Subject: [SpikesSalvation] (New Fic) Normal's A Place In Illinois- Chapter 1
Date: Sat, 15 Nov 2003 20:47:17 -0800 (PST)
From: Jerusha Hancock <enigmaticblue@yahoo.com>
Reply-To: SpikesSalvation@yahoogroups.com
To: SpikesSalvation@yahoogroups.com


Title: Normal's a Place in Illinois
Author: enigmaticblue

Rating: PG-13

Archive: The Sandlot. Anywhere else, just let me know.

Disclaimer: Don't own them. Joss is a genius. I'm a poor student. Don't sue.

A/N: Long series, post-Grave. (Yeah, another one.) Something just a bit fluffy, 
and very Spuffy.

Dedication: To Heather, who just happens to be a great beta, as well as a great 
friend.


 Chapter 1: Who Said You Can't Go Home Again? 

"Will there come a time when the memories fade,/
And pass on with the long, long years,/
When the ties no longer bind?/
Lord save me from this darkest fear./
Don't let me come home a stranger,/I 
couldn't stand to be a stranger." ~Fernando Ortega


It was the same every week. One night each week she got this feeling of missing 
him so badly, this uncontrollable urge, and she'd wind up wandering through his 
cemetery. Eventually she'd end up at his crypt, staring at the ruin that seemed 
so accurately to epitomize the end of their relationship. Death. Destruction. 
Pain. Misery. She shook her head self-deprecatingly. Geez, Buffy. Depressing 
much? The thing of it was, she missed him. All she'd wanted was for him to 
leave her alone, and then he took off and she missed him. Not only that, but 
instead of remembering every painful moment they'd given one another, all she 
could seem to think about were the good moments, the little points in time 
where they'd truly enjoyed one another's company. And it was hard to hate 
someone you were busy missing like crazy.

She climbed the steps to what had been his home, ran her hand over the 
half-burned hulk of the door. Clem had managed to save a great deal of Spike's 
stuff, and had handed it over to her for safe-keeping when she'd asked. The 
demons that had done the damage had long since been cleared out. She'd come 
herself as soon as Clem told her about the problems he'd been having keeping 
the crypt safe for Spike. It had gotten to the point where he'd been afraid for 
his safety, and Buffy had told him to let it go. When Spike came back they 
would figure something out. She didn't say if Spike came back. She couldn't.

She entered silently, easily stepping over the remains of the door, and stood 
in the center of the room. It was completely trashed, and not for the first 
time did she wonder if she shouldn't try to clean it up, just in case. Buffy 
had turned to go when a scrabbling sound caught her attention. It was coming 
from the corner, and she froze, thinking maybe a vampire had taken up residence 
since she'd been here last. "Hello?" she called. "I know you're here. Might as 
well come out so I can stake you."

Another whisper of sound caught her ears, and Buffy moved cautiously toward it. 
She could just barely make out the outline of a very grimy hand silhouetted 
against the soot covered floor. It withdrew from the little light the moon 
afforded through the half-destroyed door, squeezing itself even further into 
the corner, but Buffy had seen enough. Her hand shot out and grabbed the 
shadow, tossing it against the blackened bier, stake raised and ready for use.

Poised, her hand froze as what she was seeing registered. "Spike?" she 
whispered. The hand holding him down registered heat, and moving as though in 
slow motion, she moved it over to rest on his chest. And felt the beating of 
his heart.

The stake clattered to the floor, and she reached out to help him sit up. He 
was filthy. It looked as though every square inch of him were covered in dirt 
and grime. His hair was long and matted; it was impossible to tell the color, 
but it looked as though it had not been taken care of in a very long time. But 
most shocking of all was his general condition. Even in the dim light the moon 
afforded, his emaciated state was obvious, and the color of his cheeks spoke of 
fever, not good health. The only thing that had remained the same were his 
eyes, still the same deep blue, staring at her through tangles of hair.

"You're sick," she said, unnecessarily. When he made no reply, she draped one 
lax arm over her shoulders. "Come on, let's get you fixed up." She didn't allow 
herself to think, just to react. Spike was in front of her, he was sick, he 
needed her help. There was nothing to do except take him home with her.

Buffy hadn't expected anyone at the house after patrol. Willow had returned, 
but had made the decision to live on campus, and was busy taking summer 
courses. There were too many memories for her in the Summers' house, and it was 
easier for her this way. Her sister would be at her friend Janice's house 
spending the night; a regular Friday ritual. So, the sight of Xander swinging 
open the front door both surprised and displeased her. The last thing she 
needed at this point was one of Xander's lectures on the evilness of the 
undead. Or ex-undead.


"Buffy?" he called. "Is something wrong? What happened?" She managed to get 
Spike inside the house before the other man recognized him. With instincts 
honed by seven years of demon fighting, he pulled Spike from the Slayer's grip 
and slammed him up against the wall. "You bastard. I can't believe you came 
back."

