Part Fifteen: If It Eases All Her Pain
A bloke could think some bloody strange things while panicking out of his mind.
In all likelihood, only a couple minutes had passed since he’d come back to himself. Since he realized that the nectar flooding his mouth was not the product of a dream. It was like seeing for the first time. Knowing that the body in his arms was his girl. That the twin puncture marks covering her healing scar belonged to his fangs. Knowing that every stupid sodding decision he’d made had led to this.
The minute that Buffy had gone limp in his arms, the boundary separating realities ceased to exist. All he knew for certain was the woman he loved was hurt. The woman he loved was dying. And it was all his fault.
He didn’t know what to do. So he called Angel.
The phone rang forever, it seemed. And when the grand ponce finally picked up, he sounded far too carefree for Spike’s liking.
“Hello?”
“Buffy’s hurt,” Spike blurted ineloquently. “What should I do?”
The words were such a bloody steppingstone. He didn’t know if the wanker was more surprised at the announcement or the fact that Spike had called him.
“What happened?” Angel asked urgently.
“Would you like to chat about it or actually help? What should I do?”
“Get her to the hospital. I’m on my—”
Spike dropped the phone. The hospital. Of course! Why hadn’t he thought of that?
He knew the answer to that one without needing to dwell. Because he’d realized that Buffy was hurt, all logic had flown out the window.
In a fury, he ripped the sheets from the bed and wrapped her nude, bleeding body up in a protective bundle. He nearly couldn’t see for the ocean flowing down his face. And then he was gone—not stopping to lock the front door. Hell, he doubted he even closed it. He was out and in the car, pulling her into his side as he tore out of the drive.
“Stay with me,” he pleaded into her hair. His arm was around her middle, his other hand on the wheel. Tears tracked his cheeks, but he didn’t care. He just had to get her safe. “God, sweetheart, you gotta stay with me.”
Her heart was still beating; he clung to that hope. Her heart was beating and she was breathing ever-so-slightly. But time was running out. Every pound was like a clock chime, ticking them down to a perpetual nothingness.
Spike burst into the hospital like all Hell was following him. A room full of busybodies, all preoccupied in matters far too unimportant. Logic scrambled once more for control and told him quite clearly that he needed to find an orderly before he ran up and demanded help from a random patient.
Thank fuck for logic.
Spike broke into a run at the first person he saw wearing a nametag. “She needs help!” he all but screamed. “Someone help her! Someone!”
All was a blur. The nurse turned her full attention to him, approached with a cool calm that only served to egg his nerves all the more.
“What happened?”
What happened? What happened?
Spike shook his head, his face a mess of tears. “Just help her! Please!” The next thing he knew, a bed had been wheeled to his disposal, and he was told that he had to put her down. God, the last thing he wanted to do was let go of her. What if this was the last time he got to hold her? What if? What if?
But he knew he had to. She would die unless he gave her up.
“Sir, we need you to stay calm,” the nurse told him, stepping to accommodate the doctor as he took stride alongside her. “We’re going to take care of her, all right?”
Yes, all right. As long as she lived, they could do what they liked. Spike focused on the sight of his Slayer as they wheeled her away to the emergency room. All rationality failed.
God, please.
“You found her?”
He blinked and realized the doctor was addressing him. “I was…she…she did it for me.”
The nurse and the doctor exchanged glances.
“Sir, we’re going to do everything we can for your friend,” the nurse was telling him the next minute. “But we need to know a few things first. Could you help us, please?”
Spike let out a quivering breath and fought his mind back on track. His gaze landed on the doctor once more.
“You found her?” came the question again.
Found her. Found her under me, her hands around me. Found my fangs in her throat. Felt her come around my fingers. Felt her drift away from me. Yeah. I found her.
Then I killed her.
That was all he could take. Spike fell to his knees in tears that were second away from becoming loud, throaty sobs. The questions kept coming—questions he couldn’t answer because he’d been out of his mind because he didn’t know because this was something that didn’t have human answers. Questions that, in the mind, meant rot because they needed to fucking help her.
“Buffy?” he heard distantly. “Where is she?”
The voice broke through the fog. Spike blinked and glanced up to see Angel hovering over him.
