Author's note: I got the internet running today! :D Yay me and here's the update.

Big thanks to Dawn and Mabel for betaing and a huge one goes to Abby for her help with the medical stuff. I love you all who read and review!!! :)



Banner by Vette! :)

Chapter 16


Spike's fingers drummed against his thigh, the nervous gesture betraying his need for nicotine. A book lay on the nightstand so he grabbed it as he stretched out his legs in front of him, readying himself for a long read. For fifteen days, Spike had been sitting by her bedside, holding Buffy's tiny limp hand in his and hoping that maybe just once in all his damned existence, God would listen. That when he looked at her, he would find her eyes open, gazing at him, and he could finally feel relief. But she didn't. Maybe she never would.


Spike shivered and squeezed Buffy's hand tighter. He'd never felt more devastated than when he had looked at her that night after the ritual, full of elation that they had won, only to find Buffy so motionless. She wasn't supposed to lie there so pale and still. She was supposed to grace him with that tired smile of hers, let him embrace her so he could breathe her in and feel her hair tickle the skin of his cheek.


She’d just lain there on the hotel floor, sleeping, even after Spike had shaken her shoulders. He’d clutched her in his arms, willing her to wake up and he’d even slapped her-- though he was not proud of that one. He had yelled, cried and cursed, then resigned himself as he lay beside her on his side, stroking her hair and face, whispering to her that she couldn't leave him. Not now. Not when they had gotten through the first step towards... he didn't even know what. Something more. He hadn't had the chance to make her laugh. And he might never have that chance.


After he had regained his bearings enough to think rationally, Spike had taken her to his car and left the hotel. The room had been a wreck, but Spike didn't really care. He didn't have the conscience after all. He’d called a couple of contacts that owed him favors. Now they had a house. With flowers in the front yard. It made him nauseous to even think about it, but he was sure Buffy would like it. He kind of liked it too, not that he'd ever admit it. He was after all, still evil.


The medical attention was the next thing he’d taken care of. He’d called a doctor that was used to dealing with the supernatural. Because there was no way in hell that Buffy's coma was a natural occurrence. Something must have gone wrong with the spell, and it was a high probability that he was the one to blame. The guilt weighed heavily on him.


The doctor instructed him to keep her body hydrated with an IV containing saline and feeding her through another IV infusion called total parenteral nutrition. The doctor had inserted a central line into the internal jugular vein on the right side of her neck, and assured Spike that it would keep her alive.


Kind of ironic for him to have such a direct access to a slayer's neck.


The good thing was that the infusion was regulated by a triple pump, so all Spike had to do was change the bags and tubing at certain time. He didn't even acknowledge it anymore, since it had become a routine to him. Spike didn't want to leave Buffy for long periods of time, so he had the doc deliver all medical supplies Buffy needed to the house. But beside that, the doc hadn't been able to help. Nor were any of the witches Spike had sought out.


Either she woke up on her own or she didn't, and Spike shuddered to think about Buffy staying in a perpetual vegetative state. Everyone he talked to had advised him to pay someone to help him take care of her. His response was always the same. He didn't need any annoying human-- or harmless demon-- that couldn't give a piss about Buffy to help him when he could do it on his own. She was his. It wasn't like he didn't have experience with the ill, be it the physical illness of his mum or the mental instability of Dru.


At first, when he realized he couldn't feel her, he had panicked. Trying to reach out to her through their connection was fruitless, it was like Buffy wasn't even there. No flicker of her emotions, no nothing. Spike didn't even realize how empty he had felt before they were linked. How lonely his existence had been. The notion of leaving Buffy, now that they had nothing to link them together, and go to the way his life had been before he’d stumbled into this madness didn't even enter his mind. There was no way he could ever go back to the meaningless skirting through life, where he would have nobody to talk to and no one to care for.


It looked like there was still a little bit of William left in him after all.


The doorbell rang and Spike rose, reluctantly letting Buffy's hand slip from his clasp and fall lifelessly on the top of the green comforter covering her. The food had arrived.


Spike came down the stairs, swung the door open and greeted his friend.


“Hey, buddy. I got the stuff. Even the onion rings. Can I come in?” asked Clem and Spike invited him in with a sweep of his hand.


They had met a couple of days after Buffy fell into coma when Spike had been looking for information. Clem was a nice bloke, who came around to keep Spike company and brought him food. Snacks. Blood. Spike didn't have time to go out and hunt now that he had to look after Buffy, so he paid Clem to bring him bagged human blood from a local demon pub.


“So how are you holding up? The Slayer's still…” Clem didn't finish, just looked at Spike compassionately and put the brown bag on the table in the kitchen. He was the only one besides Spike that knew Buffy was the Slayer, and he knew better than to blab about it too. Spike considered him somewhat of a friend, but if Clem told a wrong person and hurt Buffy by proxy, all bets would be off.


“She's still the same,” Spike said. “Onion rings, huh? Bloody brilliant they are.” The swift change of subject didn't go unnoticed by either of them, but Clem was considerate enough to let it go.


“So, got time to play poker? I don't have any kittens, but--”


“Not tonight, mate. I gotta take care of her right now, but come back tomorrow. We'll suss something out then, if your woman lets you, that is.” Spike grinned.


“Lily’s a sweetheart.” Clem smiled and looked questioningly at a bag of cheese chips. Spike nodded, and Clem opened them, munching at them and flicking his floppy ears. “Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow, and... Tell your lady that I said hello.”


“I will.” Spike walked him towards the door, and shut it behind Clem, leaning his forehead against the soothing coldness of the wood. If it weren't for Clem, Spike would have probably starved himself to death by forgetting to feed in order to tend to Buffy. There was plenty of time for him to leave and go out; it wasn't like Buffy could just up and leave.