Buffy immediately recognized the look on her friend's face, and knew that 
nothing she said would get through to him. Spike certainly wasn't doing 
anything to defend himself. He was simply looking at Xander with a dazed 
expression on his face, like he couldn't actually process what was going on, 
which wouldn't have surprised Buffy in the least. On the way home she'd 
realized that his fever was incredibly high; he was probably bordering on 
delirious at this point. Firmly, she grasped Xander's wrist, and moved his hand 
from Spike's shoulder to his chest, right over his beating heart.

Xander jerked back as though he'd been burned, and then reached out to catch 
Spike who had collapsed without anything holding him up. "Buffy?" he asked, his 
expression bewildered.

"Help me get him upstairs," was all she said, telling him with her eyes that 
they could discuss this later. He frowned slightly, but didn't argue. Now that 
he'd realized both Spike's present alive status, as well as his poor condition, 
he wasn't in the mood to kill him. They'd managed to maneuver him up the 
stairs, which wasn't that difficult, considering that he was about thirty 
pounds underweight, and had just reached the bathroom door when Spike began to 
struggle.

Buffy glanced over at him and recognized that he knew where he was and he 
didn't much like it, even in his fevered state. Gritting her teeth, Buffy let 
Xander take his weight and came to stand in front of him. She took his chin in 
her hand and forced him to look her in the face. "I spent the last year going 
in and out of that bathroom," she said quietly. "You can deal with it too." He 
made no answer, but he quit struggling, and she let Xander get him into the 
bathroom and sit him gently down on the toilet seat.

Leaving him there, Xander pulled her just outside the door. "Buffy, I really 
think he needs to go to a hospital. His temperature is way too high."

She sighed. "I know he's sick, Xander, but he doesn't have any identification 
or insurance. I don't know how we'd get him treated."

"I think we may have to try. A fever like that can do some lasting damage, and 
he's in no shape to fight it off." Xander's face was twisted with concern, and 
Buffy realized that this was one of the things she liked about him so much. He 
had never really liked to see anyone suffer, even those he hated. Dead was okay 
maybe, but Xander had never been big on the whole torture thing when you got 
right down to it.

She nodded. "I know," she repeated. "I'm going to get him cleaned up, hopefully 
bring the fever down that way. If he's not better tomorrow, we can take him to 
the hospital. I still know some of the doctors that took care of Mom when she 
was sick. I might be able to convince one of them to look Spike over even 
without the whole insurance thing."

Xander pursed his lips, then acquiesced, agreeing that she was probably right. 
"Do you want me to stay?" he asked.

Buffy hesitated, then reached out and squeezed his arm. "I'll be all right. I 
can take care of everything from here. But if you wouldn't mind stopping by 
tomorrow morning..."

He smiled and gave her a one-armed hug. "I'll be by bright and early." 
Sobering, he looked at her with dark, serious eyes. "You do understand that if 
he wasn't halfway to dead there'd be no way I'd leave you alone with him, don't 
you?"

She patted his arm. "I can take care of myself, Xander," Buffy said with a 
smile. Xander headed down the stairs, and Buffy went back into the bathroom, 
closing the door behind her. Spike seemed to be rousing a little from whatever 
state he'd been in when she found him. She started the bath water, thinking it 
would be easier to get him clean that way, though he was so dirty she'd 
probably have to run two baths. Once the water was running, she turned to him 
and started to unbutton the shirt he was wearing. She'd gotten it about half 
undone when his hands came down on hers.

"Buffy, no." His voice was hoarse, gravelly from disuse, and weak.

"Spike," she said, her tone gentle, with just an edge of exasperation. "I've 
seen everything you've got before. And you need to get cleaned up. Right now, I 
don't think you can even stand on your own, let alone get your own bath."

He removed his hand, shoulders slumped in resignation, and Buffy realized that 
this was broken-Spike she was looking at. Besides the whole human thing, he 
wasn't the same. Something in his eyes had died. With a gentleness that had 
never been her trademark, she finished unbuttoning the shirt, and then helped 
him pull off the t-shirt he'd had on underneath. He leaned back against the 
toilet, bare-chested, as she knelt to remove his old boots. A sound emerged 
from his chest, somewhere in between a sob and a laugh. "Why are you doing 
this, Slayer?" he asked. Buffy finished taking off his boots and socks before 
looking up at him.

"Because you need this," she said. She reached out to touch one hot cheek 
briefly and then reached over to turn the water off. Buffy pulled him to his 
feet and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Hang on," she ordered, and Spike 
stood obediently, hanging on as she undid his ruined jeans and let them drop to 
the floor.

There was a flush to his cheeks that had nothing to do with the fever, and 
Buffy fixed her eyes on his own so as not to give him more embarrassment than 
necessary. Hanging onto him tightly, she helped him climb into the tub. Once he 
was seated, she handed him a washcloth and a bar of soap. "Do what you can," 
she said quietly. "I'm going to see if I can't find something for you to wear, 
and I'll be back to help you finish up." She picked up what was left of his 
garments from the floor, and walked out, leaning against the closed door once 
she was outside.

