A/N Betad by seapealsh and dawnofme
Banner by dawnofme

This is my first fanficion - posted Aug 07 on ff.net and elsewhere. I thought I'd dust it off and post it here. Posting TWO chapters per day - so make sure you don't get muddled! :D





Getting Worse…



Giles and Andrew buckled their seat belts, ready for the descent into Los Angeles. In the end it had been two weeks after the phone call to Willow before they’d been able to leave, a minor crisis with one of the youngest slayers in their care delayed their departure.


Now as the plane began to descend, Giles pondered what to do. Willow’s locator spells had all come back with the same answer. Angel, Wesley, Illyria and Gunn didn’t exist. It didn’t bode well but Willow had reminded him of the time she’d had the same results when she had tried to find Buffy, Dawn and Xander when she’d returned from England but that had turned out to be false, and so there was still hope. He hadn’t asked her to do one for Spike as he couldn’t face telling her that he’d survived the Hellmouth only to be lost to them once more. It’s something that Buffy could never be told. It would break her. She’d barely forgiven him for doubting Spike’s loyalty before The First’s apocalypse.


The plane landed and Giles and Andrew retrieved their baggage, sorted out the hire car and headed for the hotel that they’d booked from England. A few false turns later and they found it. Giles’ heart sank. It was a hideous, dirty building, nothing aesthetic about it at all. He stared at Andrew.


“Did you actually see a photo of this place on the Internet and still book it?” he asked incredulously. “Further proof, as if any were needed, that computers are the spawn of the devil.”


“Well, it looked okay. The picture was small,” whined Andrew. “It’s got a good central location."


“Good location? It’s between the hospital and the city morgue! All we’re going to hear all night are sirens. It better be reasonably clean. I’m far too tired to find another today. Come on then, in we go.”


The younger man picked up both suitcases in an attempt to appease. He led the way, struggling to open the door with both hands accounted for. Giles smiled to himself and followed him in.


Fortunately, the interior was less shabby than its grim façade. Room keys were given out and the weary travellers went to freshen up before dinner, where they would plan their strategies.


An hour or so later Giles and Andrew were in the hotel’s dining room, too tired from the flight and the past couple of week’s events to go to find somewhere else. They just hoped that the food was better than the dining room looked.


“At least if we get food poisoning it’s not far to get help,” joked Andrew.


“Yes, but I hope it’s the hospital that help comes from,” said Giles as he gingerly poked around at the food on his plate.


Andrew was tucking into his as if it was gourmet fare.


“So what did Lorne tell you, Giles? Was he any help at all?” asked Andrew, talking of the green demon from Pylea whom he’d met earlier in the year.


Lorne was the only one of Angel’s team they’d managed to trace. Willow hadn’t used a locator spell on him as they don’t work on Pyleans, most likely because they’re empath demons. They’d eventually tracked him down, singing in a bar that he owned in Las Vegas.


“Well,” said Giles, “he wasn’t much help at all really except in confirming that Angel and Co. had taken on the Senior Partners. He’d made an agreement with Angel that once he’d done the task Angel had assigned to him, he was gone, playing no further part and not wanting any contact with any of them ever again. So he wasn’t best pleased initially to know I’d managed to find him. All that he knew was that any survivors were to meet in an alley half a block from the offices of Wolfram & Hart.


“That sounds like somewhere to start looking, then,” said Andrew nodding his head.


“Yes, first thing in the morning we’ll head over there and then we’ll just have to play it by ear. We’ll also check lists of unidentified bodies, to see if any match Wesley or Illyria. If Angel or Spike were killed all that would be left would be a pile of dust so we’ll have to see if the local demon community has anything for us to go on. If they were hurt they’d need help from someone.”


“Do you really think we’ll find them?” Andrew sneaked a potato from Giles’ plate.


“Honestly, no. But until we have proof either way I’m going to keep trying. Buffy needs to know for sure. One thing is certain though, Andrew, I’m not eating here tomorrow evening!”


*~*~*~*


In the two weeks since Spike awoke from his coma, things had settled down into a routine. He no longer violently objected to being injected with his medication, but this wasn’t due to an improvement in his state of mind. Rather, it was due to finally getting the balance of the cocktail of drugs that he was being given, correct.


Although he was still in room six, and not in one of the beds in the open part of the ward, he wasn’t thought to be a threat to himself or anyone else any longer. He stayed in room six because, despite the meds, he was still afraid of the sunlight.


Helen walked into the ward, waving hello to the two nurses on duty.



“Hi, how’s Spike? Any change?” It was the same question she asked each time she looked in on him, which was usually before and after her shift.


Unfortunately the answer was always the same too. No.