The thing was, he was terrified that she would wake up and he wouldn't be there. Finding herself alone in the unfamiliar surroundings certainly wouldn't help. It wasn’t like he had better things to do. He'd rather be here, with her.


Spike would usually sit beside her for hours, talking to her, reading to her, holding her hand and waiting for her fingers to squeeze his back, to open her eyes and say something. The infinite longing for something to change was slowly suffocating him, but he wouldn't give up. He couldn't lose hope.


It was all he had.



******


Spike came upstairs as soon as Clem left and lifted Buffy's arms, careful not to dislocate the tubes providing her sustenance as he pushed down the comforter. She looked so tiny and frail, lying in the middle of the double bed, and Spike felt that now familiar pang in his chest.


Her skin was almost as pale as his, and her hair was splayed across the pillow. The moonlight filtered through the gap between the dark velvet curtains, and bathed her in a blueish hue. Buffy's chest rose and fell with her breathing and if it weren't for the tubes sticking from her neck, she'd look like she was merely sleeping. Just resting, waiting for the sun to caress her face and stir her awake.


The wash-basin was ready and waiting for Spike on the floor, the water lapping at the edges when he picked it up and put in on the nightstand. He tossed new sheets on the bed and proceeded to climb on it.


Undoing Buffy's nightshirt was quite a task since the buttons ran all the way down her front, but at least he wasn't forced to withdraw the needles in her arms to get it off. That was why Spike had bought it. Well, that and the fact that it was dotted with little hearts and kittens. It was kind of cute, even though undoing the little buttons could be a bitch.


'Little buggers.' Spike scowled at the last button, then lathered Buffy's bare body up with soap. The towel dripped water when he soaked it in the basin and gently scrubbed her clean. He washed her from neck to toe, then turned her slowly on her side to wash her back, while carefully avoiding the tubes.


Now that the linens were damp from the drops of water that spilled down her skin, Spike dried her and bunched the linens into a lump in the middle with one hand, and held Buffy to him with the other. A grunt of effort passed his lips as he reached for the clean sheets and tucked them beneath the damp ones. Rolling Buffy over the lump and brushing the hair out of her face, Spike pulled out the damp linen and secured the clean ones to the other side of the bed.


Supernatural prowess could come in handy many a time.


Button up the nightshirt, and Buffy was all set. Spike propped her up to lie on her side, wedging a pillow between her knees. He'd come back to change her position in about three hours so she wouldn't get bedsores.


Spike gathered up the laundry, turned off the light and left the door open just a crack behind him when he exited the room. He'd catch a nap before it was time to reposition her.


******


Darkness. All around her. Buffy blinked her eyes open, trying to adjust to the dimness of the hotel room. Wait. This wasn't the hotel room. This one was bigger. The velvet curtains were unfamiliar and so was the bed she was currently lying on. Where was she? Where was Spike? She frowned.


The last thing she remembered was succumbing to the lure of the spell. The ritual must have worked though, because there wasn't that feeling of strange inability to conquer her own body.


Buffy sat up, frowning at the pillows wedged all around her, and winced when a sharp needling pain raced up her muscles. The kind of discomfort one feels after sleeping for too long. Buffy lifted her arm to rub at her stiff neck, but something was hindering her movement. A sharp inhale whispered past her lips when she found its source. Tubes. There were tubes sticking from her body. Cold sweat erupted on her flesh, sending shivers down her spine. Pulling the things out of her jugular and consequentially bleeding to death wasn't exactly her idea of a fun time, so even if they made her sick, Buffy left them be.


It didn't look like a hospital room, it certainly lacked the distinctive smell of disinfection that she associated with one.


Ready to investigate, Buffy crawled to the edge of the bed and her bare feet hit the cold wooden floor. She glanced over at the pole the tubes were fastened to, and wheeled it along as she stepped forward.


A glimmer of light filtered through the crack of the slightly ajar door. Buffy padded to it, her feet light and silent as she reached to peer into the corridor. The light was coming from an opposite room, its door fully opened, and she slipped through the gap of her door, curious.


A lump formed in the middle of the bed, the identity of its owner hidden by dark blue satin sheets, so Buffy moved closer. Platinum blond curls were the only thing she could see. Buffy let out a sigh of relief. An alarm was tucked under Spike's arm, close to his chest, his black nail polish almost completely gone.


Spike muttered in his sleep and turned on his back, the alarm clock slipping from his fingers as he hugged a pillow to his side instead. He smacked his lips and kicked down the sheet covering him. His pale chest was stark against the dark silk, and Buffy's eyes moved lower as she stepped closer. A trail of soft hair disappeared beneath the black jeans he had on, the top button undone allowing them to slip down his narrow hips and reveal his hipbones.


Her feet moved of their own accord, and leaving the IV pole next to his bed, Buffy climbed in next to Spike, careful not to disturb his sleep. She tucked her hands beneath her cheek as she rested on her side, watching him. She'd never done this. Never observed someone as they slept. It struck her how beautiful Spike really was. The dark thick lashes resting on his cheeks, the ragged scar across his eyebrow and the pout of his angular lips that were sensual as he slept gave him the appearance of angel.

The light played shadows across his face, and Buffy suddenly noticed how unhealthy he looked. There were dark shadows under his closed eyes, the cheeks more hollow than the last time she’d seen him. How long had she been asleep? Buffy glanced around and noticed a mug sitting on the nightstand, full of what seemed to be blood that he’d obviously forgotten to drink.

Buffy reached out to shut off the light and settled back down, brushing off an errant curl that had fallen across his forehead. He smiled for a moment and whispered her name. Buffy snuggled to his side and covered them both with the sheet.


Her eyes were just starting to droop when the alarm clock went off.


TBC


Author's note: Enjoyed the ending? *smirks*