His Life

For a little while, the ER was nothing but chaos as a dozen people, half of them bearing numerous bleeding wounds and cuts, rushed in and inquired about Manon. They quickly found Xander, who told them all they needed to know. The girl’s heart had stopped beating when they had arrived at the hospital. She had been revived, and taken into surgery. She was now in the intensive care unit. In a coma. Breathing through a machine. He had remained at the hospital, hoping that she would wake, thinking she would need to see someone she knew when she did.

As they all stood by the glass wall behind which Manon lay, Buffy was aware of a doctor talking to Andrea and Giles, who had identified themselves as the girl’s ‘parents’. Yet she couldn’t make herself listen to him. He didn’t know everything. He didn’t know Manon was a Slayer, didn’t know how well her body could repair itself, didn’t know how wrong he was when he softly said her chances to breathe on her own again and wake up were almost nonexistent.

Spike was behind her, and his grip on her shoulder was almost painful, yet she welcomed it, for it was an undeniable proof that she was alive and well, and so was he. Buffy managed to pry her eyes off Manon, and directed them instead to Faith. Their gazes met, and Buffy knew it wasn’t Manon that Faith saw when she looked at the bed, but herself.

After a while, they all moved across the hall and took possession of a waiting room. The hospital staff had tried to convince them to leave, since standing guard on Manon wouldn’t help her in any way and also since it was so late, but they stayed anyway. For a long moment, no one talked, until Andrea murmured, more to herself than for anyone in the room:

“She’s a Slayer. She’ll heal and wake up. She’ll be just fine. And with the new one that will be four Slayers now so she’ll have time to rest and be well.”

Her voice broke in a dry sob, and Buffy watched with detachment as Giles tried to comfort Andrea, before turning her attention to Spike by her side. He looked sick. And angry. And so sad. She knew him enough to know what was wrong. He had told Manon she would be fine, he had all but promised it. And now he probably felt guilty about not having protected her enough. She had tried to tell him he had done all he could, since he had been the one to take Manon out for medical attention, but she doubted he had heard her. At loss for words, she tried to give him a more physical comfort by just being close to him.

“There won’t be four Slayers,” Faith said suddenly, quietly, answering Andrea’s words.

“Why not?” Giles asked her, with a voice that hinted at overtiredness.

“Because I won’t be one anymore. No more super strength or dreams or tingles for me.”

There was a pause, and she added, still quiet: “That’s my reward. They get to be humans, I get to be normal.”

“Rewards?!” Spike snorted suddenly, moving out of Buffy’s embrace and getting to his feet. “And what’s the kid’s reward? Death?”

He strode out of the room, fury coming off him in almost palpable waves, and Buffy started to get up to go after him. Her eyes met Angel’s, who was already up, and she accepted his silent offer to take care of it. Maybe he would be able to find what Spike needed to hear, because she was too tired to try and guess anymore.

As he walked through the hospital corridors and up the stairs toward the roof, Spike was aware that Angel was following him, but he didn’t turn around or slow down, and the other man didn’t try to catch up with him. When he was finally outside on the roof, he closed his eyes for a minute, trying to control the anger he felt. Or maybe do the opposite. Anger could be good, right now. Better anger than guilt. Better anger than despair. Better give in to his anger than listen to the voices that had been screaming so loudly ever since he had heard that Manon was badly hurt. And to think he had been so happy with himself for getting her out of the fight!

His gaze rose to the sky, not a cloud marring the darkness, all stars out and visible, but he didn’t care at that moment.

“Cordelia!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. “We need to talk! Now! Cordelia!”

He heard footsteps behind him, and glanced back to see Angel.

“What are you doing?” the brunette asked softly. “You need to calm down, Will. Let’s get back inside.”

The nickname almost made him laugh. Yes, it was William shouting out in the night. And Spike too. For once, they both agreed.

“Cordelia!” he roared again. “If you don’t get your fashion-victim’s skanky lop-sided ass right here right now, I swear I’ll…”

The words had worked when flung into the face of a goddess, and apparently they also worked for an angel, because suddenly there she was, in that too white dress of hers, hands on her hips in a posture that screamed irritation.

“You will what?” she asked coldly.

Angel moved closer, his eyes wide as he murmured her name, but Spike didn’t let her get distracted.

“You have to heal the kid,” he said bluntly.

She shook her head, and sighed softly. “Can’t do that,” she said quietly. “That’s against the rules.”

“Fuck the rules!” he snapped. “You made the three of us humans, you’re making Faith normal, so just make the girl wake up!”

