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Author's Chapter Notes:
I’m sticking to canon and not introducing mobile phones into Season Six, but my goodness, life would be easier if I could!
Strip Snap by Lilachigh


Chp 7 Like Ice


“No...no...no...you can’t have her. She’s mine! Don’t touch her, Angel! Don’t ....don’t... dare, damn you.”

Buffy jerked awake, her gaze flying round the room to find the danger. Then she realised it was Spike who was yelling. He was still lying half in her lap, half on the floor, but tossing and turning, muttering.

“Spike? Spike! Wake up.” She felt his forehead and then told herself she was all sorts of an idiot. Vampires didn’t get fevers. Well, Angel had that one time when he’d been poisoned, but Spike had been burnt by the acid from the Tazksha demon, not poisoned.

She smoothed the platinum curls back from his temples and bit her lip. When they were close, when he pressed himself against her, he always felt cool to her touch. Sometimes just the feel of his skin on her burning body was enough to send her mad with desire, but now he felt like ice.

“Always loved....always wanted....he can’t have her. Kill him...kill him first....kill”

Buffy eased herself out from under him. She rolled up the short towelling robe she’d been wearing all night and gently placed it under his head.

“Come on, Spike. Wake up. Tell me what to do,” she murmured, beginning to feel panicky. Why wasn’t he healing? The burns on his chest looked just as bad as they had earlier. They hadn’t faded at all.

“I don’t know whether to keep you warm, or let you stay cold,” she said, kicking at the floor in frustration. “And there’s no way I can even get you down to the boat in all this sunlight, even if you could walk.”

Oh god, what if he - what if he never recovered. A chill ran through her as icy as the ones that were now shaking Spike every few seconds. Of all the countless times in the past when she’d wished him dead and dusted, never had she actually imagined it happening. Other vampires could vanish in an instant, but somehow she’d always known Spike would be there at the end of each fight. Annoying, sarcastic, a right royal pain in her butt. But unlike Angel and Riley and even her father, always there.

She knelt at his side, and ran her hand over his face. “Spike, please, come back. Come back for me.”

Suddenly, his eyelids flickered and there was a dull glint of blue as he looked at her. ‘Buffy?”

“I’m here, Spike. You’re sick. Spike, tell me, what should I do to help? Is there something you need to take or do?”

“C..cc...ccold.”

“Yes, I know you are. You got burnt by a Tazksha demon. Just shows you how unfit you are. You would have dodged him easily last year.”

She tried to sound bright and cheerful, hoping to see his eyebrow lift sardonically, hear some sarcastic quip. But there was nothing. He seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness.

Buffy reached for his hand and felt his fingers lace with hers. “G...go away...Slayer,” he muttered.

“Spike, I may be a lot of things, but I’m certainly not the sort of person who leaves my - my friends lying around in pain when they’re ill. Just tell me what to do to help.”

“D...dying. Soon. G..ggo away, pet. Not nice to see. Pain and more pain. Lots of screaming at the end probably. Although, have to say, deserve it. No regrets. Apart...sorry to leave you, pet.”

Buffy stared down at the face she despised, loathed, liked and loved and, for the first time in ages, felt truly scared. “Of course you’re not dying. Honestly, Spike, make a drama out of nothing, why doncha. You’ve caught some sort of bug from that squelchy demony thingy. That’s all. If you’d just stop with the Hollywood act and tell me what to do, life would be a lot simpler.”

His grip on her hand tightened and the blue slits grew fiercer. “D..dying, Buffy. Pain’s bad....getting worse. Go! Get away from me. D...don’t know if I can stay sane for long. D..don’t know what I’ll do if....I go mad.”

He pulled his hand out of hers and edged himself away, getting as close to the wall as he could.

Buffy stood, staring down at him. Her head was whirling. How could this be happening? They’d been so happy only hours before. The romantic boat ride, the picnic on the lake-shore, the way they’d made love so hard it had hurt.

‘Spike - listen. I’m going for help. I’ll find Clem or someone who knows what to do. Willow might. Or Anya. There’ll be something in one of the books at the Magic Shop. Just stay here till I get back.”

She hesitated at the door, torn between going and staying. She had the dreadful feeling that if she left, he wouldn’t be here on the island when she got back.

Then, a memory flashed through her brain and her fingers went to the scar on her neck. Her blood had cured Angel, why shouldn’t it cure Spike?

She dropped to her knees and pulled Spike round to face her. “Spike - listen - is it blood? Do you need to feed? You can - ” she pushed her hair back from her neck. “Here! Spike! Are you listening? Please, just - ” her voice trembled and broke.

The long black lashes trembled and he was there, conscious, looking up at her, at the slender neck she was offering to him. An expression she didn’t recognise flashed across his face.

“R...rather die, Slayer,” he got out, his teeth chattering. “N...never feed on you. Could kill you.”

“Don’t be such a pompous fool,” Buffy snapped. “This isn’t the time to be all English and stiff upper lippey. Just take the blood, Spike.” She paused, then, quietly, “Angel did.”

Spike backed even further away, a fierce expression on his face. “Bog-trotting Paddy w...wanker! G..go away. Never feed on you, pet. Never do that to my girl.” And then as if this last effort had been too much, his eyes shut and he slid into silence.

Buffy stared down at him, unaware that her cheeks were wet with tears. Why couldn’t he do it? Angel had. And she hadn’t died. OK, it had been a close call, but Spike couldn’t know that. He hadn’t been there during the Mayor’s ascension.

Or was it something else. Did the thought of her blood, Slayer’s blood, offend him in some way? Was it dirty to him? Unclean? She’d come close to forgetting recently that Spike was first and foremost a vampire. Perhaps it was okay to kill Slayers, or sleep with them, whichever he fancied at the time, but drinking their blood?

She clenched her fists as she turned away and pulled open the door just enough to get out without letting in too much daylight.

Outside was a green and blue world. The woods were fresh and smelt of rain and new growth and living things. The sky was a delicate egg shell blue and somewhere a bird was singing to the new day.

Buffy took a deep breath. She smelt of demon and wood smoke and Spike. She hurried through the woods, down towards the lake. It was a glorious day and she knew, without any doubt, that she would willingly go back into the darkened hut without a backward glance if it would save him.

The rowing boat was still there where Spike had left it all those hours earlier. She pushed it down the beach into the water and leapt in.

As she picked up the oars and began to inexpertly guide the boat across the lake, she knew, grimly, that somewhere on the far shore say Sunnydale. And if she had to take it apart, piece by piece, she would find a cure for him. No matter what it took.

to be continued.





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