From the moment she'd found him and realized who he was, she'd been intent on 
helping him. He was so frail she wanted to weep. It was all she could do not to 
cry out at the scars all over his torso and arms, the sight of his bones 
looking as though they would poke through milk-white, semi-transparent skin at 
any moment. She straightened. She would figure out how she felt about this 
later. She was Buffy, Queen of Denial, after all. She would find those clothes 
of his she'd packed away, and she'd get him cleaned up and tucked into bed, and 
somehow she'd get him better. When that was all done, she would have time to 
figure out what it meant now that he was back, in her house, and human.

Spike had managed to get most of himself clean, and get his hair wet when Buffy 
reappeared with a thick towel and some clothes in hand. "Let me get your back 
and then we'll get your hair washed," she said. She wasn't sure this was the 
best thing for him, but she'd heard somewhere that a lukewarm bath was the best 
thing for a fever, and there was no way it could be good for him to be that 
dirty. He was silent as she gently rubbed the washcloth over his back, and then 
started the water running again so she could wash his hair.

She noticed that his eyes were closed as she rubbed the shampoo into his scalp, 
wincing as she involuntarily tugged too hard. "Sorry," she murmured. She eased 
him back under the flowing water and made a face as she realized that his 
tangled locks were going to need a lot more than just a shampooing. "I think 
I'm going to have to give you a haircut," she said quietly. "There's some 
pretty bad tangles in here. I don't think they're going to come out."

"Better shave the lot, pet," he said hoarsely. His eyes opened to meet her 
surprised look. "Places I've been, wouldn't be surprised if something's made 
its home in there at this point."

Buffy made a face. "Eww. Could you be more gross?" At the look on his face, her 
expression immediately softened. "I didn't mean that the way it came out, 
Spike."

"Know you didn't. 'Preciate the Florence Nightingale act."

"It's not an act," she replied. "I think I might be channeling her. Come on. 
Let's get you dried off and dressed. I don't think the haircut's going to take 
long, and I need to take your temperature." Buffy let him do most of the 
drying, and then handed him a pair of old sweatpants and a t-shirt, letting him 
get dressed while she stood with her back turned. She sat him back down on the 
toilet seat, popped the thermometer in his mouth, and took out the scissors. 
She'd never claimed to be a beautician, and she knew how her last attempt at 
cutting hair had turned out, but by clipping the sides and back as closely as 
possible and leaving the top a little longer, it didn't turn out too badly.

She brushed him off and pulled the thermometer out of his mouth. It felt as 
though his fever had gone down a little, but it was still over 102. Not of the 
good. "All right. You need to go to bed."

"Isn't this Red's room?" he asked quietly as she led him through the door.

"No, she's living on campus now," Buffy replied. "This is actually my room."

He pulled back slightly. "I can't take your bed," he protested. Buffy grabbed 
his arm before he could fall over.

"Oh yeah, and you're in really good shape to be arguing. My old bed's still in 
the other room, Spike. It's not like I don't have anywhere to sleep." She 
pulled the covers down and got him into bed, pulling the sheets and blanket up 
around his chin. He shivered slightly, and Buffy frowned. "Are you cold?"

"Just a chill. Been havin' 'em for weeks now."