She carried on to the room containing Spike. Before opening the door she glanced through its window, despairing at what she saw. Although the bed was still upright, its covers crisply made, Spike as usual wasn’t on it. He preferred, as always, to huddle in the corner with his back to the wall and his hands resting on his knees. He was perfectly still. He stared straight ahead with those intense blue eyes, not seeing his surroundings at all.



Helen quietly opened the door, pushing it almost closed but making sure it didn’t shut properly so that she wouldn’t have to call for help to get out.


“Hello, Spike,” she said as she crossed the room to him.


No reaction.


She knelt down in front of him. Reaching out with her right hand she gently pushed a stray lock of two-tone hair back from his face. Spike’s eyes focussed on her, looking puzzled.


“Are you still here?” he whispered. “I thought you left.”


“Erm, I did leave Spike. I came in before my shift and now I’ve finished it.” She sighed gently as she realised that he sat exactly as he had eight hours earlier.


“Come on, why don’t we sit on the bed? It’ll be much more comfortable.”


She took hold of his left hand in her right and pulled slightly. Spike didn’t move and was once again staring into space. She increased the pressure, insisting that he move and this time he did. Slowly he stood, swaying a little as his legs fell victim to cramps from being hunched up for so long.


Helen steadied him and gently helped him to the bed. He sat down obediently. She stood in front of him. His expression was blank once more. She didn’t know what she could do to help him. He seemed to be getting more withdrawn every day. It wasn’t just the effect of the drugs - he looked like he’d given up, that he had no more fight left in him.


He barely ate anything despite Helen bringing in cookies and other little things to tempt him. He’d been slim when he’d arrived, but now he was beginning to look skeletal. His cheek bones jutted sharply above his hollow cheeks.


Occasionally he showed signs of being aware of his surroundings. Sometimes he ranted words and phrases over again but more and more often he just sat staring into space, barely realising that she was there. He was awake but that was about all you could say.


Helen sat on the bed next to Spike. As he felt the movement, he turned to her, looking deep into her eyes.


“Can I go now?” he said.


“Go where?” asked Helen, pleased that he seemed to be having a lucid moment.


“Hell."


Okay, thought Helen. Perhaps lucid wasn’t the word that she was looking for. When she didn’t answer, he took hold of her arm.


“Need to go. Need it to stop. Need help.”


“I don’t think that you’ll find help in Hell, Spike,” said Helen. “Can I help? What do you need me to do?”


“Blood. Need blood. Heart’s pumping - don’t know why or how, but no blood anywhere.” He looked at her as if what he’d said should make sense to her, but it didn’t. He let his hand fall away.


“You’ve got enough blood to keep your heart beating, don’t worry.”


This was a regular theme. He seemed very anxious about his heart. She couldn’t understand why because once he’d been resuscitated in the ER it had beat evenly and healthily ever since.


She wondered whether she should contact the British Embassy again. Though Spike had never said anything about himself except in his incoherent phrases, he was clearly English. She’d tried to contact them as soon as she’d realised that he was, but basically the staff said they’d had no reports of a missing Englishman in the USA and that he was probably here illegally. No, she thought. No point in going down that route again.


“Spike.” She repeated it louder when he didn’t respond. “Spike!”


He turned to look at her.


“Who am I? Can you remember?”


A look of confusion passed over his face, brows furrowing.


“Are you still here? I thought you’d gone.”


“Spike, concentrate. If you do really want to get out of here you have to concentrate and make more sense. Come on, try. Who am I?”


He stared at her for what seemed like an age. Finally he whispered, “Helen.”


“Yes, good. Great. That’s right. No, keep concentrating.” She put a hand on his arm. "Who are you and where are we?” she said.


Again, the long pause.


“Spike…sitting on a bed.”


Helen had to stifle a giggle. It was not really what she wanted.


“No, I mean where are we - as in what city?”


“I don’t know. Could be in any dimension. Not sure where I was taken. Was in L.A. Now I’m here.”


“You’re still in L.A. You’re in a hospital. You got hurt, remember?”


“Still here? Then why? I don’t get it? Why me? What’s happening to me?”


Spike started to get agitated. His eyes darted around the room and his hands fidgeted with the bed linen.


“They’re dead. They’ll all dead. Dust. I should be, too.”


He got down from the bed, found his usual corner of the room and hunched down.


“I don’t want to remember. Can’t remember. It’s too much.”


He stared straight ahead, hands resting on his knees. He was back in exactly the same position that he’d been in when she’d come into the room.


Helen stood to leave, looking over at him, knowing that he’d be unresponsive for hours again, as he sat there immersed in his own strange thoughts.


He’s getting worse. A tear glistened in her eye, knowing that she’d lost her heart to this man, even though he barely knew that she existed.