A Loss of Pride by Mabel Marsters

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Chapter 39: Awakenings

It was another three days before Spike’s pain and trembling finally stopped, during which time he had never been coherent. Nor had they been able to do more than dribble water between his lips. They’d finally gotten in touch with George and he’d emphatically advised against Brad’s offer of putting Spike on an intravenous drip, explaining that the mixing of normal and magical liquids in his bloodstream would be worse for Spike than being left alone. That also explained why the food he’d been given at the start of his withdrawal had resurfaced shortly after being eaten. As a consequence Spike had visibly lost weight during his ordeal.

The evening after being given the last tiny dose of blood Spike awoke. It wasn’t a gradual rousing like Buffy expected but more like he’d woken from a nightmare. He startled her when he suddenly sat bolt upright with a yell. She quickly recovered and put her hand on his arm.

“Spike, it’s okay. You’re okay…I’m here,” she said softly.

He glanced around wildly, disoriented. He looked at her hand when it touched him and then at her face.

“Buffy,” he whispered.

He tried to raise his hand to her face but was stopped by the strap on his wrist.

“Always knew you were into bondage, pet,” he said, raising an eyebrow and smirking a little.

“Oh Spike, you’re back and you’re okay.” Buffy threw her arms around him with relief. They’d all been worried about what he might be like once he was free of the addiction. She kissed him and he responded willingly.

“Er…love,” he said as their lips parted, his voice low and hoarse.

“Yeah?” Buffy nuzzled at his neck.

“Do you think that you could untie me and then I can hold you properly?”

“Oh shit! Yes…sorry,” said Buffy, flustered.

Spike smiled at her as she fumbled at the straps. Once free he pulled her into his arms and hugged her so tightly that she had to remind him of her need to breathe. He moved her until she was sitting astride him as he leant back against the bed’s headboard. Another smirk played on his lips as he became aware that everything was in full working order. He shifted his hips and could see from Buffy’s expression that she also felt it. Almost certain was obviously good enough. Spike put his hand into the waistband of her pants, his intent clear.

“Awake then?” said Angel dryly as he walked into the bedroom.

Spike stifled a groan, “Ever heard of knocking, mate?”

Angel grinned at him, “Just glad to see that I have a reason to knock again. How are you feeling?”

Buffy slid from Spike’s lap and sat on the edge of the bed. Spike thought for a moment before replying.

“Okay, I think. It’s all a bit fuzzy. I was in the basement, right? Before I was here?”

“We thought it’d be more comfortable for you,” said Buffy, quietly.

“So how long has it been?” asked Spike, rubbing his hand over his unaccustomedly hairy chin.

“Ten days,” said Angel.

“Bloody hell.”

“Exactly,” said Buffy with a giggle.

Spike looked at her puzzled, “What?”

“Blood…been through hell because of it…well, I thought it was funny.”

Spike and Angel exchanged a glance and shrugged.

“Whatever,” said Spike, earning himself a slap on the arm. “So am I cured or am I going to sell my soul to the devil to get some Yenomi before the day’s out?”

“You’re clean, cured, whatever you want to call it,” said Buffy in delight, “And the best part is that those who…um…survive the withdrawal are immune to its effect. You can never be addicted again. In fact you’ll just vomit it up if you take some.”

“Thank God for that,” said Spike, “Didn’t fancy having to go through that again. Mind you it was a lovely feeling when I drank it down.”

Angel and Buffy stared at him.

“It’s all right, the whole ‘feels like your guts are getting ripped out’ part kind of put me off anyway, even if I could still tolerate it.”

Spike glanced at Buffy.

“If you don’t mind, I’m going to have a shower, shave and get dressed in something other than these sodding sweatpants. They remind me of Rosedene too much.”

“Okay, hun.” She kissed him hard enough to bruise his lips and make Angel squirm with embarrassment before he got up and walked to the shower.

“He seems fine,” observed Angel when Spike was in the bathroom.

“Too fine, maybe?” replied Buffy, “It’s either that or he is incredibly strong.”

“Incredibly pig-headed more like.”

They both smiled at the truth in his words.

