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In her distress, Buffy began shouting, looking up toward the heavens as if for an answer.
“Why?! Why did this have to happen, why now, why after everything, why leave me here to suffer without him? Haven’t I done enough, lost enough, sacrificed enough? Jenny, Angel, my mother, Tara... my own life, and heaven, and now him....”
Buffy, that strong Slayer who’d sworn that she’d never allow her emotions to control her again, broke down. She fell to her knees, sobbing. Out of a need for some outlet for her emotions, she began pounding the nearby cave wall until her hands bled. Finally, all of her strength left her, and she collapsed on the floor, longing for oblivion.
Instead, she heard a noise that nearly made her heart stop.
A very familiar voice called out, “Buffy?”
Illogical hope flaring up once again, she leapt up and turned, searching for the source of that wonderful, magical sound.
There was Spike, beautiful in the white light of the moon, alive... well, undead, and unhurt. He was looking at her with one of his insufferable, lovable, trademark smirks.
“Spike...” Buffy breathed, hardly believing her eyes.
“What’s the matter, luv? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“You... I thought you were dead.”
As much as she wanted to run to him and hold him, and have him hold her, something kept her back. Besides, just seeing him again, talking to him again, knowing he was all right, was enough. She drank in the sight of his lovely form.
“Been dead a long time,” he responded.
“No, I mean... I thought you were gone.”
“Oh, that. You thought I’d gone and let myself get staked, and left you like... well, let’s see, your father, Angel, Riley, Giles.... oh, and even me, after I tried to rape you, after insisting that I loved you and that I’d never hurt you.”
Now Buffy was confused. Spike almost never used Angel’s and Riley’s actual names. And the way he’d mentioned the attempted rape was more mocking than the usual self recriminating style she’d become accustomed to since he won his soul.
But her mind was on overload: first, believing that Spike was really and truly gone, and then seeing him whole and healthy - it was all a bit too much for her to handle.
So all she could come up with to say was, “Huh? What?”
“Wow, I guess every guy in your life has left you... oh, except the useless Xander, who barely counts as a guy, anyway.”
“I-I thought you were friends with him now,” Buffy said, shaking her head in confusion. What’s going on? What’s wrong with him?
Spike laughed. It was an evil, cruel laugh, one she’d not heard him use in a long time.
“Friends? With that worthless, pathetic excuse for a human? Oh, I don’t think so. In fact, I’m not really friends with any of them. I’m just waiting until their backs are turned and then,” Spike vamped out and made a rude, smacking noise and licked his lips suggestively.
Buffy turned from him in horror and disgust, her mind still in a turmoil.
Seeing her face, he gave another cruel laugh. “Did you actually expect anything different? You really believed I loved you, after all that I’ve done to you? The soul makes no difference; I’m still just an evil demon, one you were chosen to kill. I could never love you. Demons can’t love, didn’t you know that, Slayer?” he sneered.
Spike would never say any of those things... he, of all people, knows that demons can love...
Finally, finally, Buffy saw clearly what was going on. She was calmer now, better able to think.
She turned to address him. “So, what is this? Try and ruin my memories of him? It won’t work.”
Seeing that she’d caught on, the First shifted to a different form: Angel’s.
“Buffy, I left you for your own good, you know, not so you could end up with some monster like Spike.” There was a brief pause before the image vamped out and said savagely, “Was it good for you, too?”
Before Buffy could respond, the First shifted again, this time taking Tara’s image. “I tried to help you, Buffy... I guess I failed. After all, it’s your fault I’m dead.”
Next came her mother. “Buffy, I can’t believe this. I thought we talked about this... but you’ve always been a disappointment. If you really loved me, you’d respect my wishes and give up the slaying all together, have a normal life like I always wanted you to have.”
In her best valley girl style, Buffy rolled her eyes and said, “Yeah, whatever. Look, the way I remember Spike... and the way I’m so totally gonna kick your ass... you’re not gonna change any of that with some fancy tricks and words. Give it up.”
Seeing the Slayer was not to be budged, the First changed to Buffy’s own form, trying to get in a few parting shots.
“Well now, how pathetic was that? It took me, what... five, ten minutes to realize I was conversing with the First? I once asked you what it meant about you when your little friends couldn’t tell you apart from me... now the question is, what does it mean when you can’t tell the difference between ultimate evil and your boyfriend, someone you knew so well? For all you know, I’ve killed all of your friends and replaced them with images of myself. After all, you’d never notice the difference.”
With that last spiteful remark, the First disappeared in its usual flashy manner.
For a moment, Buffy remained standing. She was proud of herself, the way she’d pulled it together when she needed to. As she leaned back against the cave wall, she murmured, “He was right. I can do this... emotions and all.”
Of course he was right. Isn’t... wasn’t he always? And I never told him... never told him that I - what was that?
At an almost subconscious level, the Slayer had sensed... something... what was it...
Her vampire-radar was going off, she now realized. She’d been too distracted before, but now she could feel it. Had she missed one of the members of Biff’s gang? Maybe they were in the corridor... or they could simply be hiding in the shadowy recesses of the cave.
