BREATHE

Mnemosyne

It was the loud crowing laughter of one of the minions that attracted

Spike's attention.

The British vampire was circling the graveyard, as he did most nights,

looking for a fresh prey. He'd returned to Sunnyhell a month ago, still

Druless. //Damn trolls! How was I to know she went in for that kind of

thing?// Why in Hades he had chosen to return to this sickly, nowhere town

in bloody CALIFORNIA he would never understand.

So far he'd managed to keep his presence under wraps- just give the minions

a good talking to, slaughter a few to set an example, and their lips were

easily sealed. Spike didn't need the Slayer chasing him down with a blunt

stake. Or her soulful boyfriend. Or any one of her Slayer buddies, for that

matter.

At first, he was inclined to just ignore the near maniacal laughter circling

through the dead //No pun intended// air. But that idea quickly left as the

grating quality of the cackling began to tell on his nerves.

Finally, Spike turned off his circuitous path and began to head towards the

annoying sound. //No minion is ever that happy without having done something

insanely stupid.//When the other vampire came into view, Spike saw a figure

collapsed at it's feet. A wave of anger coursed through him.

"Shut up, you bleeding imbecile!" he bellowed. "Or do you want every damn

person in this town to come investigate your little laugh riot here?"

The minion looked towards the sound of Spike's voice, his insane laughter

choked off in mid-guffaw. "Spike!" he called, a wide grin on his face.

"Spike, Master! I've done it!"

"Yes you have, cretin. You've bloody well almost blown the cover of every

damn vampire in Sunnyhell." Spike advanced on the now cowering minion. "You

have twenty seconds to convince me not to kill you." His eyes flashed.

The dark-haired vamp was silent, demonesque eyes wide with fear. Spike

raised an impatient eyebrow. "Tick, tock, tick, tock," he prompted, tapping

his foot.

It was all the incentive the other vampire needed. "I've done it, Master!

I've killed her!"

"Killed who? Your granny?" Spike growled in annoyance.

The vampire before him shook his head wildly. "N-no, Spike. Her! The

Slayer!" He pointed an almost accusing finger at the motionless figure on

the ground beside them.

The world stopped spinning. Spike hadn't bothered to look at the body on the

ground, but now he forced his eyes in its direction. Blonde hair. Petite

frame. Pixie features.

The Slayer.

The minion was still babbling on in front of him, and Spike raised cold,

emotionless eyes to watch the gibbering fool.

"...So then I went 'Hah!' and 'Bammo!' and she went 'Flop!'" The minion

gesticulated wildly, punctuating each expletive with a wild punch or kick to

the air. "Yeah, and then she went down, and I kicked her a few times to be

sure she was finished, like this," and he mimed his earlier moves with three

swift kicks to the air at his feet. "And then she wasn't moving anymore, and

I won, and now she's dead, and aren't you proud of me, Spike? Aren't you

pr-" His words were cut off as Spike's hand plowed through his chest,

directly over his demon heart.

The minion's face went from wild glee to absolute terror in a split second

as his Master's hand plunged into his chest, grabbed hold of his heart, and

pulled.

There was a sickening sound, like suction, and then Spike held the black,

dead heart in front of the minion's face. With his own face blank and his

eyes dead, Spike said, "Not good enough. You die." And the minion collapsed

in a pile of dust. Spike threw the heart on top of the ash heap and wiped

his hand clean in the wet grass before turning to the still figure beside

him.

He knelt next to the Slayer, reaching out a slim-fingered hand to her throat

in search of a pulse. "Come on, luv. Come on," he urged, not quite knowing

why he wanted to feel that flutter against his fingertips.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Noth- No, wait. A beat.

Spike felt his muscles loosen with relief. "That's it, pet. You just keep

that heart beating and let me do the rest." Gently turning her so she was on

her back, the vampire began to examine her injuries. He paused. //What am I

doing?// he thought. //She's my mortal bleeding enemy. I'm supposed to kill

her, not save her bloody life!//

But no. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. Spike was not going to let

the best Slayer he'd ever fought die from an ass-kicking she'd gotten from

some nameless minion. "No, pet. Not like this."

