By enigmaticblue <enigmaticblue@yahoo.com>

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I don't own them. Don't sue.

Spoilers: I suppose through BtVS S5, but I'm doing some rearranging.

Summary: This is a sequel to "The Great Advantage of Being Alive." If you haven't read it, this one really won't make any sense. In any case, Spike's trying to find out what it means to be a man, and to fight at Buffy's side. Buffy's struggling with what it means to be the Slayer. Dawn wants to know if she's real, and Glory just really wants her Key back.

Feedback: Yes, please.

Archiving: The Sandlot, The Crypt, and anywhere else that already has my stuff.Otherwise, ask and it shall be given to you.

A/N: The title comes from a Pablo Neruda poem. The line actually goes "all the graces of the daybreak" but I liked my pun.
 

Chapter 19: A Simple Twist of Fate
 

"somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond/any experience, your eyes have their silence:/in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,/or which i cannot touch because they are too near/your slightest look will easily unclose me/though i have closed myself as fingers,/you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens/(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose/or if your wish be to close me,i and/my life will shut very beautifully,suddenly,/as when the heart of this flower imagines/the snow carefully everywhere descending..." ~e.e. cummings, "somewhere i have never travelled"
 

Buffy felt as though she was always rushing into hospitals these days. As the Slayer, it was to be expected in some ways, but that didn't mean she had to like it. Spike caught her as she came through the doors, and the sense of free-falling she'd had since the call stopped.

Despite his vulnerability, Spike was the one who made her feel safe.

"Mom—"

"Docs think she's goin' to be okay," Spike reassured her. "Just got done talkin' to one of the surgeons. It was an aneurysm, possible side effect of the surgery, he said. We caught it early enough so that there wasn't much damage done, maybe not any."

Buffy drew in a deep breath, the first in what seemed like forever. "You mean you caught it in time. God, Spike, if you hadn't gone in today—"

"Got lucky, I s'pose," Spike said soothingly.

"How long is our luck going to hold out?" Buffy asked softly. "First you, and now Mom—"

"We're both fine." Spike's tone was fierce. "An' we're goin' to continue to be fine. 's all gonna work out, luv."

Buffy wasn't so sure, but she didn't want to argue, not about this, not when Spike seemed to be right. He was okay, her Mom would be fine, things would somehow work out with Glory and Dawn. Speaking of Dawn—"Someone's going to have to pick Dawn up from school."

"I'll go," Spike said quietly. "Rupert should be here any minute now."

As though his words had summoned the Watcher, Giles came through the doors. "How is she?"

"Doctors caught it in time," Spike said briefly, watching as the other man's shoulders slumped in relief. Continuing, he added, "They're still in there, but it shouldn't be too much longer."

Spike gave Buffy one more quick kiss, and then pulled away. "Better get Dawn now. You want me to bring her back here?"

Buffy shook her head. "No, I don't think it's safe. If you could—I don't know."

"We'll go back to the house," Spike said. "Give us a call when you know somethin' more, yeah?"

After he'd left, Buffy turned to give Giles a hug. They said nothing for a long time, and then Buffy whispered, "If anything had happened to Spike—"

"We must be thankful that nothing did happen," Giles said, cutting her off, knowing what she was going to say. "You are right. If something had happened—well, it doesn't do us any good to talk about what-ifs."