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Spike looked at himself in the mirror. His face was gaunt, cheekbones razor sharp. The ten days’ growth of beard reminded him emphatically why he'd never sported one even in the seventies though he had grown his hair long.

“Christ,” he muttered.

Once he’d showered and shaved he dressed in the inevitable black jeans, frowning as his belt went up a couple of notches tighter.

“Need feeding up a bit, I reckon.”

Spike walked out of the apartment to go seek out Buffy and Angel. He assessed his legs as he walked along. He still had the slight trace of a limp on his right leg but there was no pain at all and he reckoned he could live with that.

“There you are,” he said when he found them in Angel’s office.

“Feel better after a shower?” asked Buffy.

He walked over and perched one hip on the edge of Angel’s desk.

“Yeah, pet, I feel fine.” He caught a whiff of the warmed blood in the mug in Angel’s hand and doubled over retching.

“Spike! What’s wrong?” Buffy said urgently.

Angel downed the rest of the blood and went to Spike.

“Get rid of the sodding mug,” gasped Spike, eyes streaming from all of the heaving.

For a moment Angel was confused but then realised what he meant and picked up the mug. He put it in the refrigerator out of sight and Spike recovered as soon as the door closed.

“What was it?” asked Buffy, “Are you all right now?”

“Yeah, it was just the smell of blood, I couldn’t stand it,” replied Spike, a bit sheepishly. “Looks like I won’t be getting you any meals in the future,” he added, glancing at Angel.

“Huh, like you ever did before,” grumbled Angel.

“How about a nice rare steak?” joked Buffy.

Spike blanched, “God, don’t, it’s making me feel queasy.”

"George wasn’t lying when he said that you’d no longer crave Yenomi blood but I didn’t realise that any blood would make you feel ill,” said Buffy.

“Good job I’m not still a vampire then, pet,” quipped Spike, “It could’ve been a bit tricky.”

“So what do you want to do today?” said Buffy.

“Um, I’m not sure. I feel pretty weak, truth be told.” His stomach rumbled loudly. “And hungry.”

They all laughed.

“How about we go out for something to eat?” said Angel, “I didn’t mind eating that food the other day. I guess I’m going to have to get used to it if I’ve any chance of a ‘normal’ relationship with Moira.”

“Sounds good,” said Buffy, “What do you think?”

Spike really didn’t want to go out but he hadn’t the heart to say no when she was looking at him so eagerly. “Um…yeah…okay,” he said, “Can we just go to the diner? I know it’s not posh but it’s the nearest.”

“Sure, we can go there,” replied Angel.

The three of them walked through the foyer and out into the warm night air. They were soon seated in a booth in the diner. Spike was doing his best not to show it but he was quietly freaking out. He had to concentrate hard to keep from jumping out of his seat every time that he heard something behind him. He knew it was stupid but he couldn’t help the feeling of terror that was creeping over him. Nemol was dead but a part of him was still afraid that he’d be kidnapped again.

Towards the end of the meal, Spike was in desperate need to urinate but couldn’t bring himself to go to the bathroom alone. Nor would his pride allow him to ask Angel to go with him.

“Trouble with eating and drinking this stuff is that it goes straight through you,” grumbled Angel as he got up to go to the bathroom. A vampire has no need for bathroom breaks if he only takes blood.

“Oh thank God.” “Hang on mate, I’ll come with,” said Spike, easing himself out of his seat.

“I thought it was only girls who went in twos?” teased Buffy.

“Real funny, pet,” Spike sarcastically replied.

Spike opted for a stall so that he could lock the door at his back while he relieved himself. He was beginning to hyperventilate a little. “Get a grip, for Christ’s sake.”

He washed his hands as quickly as he could and followed Angel out. Before Angel had the chance to sit back down Spike spoke.

“Look, I’m feeling pretty knackered. Can we go home?”

Buffy glanced at him and saw his drawn face, cursing herself for not noticing earlier how tired he must be. She got out of her seat quickly.

“Of course we can.”

She glanced at Angel and he went to pay the check as she walked out with Spike. He’d taken hold of her hand and was gripping it a bit too tightly for comfort.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, bit tired is all,” said Spike. He felt terrified. “I’ve had a busy few days.” His attempt at a joke fell flat.