“You know the victim?” the doctor was asking the next minute.
“Yes. She’s my… She’s a friend.”
Spike felt a hand clamp on his shoulder. A big, Angel-like hand. Wait. Since when did Angel put hands on his shoulder? This was far too confusing for his mind to handle.
“This is her boyfriend,” Angel continued. “I believe he found her. He called me just ten minutes ago to let me know she was hurt.”
The doctor and the nurse exchanged another look. Like they doubted Spike could have tied his own shoelaces for the way he was carrying on, much less make a simple phone call.
“We need to know if she was conscious when he found her.”
Angel glanced down again. Spike on his knees. Weary. Tears that couldn’t stop. And the scent of fresh blood hovering all around him. Fresh slayer blood. He saw it when Angel put the pieces together.
“She was. I believe she was.” A pause. “Spike? Was Buffy conscious?”
Why did that question make sense now that the git was there?
“Y-yes,” he answered hoarsely.
“Okay.” The doctor again. Muttering away things he didn’t understand. “I need a type, I need cross-match. Get her on two lines of Wringer’s lactate, and watch for hyper-bulimic shock.”
The nurse was jotting something down, and Angel was helping Spike to his feet.
“The doctor needs to ask you some questions,” he said with amazing calm. “Okay?”
Spike traded a long, knowing glance with his elder and nodded, reining his emotions in.
“What happened?”
“I…” Deep breath. “She was… She lost blood. Lots. Think something… I dunno.”
“You told me something bit her,” Angel said quietly.
Spike started again, meeting Angel’s eyes again with all sorts of understanding. And, distantly, he felt himself nod.
“Yeah. She was bit.”
Me. I did it. It’s me. Kill me now. Someone please kill me now.
If he was looking for volunteers, Angel seemed ripe to step up.
“I need a rabies shot,” the physician said. “Does your friend have any allergies?”
Spike shook his head. “No.” And something snapped. Why were they out here talking about it? Buffy was in there, and she needed help. She needed help now. No more questions. “God, just go. Now! Save her! I need…I—”
The doctor nodded to the nurse, who was gone the next minute. His next question was aimed at Angel.
“Are you staying?”
“Yes.”
“Your friend needs help. You got her here quickly, so the odds are in our favor.” He eyed Spike again wearily. “Do you need something to calm your nerves?”
Angel answered for him, laughing dryly as he closed a hand around Spike’s arm again to steer him away. “Trust me,” he noted, “won’t help. We’re going to the waiting room. Please keep us posted.”
There was a final nod from the physician, and that was all.
“No. No!” Spike tore his arm away and broke into a run toward the ER. “I’m staying with her. I—”
“It shouldn’t take long,” Angel said shortly.
“She needs me. I—”
“After tonight, Spike, the last thing she needs is you.”
That stopped him in his tracks. “So you do know,” he said, not needing an answer. He didn’t even know why he’d asked.
“What do you think?” Angel snapped. “I can’t believe you. The girl gives you everything, and you…what? Decide that you want that much more? I—”
“I was… She thought she was saving me.” Spike drew in a breath and turned back around. “She was saving me.”
That was it. Angel blinked. “What?”
Spike didn’t realize he was trembling until Angel’s hand clamped down on his shoulder again. It wasn’t out of comfort—he wouldn’t fool himself—but there was something comforting about it. About not being alone in this. “Buffy… She… When I found Faith…”
“Faith poisoned you,” Angel surmised in a flat voice. “Faith poisoned you, and you drank from Buffy.”
Spike’s defenses flared at that. “I didn’t mean to! Bloody hell, I told her to let me die. Told her it was too risky. That’s why I brought you your cure, mate. She was—”
“What? That’s why you brought me my cure?” If possible, Angel had paled even further. He looked truly dead under the lights. “She was going to… Give Faith’s blood to you?”
“She wanted me to drink from her at the start,” Spike continued. “Drink from her so Faith could cure you. Told her I wouldn’t. It’s too dangerous. So she told me to drink Faith’s. Couldn’t do that, either. Tried to convince her… Didn’t work, though. Didn’t work.”
