“I don’t know how,” Althenea said, as she gingerly dressed the wound on Buffy’s neck, “but it seems that the vampire didn’t drain her as severely as I’d first feared,” her brows knitted with concern as she looked the young girl over, “Yet she’s still unresponsive,” the woman took hold of her limp wrist, “Her pulse is strong and steady. She should be coming around.”

Giles looked at Buffy as she lie on the bed in Lois Kingsbury’s room, which was a short way up the hall from the one Willow had been using that now held Spike behind its door, and became concerned, “Is there any physical reason why she should not be conscious?”

Althenea shook her head, clearly dismayed be the young girl’s state, “There is no reason for it, that I can see. The wounds on her throat look brutal, but they’re shallow. They will heal, and rather quickly, too. The blood loss is minimal. That is very surprising. The impact from the magic should not have caused this…” her voice trailed off and she turned a scrutinizing gaze toward Giles, “You say that the vampire reached out to you; asked you to help him…save her?”

Giles heaved a sigh. He understood the witch’s skepticism. If he hadn’t seen Spike with his own eyes, in Africa and Sunnydale, he would be as well, “Yes,” he said softly, “he did.”

Her brows were still knitted in confusion, “This is a vampire, correct? Of the same line as the Master…and Angelus?”

The look of incredulity in her eyes almost made him laugh openly, “Yes,” Giles said.

“I see,” Althenea sighed, but it was clear from her tone that she, in fact, did not. She set her eyes once again on Buffy, “Perhaps you could shed some light. Do you know what would cause the girl to be in this condition?”

Althenea Morris was a dear friend, but Giles was beginning to realize that the same rigid thinking that had driven Quentin plagued her. It was enough to make him ill, “Perhaps,” he growled, “she is tired. She has been through a great deal, of late, as have we all. Would you care,” he ground out, his voice low and menacing, “to wake her, and ask her?”

Giles walked away from Althenea. He had better things to worry about than her curiosity.

Dawn and Willow worried outside of Lois’s room, waiting for news when Giles stalked out of the room. The look on Giles’s face sent chills down Willow’s spine. She’d seen that look before, and it * was not* a look that foretold of puppies and hugs.

It was that look that had made her believe that Giles could have killed her, or turned her over to the Council. He didn’t do either, but maybe he should have.

“Willow,” he said, turning to her, “tell me if anything changes with Buffy,” he shook his head in disgust, as he looked back at the room’s closed door, “I can not be anywhere near that woman, now. Heaven knows what I might do!” he hissed, as he descended the stairs.

Willow shuddered when she heard the door of Giles’s temporary office slam shut with a jarring thud.

She gave Dawn a worried look, before Dawn headed toward her room, and Spike.
*******************************************

Buffy could hear the voices murmuring around her, and she knew that what those voices were saying was important. She wanted to respond, but couldn’t find the energy to form the words. Her mind however, was fully aware of what was going on around her.

And, she was livid.

Why are you worried about me? I’m not the one who’s in danger, here! I never realized how angry…how violent. No. That’s not true. I do know, because it’s in me. It *is* me. It tried to kill Spike before. And, now it has. It almost killed me. It would have if…oh, Spike…
************************************************************

As Giles collapsed into the chair behind his desk, Spike’s gently mocking words came to mind:

“Oh, poor Watcher. What’s the matter, did your life flash before your eyes? Cuppa tea, cuppa tea, almost got shagged…cuppa tea?”

In point of fact, it was.

He could remember the intense sense of satisfaction that flowed through him like his life’s blood, when he felt his boot slamming into Ethan Rayne’s stomach. He could remember relishing the sounds Ethan made as his boot and fists bruised his flesh.

He remembered vividly, watching the light go out of a man’s eyes, a man that Buffy had taken pity on, in sparing his life.

The Slayer could not have killed him. He was human. To the Slayer, he wasn’t a threat.

She couldn’t kill Ben. So he did.

The tension and grief of the past few months washed over him, and he began to weep. As the tears coursed down his face, one thought played over and over, in his mind:

What makes me any different than the vampires I’ve fought over the years?
******************************************************

Willow sat quietly next to Buffy, lost in thought.

She knew what Spike’s aura felt like. She knew that, when all was said and done, the vampire, and this vampire in particular, did get something from the rush of a fight, from the violence, but they only killed to live.

Underneath it all, humans, and the life force within them enthralled Spike. He had many opportunities to kill, both her, and Buffy, Xander too, but didn’t do it.

She had loved Xander too. But, she killed him, without thought.

Spike had his fangs in Buffy’s throat, yet he had enough inner strength- where it came from, Willow would never be sure, but he found the strength to call out for help. And, as she watched Buffy begin to stir, she knew she had much to learn from Spike.

Because although she did love Xander, she had killed him.

Spike loved Buffy, and although he could have killed her, he didn’t. She was alive. Xander was dead.

Just what is it, Willow thought, that makes me any better, or him worse, than me?
*****************************************************************

Dawn could have wept for joy, as she knelt beside his bed, when she saw Spike’s blue eyes open groggily, and take her in, “Nibblet? What are you doing here?” his voice was slurred and tired, but she didn’t care.

He was here- with her- and he was looking at her like he used to. Like he loved her.

It wasn’t until his shaking hand had risen to her face to wipe away the tears, that she realized that she had been crying, “Hey, what’s this?” he asked softly, as he rubbed the wetness between his fingers, “None of that. Not from you, Nibblet. Not because of me.”

“I’m sorry, Spike…” she sniffed.

His eyes widened a little, as if he were in shock, “Sorry? What for, Nibblet?”

“For not seeing you, Spike,” she lowered her eyes because she couldn’t let him see how ashamed she was, “For only seeing the vampire…not you.”