As soon as they got back to the hotel Spike excused himself and went to bed in the apartment. He lay on the top of it, fully clothed, just removing his boots. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

He was hurled into a kaleidoscope of nightmares, each bleeding into the next. His mind let him see what might have been if he hadn’t been sold to George. He screamed as the knife bit into his genitals but they kept cutting. Then it jumped and it was his tongue being severed. Then his leg with the ancient Polgara laughing as he struggled against his bindings - Nemol wielding the bone saw. A hand gripped his arm tightly.

“No! They can’t take that as well!”

Spike screamed and woke up.

“Hey, you were dreaming.”

Spike panicked and backed away from the hand. He fell off the bed with a thud and then scuttled back further still until he hit the wall. He drew his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them and bowing his head, eyes squeezed shut.

Brad was stunned by Spike’s reaction.

“Spike, buddy, it’s okay. It was a dream. You’re safe,” he said softly, walking around the bed to get to him.

Spike didn’t respond but tried to make himself even smaller, pressing hard against the wall behind him. His breath was coming in ragged pants.

Brad knelt down in front of him. He reached out and touched him briefly until he saw how it made Spike shake and so he moved his hand away and spoke again.

“Spike, look at me. Come on, raise your head and look around you.”

He didn’t think that Spike was going to respond then he slowly raised his chin, just enough so that he could see Brad as he opened his eyes.

“See, it’s only me,” said Brad as their eyes met.

Spike’s eyes widened momentarily as he recognised Brad and then he grimaced as he realised what he’d done.

“Um…yeah…sorry.” was all he could manage to utter. “Oh shite.” He shuddered violently, lowering his head once more.

“Talk to me, Spike. Tell me what’s wrong,” coaxed Brad.

For a long time neither spoke.

“It was only a dream,” said Spike eventually, “Can’t hurt me, can it? I’m a right bleeding ponce for being scared.”

“No, you’re not a ponce, whatever one of those is,” said Brad, forcing Spike to meet his eyes by lifting his chin, “After what you’ve been through, it’s bound to play with your subconscious. Why don’t you talk to me about it? Tell me what you saw in your dream?”

Spike shuddered again, “Not sure that I can, mate.”

“You have to lean on someone, Spike. You can’t go through this sort of thing alone. Shall I get Buffy?”

“No!” Spike’s voice was sharp. He didn’t want her seeing him so weak that he was afraid of a dream, anymore than he’d wanted her to know that he’d been scared in the diner.

“Well. It’ll have to be me then. You know you can trust me, right? I didn’t save your life twice for you to mess it up by not talking and cracking up.”

“Twice?”

“Yeah, once with the collar thing and then when you fell unconscious I gave you the Yenomi intravenously.”

“Oh.”

Spike looked at the bruises in the crook of his arm. He’d wondered what they were caused by. He was bombarded with images of him in the cage, shackled and screaming and writhing with pain. He closed his eyes, willing the memories away.

“Was it you that brought me in here?” Spike asked hoarsely.

“Well, Angel carried you,” said Brad, smiling, “But yeah, I thought that it would be better for you here than in the basement.” He still couldn’t believe what they’d done to Spike.

Spike recalled Buffy telling him that they’d thought he’d be more comfortable on the bed. She’d lied to him. It had been Brad, not her or Angel, who’d thought of him. He stood up quickly, startling Brad.

“I…I…can’t stay here,” he said, “Brad, help me please.” His blue eyes pained and pleading. “I…need time…need to think.”

“Are you sure?” asked Brad, putting his hand on Spike’s arm.

“If you don’t want to help that’s fine, but I can’t be here,” said Spike, his voice rising a little. He shrugged off Brad’s hand and tried to push past him.”

“Hey. Hey, calm down, I’ll help you. You can come and stay with me if you like.”

Spike sagged with relief. “Really?”

Brad nodded, “Yeah, really. But what about Buffy? Don’t you want to be with her?”

Spike stiffened as he remembered how he’d had to obey her when he was drugged. He knew it hadn’t been her fault but he’d hated it. “I…love her but…I…need…time.”

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