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The Dead Zone is based on the hit book by Stephen King and a wittle bit on the TV show that you can watch on the USA network. The series is given an overall writing of NC17, may contain character death and the usual violent stuff you can find in any good Stephen King novel. I bow and scrape down before the great and mighty King and thank him for allowing me use of his characters. (Not that he gave me verbal permission. I assume that he doesn't mind since he hasn't sued my ass for The Stand yet.) I also humbly thank Joss for the wonderful characters he has provided for my amusement...and once again, I didnt' ask him for permission, but he hasn't sued yet either. A fair warning. The scientific crap I spout is either very wrong or I just made it up. I'm neither a physical therapist or a neurologist, and even though the internet is filled with sites I can use for research...who has that kind of time? So, if you see mistakes, you can email me and let me know...but I'll probably just go...huh, that's interesting and go back to playing solataire. I'm a lazy, lazy ho and heh...since I'm shelling out $110 dollars a year for this site, I'm content to remain lazy. You can email my beta reader, but I only have her so I can say, 'I have a beta reader.' Hilary and Isabelle are both good sports, I love you guys. Please don't kill me. Anyway, I'm done babbling, go read the story and enjoy!

“There's moments in your life that make you, that set the course of who you're gonna be. Sometimes they're little, subtle moments. Sometimes…they're not. I'll show you what I mean.”

Whistler ~Becoming Part One~

“I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone

And though you're still with me,

I've been alone all along.”

Evanescence ~My Immortal~

Prologue

*FLASH*

        Buffy stared forward at the windshield, where curtains of rains beaded on the glass, only to be swept away seconds later by the wipers, slinging the droplets off into the absolute darkness that pressed on either side of the car.

        Occasional flashes of lightening lit up the vivid, heated purple thunderheads that swallowed the night sky completely. Thunder would rumble several seconds after each flash, the only other sound beside the hot air blowing in from the heating system and the rain tapping out a solitary tune on the steel body of the car.

*FLASH*

        She was curled up on the seat, feet tucked beneath her, seatbelt belted firmly across her middle. Her damp hair started to curl as it gradually dried in the warm breeze blowing over her, and she closed her eyes, a soft sigh breaking past her lips.

        Her companion glanced at her, a sudden flash of lightening causing his hair to flare brightly in the corner of her vision and the sharp edges of his face to jump into a jagged contrast of shadows and light, and she rolled her head against the back of the seat to catch his concerned expression before the illumination faded, leaving them in darkness again.

        A small smile curled her lips as she felt his cool hand rest over top of hers, which was sitting on the seat between them, and he gave her fingers a strong, but affectionate squeeze. “You all right, baby?”

        “Yeah, just beat,” A yawn broke past her defenses before she could help it, and Spike chuckled warmly as he lifted her hand to his lips and brushed them against her knuckles. “We must've slayed like…twenty of those stupid demons…”

        “Twenty-one…I killed eleven, you killed ten…” Spike specified, resting their still entwined hands on his thigh. He smiled as Buffy rolled her eyes, mumbling something about slaying not being a competition.

*FLASH*

        “I just want to go home, soak in a tub and then collapse into bed and not wake up till the weekend…” Buffy sighed as she snuggled down further into the seat, drawing the labels of Spike's coat more firmly around her. He had given it to her when they had been caught out in the rain, running for the car as the downpour drenched them.

        “You'll be wantin' some company, then, won't ya?” Spike asked teasingly, his mischievously blue eyes twinkling in his face as he ran his eyes over her rather lewdly.

        “Somehow, I don't see much soaking or sleeping getting done that way,” Buffy told him, but a flash of his very pink tongue against his very white teeth immediately reminded her why that wasn't exactly a bad thing. “Okay…maybe a little company is allowed…”

        “Nothing little about the company, pet.”

        Buffy tried not to giggle at his male posturing, but failed miserably and Spike flashed her one his rare, unique smiles at her, the one that seemed to light up whatever room he happened to be in. She knew that very few people had seen it, save for maybe her, Dawn…and possibly Drusilla, once upon a time.

*FLASH*

        Spike turned his gaze back to the road, squinting as he tried to peer through the torrential rain slamming into his windshield. Even with his heightened eyesight, he couldn't see past what his high beams illuminated, directly in front of them. Visibility was low, and the road conditions dangerous. They hadn't passed another car for about three miles; probably everyone else was smarter then them and had decided to stay indoors till the rain let up.