But he couldn't tell if he was comforting her or himself. //No time for

that, my boy,// he scolded, and pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind.

Concentrating totally on Buffy now, he began to examine her wounds.

A gash in her forehead had soaked her hair and covered her right temple and

ear with blood. But the bleeding appeared to have stopped now, and Spike

moved on. Buffy's face was bruised, and one eye was beginning to swell shut.

He winced in sympathy, but nothing too serious appeared to be wrong with her

head, so he continued downwards.

Buffy's torso was obscured by a black silk, button-down blouse. Spike

hesitated only a moment before quickly unbuttoning the shirt. "Sorry, luv,

but Spikey has to see where it hurts," he comforted the silent Slayer. Using

deft fingers, he quickly had it undone and spread apart.

The black lace bra was enough to make his body freeze and hold him

motionless. "Bloody hell," he muttered. But his attention was quickly

diverted by the bandages wrapped around the girl's torso.

Reports from the minions began to filter back into his memory. From about a

month ago, if he recalled correctly. Stories of a car accident. Of the

Slayer being in the hospital. Of the easy pickings around the graveyard

while she was gone...

"Fool," he muttered. "Pretty little fool. You shouldn't have been out

fighting yet. Not yet." His cool fingers traced over the bandages, imagining

the cracked ribs underneath, probably newly broken again. Silently, he

wished he hadn't killed the minion quite so quickly. //Roasting slowly over

a brazier with a million firecrackers jutting out his orifices would have

been befitting.//

No wonder the moron had been able to beat her singlehanded. Suddenly,

Spike's fingers touched wetness. He brought them up and gazed at the dark

liquid that glittered in the moonlight.

Blood.

Spike cursed silently. He'd assumed the smell of blood came from her head

wound. Now this showed itself....

Cat-like, he circled her body until he was on her other side. A dark patch

of blood was spreading across the snowy bandages. "Bloody hell, Slayer. You

can't make it easy on a bloke, now can you?" Resisting the urge to lick the

blood from his fingers, he cast about for something to staunch the bleeding.

Finally, shrugging off his black leather duster, the vampire ripped a sleeve

from his red silk shirt. No big loss; he had a hundred just like it back at

the mansion.

Pressing the red cloth down on the bloodied bandage with one hand, Spike

arranged his duster over the Slayer with the other. She was getting cold,

both from blood loss and the night air. "Just stay with me, luv. Just stay

with me." He was aware that there was an edge of panic in his voice, and he

didn't like it one bit. But he was powerless to stop it.

Buffy was paler now; even in the silvery moonlight it was evident.

Reaching up, Spike pressed his fingers once more to the pulse point on her

neck. That hollow flutter was weaker now. "Damn it!" he swore. "No, Slayer.

Don't you dare do this to me. Don't you dare die like this!"

But she must not have been listening, because before he moved his fingers

away, the slow pulse stopped altogether.

"NO!" he howled. Compress forgotten for the moment, Spike pulled himself up

to her head. Leaning down so that his ear was near her lips, he listened for

breathing he knew wouldn't be there. None came.

"No, no, no, no, NO!" he growled, pulling back and looking down into her

face. Even in the early stages of death, face bruised and bloodied, she was

beautiful. Seemingly at peace. Spike reached out a trembling hand and

smoothed her hair back from her forehead. Blood red tears sprang to his

eyes, and with them, anger.

"NO!" he roared. "I will not accept this!" He remembered movies he'd

watched- medical dramas, often filled with blood and anguish, which he

loved. Whenever they tried to save a patient in those movies, they'd do that

CPR thing, with the hands and the lips. This didn't seem much different.

Arranging his hands on her chest, he pushed, feeling her rib cage creak

underneath his fists.

Down. Up. Down. Up.

He didn't know how many times he was supposed to do this, so he went a few

more, then sat back to turn his attention to her face. Pinching her nose and

tilting back her head as he'd seen the doctors do in movies, Spike bent

down, took a breath, and placed his lips over hers.