Buffy didn't respond, just left the room and came back with a few blankets. 
Spike didn't protest when she started to spread them over him. In fact, he was 
beginning to strongly suspect that this was all a dream, and when he woke up 
from it he'd still be in his destroyed crypt, waiting to die. He was certain it 
was a dream when she reached out and touched his forehead with one cool hand. 
"Go to sleep, Spike. I'll be here if you need anything."

~~~~~

Spike kept both eyes tightly shut as he drifted up into consciousness. He'd had 
hundreds of dreams in the time since he'd become human again, but the one he'd 
had last night was by far and away the best. He was well aware that as soon as 
he opened his eyes, the dream would fade, and he really didn't want it to. But 
if there was anything he'd learned in the last year or so since he'd been gone, 
it was that sooner or later he would have to face the reality of his life.

He opened his eyes to find himself in Buffy's bed, tucked under about four 
layers of blankets, and blessedly clean after months of feeling filthy. 
Shutting his eyes and opening them again, he waited to see if it would all go 
away, but it didn't. "I see you've decided to join the land of the living," 
Xander said from his position next to the bed. "In every way possible."

Spike turned his head to look at the other man, who was sitting in a chair, 
feet propped up on the bed, and reading the newspaper. "Harris. Now I know I'm 
not dreaming. I guess you decided not to kill me after all." He pushed himself 
up on his elbows, almost frightened at how weak he was. Managing to get himself 
propped up against the headboard, he looked over at Xander, who was holding out 
a glass of water.

"Well, you know, I haven't actually killed a human yet, and wasn't really 
planning on starting last night. Here, drink. You're pretty dehydrated." Xander 
handed the glass to Spike, keeping his hand on it to hold it steady.

"Where's Buffy?"

"Catching up on some much needed sleep," Xander replied, replacing the 
now-empty glass on the nightstand. "You want to tell me where you went?"

"Not particularly, no." Spike was still feeling feverish, which didn't make for 
him having a very good attitude. But at Xander's patient gaze, he sighed. Why 
he should unburden his soul to the Whelp, he had no idea, but he was there, and 
he wasn't sure he really wanted to do all that much talking to Buffy. "I went 
to Africa. Saw a demon, and got myself turned back into a human. Satisfied?" He 
couldn't keep the snarkiness out of his tone.

"And you came back, why?" Xander asked, some measure of snideness in his own 
voice.

"Where else was I supposed to go, Harris?" Spike asked, genuinely puzzled. 
"This is home. Besides, by the time that demon got done with me, I was 
operating mostly on instinct. I've been in and out of things since then. Got 
back here and just collapsed. Don't really know a whole lot beyond that."

Xander hesitated, feeling a very unwelcome sympathy with the other man. He 
didn't want to feel sorry for Spike, but seeing him lying there, too thin, 
cheeks flushed with fever, he couldn't help it. "Well, I can't say anybody 
actually missed you, but you could have ended up in a worse place."

"I've already been in worse places," Spike replied.

Xander might have made another comment, but Buffy walked into the room. "Hey," 
she said, looking from one to the other. She was a little surprised to see 
Spike sitting up, and she wasn't exactly sure what to say to a coherent Spike. 
"How're you feeling?"

"Like death would be an improvement," he replied. Buffy smiled a little at his 
response, and Xander, sensing their need to be alone, stood up to leave.

"You know, I'm going to see what I can do with the basement while I'm here, 
Buf. If you need me, just let me know." He looked from Spike to Buffy, dark 
eyes somber.

"Sure," Buffy made another attempt at a smile, but it didn't quite reach her 
eyes. "We'll be fine." She watched as Xander left and then turned back to her 
patient. "We should probably check your temperature again."

"You don't have to do this, you know," Spike said quietly. "If you don't want 
me here, say the word, and I'm gone."

"And where are you going to go?" Buffy demanded angrily. "Back to your crypt? 
One more night there, and you probably would have been dead."

"That's a problem? Why should it matter if I'm dead or alive?"

"Oh, right. So I can come by and find your body on another night and figure out 
you became human post mortem. That's really fair to me, Spike."

He stared at her, blue eyes incredulous. "That's a regular stop for you, 
Slayer? I would have thought that was the last place you'd want to be."

"I could feel you there. I missed you."

Now that it was out, the words hung between them, heavy with emotion. "No. No, 
you didn't. You couldn't. After—"

"After what you did?" Buffy stared at him, tears forming in her eyes. "What you 
did was horrible. But I've had a year to think about it, about what happened 
between the two of us. It was bad, but that doesn't mean that I ever wanted you 
dead."

Spike looked away, unwilling to meet her eyes. "I wish I could say I was sorry, 
but that's not good enough. Just—why are you doing this?"

Buffy stared at the floor, silent. She had never been one to share deep 
feelings, and this was definitely bordering on the deep. "Let's just say it's 
to make up for all the times I didn't and I should have." She crossed the room 
to sit down on the bed beside him, reaching out to touch wiry curls. "Doesn't 
look too bad, if I do say so myself."

"Wouldn't know. I'm still not too big on the mirrors." There was pain in his 
eyes that tore at Buffy's heart.

"Here," she said, breaking the mood intentionally. "You should probably take 
some Advil or Tylenol or something for that fever, and I need to take your 
temp."

He nodded, rubbing his eyes. "I could use something. This headache's getting 
worse."

Buffy frowned, her concern for him growing. "I'll be right back." She went to 
the bathroom, getting the bottle out of the medicine cabinet and refilling the 
glass with water. "How long have you had the headache?" she asked, handing him 
both the pills and the glass.

His hands shook as he took both from her, but he managed to hold the glass 
steady enough to down the pills. "Last four months or so, I guess," he admitted.

"And how long have you been sick?" Her hand rested gently against the side of 
his face, and he closed his eyes, relaxing into the sensation that someone 
cared whether or not he lived or died.

"About four months. Was in L.A. for a while. Thought about looking Angel up, 
but wasn't feeling up to it." He looked at her, then looked away, still 
unwilling to meet her eyes.

Buffy took the thermometer and stuck it in his mouth without further 
questioning. She wanted to know everything, and nothing. Of all the men in her 
life who had left, he was the only one who'd come back. And she had a niggling 
suspicion that if she asked, he would tell her why he'd become human, why he 
had a soul, and that it would have been for her. It made her responsible for 
him in a very real way, and that frightened her more than anything else.

The fever was still edging up past 102, and she frowned. If it didn't come down 
soon, she'd have to take Xander up on his suggestion of the night before and 
take Spike to the hospital. "Do you think you could eat something?" she asked. 
"I know you probably need your sleep, but you look like you haven't had a 
decent meal in months."

"Make that a year, Slayer, and you'll be closer to the truth." He hesitated, 
and then nodded. "Can't make any promises about keepin' it down, but I'll give 
it a shot."