        Spike considered pulling over to the shoulder and waiting for it to lessen, but he glanced at Buffy, who was practically falling asleep in her seat and decided against it. She was tired and sore, and if she didn't get to bed soon, she was going to get cranky. No one wanted a cranky Slayer.

*FLASH*

        He absently rubbed his thumb over the back of Buffy's hand, which was still on his thigh before letting go of her and putting both hands on the wheel. The rain seemed to be only coming harder now and the road before them demanded all of his attention.

*FLASH*

        Buffy stretched out her legs with a sigh, her damp shorts riding up her thighs and making her grimace at the icky, clinging sensation of the denim. She unbuttoned them and started to wriggle out of them, and smiled when she heard Spike let out a low growl when he saw what she was doing. She glanced at him, giving him a slow, coy smile, and then unbuckled her seatbelt to clamber into the backseat, giving her butt a little extra wriggle when she stuck it very near his face. She let out a squeal when she felt him nip at her rounded bottom and then she was sprawled in the backseat, Spike craning his neck around to stare at her.

        “Coming, lover?” She purred seductively and ruined her façade of seductress when she giggled at Spikes' wide-eyed expression. Then, suddenly, her own eyes went wide as she stared over his shoulder, screaming, “SPIKE!”

*FLASH*

        Spike whirled around in his seat in time to see a deer dart out in front of his car, and he tried to swerve out of reflex. The wheel spun out of his hands as they spun out of control, the wheels skidding along the wet road, the screeching of tires and scent of burning rubber filling the air around them.

*FLASH*

        Buffy screamed his name again when the interior of the out-of-control vehicle was lit up with bright, white light that made her eyes burn, and Spike jerked his head to the side, everything in him seizing up in him when he saw the gigantic, behemoth of a logging truck barreling towards them, head-on.

*FLASH*

        For a brief instant, Buffy's world was nothing but blinding light, the dull roar of thunder, screeching metal and glass shattering, breaking into a million fragments of prisms that flashed rainbows and glowing, gleaming crystals spattered with crimson across her vision.

        And then, there was nothing but darkness.

*FLASH*

PRISMS OF LIGHT

        “Possible…head trauma…chances…give it 30%…humane thing…be quick…”

        Dull, muted mumbles worked their way through the gloom, piercing the thin curtain of her consciousness...

        Suddenly, bright, blinding light smashed through the curtain, tearing it to shreds, and she came awake with a gasp that made her insides wrench with enough force that she felt bile burning the back of her throat.

        She started to choke when she inhaled sharply without thinking, and then she felt herself being pulled into a sitting position, strong hands patting her back firmly. After several minutes, she finally had a handle on her body's reaction, and she slowly started to inhale and exhale till she had calmed herself down completely.

        Her eyes were squeezed shut still, not wanting to see that…that…horrible light again…

        “Buffy?” A familiar British voice queried, and Buffy slowly opened her eyes, praying that the light would leave her alone for the moment. Giles' face appeared in her fuzzy, jittering vision, and she blinked several times to clear her eyes. “Buffy…oh God…Buffy…are you all right?”

        “Yeah…” Buffy's voice rasped out of her sore throat, and she felt Giles pressing a cool glass of water into her hand and she gulped it down, the cool liquid soothing the burning. She glanced around as she drank, and then nearly started to choke again when she saw that she was in a hospital room, lying in bed. Half of the room was curtained off, and she could hear someone moving about behind the curtain, and then a man in white lab coat emerged, carrying a clipboard, a grim look on his face. “I…what…what happened?” Buffy asked in confusion, her memories skirting about her mind, and she was unable to focus on a single one. She went to hug herself, but then realized that her left arm was covered in a thick, white cast.

        Giles' lips pressed together in a thin line, and his eyes strayed towards the doctor, alarming registering on his face when he realized she didn't remember.

        “She's been through a great deal,” The doctor told him, lowering his clipboard, “Ms. Summers…you sustained several injuries in the accident,” Buffy frowned at that, but the doctor continued on unheedingly, “Most of them minor, fortunately; your broken arm seems to be the most serious…”

        “Acc-accident?” Buffy questioned, looking down at her arm, her brow furrowed in bewilderment.

