"Damn it." Xander tugged at his hair with both hands for a second. "Can't leave me alone with the vampire who might hurt me, but he starts mumbling gibberish and suddenly she has to take off."

Spike was still muttering to himself, half-asleep at best, but he didn't look like he was on the edge of vamping out anytime soon. "How am I supposed to get you back on your cot by myself," Xander said to him.

"I don't… don't unnerstand," Spike slurred. "How did I… all dead… how did I…"

"What, make it?" Xander asked. Playing along. Maybe it would distract Spike while he did painful things to him, dragging his ass back where he belonged. "You have unholy luck, that's how."

Xander slid the cot under Spike's left side, where nothing was broken as far as they knew. It would be Spike's right side that would be difficult. Not to mention getting the cot's legs snapped back into position, tipping Spike all over the place and threatening to dump him on the floor again. "Whether it's unholy good luck or unholy bad luck," he went on, "is anyone's guess."

Spike winced again, shifted uncomfortably. He flexed his fingers carefully, dragged one hand up across his face. They were a mess from pulling out of the belts Buffy had put on him; dead white skin was peeling off the backs, and the palms hung loosely, like old gloves that had finally shredded from overuse. It would have been hideous, except Xander could see that Spike had already started to grow new skin underneath the old, fragile and pale. Pink with the blood he'd been guzzling in the past twenty-four hours. His hands almost certainly were more than a little tender – but they probably weren't hurting him as badly as they could have.

"Hey," said Xander. "You with us yet?"

Spike's eyes opened. Blue, which they hadn't seen in awhile, what with the game face and the frenzied lunging for food and all. His hand froze in mid-air, elbow propped near his head so Xander could see the sigils along his arm. Blinked, looked around in confusion… focused on Xander.

"Hi," Xander said.

Spike blinked again, squinted. Swallowed once, then said, "I know you…" Voice quiet, burred, like a saw cutting through balsa wood.

"Yep," said Xander, "'fraid so." Shifted his weight, watched as Spike's eyes sharpened. From sleep-addled to predator, just like that. Xander remembered how hungry the vampire had been so far.

No sudden movements. He could do that.

Spike's nostrils flared once, catching scent, and he swallowed again. "Harris."

"Yeah," said Xander. Holding very, very still. Don't, do not say "in the flesh" unless you want him thinking about you like that… "Welcome back to the land of the conscious."

Spike's brow furrowed. "What?" His eyes closed for a second. He brought his hand down to rest across his chest, fingers curled around his collarbone. "My hearing's… not the best right now," he murmured. And Xander knew it cost him to admit that. Knew it took trust.

"I said, 'welcome back'", Xander repeated slowly. "You've been pretty out of it since we found you."

Spike considered. "The restraints?" he asked. "That was you?"

Xander nodded once. "We… kinda had to," he said. "You were – let's say you were really, really hungry and maybe not thinking too clearly." He shifted his weight again, watched as Spike just looked at him – not so predatory now that he was finally coming around – and shivered a little. "You, uh… doing any better now? I mean, you're probably still pretty hungry, right?"

Spike's eyes flashed yellow and he closed them again for a second. Took a deep breath, swallowed some more. "A bit, yeah," he said softly. His eyes were blue again when he opened them, but Xander got the impression he was just barely keeping control of himself.

He stood up slowly, carefully. No sudden moves. "I'll bring you something," he offered, "or do you want to get situated first?"

More confusion. Spike turned his head slowly, with a sharp intake of breath and a little grimace, taking in the cot, the cooler with its scattered bags of blood, him lying naked and half-sprawled on the concrete floor. Blanket rumpled up under his legs. Xander could see him struggling to remember what had happened. "You didn't want to wait on us to feed you, this time around," he said.

"Ah," was Spike's only answer for a long moment. Then, "Yeah," and he started trying to push himself up onto his elbows. Muscles trembled with the effort. A tiger's low rumble began to vibrate in his chest.

"Here," said Xander, stepping forward and cautiously dropping down behind Spike's head. Hopefully it would be harder for him to bite that way, if he lost control after all. "Lean on me."

Between the two of them, they managed to slide Spike back onto the cot – skipped folding the legs back out – and pulled the blanket up to cover him. Not that he had a whole lot of dignity left to protect at this point, given some of the places Xander's hands had gone in order to release his bindings, but still. There was a whole lot of naked going on that Xander was perfectly happy to get back under wraps, as it were.