"No," Buffy agreed, thinking about ripple effects. How many more lives would Spike end up saving, just because he hadn't been killed himself?

~~~~~

Spike sat in the school parking lot. He still had a few minutes before Dawn would be done with classes, time enough to compose himself. It had been too close. He'd assured Buffy that everything was alright, but his roiling stomach said otherwise.

The doctor had been quite frank with him, perhaps because he'd thought Spike was objective enough to handle the information. If Spike had done anything other than drive her straight to the hospital, she wouldn't have survived. Given the aneurysm's location, if it had burst, Joyce would have died instantly.

Gripping the steering wheel tightly, Spike willed his hands to stop shaking. He supposed it was better to lose it now, after the emergency was over and before he had to see Dawn. It was better than freezing when decisions had to be made, as he might have done once upon a time.

Spike took several deep breaths, reminding himself that he needed to be strong for Dawn. It wouldn't do for the girl to see him all shaky.

By the time he got through the doors of the building, he was back to looking like his old in-control self. "Can I help you?"

Spike paused in front of the two ladies standing outside the school office, chatting. Both were wearing smart business suits, and both were looking him over appreciatively. "I'm lookin' for Dawn Summers." At their expressions, Spike hastened to clarify. "I'm William Giles, her sister's fiancé. Something's come up with her mum."

"I see." The first lady smiled. She had dark skin and a pleasant smile. "I'm Alicia Stevens. This is Rhoda Andrews, the vice principal of the high school."

"Pleasure to meet both of you," Spike replied shaking hands.

Ms. Stevens leaned in a little closer. "Is Dawn's mother alright? If we need to pull her out of class—"

Spike shook his head. "It's a bit of an emergency, but it looks as though it'll turn out. 's been a tough year, though."

"Yes, I can see that," Ms. Stevens replied. "Quite frankly, I'm amazed Dawn's doing as well as she is. Many times when our students have difficulty at home, it shows up in their work. From what I understand, she has you to thank for that."

Spike's eyes went wide. "Me?"

Both women smiled, and Ms. Andrews nodded. "Principal Drake, at the high school, and I have both talked to Father Michael at St. Anthony's. He's recommended you quite highly for the position as English teacher."

Ms. Stevens smiled. "We've had to talk to Dawn about her frequent absences, and she's spoken to the school counselor as well. There was a misunderstanding about one of her English papers earlier this year. It was so well done, you see, we thought she might have cheated. Your name came up. Your talent for drawing out Dawn's natural ability is really quite remarkable."

Spike was a bright red at this point. "Yeah, well, hope Dawn didn't get in too much trouble. Never meant—"

"Oh, no!" Ms. Stevens hastened to assure him. "Dawn explained, and her quality of work, especially in her writing, has gone up quite a bit this year. It wasn't just the one essay, that much has been apparent."

"In short," Ms. Andrews added, "we would like you to consider the job as the high school English teacher. We often have difficulty attracting good teachers to Sunnydale, and so to have someone capable already in residence would be ideal."

The upshot of the conversation was that Spike ended up giving the vice principal of the high school his cell phone number so they could arrange an interview. Ms. Stevens also managed to rope him into at least thinking about giving after school help to the junior high students on their writing assignments. While he wasn't quite sure how it had happened, Spike found himself flattered by the women's obvious respect. Apparently, he was better known than he had imagined.

"Spike?" Dawn saw him as she came down the hallway. "What are you doing here? Mom was going to—Is she—"

"She's fine, Bit," Spike quickly assured her. "Had to go in to hospital for a quick repair job, but she'll be right as rain in no time." He nodded to the two women, and then pulled Dawn away with him, keeping one arm around her shoulders. "Didn't want to make a fuss, luv, but I wanted someone to be here when you got out of class."

Dawn wasn't quite ready to believe him; there had been too many close calls lately. "Spike, if it's bad, I want to know."

"When we get out to the car," he said quietly. "Joyce is goin' to be fine, but it'll be more private in the car."

The girl would have trusted Spike with her life. She trusted that he was telling her the truth now. When they had reached the old DeSoto, and the heavy doors had been shut behind them, Spike turned to face her. "Your mum started feelin' bad at the gallery today, an' I took her to the hospital. Soon's we got there, they rushed her in for scans, and then they rushed her in for surgery. Doc was tellin' me before I left that she'd most likely be fine."

"'Most likely?'" Dawn repeated.

"There might be some side effects, just like there would be if your mum had a stroke, but they were thinkin' they caught it before damage was done."

Spike watched as Dawn tried to assimilate the information. It was a lot, he knew. Not that long ago, they'd been worried for Joyce, then he'd almost bought it. Close. Too close.

As the reality of it all began to sink in, tears started running down Dawn's cheeks. She couldn't have said whether it was in relief or fear or at the unfairness of it all. Spike's strong arms came around her, and she buried her face in his shoulder.

They stayed like that for a very long time.

~~~~~

"Spike? Are you alright?" Tara came into the back office of the gallery. It was nearly closing time, but she'd had the feeling she would find him here still. Joyce might be on the mend, and faster than the doctors had expected, but it would be at least another couple of weeks before the older woman would be ready to return to work.

Until then, Spike was the one taking care of the gallery again, looking after the Summers ladies, and appearing exhausted again. "'m fine, luv," he assured her, turning to meet the witch's eyes. "Really."

"I don't need to send you home again, do I?" she asked, referring to the night before his birthday party.