        Giles laid a hand on her shoulder, his voice gentle, “Buffy…you were in a car accident…on your way home from Staton Heights…”

        Bright, blinding light…screaming metal…

        Buffy jerked in Giles' grasp, her eyes going wide, “Oh God…oh…God…”

        “It's all right, Buffy…everything's all right,” Giles soothed gently, stroking her hair out of her face, which was deathly white. “It's all going to be all right…” Giles was babbling and that scared Buffy even more.

        “Giles…?”

        “Ms. Summers,” The doctor spoke gently, “Ms. Summers…the car you were in was involved in a head-on collision with a logging truck…” He shook his head slightly, “It was a stroke of luck that the car you were riding in was so old and constructed of steel. If it had been made of fiberglass like most cars today, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now…”

        Buffy looked shaken, but she still looked up at Giles with a wan smile, “Guess that means I can't make fun of Spike's ugly old car anymo-“ Buffy suddenly broke off, her breath catching in her throat. “Sp-Spike…”

        “Buffy…” Giles squeezed her shoulder, but she shrugged him off in irritation.

        “Where's Spike?!”

        Giles looked towards the doctor, who sighed heavily, “Ms. Summers, you have to understand…it was a head-on collision and he was in the front seat…” Buffy's entire body began to shake and the doctor smiled at her thinly, “He's still alive…well…you know what I mean…”

        Buffy closed her eyes, her shoulders slumping with relief, “Oh…God…so he's…he's all right?”

        “Buffy…Dr. Sangrio is…one of the foremost medical practitioners in the country, who specializes in the medical treatment of demons…” Giles told her, his face drawn tight with worry over his Slayer. “He…he assures me that he has done all he can…”

        “Wh-what?” Buffy looked at Dr. Sangrio in confusion, “But…you said…he's…he's alive…”

        “He is…in a manner of speaking,” Dr. Sangrio's gaze shifted to the curtained off area of the hospital room, “Ms. Summers…as I said…he was in the front seat of the car…it took rescue workers five hours to…cut him out of the wreckage…it's only due to his vampiric nature that he survived, bodily, for that long…he would have been sent directly to the morgue if Mr. Giles hadn't intervened before then…” He drew in a sharp breath when he realized that he was avoiding the subject. Giving someone bad news wasn't something he usually balked at, but Buffy's wide, hazel eyes were staring up at him, already filled with pain of the news she had not yet heard.

        “He has sustained massive head wounds, and though they were not fatal…they were none the less damaging…”

        “Spike's in a coma,” Giles finished for him, growing slightly annoyed at the doctor's inability to cut the medical mumbo-jumbo. Buffy turned her gaze towards Giles, looking at him uncomprehendingly.

        “Wh-what?”

        “Spike…he's in a coma,” Giles told her, reaching up to brush his hand against her pale cheek, and Buffy turned her head as Dr. Sangrio drew the curtain away from the bed beside her, and she let out a soft, strangled cry when she saw her lover lying in the bed, wrapped nearly head to toe in bandages. There were no machines hooked up to him, none to monitor his heartbeat and none to monitor his breathing, only several blood bags with leads disappearing into the swaddle of cloth covering him.

        She struggled out of Giles' grasp and stumbled over to Spike's bedside, hand covering her mouth in horror. She couldn't see even an inch of him, not even his face. She laid her hands against the thick covering that hid him from her teary eyes. “Oh…God…”

        Giles came up behind her and laid his hands on her shoulders, telling her quietly, “The doctor tells me that he thinks that Spike only has a 30% chance of ever waking up…even less of him waking up within his full mental capacity…if he wakes up…he may only have the mental capacity of a child…if even that…” He wrapped his arms around her as she started to shake violently, “We…we can make it quick for him, Buffy…he won't suffer…he won't even feel a thing…it's…it's the humane thing to do…”

        No…no…this is wrong…Buffy thought, staring down at Spike's still form, not wanting to listen to what Giles was telling her. No…they're…they're wrong…he's fine…he has to be fine…we were going to go home and take a bath together…we were going to fool around in the back of his car…we were…we were supposed…

        Buffy started screaming as she bent in half, and the only thing holding her up were Giles' arms banded about her middle.