~~~~~

When she'd fed him most of a plateful of eggs and toast, he just drifted off to 
sleep. Buffy reached out to touch his forehead once again. It seemed she 
couldn't get enough of him. She had missed him badly, and now she wasn't sure 
she quite believed that he lay before her. After a time of watching his chest 
rise and fall, a movement that fascinated her, she went back downstairs to see 
Xander in the kitchen fixing himself a sandwhich. "You don't mind do you, Buf?" 
he asked.

"What? Mind if you eat my food? When have I ever minded in the past?" She 
smiled to let him know she was teasing. "So, how goes the basement making?"

He smiled at her. He'd matured in the last year, and in recent months had 
managed to lose quite a bit of weight and regain the swim-team physique he'd 
had in high school. Only more muscular. Buffy had to admit he looked good. When 
she'd asked him about it, he had kind of ducked his head, and replied, "I 
figured it was time to take my head out of my ass and move on, Buf. Anya and I 
aren't going to get back together, and if I ever want another woman to look at 
me, it would probably help if I didn't look like the Pillsbury Doughboy."

She hadn't argued with him, though he'd never truly looked that bad. He had 
started dating again, though slowly, and he still spent most of his weekends 
over at her house working on the basement. He'd suggested that he finish it for 
her. Said it would bring up the retail value of the house and it would give her 
a little more room. He had even told her that he could make a very cozy 
training room. Buffy had let him go ahead, partly because it had obviously 
helped him take his mind off of other things (a.k.a. Anya) and partly because 
she could see the value of his suggestion.

"Up to the mudding phase of the drywall," he replied. "Which is why I look like 
I've been in a blizzard. How's Spike?"

Buffy shrugged a little, and cleaned the plate off into the sink. "His 
temperature is still high, and he's got a headache. He managed to eat 
something, though, and it looks as though he's going to be able to keep it 
down." She put the dishes from the sink into the dishwasher, then turned to 
face him. "I think you might have been right about the hospital. I think he's 
been sick for a pretty long time. It's going to take a little more than a comfy 
bed and regular meals to get him on his feet again."

"Is that what you're really trying to do?" he asked her. "Get him on his feet 
again so you can get him out the door?"

Buffy met his eyes. "I don't want to hear anything about what happened between 
Spike and I," she said, her tone brooking no opposition. "What's done is done. 
It's in the past. I don't even think that's the same person upstairs."

Xander frowned. He hated admitting it, but human Spike wasn't the same. It 
wasn't that he was particularly prejudiced (though deep down he knew he was), 
but humans were easier to deal with, easier to trust. Even if he didn't like 
them, he at least knew what to expect from them. Or he thought he did. A human 
Spike presented a new problem for his moral structure. Humans could be 
forgiven; evil creatures should not be because they might turn on you. Spike 
was a demon, therefore he shouldn't be forgiven for what he'd tried to do. But 
Spike was a human, which meant he might be okay. The whole thing made his head 
hurt. "Fine, Buffy. I'm just saying, we don't really know how much he's 
changed."

"No, we don't," she agreed softly. "But we didn't know how much Willow had 
changed when she came back, and we took her back just the same. If I want to do 
the same for Spike, that's my decision."

He nodded, reluctantly. Xander truly was trying to do a better job about not 
being a control freak when it came to Buffy's love life, but it was difficult, 
and Spike had been a part of her life he'd both not liked and not understood.

Buffy heard the front door open and close with a bang. "Buffy?"

"We're in the kitchen, Dawn," she called, wondering how her sister was going to 
take the news. She hoped that this could be gotten through with a minimum of 
drama. She was still tired, and really not in the mood.

"Hey, Buffy, Xander." Dawn looked from one to the other and paused. "Is 
everything okay?"

Buffy took a seat at the kitchen table and motioned for Dawn to do the same. 
"Why don't you sit down."

Dawn hesitated, looking slightly scared. "Is the world ending again?" she 
asked. "Because I really don't think I'm ready for another apocalypse."

"It's not an apocalypse, Dawnie. It's—" Buffy stopped, deciding the blunt 
approach would probably be best in this case. "Spike's back."

Dawn's eyes widened. "He's what? He actually came back?"

"To be precise," Xander said, a bit of snark in his tone, "he's upstairs in 
your sister's bed."

Buffy gave him a tired look. "Xander, that's enough. Dawn, Spike's back. He's 
also human, he has a soul, and he's sick. If you don't want to see him, that's 
fine, and if you do, that's fine too. Just—don't give him too hard of a time 
right now. He's in really bad shape."