"Us," said Spike, after he'd gotten settled and the worst of the pain subsided. Xander made a note to bring home a knee brace for him tomorrow. "You said 'us'."

"Me and Buffy," said Xander. Waited for that to sink in.

"Buffy. She's here?"

"She's staying here, yeah," said Xander. "You're at my house, by the way. And she was just here a second ago but… she's been a little wiggy lately. She needed to step out for a second."

"She'll be back?" Spike asked, and Xander's heart twisted at the longing he heard. The same longing he still felt for Anya some nights. "You're sure?"

A noise from the doorway behind him.

"Yeah," said Buffy. "I'm here."

---

"Hey," she said, kneeling down next to him, setting the first aid kit to one side. She caught Xander out of the corner of her eye, gathering up the cooler and blood bags, heading inside.

"Buffy," he breathed.

She drank him in with her eyes. He looked so different once he was… well, animate. Still too thin, but no worse now, finally, than he'd been after the Initiative had gotten him. His hair was all askew, curling and tufted and pointing every which way. His eyes were blue again, the cloudiness all but gone, but still hollow and shadowed in the sockets. His cheekbones no longer reminded her of cut glass; the hollow spaces at his temples were filling in. He was pale, his lips still as white as the rest of his face, but he was breathing, and he looked at her like… like he couldn't quite believe she was real, maybe?

Buffy didn't care how he looked at her. Just the fact that he could see her, could recognize who she was, and didn't seem to want her gone was enough.

Before this, asleep, he broke her heart; now, awake, he filled it.

There were so many things she wanted to say in that moment. I've missed you, or Where have you been, or even just Why, but instead she went with, "How do you feel?"

Spike swallowed, and she saw him suppress a shiver. "Been worse, I suppose," he said. "Been better, though."

"Yeah," she said. Reached up to touch his hair. Still a little gray with dry, powdered filth from the inside of that cistern. He closed his eyes, flared his nostrils as her wrist moved across his face. "How bad is it?"

"Bad enough I feel cold," Spike muttered, eyes still closed. Voice still raspy, deeper than usual, blurred by exhaustion.

"What? I don't get it," Buffy frowned. "You're room temperature – I thought cold didn't bother vamps."

"Doesn't, usually," he said. Swallowed, opened his eyes partway. "Have to be..." he shifted, winced. "Have to be pretty bad off first."

"Tell me," she said.

"Ribs," he said, "knee… but you know about those, I gather." He moved his hand down across his torso. "The tape's good, 's helping. Cracked m' noggin, I think. And my senses are all a bit wonky – dulled, like. Blurry vision, sounds aren't as clear, like that. I couldn't… couldn't pick up your scent, earlier."

"Blood will heal those, right?" she asked.

At the mention of blood, Spike trembled again, his eyes glinting gold in the lamplight for a second. He closed them, took a slow breath as best he could. She watched as he swallowed, hard.

"Should, yeah," said Spike. "Already started to help. Be right as rain in a few days. A week at most." He looked up at her. "Best be careful mentionin' dinner right now, though. Harris said… he says I wasn't in control earlier, 's that right?"

"Yeah," said Buffy. Chose not to mention that he would've managed to bite her if he hadn't been too weak to break the skin at the time. "Yeah, you… weren't really conscious, I don't think. You never really said anything, just… vamped out on us."

Spike pulled the blanket higher, tucked it under his chin. "Yeah, well – it's hard enough right now to keep it under control. Feel like a fledgling, all over again." He paused, swallowed, and she heard a faint, bestial whine in the back of his throat. "Craving it pretty badly just now. You might want… might want to back off a bit," he said.

"No," said Buffy. "I'm – I don't want to leave you, right now." She ran her fingers through his hair, and he shivered again. "You're not at full strength yet," she said. "If you lose it, I can handle you."

Spike closed his eyes, smiled tiredly.

"What?" she asked.

"The innuendo I'm… in no shape to make, love," he said. Buffy couldn't help but shiver too. The way he looked at her, like she was still his world. That he would still call her "love", after everything she'd done to him, after being apart for a year, after…

"I'm so sorry," she whispered.

"How's that, then?" he asked. Another series of tremors ran down his frame.