         “Buffy?” Dawn peeked her head into the hospital room, her blue eyes wide as she took in the mummy-swaddled figure that was supposed to be Spike. Buffy was seated in a chair right by his bedside, knees tucked beneath her chin, and one hand lying on the only bit of bare skin visible on him, which were the fingers of his right hand. Giles had tried to describe to Spike's condition to her, to prepare her; nothing could have prepared her for this.

        Buffy titled her head in Dawn's direction as the slender girl slipped into the room, closing the door behind her. The only source of light was of that streaming through the closed blinds of the window; Buffy had turned off the overhead lights because the bright fluorescents had been giving her one hell of a headache. Dawn was glad for that much, because she didn't think Buffy could see the way she was trembling so fiercely.

        “How…how is he?” Dawn asked somewhat timidly, and then snorted inwardly at herself. Yeah…he's in a coma, dumbass…how do you THINK he is?

        “He's not doing so hot, Dawnie…” Buffy sighed heavily as she unfurled her legs and set her feet on the ground. However, she couldn't quite summon the strength to push herself into an actual standing position, so, for now, this would have to do. “The doctor says he might never wake up…”

        “That's BULLSHIT!” Dawn burst out impetuously, and flinched when Buffy did, “I…sorry…I'm not mad at you or anything…I just meant…it's Spike…when has he ever done anything that everybody expected, huh? If every freakin' doctor in the world told him he wasn't going to wake up, he'd tell them to `sod off' or something and do it anyway!”

        Buffy had to smile at the forceful confidence in her sister's voice, despite the way she had to be shattering inside. Spike was just as important to Dawn as he was to her. Buffy was proud of her…or possibly worried if this was some sort of harmful denial thing. “Dawn…we have to talk…” Buffy patted her bed, and Dawn hopped up on it, and Buffy noticed with a  pained sigh that Dawn was trying as hard as she could not to look at Spike, but her gaze was drawn towards him with morbid fascination. She knew the feeling.

        Buffy looked down at where her hand was entwined with Spike's fingers, and she drew in a slow, deep breath; according to everyone, deep breathing was supposed to the key to finding relaxation and the answer to all life's questions…they were completely full of shit.

        “I…talked to Giles…and we have two options here…” Buffy turned her gaze to Spike, despite her inability to see most of him, finding it difficult to look into her little sister's face while she spoke. “Spike's chances aren't good here, Dawnie…I want to believe that…he'll wake up like…tomorrow and be all right and with us again…but we have to be realistic,” Another useless deep inhalation and exhalation, “We…we have to think about what Spike would want. Giles…he…he talked to Spike's lawyer…”

        “Spike has a lawyer?” Dawn interrupted, and Buffy turned her head to give Dawn a weary look.

        “Yeah…he does…” Buffy pressed her lips together, turning her gaze away again, “Giles…had the number in case of emergencies…anyway…he…if we…decide to keep him here until…if…he wakes up… he can afford it…” Buffy closed her eyes briefly, gathering strength before looking at Dawn, trying to keep a tight rein on her emotions. “The…other option…is…I can't help thinking…that maybe…maybe Spike…would…want it that way…”

        “What way?” Dawn asked uncomprehendingly, and then felt her stomach rise into her throat when she saw the flash of pain across Buffy's face. “No.”

        “Dawn…”

        “NO! You can't kill him!” Dawn jumped up to her feet, “How can you even think that?!”

        “Dawnie…”

        “NO!” Dawn screeched, “YOU'RE NOT GOING TO KILL HIM!”

        Buffy closed her eyes and slumped back into her chair, “Do you think I want to?” Buffy asked her softly, “Do you really think that I want this? That I want to kill someone else I love?”

        At Buffy's weary, heartbroken tone, Dawn immediately felt repentant, and she sighed as she sank down to the ground at Buffy's feet and laid her head against her sister's thigh. Buffy began to gently run her fingers through Dawn's long, chestnut locks with her free hand. “Sorry…I…just…” Dawn lapsed into silence.

        “I know, Dawn,” Buffy muttered, “We have to think of what's best for him, though. Do you think that he'd want to live like this? That he'd like being helpless like this?”

