Note: Thanks to my betas MadRog and t_geyer for their unending patience, perseverance and support.


SECTION 4 - YOU'RE THE ONE

When the cold wind blows
And the rain keeps tumbling down
And there's no one there
And the morning light shines on

You're the one to lend a hand
You're the one who understands
You're the one to comfort me
The keeper of my heart

(Clannad, Album - anam, Words and lyrics A. Brennan, Additional lyrics M. Brennan)




Chapter 4.13
Wednesday, May 15th, 2002

Buffy turned back over in a bed that suddenly seemed huge and empty. Her eyes flicked open, seeking the illuminated display of her radio alarm. 2.04 a.m. Two minutes since she had last looked. When she had made to follow Spike, Lily's hand had fallen on her arm in the gentlest possible touch. She could easily have shaken free and gone after him, but she'd found that in a matter of days she'd come to trust the old demon implicitly when it came to matters of the heart.

"Stay," she had suggested. "He go. Blow smoke. No say things he no mean when he come home."

It had taken Buffy a few seconds to realise that the empathic demon had meant that Spike was leaving so that he could blow off steam. It was evident that they had some serious talking to do, and apparently Spike had been trying to avoid making the experience more unpleasant than was necessary. That was just peachy, but even Spike had to have run out of steam after three hours. Buffy threw back the freshly laundered bed linens. She walked over to her wardrobe, and pulled out a pair of sweatpants and hooded tracksuit top, pulling them on over the camisole and boxers she had put on when she made her way to bed over an hour ago.

Just in case, she scribbled a quick note, setting it on her pillow and then shifting Mr Gordo so that his weight would prevent it being blown away by a stray breeze from the open window. She didn't dare shut it in case Spike returned while she was away. Even though he apparently had had a key to the house for some time, she knew that if he returned in the early hours of the morning he'd choose the method of entry least likely to disturb the house's other occupants. Slipping on a pair of running shoes, whose Velcro fastenings seemed to tear through the silence that enveloped their abode; she grabbed a stake from the trunk beneath her bed and slipped out through the window.

She didn't know if it was instinct or habit that drew her steps to the cemetery that housed Spike's old crypt. Pushing open the door, she found the upstairs much as they had left it when they had cleared out the things that Spike had considered worth taking to his new apartment. She drew a gentle hand across the back of the armchair that Spike had favoured. Still her slayer senses tingled and that part that was particularly attuned to the blond menace told her that he was close by.

She crossed to the ladder that led down to the area Spike had professed to be unsafe after the blast she had set off on the occasion of Riley's last visit. Cautiously, testing each step before she put her full weight on it she made her way down into the lightless subterranean room. Her eyes failed her. No matter how long she waited they were unable to penetrate the gloom, so she relied on her slayer senses instead. No other creature drew breath in the vampire's former lair, and her senses told her that there was only one vampire here, and yet an unfamiliar scent pervaded the entire cavern. She edged slowly toward the area where her slayer sense told her the vampire was, never lifting her feet merely sliding them forward meagre inches at a time.

After three or four feet she ran into something solid. Reaching down, she felt with her hands until she was able to confirm that she had reached the collapsed bed that she and Spike had managed so conspicuously to avoid. A tentative crawl across its surface confirmed that it was still empty. On the far side, Buffy regained her feet and began to inch forward once more, inwardly cursing her lack of foresight in not bringing a flashlight or even some matches she could have used to light the remaining candles. She fumbled blindly over piles of rubble, reduced to crawling over the uneven surface until she was almost at the edge of the room. Her senses screamed at her that he was nearby and yet she couldn't find him.

And then, as she made her way across the rubble on her hands and knees she felt something that didn't seem to fit. Tentatively she probed the area that had given beneath her before pulling away. Her hand was damp and not entirely cold. Kneeling she sniffed until she was sure that the scent matched that which now filled the lower area of the crypt. Her hand reached out again, touching the foreign surface once more. The texture was all wrong too. She imagined that this was what an elephant would feel like if you were to feel it, not the flexible and tender flesh of its trunk's underside, but the tough weathered hide that protected its flanks. Moving her hand around, she found that whatever it was only an area about twice the size of her fist was exposed. The rest, whatever it might be, was covered by rubble.

Buffy sat back on her heels to consider what she knew. Something that still retained some of the warmth of life, but which no longer drew breath, was at least partially buried under what had to be a fresh rock fall. Somewhere nearby, her senses told her that Spike lay either passed out or otherwise unable to contact her. Buffy began to peel away the rocks one by one, throwing them as far behind her as she could. Damn vampire.

Just when there's an argument in the offing he goes and gets himself hurt.

It took Buffy twenty minutes to clear the rocks that covered the demon corpse. Then, it took her five minutes to drag it off to one side. The thing must have been about eight and a half feet tall and weighed almost four hundred pounds. If Spike wasn't under here she was so going to kill him when she found him. Moving back she felt around the area where the demon had originally been lying. The first touch of denim had her working her way frantically up his body, brushing aside the few rocks that remained to bar her way. Pulling him up by the lapels of his coat, she managed to get him into a fireman's lift, taking him up the ladder and outside into the moonlight.

When she laid him down on the grass outside her crypt, she flinched at the trail of blood from his temple back into his hair. A black streak amongst the silver threads. Cursing herself for leaving the house so unprepared, she searched his pockets, sending up a silent prayer that his phone would be on him and working. When she found it she contemplated her options. She was reluctant to ask Xander for help. Thankfully, she now had another option. She dialled the number from memory, not needing to consult the directory, which by all accounts would be cryptic at best.

Unsurprisingly, since by her best estimate it had to be at least quarter to three, the answering machine kicked in. The pre-recorded message was the one that had been on the machine when they bought it. Spike had refused to be coaxed into recording one. "Wes, pick up. I know you're there."

Surprisingly enough even though she waited there was no reply. Maybe the former watcher was a really heavy sleeper, or Buffy smiled at the possibility that he hadn't made it home yet. Lori and Marie had both still been in Lily's apartment when the girls had left Wesley there. Maybe the ex-watcher was going to end up with more reasons to stay in Sunnydale than anyone had anticipated.

Buffy hesitated at her other possible course of action. Anya did have the keys to the DeSoto, and unless Wes had admitted to being able to hotwire the car, which she rather doubted (where was Giles when you needed him?) Buffy had expected to have to call her anyway. Nevertheless, there was a world of difference between asking her to leave the passenger door of the car unlocked and stick the keys in the glove compartment and why was it a glove compartment? Why not a map compartment or a sweet compartment? Okay. Focus. Asking Anya to get up at three, drive a car with a blacked out windscreen to a graveyard and help her carry round a literal dead weight probably wouldn't go down very well.

That left just one option.

She got him back inside and stayed put. If she texted Dawn she would get the message when she got up. Of course, she wouldn't actually be there to make sure Dawn got up. With a sigh she explored the options on Spike's phone until she found how to set the alarm. She'd just have to call the house early enough to make sure Dawn got to school on time. She pushed the cell phone into the pocket of her sweatpants.

"What is it with you and the sleep of the knocked unconscious?" she muttered as she hoisted him over her shoulder again, thankful that this time she only had to get him to the sofa. Laying him down on his side as near to the back of the sofa as possible, she stripped off his duster. She curled up next to him, pulling his arm around her waist and then draped his coat over them both like a blanket.

If the awkward vampire wouldn't wake up so they could go home she would just have to visit him in his dreams instead.