Spike shook his head, leaning back in his chair. "No, and it's 'bout time to close up anyway. Should head back to the house an' get dinner started. Niblet'll be starvin'."

"Giles is taking care of it," she said gently. "I'm not sure what he's making, but he's staying with Dawn and Joyce tonight. He also told Buffy she has the night off. You're both worn out."

Spike started to shake his head and then gave a funny little laugh. "One thing after another, yeah? Least this one turned out for the best, an' Joyce'll be fine, but I wonder just how long our luck's gonna run for. With Glory—"

"We'll take care of Glory," Tara replied. "You guys took care of Adam, didn't you?"

Spike sighed. "We did, ducks, but he was a jumped-up monster. Not much different than your average demon in the end."

"But you had to find his weakness," Tara argued persuasively. "And you did. You'll do the same with Glory, and Joyce will be fine."

Spike gave her a measuring look. "You're good for a bloke, you know that, Glinda? Always lookin' at the positive."

"I wouldn't have been able to do that without you," she said.

Spike watched her, thinking that he would have liked to have known this girl while he was still human the first time. He had the feeling that she would have seen William for all his worth. "Wish I'd known you once upon a time, luv," Spike thought out loud. "I think I'd have been a happier man."

Tara flushed slightly. "Well, I'm glad I know you now. And the others are waiting for us. I told them I would get you and we would all go to the Bronze." Her flush deepened, but she gave him a sly smile. "And then you can take Buffy back to your place."

"Girl after my own heart," Spike said with an answering smirk. He stood, offering his arm. "Shall we?"

"Of course."

~~~~~

The gathering at the Bronze was more subdued than was typical. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that the club itself was rather empty for a Tuesday evening. More than likely, however, it had to do with Joyce's recent near-miss, and the ever-present threat of Glory.

"Whatever happened to that robot, pet?" Spike asked. They were all seated, letting the tension of the past weeks slide away under the influence of alcoholic beverages and the company of friends.

"Robot?" Buffy asked blankly, and then recognition hit. "Oh, you mean April."

"It had a name?" Spike asked.

Xander broke in. "Oh, it was definitely a girl-robot." At Anya's glare, he flushed. "Well, it was."

Spike smirked, amused, and then turned to look at the Slayer. "You were goin' after her the day—" he stopped, and Buffy reached over to grasp his hand.

"Yeah, her batteries ran down," Buffy said. Spike raised an eyebrow, and she elaborated. "She just wanted to find her boyfriend, Warren, and eventually her batteries ran down. It was kind of sad, actually."

"What, Warren?" Willow asked, having thought the whole thing was rather creepy herself.

Buffy shook her head. "No, Warren was pathetic. I mean, what kind of guy would want a robot for a girlfriend?" Spike and Xander exchanged looks but wisely kept silent as Buffy continued. "No, I mean the robot, April. She was just doing what she was created to do. It wasn't her fault that Warren didn't want her anymore. All she wanted was to make him happy."

Spike watched as Buffy fiddled with her engagement ring, and wondered what she was thinking about. He waited until the others had gotten up to dance to ask, though. "What are you thinkin' about, pet?"

"You," Buffy replied quietly. "It's just—Are you happy with me, Spike?"

Spike wasn't quite sure how he was supposed to answer that question. He felt as though it was out of his depth. "Yeah, luv. Wouldn't have asked you to marry me otherwise."

"But what about all of this?" Buffy asked, waving her hand. "I mean, here you are: smart, gorgeous, about to have a book published, and you could have anyone at all. You wouldn't have to stay here in Sunnydale, worrying about whether you were going to be next week's snack. You could—"

"Have a normal life?" he finished for her. Spike watched her from beneath half-closed lids, not quite certain where she was going with this. He felt as though they were both on thin ice, as though anything could happen. "Do you not want me here, Buffy?"

"I love you," she replied softly. "But I want you to be happy more than anything else." The Slayer took a deep breath. "I don't want you to stay with me out of some sense of obligation, or because you've made a promise and you're going to stick by it. I want you to stay because this is what you want."

Spike opened his mouth, ready to swear his love and his eternal devotion, but Buffy stilled him with one finger laid across his lips. "I've been thinking about this a lot," she said softly. "And there's a really good chance that I won't make it out of this fight with Glory alive. It's going to take a lot to beat her—maybe everything I have."

He understood then. The line between life and death was always tenuous at best; for the Slayer, it was more obvious than for most people. Buffy went through her days with her head high, completely focused on her own little world, because it was too painful to admit that life was short. His recent brush with death and Joyce's illness had stripped away that illusion, however. Buffy was facing her mortality—and his—head-on, and she was willing to let him go so he might live. It was a noble sacrifice.

It was also one Spike wasn't about to allow her to make.

"Then we'll just have to make sure you have some reserves, luv," Spike replied. The Slayer looked away, obviously disappointed that he wasn't going to be serious. "Look, Buffy, I know you're the Slayer. I know what that means. Doesn't mean you won't live forever, though. Just means it's a little less likely than it is for the next person. I won't leave you, though. Can't, luv, it's just not in me."

Buffy closed her eyes, and then opened them again, her gaze weighted with a heavy kind of knowledge. "What if I asked you to? To keep you safe?"

"Then you'd have to send everyone else away as well," Spike growled. "Have to be for a soddin' good reason. 'm not like those other guys, Buffy. I don't leave. I don't run when the goin' gets rough."

"No," she agreed. "No running. But, Spike, I just want you to be happy."

He stared at her in bewilderment. "An' what the bloody hell gave you the idea that I'd be happy without you, you daft bint?"

It was a most uncomplimentary way to put things, but Buffy was not insulted. Quite the opposite, in fact. Spike's vehemence was enough to convince her that he was serious. And, while Buffy had been quite ready to play the martyr's role and let him go, she was relieved that she didn't have to go through with it.

As tears started to well up in her eyes, Spike's face softened. "Buffy, luv, 'm sorry. It's just that I'd rather take my chances with you than be anywhere else. Won't tell you I'm not scared, but I've never let that stop me before."

She didn't reply. Buffy pretty much sucked with words; she could admit it. What she did do was to kiss him—long, slow, deep, so that the entire world faded away. In that one kiss were all the promises of forever that they could make, all the reassurances she couldn't bring herself to say.

When they finally broke off the embrace, it was Spike who was the breathless one for once. "I love you so much," Buffy murmured. "More than I ever thought possible. And I trust you with my life."