He almost forgot what he was doing at the feel of her mouth against his,

still warm and sweet. But Spike quickly shook off his euphoria and expelled

his breath into her lungs.

It was pitifully small- his respiratory system, long dead and dormant, just

couldn't pull in a deep enough breath. But it was all he could do.

Pulling back, Spike once again laced his fingers over her chest and began

pumping.

Down. Up. Down. Up.

Bend down. Tilt head. Breathe. Listen.

Down. Up. Down. Up.

Bend down. Tilt head. Breathe. Listen.

It wasn't working. He knew it wasn't. He couldn't get enough air into her

lungs for it to work. The vampire felt tears of frustration begin to pool in

his eyes. He paused in his chest-pumping just long enough to brush them

away. "Come on, luv, just breathe. Please."

Bend down. Tilt head. Breathe. Listen.

"Wake up, ducks. I know you hear me. This is no time to be stubborn.

Breathe. Just breathe."

Bend down. Tilt head. Breathe. Listen.

"Damn it, Slayer! I can't breathe for you! Don't you understand?" His voice

cracked on that. "I can't get enough air! Breathe, damn it. Breathe!"

Bend down. Tilt head. Breathe. Listen.

A breath.

Spike was so shocked, he almost blipped over the soft whisper of sound. But

when it was repeated soon after, he understood.

Buffy was breathing.

Spike sat back on his haunches, blood-red tear trails lining his face. A

smile that would have lit a thousand candles suffused his face. Throwing

back his head, he let out a whoop of joy. Bending back over her, Spike

pressed his fingertips to her neck and felt the pulse thrumming there. Still

weak, but stronger than a few minutes ago. "Yes, luv. That's the way.

Breathe and beat. Breathe and beat."

Suddenly, her hand flailed up and caught his arm.

His eyes widened and he sat back. Looking to her face, Spike saw that

Buffy's eyes were open, wide and confused, dazed with pain and fear. The

vampire's free hand went to her cheek. "Easy, ducks, it's going to be all

right. You're going to be safe. Scout's honor." He'd never understood the

meaning behind that silly little phrase, but it always seemed to ease

people's minds when he used it.

Buffy's hands clutched at him with all the fear of one who has just been

pulled from death's door and is thrust again into a world of pain. Spike

hesitated briefly, then gathered the wounded Slayer up in his arms and

pulled her against his chest, cradling her there.

She cleaved to him, whimpering. "Shh, pet. It's going to be okay," he

soothed, stroking her hair.

He felt warmth soaking through his shirt and remembered her side wound.

Reapplying the red silk compress, Spike held it against her injury with as

much force as he could muster- his whole upper body ached from the CPR of

minutes before. Buffy shivered against him, and he damned his body for not

being able to give her the warmth she needed. Rewrapping the duster around

her, he gently rocked the slim girl until her fearful and chilled tremblings

eased. She relaxed against him, resting her eyes on his shoulder, eyes

drifting closed.

"Buffy, wake up," he demanded, not even noticing he'd used her name.

The girl's eyes opened again and fixed on his. The trust and thankfulness in

those eyes should have been enough to make him squirm in discomfort.

But it didn't.

He smiled at her, and was pleased when she smiled weakly back at him. "Had a

busy night, have we?" he asked.

Buffy nodded slightly.

Spike shifted her into a more comfortable position in his lap. "Well, don't

worry, Slayer. I won't let anything happen to you tonight. I just need you

to stay awake. You'll do that, right?"

Faintly. "Yes."

Spike favored her with another winning smile. "That's my girl. Now, I need

you to hold this very hard right HERE." He took her hand and guided it to

where his held the compress against her side. He moved his hand away and

laid her's over the piece of silk. He felt the muscles in her arm tense and

press weakly against the cloth. Buffy's eyes caught his, and he saw the

question in their blue-green depths.

"That'll do for now, pet," he whispered. And not knowing why he did it, he

bent down and lightly placed a kiss on her forehead. Buffy smiled and

snuggled closer to him.

