Out of the Frying Pan, Into the Fire

Prologue


Disclaimer: If I owned Spike would I be writing this? NO! Joss still owns it all the genius bastard that he is.


Pairings: B/S of course. If I say whom else, it won't be a surprise.

The doctors had been monitoring the patient in the room for six years now. He'd awoken on occasion, usually for a few months and then he'd be comatose again.

The last time had been last summer; he awoke screaming something about his soul stinging, and burning him from inside.

His doctor, and nurses thought that he'd finally gone completely off of his rocker. Being a human, of course the poor man had a soul.

It had been a complete surprise that he'd woke so soon, that's why there hadn't been anyone in the room with him. Although they should've learned that he always surprised them, and as always this time was no exception.

His head slowly started to move from side to side, eyes darting around rapidly under the pale lids, and then in rapid succession they blink open to the blinding light of the white room that surrounds him. He closes the bright, blue orbs almost as quickly as they'd shot open.


Lying there he tries to remember the last thing he'd done.

His eyes shoot open again, as the images from the last memory hit him.

The last thing he remembered doing was burning to ashes as the town once known as Sunnydale fell all around him.

His eyes close again as tears start to roll uncontrollably down his sharp features.

He slowly opens his eyes again. He takes a look around at the room he's in.

The room being startlingly white, hurts his sensitive, year of light deprived eyes as he looks. He blinks away the water streaming from them, and down his cheeks.

Looking up at the beeping machine beside his head, he sees a clear hose, with clear liquid in it leading from a bag on a metal stand above the bed. The drip ends with a hypodermic in his wrist.

"Oh! Bloody hell!" He mutters. "Not this soddin' place, again."

He rips the I.V. from his arm as he gets up off of the adjustable bed, running his hands through his hair, making the unruly curls stick up, and checking out the dull gray fabric covering his legs. He huffs, 'Why can't these wankers dress people in jeans and a t-shirt, instead of big, baggy burlap sacks?' He wonders.

Raising his head, he could swear he heard some one calling his name. He listens intently, and then there it is again. The distinct sound of his name, being screamed, loudly, and then the sound of many feet rushing by outside of the door. As the name is screamed again, he jerks his head around, knowing the voice. "Buffy," he questions the air around him. Reaching for the doorknob, pulls it open forcefully, and rushes into the hall.

Looking up, then down the hall. "Come on Buffy where are you," he whispers to himself, praying for someone or something to tell him where she is.

Suddenly, a piercing, sobbing scream rips through the air.

"Oh, god SPIKE!" Panic, that's the only word he could put to the tone in her voice.

He gets agitated not knowing where or which way she is. He growls, just as a group of people rush by him.

"Right, it is then." He says calming down considerably. He follows the doctor, and nurses to the end of the hall, and to a door. That had been left open, as they had rushed to the supposed aid of the girl lying on the bed.

He leans up against the door facing, trying to get a look around a familiar looking nurse at the bed. They were trying to calm her, but she just kept screaming.

Finally, one of the prats moves just enough for him to see who is on the bed, his heart stops.

There she is with tears streaming down her cheeks. The only thing he can do is stare, frozen against the door. Then she looks over at him, and as soon as he sees those watery, green eyes he knows. This isn't a hallucination; it's really his Buffy.

"Buffy," he says in a whisper his voice cracking, and barely able to make the simple word pass between his lips. He steps completely into the room, now being able to move.

The next thing he knows is that his name is being whispered loudly in the now quiet room, then the girl jumps from the bed, pushing medical personnel out of her way, and in his arms, sobbing.

Wrapping his arms around her, he takes a deep breath, rubbing her back soothingly. "SHH, Luv. I got you. Spike's here now, and I'll be damned if anything or anyone tries to hurt you. Not gonna let anything happen to you," he states with all the conviction he can in his weakened voice. "Stay right here, I will."

Everyone else that occupied the room looks at the two, astonishment written on their faces. Not believing that the couple in front of them, whom they knew for a fact that it was impossible they were acquaintances, were embracing like they were lovers.

Shaking his head at the display the doctor turns to the nurse beside him and speaks with her.

Spike notices that the people in the room look vaguely familiar, but his attention is on Buffy, and he doesn't pay much mind, as he moves Buffy and his self out of the way so that the others can leave.

(I hope every one likes. Please take the time to tell me if I should proceed with it.)