There was a moment where nothing was said. Where they were simply looking at each other, as though anywhere else in time. It didn’t last long. “All evidence to the contrary,” Angel said slowly, “why would you try to convince her… Why would she…”
“Didn’t mean anything,” Spike said. “Slayer just…wasn’t thinking.”
“What?”
“She loves you still, you great big pillock,” he all but growled. “In ways she’ll never love me. That eats me away inside. She fancies me, yeah, and cares, but if she let you die because of me, she’d eventually realize what a bloody mistake she’d made. Better off dying the bloke who saved the git she loves than sticking around only to have her hate me.”
“She was really going to let me die?”
Spike rolled his eyes. “Well Christ, you aren’t dead, are you? Don’t get your knickers in a bunch. Like I said, the daft girl didn’t know what she was doing. Thinking about the short-term, not the end-game. So yeah, she was ready to let you snuff it now. She’d have the rest of her life to regret it.”
A numb look faded over Angel’s face, as though he had finally realized something that he had known for a long time, but never thought possible.
“I’ve lost her.”
Spike frowned at him.
“I guess I never really… I’ve lost her…” Angel shook his head, closing his eyes. “To you. It’s not enough that I’ve lost Buffy, but I had to lose her to you.”
“No, you haven’t, mate. Haven’t you been listening?”
“Yes, you idiot. Have you?” Angel snapped. “And if you knew Buffy half as well as you think you do—”
“I know her plenty,” Spike snarled. “More than you ever will.”
“Then you’d know she wouldn’t make a decision like that unless she loves you.” He made a face and tore his gaze away. “She loves you. Loves you enough to do something incredibly stupid, like offer you her blood when she knew your demon was beyond desperation and would come close to killing her, if she was lucky enough not to push you completely over the edge.” A snicker rang through the air. “I always knew you were stupid, boy, but I didn’t peg you for dense, as well.”
Spike stared at him for long, empty minutes. He was unsure if he wanted to tear the git’s head off his shoulders or give him a hug. Then he decided Angel was barking, unable to grasp that, yes, Buffy had wanted to save her lover first because she hadn’t thought it through.
And yet, despite all his condescension, Angel had given him a smidgeon of hope. Hope that Buffy’s confession earlier that evening had been heartfelt. Hope that she could feel for him any of what he felt for her. Hope that her gift to him—her stupid, awe-inspiring, wonderful gift—had been more than her being bloody stubborn. That sharing her blood had meant to her what it had always meant to him.
“I think you should leave,” Spike said.
“What?”
“Buffy’s gonna wake up, mate,” he continued. Of that, he had to be certain. There could be no other truth. Buffy would wake up. “And when she does, I wanna be the first face she sees.”
Angel paused for a long moment. “You don’t deserve that.”
“Not from her, maybe. But from you? Just saved your life, mate. Show a little respect.”
A heavy beat passed between them.
“Right,” Angel said. “Fine. I’ll head to the library to tell Giles and the others what’s happened. I’m sure they’ll want to know.”
If Angel thought bringing the Scoobies into this was going to strike fear into his long unbeating heart, he was sorely mistaken. Buffy’s friends couldn’t hurt him any more than he’d hurt himself.
Hell, Angel underestimated a lot of things. He didn’t know that Willow liked him, didn’t know that Giles had come close to treating him with near-respect. Closer than he had thought to come before. He also didn’t know that Wesley had been with him, that he knew what Spike’s intentions had been.
“It’s settled then.” Spike nodded and felt a small rush when Angel blinked in surprise. The wanker wasn’t used to others exhibiting authority when he was around. “You go get the Scoobs and I’ll stay here with Buffy.”
They stared at each other for a minute longer, willing the other to break. Then Angel nodded and was gone before any other words could be exchanged.
“Good,” Spike murmured, wishing for a cigarette but not willing to chance being tossed out of the hospital because of it. “Don’t remember inviting the wanker, anyway.”
Though he did, and that thought did not rest well with him. Now that all was said and done. Now that he had control of his emotions. Now that he trusted himself not to break.
Flash. Buffy, lying motionless in his bed, her perfect skin punctured with his teeth. Her blood on his sheets. Blood that he put there.
Oh god.
His vision blurred again before he could prevent it.
God. She had to be all right.