Arms now free, Spike stood ever so slowly, lifting the slim girl with him,

until he was on his feet. Her petite form rested against his chest.

Maneuvering her slightly, he adjusted her until the weight of her body

pressed against her hand, adding extra force to the compress. She squirmed,

and he shushed her quietly. "Shhh, easy, luv. I know it's uncomfortable, but

I have to get you to the hospital. It won't be long, I promise."

"'S okay," she mumbled against his shoulder.

Spike rubbed her back tenderly. "All right, cutie. Let's get you to a

hospital." And he set off into the night.

*****

"Name of patient?"

"Buffy. Buffy Summers."

"Next of kin?"

"Her mother's name is Joyce. Joyce Summers."

"Emergency contact?"

"Rupert Giles. I don't know his home number, but he's the librarian at

Sunnydale High School."

Spike stood in the sickeningly antiseptic waiting room at Sunnydale General.

Frequently, he cast worried glances at the corridor down which they had

wheeled Buffy after he'd stumbled through the door carrying her. Both of

them had been so bloody and pale, they'd tried to take him away, too.

"Your name, sir?"

Spike looked back at the bored looking nurse behind the desk.

"Excuse me?"

"I said could I have your name, sir."

"Oh. Um, William, uh, Jamesbury."

The pencil-thin nurse looked over wire-rimmed glasses at the vampire.

"You're sure that's your name then, sir?"

Spike gave her an annoyed look. "Yes, of course I bloody well am. It's my

NAME, isn't it?"

She shrugged and wrote it down.

Silence hung in the the air for a few moments. Spike drummed his fingers on

the desk. They were still stained red from Buffy's blood, even though the

nurses had made him wash his hands once they'd taken the Slayer away.

Unable to stand the stillness a moment longer, the vampire sat forward in

his chair. "Look, when can I see her?"

Pencil-Woman Nurse glared at him. "Upon notification of next of kin, sir."

"What?! What a bloody crock!" He leapt from his chair and began pacing.

//Upon notification of kin. Hell!//

Suddenly, a pleasantly plump nurse came hurrying down the hall. "She's

refusing the sedative, Nurse Cratchit. She's getting very rambunctious about

it."

Nurse Cratchit gave the younger woman the same over-the-glasses look she'd

given Spike. "Who is?"

"The new patient. The pretty girl who came here an hour ago." Spike's ears

perked up at that. "What do we do?"

"Does she say WHY she's refusing the sedative?"

"She keeps babbling about having to stay awake. Hey!" she called as Spike

brushed past her. "You can't go down there! It's off limits!"

But Spike was already beyond earshot and past caring.

*****

He followed the sounds of thrashing and howling until he found Buffy's room.

He opened the door and saw mayhem.

Medical equipment lay everywhere, and one nurse was tending to a bloody nose

while another was favoring her right hand. In the middle of it all, Buffy

was thrashing around in her bed, being held down by four nurses, while

another moved towards her with a needle. Seeing this, Buffy let out another

ear-splitting howl. "NO!" she screamed.

//Well, this is not a good sign.// Moving swiftly, Spike went to the

Slayer's bedside, sweeping aside the astonished and protesting nurses.

"Buffy? Buffy!"

The blonde's scream cut off, and her eyes went to his. She calmed

immediately. "They want to put me to sleep," she mumbled, sounding almost

childlike.

"I know, Buffy. You should let them."

She looked confused. "But you said I had to stay awake."

The vampire smiled. "Well, it's nice to know you were listening to me for a

change. But that was then, pet, and this is now. You need your rest, and all

that thrashing about is just going to make you hurt yourself again."

Buffy seemed to consider this, then loosened her muscles and relaxed back

against the pillows. "OK," she relented.

Spike turned to one of the the amazed nurses. "You can inject her now."

Moving quickly, as though fearing this grace period wouldn't last, the woman

with the syringe came forward. Swabbing Buffy's arm with alcohol, she slid

the needle in and depressed the plunger. Buffy winced, but Spike gently

stroked her cheek, and she pressed her face closer to his soothing touch.