~~~~~

"Can I get you anything?" Giles asked. "Another cup of tea, perhaps? Or something to eat?"

"You could sit down and tell me what's eating at you," Joyce suggested calmly.

Giles stilled. He had been in constant motion all evening, fiddling with his glasses, moving around abruptly, cooking dinner. While Joyce most certainly appreciated all his efforts, and the way Dawn had seemed to perk up under his gentle attention, she knew that all was not right. "Joyce—"

"Is it really so bad?" she asked, suddenly self-conscious. "Do I look—bad?"

Giles stared at her. "No! Of course not! I—" He passed one hand over his face, refusing to look at the woman he'd come to love. It seemed that he always fell in love with women who were taken from him one way or another. Although Giles wasn't anxious to admit to it, he'd been on the edge of a breakdown the last few days.

It was the relief, you see. He held up perfectly well under pressure.

"No," Giles repeated, more calmly. "You're as beautiful as ever." He put a tender hand to the left side of Joyce's face, the side that drooped a bit now. There was some weakness in her left hand and leg as well, but nothing terribly noticeable, nothing that wouldn't improve with time. To a man who had memorized his beloved's face, however, the change was a startling reminder. "It's just—"

When he paused, Joyce took his hand in her own, pulling him to sit beside her on the bed. "Rupert, you've been jumpy for the last few days. What's wrong?"

"Do you remember Miss Calendar?" Giles asked, trying to disguise the tremor in his voice. "She was one of Buffy's teachers."

"She was killed," Joyce replied, remembering that terrible year. Understanding dawned. "You and she—"

"Were in love," Giles said quietly. "The night she was killed—well, I found her. We never—that is, I'm not sure she ever knew how I felt. Getting Spike's call that there was an emergency—I remembered, and I didn't know if you knew—"

Joyce interrupted. "I think I got the message that night we went out. It really was a perfect evening." Giles shook his head, and Joyce knew. He had been scared to death of losing her. "Do you—not want to be with me? If this has made you rethink—"

He shook his head emphatically. "No." Giles couldn't say anything else. The words seemed to have become stuck in his throat, forming a lump that choked him. He couldn't bear to lose her; he couldn't stand to leave her.