“You don’t understand, it doesn’t work like that. The Powers That Be don’t let me do all I want. Like, until today I couldn’t even be physically in this world. But since you averted the apocalypse and I helped you a little, my reward is that I can appear on…”

“Your reward?” Spike interrupted her, incredulous. “She dies and you get a reward?”

Her hands left her hips, and she crossed her arms in front of her in what seemed like a defensive gesture.

“I would if I could,” she said quietly. “But it’s not that easy. Life left her, and I cannot create life.”

“You made us human,” Spike pointed out.

“And you don’t know how long it took me to convince the Powers to let me do that. They won’t let me bring her back. She’s too far already.”

Spike’s mind was working at a crazy pace, trying to find the argument, the default in her explanation, which would let him win that battle. Only one thought wove his way to his conscience. She couldn’t create life, she had said. How about transferring life? As forcefully as he could, he shoved the image of Buffy out of his mind. If he didn’t do all that was in his power to save the red-haired girl, the voices would never forgive him, and even Buffy wouldn’t be able to rescue him from insanity. He’d rather be dead than inflict that on her again.

“Take my life,” he told Cordelia, calm at last. “You’re not creating life; you’re just moving it from one person to another.”

She looked shocked by his words, and so did Angel.

“I can’t do that,” she protested. “It’s your recompense for…”

“I never asked for recompense,” he stopped her. “And I certainly never asked to be alive again. Now, the kid downstairs, that’s different. She didn’t want to die. She has a lot to live for. So really, you’ll reward both of us, if we’re supposed to get recompenses.”

“I don’t know…” she started.

Cordelia’s eyes took a faraway glaze, and she didn’t seem to be present with them anymore. Angel stepped in front of Spike, his hand closing almost painfully on his arm.

“What the hell is all of this about?” he said urgently. “I could understand if it was Buffy’s life in the balance, but why for the girl? Think of Buffy, for God’s sake! She needs you, you can’t just give up like that!”

“I won’t be there for Buffy if Manon dies,” he said slowly. “If she dies, I lose myself. She was hurt because of me, Angel, because she was trying to help me. I won’t be responsible for another Slayer’s death. They won’t let me be. In both cases, Buffy loses me. But in only one there’s a purpose to it.”

He didn’t explain who ‘they’ were, and Angel didn’t ask. He let go of his grip on Spike’s arm, and was about to say something when Cordelia blinked, signaling she was back among them.

“Your life for Manon’s,” she said gravely. “You’re sure that’s what you want?”

Spike nodded, unable to push words out of his throat. Cordelia took a step toward him, and as she laid a hand on his chest he screamed, both at the pain from her touch and at the agonizing feeling that he was losing Buffy.

Buffy was half-asleep on that so uncomfortable chair when movement across the hall caught her attention. She got to her feet and came close to the glass wall, soon joined by Giles and Andrea. They had sent the others home a little while before, since everybody had been falling asleep, promising to let them know if Manon’s condition improved. Because it had to improve, it couldn’t get worse; none of them could believe she wouldn’t wake.

And now they were proved right, because her eyes were fluttering open as two doctors and a nurse were at her side, all looking disbelieving. She turned her head toward the glass, and through the clear oxygen mask Buffy could see her smile. It was too much, and she started sobbing, from exhaustion, happiness and relief all at once. Strong arms wrapped around her then, and she turned in the familiar embrace to bury her face against Spike’s chest, crying softly as he stroked her hair in a soothing motion. It was only when she had shed all the tears in her that she noticed.

Refusing to believe, she placed the palm of her hand over his heart, only to have her fears confirmed. Her eyes traveled up to look at his face. He was watching her with a hesitant smile, as if he was afraid of her reaction, and the dark blue of his eyes was unreadable.

“How?” she asked in a choked whisper. “Why?”

“Cordelia,” he answered simply. “Because I couldn’t let the kid die.”

She had thought there were no tears left in her, but apparently she had been wrong because she was sobbing again. There had been so many things she had dreamed of doing with him in the sun. But now, he was back to being confined to the darkness. It was just unfair.

“I’m sorry, luv,” he whispered against her hair.

His voice was heartbreaking, because he sounded like he had lost her. She looked up at him again and could see his pain, so she forced herself to stop crying. Cupping his face in her hands, she answered his fears, bringing a difficult but sincere smile to her lips, letting him know that she was crying more from surprise than from misery.

“It doesn’t change anything for us,” she managed to say. “I still love you. Still want to marry you. If you still want me.”

His arms tightened around her as his mouth found hers, and it truly didn’t matter anymore what they were as long as they were together.