The nurse pulled the needle from the girl's arm, brushed the area once more

with alcohol, and moved off.

Spike smiled at the Slayer. "There, not so bad, eh?" Buffy shook her head.

Suddenly, a look of loss crossed her face. "What is it, pet?" the vampire

asked, worried.

Her hand clutched at her side, where fresh bandages had been applied. "They-

they took it," she mumbled, the sedative already beginning to work.

Spike was confused for a moment, then a thought struck him. Shrugging off

his duster, he ripped the other sleeve off his already ruined silk shirt.

Placing it in her clutching hand, he said,

"There. Now you have it again."

Buffy flashed him a brilliant grin. "Thank...you..." she murmured, eyes

drifting closed.

Spike leaned forward and brushed a kiss over her lips. "You're welcome," he

whispered as she fell asleep.

Backing off, he turned to see all the nurses in the room staring at him with

wonder.

"I don't know what you did," the one with the bloody nose said, "but, good

God, thank you!"

"Yeah," said another. "Geez, you ever consider a career in medicine? If you

can calm down THAT wildcat, anything is possible!"

Spike made his way to the door, but paused just as he was leaving. "No," he

said over his shoulder. "I don't think I'm cut out for medicine." He gave

them a wicked grin. "I can't stand the sight of blood." And he left.

*****

"I TOLD you not to go patrolling yet, Buffy! You could have been killed!"

"I know already, Giles. My bad, OK? I'm sorry." Buffy sat back against her

pillows in the mellow-lit hospital room and stared out the window at the

moonlit sky. Her Watcher, Willow, and Xander stood around her bed, one on

each side. They all wore a different expression- Willow's was relief,

Xander's confusion, and Giles' was approaching outright fury, though Buffy

was pretty sure most of that was just fear. Pretty sure.

"That still doesn't address the fact that it COULD have happened!" The

librarian pulled off his glasses and passed a weary hand over his eyes. "Oh,

Buffy, Buffy, you have to stop doing this to me. My heart can't take it."

"Giles, there's nothing wrong with your heart."

"No, but the way you keep testing it, there soon shall be!"

"Well, that's not important right now," Willow broke in, smiling brightly.

"What is important is that Buffy is back, safe and sound."

"Yeah," Xander added. "I say, kudos to mystery man, wherever he may roam."

"Do you have any idea who it was, Buffy?" Willow asked.

The blonde girl put a hand to her temple. "I can't remember. All I can

recall is fighting with that vamp, then it all goes black." She let her hand

drop and sighed with frustration. "Fuzzhead. Gotta hate it."

Xander spoke up. "Well, thank goodness he came along, whoever he was.

Especially if he really did bring you back from death's door like the nurses

say. I mean, woo-hoo! Extra points for mystery man!

Let's hear it for-"

"Xander?" Willow cut in.

"Yeah?"

"You're babbling."

"Understood. Shutting up now."

Buffy turned unsure eyes to Giles. "Giles. If....If I DID die," she felt a

shudder course through her at the thought, "then does that mean another

Slayer will show up, like Kendra and Faith?"

The Watcher shook his head. "No. It says in the Chronicles that no more than

two Slayers shall walk the earth at any one time. I don't think we shall

have anymore Slayers arriving in Sunnydale anytime soon."

Just then, Joyce poked her head through the door. "Time's up, guys. Nurses

say visiting hours are over."

Buffy smiled at her friends. "I'll be all right, guys, 'kay? Promise. Now go

home and get some sleep."

Willow and Xander bent down and gave her a big, if gentle, bear hug.

"See you tomorrow, Buffy," Willow said.

"Yeah, catch you later, Buffster," Xander added.

Buffy watched her two friends slip out past her mother, then turned to

Giles, who still stood worriedly at the foot of her bed. "Hello? Bookman?

Time to go home."

Giles shook himself out of his reverie. "What? Oh. Oh, yes. Of course. Take

care, Buffy. We shall talk more about this tomorrow morning."

Buffy sighed. "Can't wait."