Joyce stood. The house was silent; Dawn was asleep, and Buffy would not be back, of that she was certain. It was safe—and she loved this man. Life was too short not to take a few risks.

Limping slightly, she crossed to the door and gently closed it, then turned back to face Rupert. He was still refusing to look at her, his glasses in one hand, rubbing his eyes with impatient fingers. She knew that the Watcher would find tears a weakness, but even the strongest need to cry sometimes.

She made her slow, faltering way back to him. Joyce couldn't manage anything but the shortest distances without assistance, but she could manage this. She could give him comfort. It was one of her greatest talents.

Feathering his face with kisses, both light and lingering, Joyce demonstrated her love. After only a few moments, he began to respond—desperate, hungry, but careful of her infirmity.

There is a certain kind of passion that comes from age, tempered by wisdom, though no less fierce in its fires. They had known young passion one night years ago, unrestrained, oblivious to the possible consequences. Tonight they made love, and both shed silent tears of joy, of sadness, knowing that time was short and precious. Thankful that they both had a second chance.

And when Joyce fell asleep that night, her head on Giles' chest, she was thinking that he was still a stevedore in bed.

~~~~~

Spike was whistling as he entered the gallery the next morning. An uninterrupted night with Buffy, with plenty of good sex and lots of cuddling, made him one happy camper. His good mood held all that day, even in the midst of cranky customers and short-tempered vendors.

The phone rang just before he closed up, and he answered with a well-hidden sigh. Spike had plans for that evening that did not include work. "William speaking. May I help you?"

"Probably," Buffy's voice said through the line. "It's a special request, though."

"I specialize in that area," Spike purred. "What's up, pet?"

He could hear the smile in her voice. Buffy had had just as good a time as her fiancé. "Just thought I'd stop by the gallery before you left and then I could walk you home."

"I've got the car with me, luv. Thought we were going to meet at your house."

"We were," Buffy replied, a note of defensiveness in her tone. She knew Spike hated to be coddled or thought weak, but she didn't really want to take any chances with his safety either. "I can't wait till then."

Spike knew she was lying, but he thought he would let her get away with it this time. "Fine, luv. I'm just closin' up now if you want to meet me here."

"I'm at the Magic Box," Buffy replied. "I'll be there in five."

Five minutes later it was Tara, not Buffy, that walked through the front door. "Mr. Giles found a text he thought would be helpful," she explained. "Buffy thought we could meet back there instead."

Spike shrugged. "Sure. Won't take but a mo in the car."

They walked out of the gallery together, chatting idly about small matters, and Spike turned to lock up. Beside him, he heard a gasp, and he turned to see what had upset Tara.

Glory grinned at him. "Well, well, well. If it isn't the Slayer's boyfriend. I wonder what kind of information you've got in that pretty head of yours. Let's find out, shall we?"

~~~~~

Buffy glanced up at the clock in the Magic Box. "When did Tara leave?"

Willow's eyes followed her friend's gaze and she frowned. "About ten minutes ago. Why?"

"They should have been back by now," the Slayer said. "Spike said he was driving today."

Willow shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. "I'm sure they're probably just talking or something."

Buffy wasn't so sure, but she went back to her reading. Giles had been right in the middle of an explanation about Glory's possible aims when it had been time for her to leave. Tara had volunteered to go meet him instead. There were times when Buffy wondered if she shouldn't be jealous of the blonde witch, nevermind that she was definitely gay and that her relationship with Spike was much like his with Dawn. They just seemed to connect on a level she couldn't quite reach, which she found odd.

Five minutes later, Buffy was looking at the clock again. She stood abruptly. "I'm going to go down to the gallery," she announced.

Willow frowned and then put her book down as well. "I'll go with you. I could probably use the chance to stretch my legs anyway."

"You want us to go too, Buf?" Xander asked.

The Slayer shook her head. "No, that's okay, Xan. You stay here. I'm sure it's nothing."

Willow linked her arm through Buffy's as they exited the Magic Box. "We could stop by the Espresso Pump on the way back," she suggested. "With a night of research ahead of us, mochas might be a good thing."

"Good idea, Will," Buffy said. "And that's exactly what I'm going to tell Spike when he asks. He hates it when he thinks I'm being protective."