Her sister frowned, concern warring with anger. "Is he going to be okay?"

Buffy shook her head. "I don't know. If his fever doesn't start coming down, 
we'll probably have to take him to the hospital, though."

"Oh." Dawn looked down at the floor. "Are you okay?"

Buffy smiled. Dawn was often a lot more perceptive than they expected. She 
would know at least a little of what this meant for Buffy. "I will be. I'm just 
tired this morning."

"Can I see him?"

Buffy nodded. "Just don't wake him up. He needs the rest."

Dawn gave her sister a hug, and looked over at Xander, who had an uncomfortable 
expression on his face. They had gotten a lot closer over the last few months, 
and Dawn didn't want to cause him any pain. And yet, Spike was important to her 
too. Buffy had impressed upon her that what had happened between the two of 
them wasn't good, but that the fault had been on both sides. Buffy had also 
told her that she was completely free to feel whatever toward Spike. "Whatever 
Xander says," Buffy had said quietly during one of their long talks, "Spike 
wasn't totally bad, and he would never hurt you. He did a lot of good things, 
and I know he'd die before he let anything happen to you. I know you're 
probably angry that he left the way he did, and because of what he did to me, 
but if you miss him, even if you still love him, that's fine, Dawnie. What you 
and he had was special."

Dawn was a bit apprehensive. It had been over a year since she'd seen him, and 
a lot of her anger had faded in that time. She still remembered all the times 
he'd stayed with her during the summer that Buffy had been gone, the times that 
he had stuck by her side when Glory was trying to kill her. That year, that 
summer, had been a big part of their relationship, and most of the time it 
outweighed whatever had come later.

She opened the door slowly. He was too thin, she realized immediately, almost 
skeletal. Besides the weight loss, his platinum blonde hair, his trademark, was 
shorter and a light brown. His cheeks were flushed, and she took another step 
toward the bed, unsure of what to do now that she'd seen him. "Hey, Bit."

Dawn jumped. She hadn't realized he was awake, and wondered how he'd known it 
was her with his eyes closed. "Spike."

His eyes fluttered open. "Come to see for yourself if the rumors were true, hey 
Niblet?"

"You left." She said this with as much anger as she could muster.

"I know. I'm sorry." There were lines in his face that hadn't been there 
before, and they deepened as he watched her. "Know you probably won't forgive 
me," he said softly.

Perversely, Dawn felt some of her anger drain away. "Did Buffy tell you? After 
you left, Warren killed Tara, and Willow went crazy and tried to end the world, 
and she had to go to England with Giles, and you weren't here."

"I know I wasn't, Bit."

"You didn't even say anything. You just left without a good-bye." She was right 
next to the bed, staring down at him, tears forming in her eyes. "I missed 
you." This last came out as more of an accusation than anything else.

"I missed you too, Dawn." He might have gone on, but she was in his arms in a 
second, head buried in his chest. Spike just held her and stroked her hair. His 
love for her burned brightly. Unlike his feelings for Buffy, there was nothing 
complicated about this. It was simply love in its purest form. After a few 
moments, he pushed her gently away. "Careful, luv. Don't want you to catch 
whatever it is I've got."

She wiped at her eyes with the heel of her hand. "It's okay. I don't get sick 
very often. You know you look like hell."

He chuckled weakly. "I'm not surprised." Spike's eyes were gentle as he reached 
up to brush her hair away from her face. "Seems like everything went to hell in 
a handbasket as soon as I left. You want to talk about it?"

It had always been simple with Spike. She was who she was, and he listened 
without comment, without judgment. She filled him in on what had happened right 
after he'd left, told him that Willow was back in town and living on campus, 
that Xander was starting to date again and come out of the funk he'd been in 
for so long, that something seemed to be going on between Anya and Giles, that 
Buffy was working retail at the mall and liked it a lot better than the 
Doublemeat. Plus, she got clothes at a discount, which was a huge help. Buffy 
was also taking a few classes at UC Sunnydale. She'd made the honor roll at 
school last year, which pleased both Buffy and Social Services to no end. And 
their dad was finally starting to pay some child support, which meant things 
were a little more comfortable around the house.

She had paused in her recitation when he reached out to touch her hand. "Gotta 
stop you there, Bit," he said, eyes slightly glazed. "Can't keep my eyes open. 
Good to see my girl again, though."

Dawn watched as he dropped off, and turned to find Buffy standing in the 
doorway. "How is he?" her sister asked.

"I think he's okay. He doesn't look so great." Dawn looked at him, biting her 
lip.