Giles smiled at her and left, nodding in Joyce's direction as he passed her.

Buffy's mother smiled at her from the door. "Can I get you anything, honey?"

Buffy shook her head. "Naw. I think I'm gonna crash for the night."

Joyce smiled. "All right, sweetheart. I'll be right outside if you need me.

Goodnight." She clicked off the light and gently closed the door.

Buffy snuggled down under the alien hospital blankets, turning on her side

so she could stare out the window at the moonwashed landscape. Slowly, she

slid her hand underneath her pillow, and when she pulled it back, she held a

long, dark piece of smooth cloth. Red silk.

She fingered it lightly. When she'd awoken that afternoon, she'd been

gripping it as though her life depended on it. //Did it? Why do I think it

did?// Somehow, the sleeve, for that was what it was, looked familiar. //I

know I recognize this.//

Flash of clarity-- white-blonde hair glowing in the moonlight.

Worried voice pleading. //"Just breathe."//

Buffy squeezed her eyes shut, as if hoping to trap the images behind her

eyelids. But as suddenly as they had appeared, they were gone. Still, echoes

of that voice resonated in her head. Just breathe.....Just breathe.... An

accented voice.

Accent.

Red silk.

White-blonde hair.

//No, it couldn't be!// Buffy almost laughed at the absurdity of the

thought.

But she didn't laugh. Because, perhaps it wasn't quite so absurd.

The Slayer pressed her fingers to her temples. //Oh, ow. Too much thinking,

girl. Time to sleep.//

//"I need you to stay awake..."//

//No, no, he said it was OK to sleep now. He said I needed rest.//

//Who said?//

Buffy growled with frustration, and wiped her mind clear of all thought.

//Just sleep.//

//"Just breathe."//

She brought the silk to her face and rubbed her cheek against its smooth

surface, letting the scent of it soothe her to sleep.

*****

EPILOGUE

Five days later

"Master, are you sure you don't want to get rid of this thing?"

Spike looked up distractedly from his perusal of the latest "Rolling Stone."

"What?"

Elena, his minion, had a disgusted look on her face, and she thrust

something towards him. "This ratty old shirt. It's a mess! All torn and

bloody- you must have gotten a fighter when you got the one who did this.

Why do you want to keep it?"

Spike took the shirt from Elena's grasp, and she let it go willingly. It was

the one he'd been wearing the other night when he'd helped save Buffy's

life. //Yes, she was a fighter all right. She still is.// He considered the

tattered silk for a moment, then settled it on his lap. "Yes, I'm going to

keep it," he told the other vampire.

Elena fixed him with a confused look. "Master, if you pardon my

impertinence, why?"

He held her eyes with his own. "Memories," he replied, then fell silent.

Elena waited another moment, as though expecting further explanation. When

none came, she shrugged, turned, and left.

Spike set aside his magazine and picked up the torn shirt. No sleeves,

bloody, and dirty.

But it smelled like her.

He held it to his face, burying his nose in it, and inhaled the scent of

her. Vanilla and coconut mingled with the spicy, energetic smell of her

Slayer blood. Spike felt his undead pulse quicken in response to the scent.

In the background, he could smell himself, and the mix of his scent with

hers was enough to elicit an animalistic purr from the depths of his throat.

He'd stopped in a few nights ago at the hospital to see how she was.

Well, he hadn't actually gone in- there was a tree right outside her window.

He'd just scaled up until he could look through at her. She looked all

right, and was sleeping peacefully, the blankets rising and falling with her

steady breathing. Spike hadn't been able to resist a smiled when he'd seen

that the Slayer clutched his silk sleeve in her right hand, holding it

protectively against her cheek.

She knew no William Jamesbury. They'd check the town records, but they'd

find no trace of him. Nobody had heard of William Jamesbury for centuries.

William the Bloody, yes. Spike, certainly. But William Jamesbury, no. Just

one more unsolved mystery for Sunnydale.

Spike pulled back from the shirt and looked it over. No chance of rescuing

it, but that didn't matter. As far as he was concerned, it was his favorite.

The End