Chapter 11: Stirrings

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters except for Mia, Bryan, Daniel, and Cassandra. Joss Whedon owns all of the others.

Rating: PG 13. I promise. At least I'm not planning anything above it. There might be some harsh language, a bit of violence, and a few 'references', but nothing above kissing is going to be described without warning.

A/N (Wow! I'm so happy: ) . Two reviews for one chapter! I'm updating now for you, Rowan and Dieu Anonyme:), Thanks .). I agree, I should have written a shorter section for Restless, or at least divided it up, but I guess I just had so much planned for Spike that I didn't think. Maybe I will change the format once I get around to editing. Thanks, all of you! Now I hope you enjoy Chapter 11!)

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Buffy walked through the relative peace of the cemetery, relishing the cool chill that accompanied cloudless nights. She vaguely realized that an infinity of starsblanketed the sky, shining softly likeshattered crystal, and wondered why she'd never noticed. She guessed that with the business of staking vamps and killing demons… she'd never really gotten the chance to just enjoy the darkness and the peace. The quietness. No-one yelling at her to save the world again.

Sometimes, she enjoyed times like this on patrol. When there was no-one else around. Not Giles, not Willow and Tara and Anya and Xander… not even Riley. When they were around, she couldn't let herself go like this. She was too caught up in worrying what might happen to any of them if she relaxed.

But now… peaceful. Until she reached her destination.

Spike's crypt loomed up in the darkness. It wasn't large, but in relation to the size of the other crypts dotting this particular graveyard, it was one of the bigger ones.She continued her walk on the grassy floor, surroundedby gravestones.She finally reached it, and tried to knock on the stone.

The door wouldn't shift. Losing patience, Buffy knocked on the door again. And again.

Finally, she gave up all pretence of civility and just kicked the door in.

The door opened to quietness. Stepping in hesitantly, Buffy realized this was the first time she'd been inside. She looked over it critically.

He hadn't done much with the place. It was free of cobwebs and too much dust, however. A small refrigerator hummed, and a comfortable, yet somewhat stained, leather armchair sat facing a blank television screen. Every available space was dotted with candles. The ledges… the tables… the…

Her eyes reached the sarcophagi.

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"So, considering you know what the address is, shouldn't we go out and find them?"

The hospital ward was quiet. Around them, Initiative soldiers groaned from the injuries they'd received. Every so often, down the dim, sterile hallways, they heard an intern pace, the footsteps echoing, but no-one ever came into the ward. Daniel and Cassandra were sitting on the edge of their beds, facing each other in the semi-darkness. The whites of their eyes seemed to gleam.

"Not now. Definitely not now. It's night-time. Only idiots venture outside in Sunnydale at night-time…" Cassandra frowned. "Come to think of it, that means half of the population here fall into that category."

"Come on," Daniel scoffed. "It can't be that bad."

Cassandra paused before replying. Images flashed at her insistently from his words. People strolling around at night. Killed. A man running to the school, killed horribly by a demon that the Ripper and his mates had used for highs. Horribly dead. Eviscerations. Flayings. Vampire fodder. Sacrifices to open the Hellmouth… again. And again. And again...

Huge demons. Nasty horns. Brute strength. Very, very, long claws.

"Oh… you'd be surprised," Cassandra snorted at last. "Come on. Wait for morning."

"Oh, alright," he grumbled. Then he looked at her closer. "You should definitely get some sleep."

"Only if you do too," she retorted. "I'm not risking waking up and finding that you've been eaten or flayed alive."

Daniel shuddered. "It's really that bad?"

Eviscerations. Flayings. Vampire fodder. Sacrifices. Reptile demons. Hellmouth.

"Yeah. It is. Trust me."

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Buffy knew that when Spike slept, he breathed. She didn't know why. When she'd had the rare occasion to see Angel sleep, she knew that he was as unmoving as a rock. Then again, the two vampires were as alike as day and night.

Now? Spike wasn't even breathing, so she instantly knew something was wrong. As she neared, she realized what it was.

She didn't bother to check what expletive had just leapt out of her mouth, only unconsciously knowing that Giles would have winced at it. Immediately, she was by Spike's side, desperately attempting to wake him.

"Wake up, Spike! Wake up! Goddammit! Wake up!"

Rivulets of blood flowed down his pale alabaster chest. In her frenzy, Buffy hadn't even realized that underneath the thin blanket, Spike slept skyclad. But thewoven materialwas stained with red. Stained with blood. And that was all she saw. That, and the overwhelming need to save him. To stop the blood. To wake him up.

"Wake up!"

In response, he groaned, and then screamed, a horrible, echoing scream that nearly split Buffy's eardrums. Frantically, she began trying to stem the blood with his sheet.

"Wake up you stupid vampire!" she raged. "Stop bleeding!"