Willow shrugged. "It's not like there isn't anything that goes bump in the night," she pointed out. "And besides, Spike knows you get protective because you love him. It's not like he can really argue with that."

~~~~~

Tara wasn't sure what she should do. Willow was the one with the power; her strengths were quieter, more controlled, softer. There was no way she could take Glory on, and Spike had put himself in front of her anyway.

If he hadn't already locked the door of the gallery, Tara would have dashed inside and tried to call Buffy. As it was, they weren't expecting them back at the shop for another few minutes, and the Hellgod could do a lot of damage in a very short period of time.

Glory was speaking now, and Tara listened to her threats. "You're going to tell me where to find my Key. The Slayer has what's mine, and I want it back."

"Way I understand it, wasn't yours to begin with," Spike said, his tone so cocky Tara could hardly believe it. It was like he had no fear. In the next second, she understood why.

"Don't mess with me," Glory warned him, grabbing the front of his shirt and slamming him up against the building so hard Tara winced at the sound. "You won't live to regret it."

All of Glory's attention was focused on Spike now, and there seemed to be nothing standing between Tara and freedom. If only she could find Buffy or Willow. The Magic Box was close, if she could just slip away—

"Where do you think you're going?" Glory demanded, grabbing the witch by the arm and tossing her back against the building next to Spike. "You know, that's what's wrong with people today. They're so rude! Running away before I'm done! Don't you know how rude that is?"

Since a reply seemed to be called for, Tara stammered out, "S-s-sorry."

"You should be!" Glory replied angrily. "Now, where was I? Oh, yeah. My Key. See, I think at least one of you knows where it is, and I think it might be you." Her eyes fixed on Spike. "You and Slutty the Vampire Slayer seem so very close."

"Sorry, ducks," Spike replied smoothly, hoping to draw Glory's attention back onto himself. "Even if I knew, I wouldn't tell a sorry lookin' bint like yourself."

"I'm not sorry looking!" Glory protested. "I'm beautiful."

Spike's eyes raked her up and down in a heated glance even a Hellgod was no match for. After a long, drawn-out pause, he shook his head, almost apologetically. "Your arse is lopsided," he observed. "An' one of your tits is bigger than the other. Plus, your hair is frizzy, an' you don't have the fashion sense God gave a goose."

After that litany of insults, Glory gave an outraged shriek and descended on Spike, fists flying. Tara wasted no time. While she hated to leave Spike, she also understood exactly what he was doing, and that it would be a useless sacrifice if she didn't take advantage of Glory's distraction.

Again, however, Tara just wasn't quite quick enough. Spike's form went flying past her, deeper into the alley that ran between the gallery and the shop next door, and Glory was in front of her, blocking her escape. "Hey, loverboy!" Glory called, her tone gleeful. "See what you get when you don't cooperate?"

Tara didn't even have time to scream before the Hellgod's hands plunged into her head. It didn't occur to her that the scream she heard wasn't her own.

~~~~~

Willow stiffened in shock when she heard the cry. "Buffy, that's—"

"Oh, God," Buffy muttered, taking off at a run and offering up a brief to prayer to any Power that might take pity. It had seemed to work for Spike recently.

The flying kick at least took Glory by surprise and got her away from Tara. Willow took it from there; one moment the Hellgod was standing there, and the next she wasn't.

Distracted for a moment, Buffy asked, "Willow, what did you just do?"

"Teleported her," Willow said, focusing on Tara and swaying slightly. "Probably not very far, but hopefully far enough."

Buffy nodded, staring at Tara, who was gibbering about spiders. "Willow—"

"We have to get her to the hospital." When the red-headed witch looked up she had her resolve face on, but there was a silent plea in her eyes for Buffy not to break down.

The Slayer nodded. "I'll get Spike."

Spike was barely conscious. He'd been aware of flying through the air, of coming to sudden halt courtesy of a brick wall, and of Glory screaming something at him, but that was about it. He was dimly aware of Buffy saying something to him, urging him to rise, and he struggled to comply. "Tara—"

"Willow's got her," Buffy assured him, keeping her tone low and even. "We need to get both of you to the hospital."

Spike wasn't so groggy that the meaning of those words didn't penetrate. "Tara—where is she? Is she—"

"We need to get to the hospital Spike," Buffy interrupted. "Do you have your keys?"

"By the door, I think," Spike muttered. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to move. His face felt like it was on fire, and he was thinking that dying looked like a tempting alternative at this point.

"Right," Buffy said. "Keys, car, hospital. And then I think we need to talk about getting out of town."