"I know, sweetie. But you know Spike. You just can't keep him down." Buffy 
smiled at her younger sister. "Why don't you go take a shower if you want. I'm 
just going to sit with him for a while."

~~~~~

It was mid-afternoon when he started to thrash around, in the grip of some 
nightmare. Buffy woke, startled from the nap she'd been taking in the chair 
beside the bed. "Spike," she called, touching his shoulder. Even through his 
t-shirt, she could feel the heat radiating off his body, and she knew that his 
fever had risen considerably. He didn't come out of it, and she shook him a 
little harder. "Spike, come on. You need to wake up."

He wasn't coming to, and Buffy was beginning to get scared. "Spike. It's 
me—Buffy. It's just a nightmare." His eyes finally opened, but they were glazed 
over and unfocused. "Spike."

"Buffy? Is it really you?" There was fear in his voice, in his eyes. "I thought 
you were dead."

"I was," she said, somewhat drily. "My friends brought me back. I think you 
were around for that episode."

He didn't smile. "I thought you'd died again. I couldn't stop it."

"Hey, I'm here, right? And I'm doing a hell of a lot better than you are at the 
moment." She placed a hand against his forehead. "Dawn?" she called. When her 
sister stuck her head into the room, she spoke quickly. "Tell Xander I'm going 
to need him to drive us to the hospital. I think he's getting worse."

~~~~~

"Miss Summers?" Dr. Emrys called as he came out of the examining room. Buffy 
had been lucky enough to find him standing right by the admissions desk when 
they'd walked in, luckier still that he'd remembered her and her sister and was 
ready to help. He'd been one of the many doctors that had looked after her mom 
while she was sick, and was one of the nicest. An older man, perhaps in his 
sixties, he'd immediately agreed to see Spike, even without insurance, telling 
her that he had a limited private practice and that he could probably see her 
friend under that capacity. The doctor had been extremely efficient, getting 
Spike into a room and hooking him up to an IV in a matter of minutes.

Now, he stood before her with a slightly worried expression on his face that 
made Buffy's stomach clench. "Is he going to be alright?" she asked.

He smiled reassuringly. "Your friend is a very sick young man, but I have every 
reason to think he'll recover. I take it you haven't seen him in a while."

Buffy shook her head. "He, um, left about a year ago. We hadn't seen him until 
last night."

Emrys nodded. "I see. Do you happen to know if he was out of the country for 
any portion of that time?"

Buffy shook her head, but Xander broke in with, "He said he'd been in Africa."

The older man nodded, seemingly satisfied with the information. "Well, that 
would certainly explain it. I'm afraid he's contracted a rather nasty case of 
malaria. While there are several different types, I think it's safe to assume 
the kind he has isn't fatal."

"How do you know?" Dawn asked. Buffy winced at the fear in her sister's voice. 
Neither one of them cared for doctors or hospitals much, each associating it 
with their mother's death. It was no wonder that Dawn didn't trust the doctor's 
word.

He hesitated, then admitted, "If he had the type that is potentially fatal, he 
would probably be dead by now. I'd like to do a blood test that should take a 
couple hours. At that point, we'll know a little more. For the time being, I'd 
like to keep him on the IV, and I've given him some fairly potent medication to 
reduce his fever. Once the tests are done, we'll know what other treatments to 
administer, and if there's any chance of a relapse in the future. After that, I 
can probably release him into your care."

"Thanks, Dr. Emrys. I really appreciate this." Buffy watched as he gave her 
another sympathetic smile, and left. She turned to her sister and Xander. "It's 
almost dinner time. Why don't you guys get something to eat?"

"What about you, Buf?" Xander asked. "You can't tell me you're not hungry."

She shook her head. "If you could bring me back a sandwich or something, that 
would be great, but I'd like to stay here."

Xander looked like he was about to argue, but Dawn poked him in the ribs with 
her elbow. "I'll make sure we get something decent. Do you want us to call 
Willow?"

Buffy rubbed her hand over tired eyes. "Oh, crap. I completely forgot we were 
supposed to hang out tonight. Yeah, call her for me. Tell her if she wants, I 
can meet her at the house once we get done here."

She watched them leave, and knew that Xander was not at all thrilled about her 
concern for Spike. It was all fine and dandy to help him out, since he was now 
both helpless and human, but the hatred that ran between the two of them went 
deep. She had a feeling that even human-Spike wouldn't quite live up to his 
expectations of what would be a suitable guy for her. Which wasn't even an 
issue, since they weren't together. She was helping him because that's what she 
did. She helped people. Emphasis on the people. Sighing, Buffy went into 
Spike's room.

He lay, still and quiet on the hospital bed, a thin tube dripping clear liquid 
into his arm. For the dehydration, the doctor had informed her. "Hey," she 
said, as his eyes opened.

"You look tired," he observed, clear-eyed and lucid.

"Good to know you aren't totally out of it," she said, ignoring his comment. 
"And yeah, I'm tired. Haven't gotten a lot of sleep the last few nights."

Spike winced. "Sorry. My fault, I guess."