        “No…” Dawn whispered, and then lifted her eyes up to Buffy, tears overflowing to spilling, “But…wouldn't killing him be even worse?” Buffy looked down at Dawn uncomprehendingly, and the young girl felt a bit frustrated. “You did think about where he'd end up after you killed him, right?” She asked a bit sarcastically, “He's changed…but do you really think he's earned a free pass into Heaven?”

        Buffy's hand froze in the middle of stroking Dawn's hair, and she felt her stomach churning violently. She stumbled to her feet and rushed to the small bathroom. Dawn was following after her, holding Buffy's hair back as she retched into the toilet, hot tears streaming down her face as she vomited up everything Giles had forced her to eat earlier.

        “Oh…God…” Buffy shakily leaned back on her heels, swiping her hand across her mouth, grimacing at the foul taste that clung to her tongue. Dawn pressed her hand against Buffy's forehead, feeling the cold sweat that beaded her brow. “What am I going to do, Dawnie?”

        “I don't know,” The girl answered truthfully, but then lowered her voice, “I don't know what he's going through right now…I don't even know if he's even aware of what's going on around him…or if he can feel any pain at all…” She cast her eyes down, “But…if we do kill him…that'll take away the hope that he's all right…and he won't have a chance in hell…literally…”

        “Better to live in doubt then certainty?” Buffy smiled weakly, “Mom would've hated that logic…”

        “Yeah…probably,” Dawn brushed Buffy's hair out of her face, “What about you?”

        “Hating it, totally,” Buffy let out a little stressed giggle that was borne of pain rather then any sort of mirth, and she laid her head against Dawn's shoulder with a heart heavy sigh. “Why do you have to always be right?”

        “Hey…thousand year old Key here…had to have picked up some wisdom somewhere,” Dawn replied, “So…what are you going to do?”

        Buffy closed her eyes, a shiver running down her spine, “Better to live in doubt then certainty, right?”

+~+~+

        “Hey, Buffy…” Willow walked into Spike's hospital room, raising an eyebrow as she looked around. It had been a week since Buffy and Dawn had announced to the Scoobies that they weren't going to `pull the plug' on Spike, so to speak, and it appeared that Buffy had taken that time to transform the hospital room into a place Spike wouldn't completely hate waking up in, if he ever did so.

        Dark curtains that Willow recognized from Buffy's own bedroom covered the windows, the Slayer taking no chances on sunlight getting through the slatted blinds. The other beds that had been in the room were gone now, Spike's lawyer authorizing the expense of a private room. In their place was a slightly more comfortable chair then the ones the hospital provided, one which Willow recognized as having come from Spike's crypt. Also, there was a small bookcase, filled with some of Spike's favorite books, and the bedside table contained one of his lamps that cast a soft, golden glow over the figure sprawled on the bed.

        Spike's bandages had come off just the day before, most of his bones having set, but his face was still covered in small scars that had yet to fade, as well as some pretty serious bruises that bloomed across his skin. His head was still bandaged, for the most part, but his slack, completely relaxed, if bruised, face was now visible.

        Buffy smiled as she looked up, setting aside the book she had been reading aloud to the slumbering vampire. “Hey Wills,” She greeted, leaning back in another chair liberated from Spike's crypt. She looked slightly relieved to be interrupted, and Willow smiled consolingly.

         “Bored?”

        “Kind of,” Buffy grimaced at the book she had been reading. “I found that one book-marked on his bed, and I was reading it from where he left off…it sucks.”

        “David Copperfield?” Willow craned her neck to see the title of the leather-bound book, “Huh. Never really thought Spike was a Dickens fan,” She stood beside Buffy's chair, looking down at Spike with a barely concealed wince. “He looks better.”

        “Yeah,” Buffy reached out her hand to stroke her fingers across one of the scars on his cheek. She had seen the nurses switching his bandages several days before, and the image was still fresh in her mind. Apparently, his windshield wasn't made of the special tempered glass that most cars had these days. Instead of shattering in non-dangerous pieces, it had exploded in at him in a hail of jagged pieces that had sliced deeply into his face and upper part of his body, and his forearm. Luckily, his first reflex had been to throw his arm up to cover his eyes. That was probably the only thing that was even remotely fortunate for him.