"I'm sorry we didn't get to you sooner," she said. "You're – you're so…" Looked away from him. Couldn't meet his eyes. Too intense, too much for her right now.

Spike saw too deeply. Always had.

"I'm sorry for – I'm sorry for leaving you behind, in Sunnydale," she said, voice small. "I'm sorry for – for a lot, I guess." Sorry I broke you. Sorry I ever made you feel so low, so unworthy. Sorry you couldn't believe it when I said I loved you, she wanted to say. Couldn't seem to find the courage for it.

"No, love," he breathed again. "Nothin'… to be sorry for…" his eyes were drifting shut. "Not your fault." He shuddered, and she saw his brow ridges start to come forward. Clenched his teeth, forced them back. "You really should –"

"I'm not leaving you," said Buffy.

"Making it harder," he said. Looked up at her with exhausted, pained eyes.

"I need to keep Xander safe from you," she said. Half-smiling, knowing he'd see right through her.

She saw his amusement, even though he was too worn to really smile at her. "My part… I can't quite believe… you're real." His eyes widened for just a moment. "You are real, aren't you?"

"I know the feeling," said Buffy, "and yeah." She ran fingers down the line of his cheek, reveled in the way he leaned into her touch. "I'm here. I'm here, and so are you."

There was a tap at the kitchen doorway.

"Buffy, Spike?" asked Xander, still out of sight inside the house. "Are you okay for me to come in?" Oh, right. Xander would know to be careful around a hungry vampire.

Spike whined again, unable to help himself. Brow ridges came forward, and he swallowed hard, two, three times. "Buffy…"

"Just a second, Xan," said Buffy softly. She shifted herself to sit behind Spike's head, and helped him up to lean against her. "Put your hands behind your back," she told Spike. Hooked her arms into his elbows and pulled his shoulders back, firm but mindful of his ribs. "Just in case." Spike nodded his understanding. So weary, his every movement, the way he held himself, all spoke of near-total exhaustion. Buffy couldn't imagine he'd be capable of putting up much of a fight, really… but still. Better safe, and all that stuff.

Once they were ready, Xander came through the doorway holding a mug in one hand and a large thermos in the other. Spike immediately snarled and tried to lunge, but Buffy's grip was sure and he jerked back against her with a yelp. "Sorry, sorry," he panted, "I can't," his good leg kicked out and he tried to dive for Xander again, "can't stop it… you need –"

Xander shoved the mug under his nose, crouched as far away from Spike as he could and still reach him. Tipped it and watched as Spike drained it in seconds. Refilled it from the thermos as Spike licked his lips and rumbled, deep in his chest. The muscles in his arms bunched, trying to bring his hands forward. Buffy tightened her grip.

After the third mug, Spike started to relax.

After the fourth, he shifted out of game face. "Yeah," he said, "better… 's better now… I can… you can let go now, Buffy." She started to loosen her grip, and when he made no move to reach for Xander, she let go. "Just… hand me the rest in the bottle. Be faster."

"Watch out for your hands," warned Xander.

"Don't bloody care," said Spike. He took the bottle from Xander, tipped his head in thanks, and held it gingerly as he drank.

When it was empty, he tipped his head again, a bit sloppy with the motion this time. "Yeah… thanks, Harris. Sleep now." He was nodding where he sat, and Buffy realized this was the longest he'd been conscious since they'd found him.

"Glad it helped," said Xander.

"Right," said Spike. Visibly fading. "Getting the spell off'll… help more, yeah?"

Buffy blinked. "What do you mean?" she asked. "Spike? We took everything off – what did we – did we get the order wrong?"

"No, love," he said. Nodded again, eyes sliding shut. "Y' did fine. These soddin' marks… still burning… need to… need to cross them out…"

Buffy and Xander looked at each other over his head. "Later," said Xander.

"Yeah," mumbled Spike. "Later…"

And then he was asleep, his breath slowing, then stopping altogether as he went under.

They got Spike laid back down and the cot back up on its legs, knowing he wouldn't feel the motion when he was this deeply asleep. Buffy pulled the blanket over him and tucked the edges in; as a precaution they buckled the belts around his forearms again, a bit tighter this time. Buffy ran her fingers through his hair one last time before she and Xander went back inside.

"Okay," said Buffy, "what the hell was he talking about just now?"

---