She shook her head, coming over to sit next to him on the bed. "Not really. I 
wasn't sleeping all that well before you came back." She looked down at the 
white sheet that lay between them, and worried it with her fingers. "Have I 
told you yet that I'm glad you're back?"

"Think you said something about missing me," he replied.

"You're a pain in the ass," Buffy said, smiling. "But you make things more 
interesting."

He lifted one scarred eyebrow, and suddenly he was Spike again, and not some 
stranger in Spike's body. "Hardly think interestin' was the word for that last 
year, Slayer. Didn't make things easier on you, did I? Should have. Sorry 'bout 
that."

She shrugged her shoulders uncomfortably. "I didn't make things easier on you, 
either, so you could call us even."

"Is that what we are? Even?" He finally met her eyes, searching for a truth he 
was afraid to misread.

Buffy struggled to find the words. "I forgave you a while ago, Spike. Forgive 
me?"

"'Course."

"Okay," she replied, feeling a weight lift off of her chest. She'd treated him 
badly, and the remembrance of that had sat heavily on her heart. She hadn't 
thought she was that kind of person, but had proven herself wrong. She 
supposed, in a way, she and Spike had been in the same boat. She'd realized she 
needed to make some serious changes when she found out what she was capable of. 
Apparently, Spike had felt the same way. It was something she would have liked 
to tell him, but she couldn't find the words. "You want to tell me what 
happened? After you left, I mean?"

He hesitated. "I realized I wasn't good enough for you. Wasn't good enough for 
what I wanted for myself. I was stuck between two worlds, so I decided to pick 
one once and for all. Heard about this demon in Africa, more of a legend 
really, but I went looking for him. Found him, passed his tests, and made my 
wish. I was in pretty bad shape after, and it didn't help that I didn't have 
any money or identification. Took about eight months to get back to the States, 
and that's when I started to feel sick. Must have been the malaria. Barely made 
it back here, really. Didn't much care whether I lived or died when you found 
me."

She wanted to touch him again, to assure herself that it was real, but she 
restrained herself. It was too soon to even be thinking things like that. There 
was so much that lay between them, it would take months to sort out, maybe 
years. Maybe never. "Well, I'm glad I found you when I did."

"Do you go there that often?" he asked softly.

"About once a week. At least, over the last few months. I wanted to be sure it 
was safe after Clem told me some demons had taken it over. It was pretty much 
trashed after that though." Buffy frowned, wishing that she had somehow 
safeguarded it better, so that he would have had something to come back to.

"It's all right. There wasn't much left there anyway. Not after the lower level 
got blown up." Spike shrugged philosophically. He was feeling better, more 
awake, though he was fairly lightheaded.

"I'm sorry about that, Spike."

He laughed, somewhat sourly. "Don't worry about it. Not such a big deal."

Silence fell. And it was a not-so-comfortable silence. Buffy remembered when 
they could sit on her porch, saying nothing for hours. Now the silence had a 
lot more to do with not knowing what to say. After a while, he dropped off to 
sleep, and Buffy went out to the waiting room again.

"Hey, Buf," Xander called as they came to greet her. "We bring food, and—" he 
stepped to one side to reveal Willow.

"Willow! Hey, I'm sorry about the whole hanging thing."

The witch gave her friend a hug. "Don't worry about it. I think the return of 
Spike qualifies as a major distraction." She looked at Buffy, hard. "Are you 
okay?"

"With Spike being back? About as okay as I can be, I think." Buffy gave a 
reasonable approximation of a smile. "At least I won't have to worry about him 
anymore."

Willow smiled encouragingly. "Come on, let's eat. I'm starving."

It wasn't long after they'd finished eating that Dr. Emrys came out to talk to 
Buffy. "William should be fine," he said, reassuring her when she asked after 
the results of the blood test. "However, the type of malaria he contracted can 
relapse, so if he should come down with flu-like symptoms in the future, you'll 
need to get him to the hospital or to your doctor as soon as possible." He 
handed her a container of pills. "The directions are on the bottle. Make sure 
he takes all of them according to the instructions. He'll still be a little 
dehydrated, so make sure he drinks plenty of fluids and rests, but he should be 
feeling better in a few days."

"Thanks, doctor."

He stopped her as she started to turn away and handed her his card. "Some forms 
of malaria are more resistant to antibiotics. If he's not better in a few days, 
give me a call on my cell phone. I still make house calls if necessary."

She stared at him, speechless. "Dr. Emrys, thanks, but—I'm not sure how we're 
going to pay for a hospital visit, let alone a house call."

The doctor smiled at her, and patted her kindly on the shoulder. "I have a son 
about his age, and I'd hate to think that he wouldn't get medical attention 
just because he couldn't afford the bill. I'll take care of things on this end, 
and if you need my help again, we'll work something out. He's lucky to have a 
friend like you."

Buffy continued to stare after his retreating figure, then looked at the bottle 
of pills and the card in her hand. "Yeah," she murmured. "Some friend."

---------------------------------