The Slayer prowled slowly around the dark perimeter of the cavern, searching for that hidden vampire setting her sensors off.
What was that over there... nope, just a rock... what about there? What is that? Looks like... black leather?
Distinguishing black leather from gray rocks with next to no light was pretty difficult, but Buffy had extraordinary good night vision (one of the many Slayer-perks). Commanding herself not to get her hopes up yet again, she slowly walked toward the leather-covered heap.
Circling cautiously around the figure, she gasped when she spotted the white-blonde hair half-covered by the duster.
She fell to her knees next to Spike, afraid to touch him, afraid that this was just another ploy of the First. But she had to know....
Hesitantly, Buffy reached out and with one trembling finger touched Spike’s cheek.
She gasped in relief as she realized he was real. Her mind reeled. He’s here! He’s really here! Oh, but why isn’t he moving....
“Spike?” she whispered, then wondered why she was whispering. Repeating herself more loudly, she ran the back of her hand down the side of his face. “Come on, Spike, wake up.” Buffy kissed him lightly on the forehead.
When she still saw no movement, she grasped his shoulders and shook him lightly, then again, harder, desperate for him to awaken.
Can vampires fall into comas? At least she knew he couldn’t be dead (-er than usual) since he wasn’t dust, but she wasn’t certain what to do now.
Buffy gently rolled Spike onto his back, looking for injuries. She gasped at the gaping hole on the right side of his chest... she really had seen him staked, but the stake must have just missed his heart. She thanked whatever deity might be listening for that mercy.
Running to heap of supplies where Spike had earlier gone for the bedding, she found a first aid kit. Ah ha! Always be prepared... wonder if they had boy scouts back when Spike was a kid...
The Slayer gently slipped his leather coat off of him as best she could, her hurt wrist not helping the situation, and removed his shirt as well so she could see the damage he’d taken. She noticed he also had a nasty cut in his side. Between the staking and the slash, he’d lost a lot of blood.
Having wrapped both wounds up as best she could, she sat by his side, longing to do something more for him.
Unsure of what else to do, she ran and grabbed one of the pillows, thankful that it hadn’t been completely destroyed in the fight.
Buffy gently lifted his head and placed the white pillow under it. She remained by his side, helpless and hating it.
Slowly, she saw the dark stain spread from underneath his head. Her eyes widened.
That would explain why he’s still unconscious, all right.
She had less experience wrapping up a head wound, and ran out of bandages halfway through, so she ripped Spike’s already ruined shirt into strips to help.
Guess he’ll just have to wear one of his other black shirts, Buffy thought, trying to distract herself with thoughts of Spike’s monochromatic wardrobe.
She drifted off into sleep there, leaning against the cave wall, his hand clasped in hers.
When Buffy awoke, about a half an hour later, she found that Spike still had not moved. Once again, she was unable to wake him. She sat back and thought.
What can I do? What more can I possibly do? Nothing I can do to help with the concussion... but all that blood loss isn’t helping, either. And there’s something I can do about that.
If the Slayer had been a bit more rational, she might have thought about the likelihood that there were some blood packets stashed away along with all the other supplies.
But she wasn’t feeling anywhere near rational. Still on emotional overload, worrying about her vampire, she came up with a different solution: her blood.
After all, what could be better, more healing, for a vampire than a Slayer’s blood?
After sterilizing the sharp little knife she’d found in the first aid kit, she made a cut on her left arm.
She propped Spike’s head up on her lap. Holding his head still with her right hand, she moved her left arm so that the blood dripping from the cut fell into his slightly open mouth.
At first, there was no reaction; he didn’t swallow, causing some of her blood to spill out of his mouth and down his chin.
Am I too late? Buffy feared that perhaps she was... wait, what was that?
Did he... yes, he did! He swallowed! She choked back tears of joy, and moved her arm closer to his mouth.
Spike vamped out and latched on to her arm; she gasped at the sensation, suddenly remembering when she’d forced Angel to drink from her.
After another minute, just as she was beginning to feel lightheaded, Spike’s eyes snapped open.
Realization came a split second later, and he immediately thrust her arm away and tried to scramble backward. He was prevented from doing this by his injuries, and by Buffy, who had, as gently as possibly, grabbed one of his arms with her right hand.
“Spike,” she said gently, “It’s ok.”
He looked at her, horror and dismay clear on his face. Spike rasped, “No, Slayer, it’s not ok! What... How could you...” His strength and resolve left him at that moment, and he looked away.
“Spike, you’re not fully healed yet... come lay down and we’ll talk, ok?”
Buffy wasn’t used to talking to Spike like this... soothing, entreating him. To her surprise, it wasn’t as difficult as she might have once assumed.
He hesitated for a moment, then nodded and lay back down. She quickly and gently lifted his head and replaced the pillow under it, turning the pillow over so the dark stain wouldn’t show.
“Now,” she began, “let’s talk.”