        Willow smiled sadly when she realized that Buffy had become preoccupied, probably forgetting that she was even there in the first place. “We looked through all the books, Buffy…and we couldn't find anything about waking someone in a coma,” Willow told her gently, “We did find a few spells to insure good dreams, but…unless we know he's dreaming, it's not a good idea to try and attempt it.”

        Buffy closed her eyes, a pained sigh escaping past her lips. “You sure? I mean…about the waking thing, not the dreams…”

        “Totally sure,” Willow assured her, “We looked through every book Giles owns…we even contacted the Council, but they didn't have anything either.”

        “Oh…”

        Willow contained a sigh at Buffy's lost, little voice, “I'll keep looking, Buffy,” She said, “I'm…I'm not sure where…but I'll keep looking…”

        “Thank you,” Buffy smiled at Willow wanly before tugging a strand of hair behind her ear, and then she reached out for Spike's hand and wrapped her fingers around the limp appendage.

        “Are you going to spend the night here again?” Willow asked worriedly, “You've been here for a full week already…and Dawn is kind of missing you…and that chair can't be too comfortable…”

        Buffy pressed her lips together, knowing that she was ignoring Dawn and intruding on her friends' generous nature by constantly asking them to let Dawn spend the night over at their homes all the time.

        However, she didn't want to go home for anything but a quick shower and a change before coming back to the hospital to sit beside Spike and pray to whoever was listening that he would wake up for her. All there was at home was an empty bed and remnants of a man who was very likely never coming home again.

        There was still a dirty mug in the sink, crusted with dried blood and soggy Weetabix, his razor by the bathroom sink, short, facial hairs mussing the edges of the sink and his black t-shirt hanging off of the ceiling fan in her bedroom. Normally, she'd be bitching at him to pick up after himself; now, she couldn't bring herself to straighten up those little reminders that he had been there. She just couldn't bring herself to eradicate the traces of him, the reminders of his presence. She also couldn't bring herself to stay in the same place as them without him.

        She brushed her fingertips across the week-old stubble gracing his hollowed cheeks. He looked like a starving man, despite the several blood bags being hooked up to him intravenously. It wasn't the same though. His face was gaunt and he was already losing weight. How long before he just wasted away to nothing?

        “Buffy?” Willow called her name in concern. The Slayer was obviously a million miles away, and hadn't responded to anything she had said in the last five minutes.

        “Uh?” Buffy looked up at her best friend, and then winced slightly, “Uh…yeah…um…could…could you an-and Tara look after Dawn for one more night?” Buffy asked pleadingly, even while mentally calculating how long she could toss her little sister off on Giles. It sounded cruel when she thought of it like that, but she knew that Dawn understood what was going on. She hadn't even complained about lack of sister-time or living out of a suitcase like a charity case when she had visited that afternoon after school.

        Willow nodded hesitantly, “Yeah…sure…no problem…but Buffy…you really shouldn't…be hanging out here all the time…when was the last time you ate?”

        “I ate dinner in the cafeteria,” Buffy replied, looking down at her hands. The food had tasted like cardboard, the coke from the fountain was warm and mostly seltzer, but she had eaten it all. Spike would've kicked her ass if he thought she'd stopped eating on his account. Well…kick her ass if he could...

        Buffy snapped her eyes shut at that. She didn't want to think about that at the moment. She didn't want to think about the possibility of Spike never waking again. Didn't want to face the fact that he wouldn't be fighting by her side again, with a sexy smirk on his face and a caustic remark on his lips. Definitely didn't want to face the fact that he wouldn't be sleeping by her side again, purrs rumbling in his chest, and his nose pressed against her hair.

        “I'll get something to eat a little later,” Buffy finally said when she had composed herself as best as she could, “Tell Dawn that…that I'll see her after school tomorrow. No…I'll pick her up after school and we'll…we'll go to the mall or something. Go on that hard-earned shopping spree we always wanted…” She mentally flinched at that. She hadn't wanted to take the `trust funds' Spike had left for her and Dawn, but Spike's lawyer,  a demon with the tenacity of a rapid bull-dog, had insisted rather heatedly that it was what was stipulated in Spike's will. On the bright side, college for Dawn, definitely not a problem anymore…and on the non-bright side…well…that was rather obvious, wasn't it?