He moaned again. The blood bubbled out from under her touch relentlessly, fighting her every effort to smother it. She didn't remember that vampires that had been bled dry went half insane. All she did was work feverishly, trying to staunch it.

He moaned again, and she felt another rush of crimson liquid assault her fingers, but slower now.A small flickering of triumph wovee its way through her as she continued to administrate thefirst aid that she knew. The blood was stopping.

It seemed like hours passed before the bleeding finally stopped, and Buffy sagged with relief. Slowly, she began cleaning the long, deep gashes on his skin, wondering where they'd come from.

She got her answer when her eyes fell onto his nails, bloodstained. In horror, she realized what he had done.

Jesus, he'd ripped through his own skin.

Buffy sat back, a whirl of thoughts crossed through her mind, along with the reason for coming here in the first place. Silently, she thanked her intuition for sending her along. Something had warned her that Spike would have been the worst hit out of all of them. Yes, the First Slayer had technically 'killed' them, but her fury at a vampire would have been even more centred, more violent.

She didn't know why she'd even bothered. Why she'd cared.

Ah, but you do, a small voice whispered inside. The joining. It had changed them all. Shown them a side of everyone that they had never seen. The thought of losing the fifth piece of the puzzle had frightened all of them.

This was getting damned weird, she pondered, before she raised her eyes and looked into the cerulean blue depths of Spike's.

"Blood," he whispered.

"Yeah, you were bleeding," Buffy jumped off the sarcophagus nervously, wincing as the words spilled out of her mouth. -Geez, stating the obvious much?-

"No, no… all about the blood. Something's gonna change. Something's gonna change. Didn't ever say they would, did they? Why? I thought I'd already changed. Already changed enough. Why the blood? Why's it gonna be so different…?"

Buffy stared at him in consternation as he sat up, touching the bandaged wounds on his chest. Running his fingers over them in bewilderment. Confusion sparkled in his eyes as he saw the crimson seeping through. It dried on his fingers.

"This? It looks like blood."

He licked it off his finger, and Buffy made a face.

"Alright, stop with the hysterics and the plain grossness," she said uncomfortably. "What's…"

"It tastes like blood. It smells like it. Why won't it stay that way?"

"You've really gone crazy, haven't you?" Buffy demanded, reaching for her stake unconsciously for protection.

Life and understanding seemed to leap back into his azure eyes in a second, and she almost jumped again at the change. He stared in awe at her, his gaze shifting from her face to the bandages. She could almost swear she saw a childlike innocence in the face of the demon who had killed for over a century.

"You… you stopped it."

She felt a tingle of… what was it? Unease? Excitement? move over her skin. Their eyes connected, and she found herself drowning in them. Incredible cerulean blue… "What do you mean?" she forced out, trying to break the hold he had somehow woven over her.

He shook himself, laughed, and she could see the façade slipping over again. "That bossy little chit. The First Slayer? Reminded me of you."

"What?" Buffy demanded indignantly, realizing with almost a pang of regret that she could no longer feel the connection. Shutters had slid, cutting her out. "Did you see her hair? And the whole primal thing? So not me."

"Oh, don't deny it, Slayer," Spike scoffed. "Don't even try. Tell me you haven't felt the rush when you're fighting. That primal feeling. What do you think our little battle rage in the Initiative was, pretty rainbows? No, that was pure and primal strength, and you bathe it in every day."

"That's not true."

"Still in denial, eh? Then what about the midnight escapades after soldier boy isn't enough for you? That hunger that's still there, that will stay there until it's sated? He'll never be enough for you, you know."

"You're a pig, Spike," Buffy snapped, stalking away. "And since you're so obviously fine, I'm leaving now."

The vampire watched as she slammed the door shut, and before he could stop himself, he felt a word rip itself forcefully from is throat.

"Thankyou."

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Buffy paused for a second outside his crypt. She could have sworn that she had heard a soft 'thankyou' behind her.

No.- Her mind angrily denied. Soulless demons don't feel anything. Not gratitude, not love, not anything.

And she continued home, to where her family and her friends were waiting for her.

Yet there was something there that she had left behind…

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Stubborn chit. Bloody PTBs. Stupid dream.

I know I wasn't myself when I was doing all the babbling. As if I'd go on like that. Pfeh. Bloody weird, though. It was like I was just standing on the sidelines, watching someone animate my own body. So, it was a message to the Slayer, and someone had decided to use me.

Stupid pillocks. They coulda asked me first, you know. As for the dream… no words can even begin to describe how pissed off I was at that. I did not have to taken through the systematic failures and losses of my life. Not again. I'd had over a hundred years to acclimatize to those bloody knives. Didn't need them redoubled. I had nightmares for three months after that blasted dream. Sure, I know the PTBs were trying to tell me something, but couldn't they have found a less painful way to do it?

Stupid. Bloody. Pillocks.

'The Powers That Bollocks-everything-up.'

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