scrambled for a weapon before registering that the figure standing in the doorway wasn't moving. Pressing his hands together, the yellow-skinned Vittorio A'math, looked nervously over his shoulder, blinking huge, slitted almond eyes.

"I tried to stop him, but he's desperate now. I don't think he cares what he does any more. He thinks I just look the other way, but I'm still a doctor. A life is still a life."

Clearing his throat, he took a decisive step towards them.

"You need to go. If he finds out you've been here, he won't wait any longer. He'll kill you just like he killed the others."

oooooooo

The others.

The demon's last words still rung in her ears long after they'd made their escape. Bundling a blanket-smothered Spike into the car with more haste than tenderness, they'd barely had time to acknowledge Dawn's presence in the front seat before she'd stepped on the gas and peeled the little Fiat away from the kerb and into traffic.

"Where to?" Darting a look at them over her shoulder, her sister's hair whipped back in the slipstream from the window. "La casa?"

"No."

The apartment was out of the question now. If they chose to believe the doctor dire warnings, Carlo was a threat to them both and, until she could figure out why, hanging out anywhere he could easily find them seemed like a really bad idea.

"No. Head for the Institute."

It was closer than Andrew's place and at least it was well defended. Looking across the back seat at Spike, Buffy gave him a weak smile.

"Work has to be the last place anyone's going to look for me right?"

"Right."

His expression seemed to be a mixture of bemusement and resignation and, unsure of what to do, she looked down at her hands. It was almost as if Spike had stopped caring she existed. The thing that he'd said had gone from him, all the feelings, all the passion he'd ever felt for her, they had a discernible weight. It was the lack of that she felt now and it's absence left her desolate.

"Look, I don't understand what's going on here any more than you do, ok, but I think Carlo...The Immortal...I think he did something to you. While you were asleep. Maybe even before...I don't know. That dream you had...I had one almost the same. I think maybe he needs something from me, something that he couldn't get from anyone else..."

Just visible through the folds of his blanket, Spike's eyes were fixed on the city through the windshield.

"So what's the plan?"

"The plan?"

His tone was hard to analyse. Was he still pissed at her for treating him like a cripple or was it something else.

"There is a plan I take it? I mean there normally is in these situations right? Old Rupert poised and ready to swing into action?"

"Action?" She felt like she was just echoing his words now, parrot-fashion. "No. I mean there isn't a plan yet exactly. And no Giles. Yet. And there won't be. At least not until we can figure out what's going on."

"With the weird dreams and shit?"

He was angry with her, although exactly why she couldn't understand.

"With the fact that Carlo seems to have somehow changed the way you feel about me, yes. And about the fact that he's apparently intent on tearing my heart out with his bare hands. I'd say that constitutes more than just 'weird dreams and shit'."

"Yeah."

There was a long pause. Studying his face intently Buffy tried to discern just what it was that was bothering him. Was it his breakdown before, the sudden lapse in self-control that had meant he had been willing to trust her again? Pulling the blanket down to cover his hands, Spike cleared his throat.

"So the Immortal...he's evil now then. Have I got that right?"

"Maybe." It was impossible to tell what he was thinking. "Maybe he always was."

"Right. And you just couldn't see it before because...what...that legendary great dick of his kept getting in your way?"

His words felt like a slap and, stiffening slightly, Buffy took a sharp breath inwards.

"I didn't see it because I wasn't looking for it I guess."

Somehow the phrase didn't ring entirely true. Why hadn't she seen it? When Giles had warned her? When everything in her long and chequered experience with men should have told her that tall, dark and mysterious always tended to equal 'bad'.

"I don't know. Maybe I didn't want to see it." Frowning, she turned to look out of the window. The city outside was bathed in dazzling golden light, the sky a pure cobalt blue, but suddenly it all seemed colourless. "Maybe I just didn't care."

"Oh right..." The sarcasm almost dripped from his voice and, looking up, Buffy saw that his eyes were suddenly bright with anger. "Right...'cause you were all still so broken up about poor old Spike? So fucking broken-hearted about losing me that you bravely squared your pretty little jaw and went and shagged the first gorgeous immortal Italian adonis you could lay your hands on."

"Spike..."

"And, not that it matters now or anything, but as you happened to bring it up earlier...yes. I bloody well do remember what I said." His hands on the seat were balled into fists, the knuckles white and livid through the skin. "I remember pretty much every word as it happens. Just as well really. Because it seems like I was the only one who meant it."

The air between them seemed to have dropped twenty degrees and for the longest time Buffy didn't trust herself speak. When she finally said the words though, the conviction in them surprised even her.

"I meant it."

His eyes still blazing, Spike pulled the blanket up around his face and sunk down lower onto the seat.

"What does it matter? Whatever it was, it's gone now. And right now I'm tempted to be grateful."

"It matters because you meant it too."

He wasn't looking at her now, but something pushed her on.

"Look, I don't understand what happened to make you act this way or what the hell's going on between us any more, but I am sure of one thing. This isn't how it's supposed to end with us. And you can keep on telling me this crap till hell freezes over, but there is no way I am ever going to believe that you just...gave up on us. That's bullshit and we both know it. You still love me. Just like I still love you. And that's not something you just give up on, ok."

His whole body felt rigid, like he was made of carved stone, but pulling him around by the shoulders, Buffy forced him to look at her. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes burned with a fierce blue heat that betrayed his emotions.

"You sound pretty sure of yourself."

"I'm sure of you."

"Even if I say different?"

"I'm not sure you know what you're saying right now."

"Think I'm under some kind of spell or something? That it?"

"I don't know."

Letting go of him, Buffy slid back against the car door. Outside the window the city slid by them like a golden zoetrope.

"But I'm sure as hell going to find out."