        “Okay,” Willow tried to smile in a reassuring manner, “Dawn would love that…and you really need to get out of here…hospitals are not a good atmosphere for the healthy; besides, Spike would kill you if he knew you were just sitting around here all day.”

        “Yeah,” Buffy muttered, opening the book again and began to read softly from where she had left off. Willow listened for a few moments before shaking her head slowly and leaving the pair to themselves.

Five Years Later

        “Hey man, how's it going?” Jacob `Jake' Overton greeted his favorite, and incidentally, least-troubling patient. He lifted up the metal clipboard at the end of the bed and took a quick peek inside. “Respiratory-N/A, Pulse rate: N/A, Brain Activity…blah blah blah…,” He replaced the clipboard with a shake of his head, “They're wasting countless acres of rainforest just so they can say you're still dead and in a coma every single day. Doctors, huh? Didn't even go through medical school and I can figure that out just by looking at ya.”

        There was, of course, no response, either physical or verbal, but that didn't deter Jake's chatter. For the last three years, he had been acting as William Exeter's Physical Therapist. He had taken over after John Mayers had asked to be removed as his PT. And wasn't that a kick in the pants? Jake thought sympathetically as he tossed a glance at Spike's slack, immobile face.

        “Okay, Spike…we'll start on those deltoids today and work our way down,” Jake addressed him as he moved to Spike's left side and began to do slow arm curls that would keep his muscles from atrophying. Sadly, though, Spike's muscle mass had degraded over the years; Jake could see from the one picture of him with his girlfriend and sister that even though he had been a bit thin, he was well-built. Now, he just looked scrawny and wasted, even with the extra-strenuous PT Jake put him through. The doctors, a bunch of opinionated, overeducated idiots, had about a thousand theories circulating about that. They were even speculating that maybe the decomposition process was starting to take place because he was dead and inactive for so many years.

        However, any former body-builder could tell them that was a loud of bullshit. It just meant that Spike was naturally a scrawny, skinny guy and without the rigid regimen of exercise he had probably gotten before he was in a coma, he just reverted back to his former body frame. It seemed like a lot of speculation into something that was commonsense; however, Jake had learned long ago not to second-guess doctors if he wanted to be able to do his job without their interference or snide remarks about him just being a lackey for the incontinent and the comatose, like his friend right here.

        “Remind me to get one of the nurses or candy-stripers to get you a haircut,” Jake said to Spike, eyeing the thick, dirty blond curls that were springing out from his head critically, “'Cause the afro just doesn't look good you.” He switched to the other side of the bed to work on Spike's right arm for awhile. “Not that any of them mind much. You have the personality of an eggplant, and you're looking pretty shitty right about now, but you'd still get a date faster then me.” Probably because you're such a `Good listener,'” Jake switched to a high falsetto for the eerily accurate imitation of one of the more bubble-headed candy-stripers. “And people wonder why I prefer men. Women are fucking crazy these days. Yours is a prime example, but you didn't hear that from me.”

        He lifted Spike's blankets over his legs, and positioned himself on the bed so that he could watch the muscles in Spike's leg move, to make sure they were all getting a thorough work out. “When you wake up, I think the women are just going to get crazier around here. Nurses showing up at work with their bosoms shoved up to their chins. Heh…probably be pretty interesting, actually, with the poor interns having to work with them all day. Hate to be the guy being fitted for a colostomy bag when an intern is trying to stare down a nurse's uniform.”

        Spike's leg twitched a bit, which was normal during PT, “Yeah, poor guy,” Jake gave the appropriate shudder for the fate of the hypothetical colostomy bag victim. “Going to drive malpractice rates up, that's for sure…”

        He finished Spike's PT regimen, and picked up the clipboard at the end of the bed, initialing it to signify that he had performed his duties for the day. He slipped his pen back into uniform pocket. He glanced towards a wilting Spider fern on Spike's bedside table and took a few moments to pour a bit of water into a glass and water the plant. He didn't notice when the still figure beside him stirred faintly, and nearly shrieked when a claw-like hand shot out and gripped his arm. Jake turned a terrified look into Spike's wide, blue-eyes, unfocused and glinting with what looked like a hint of madness. “Yo-your da-dad…” He croaked out hoarsely before his eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed back onto the bed.

        Jake stared at the once-again unconscious vampire, almost convinced that he had been hallucinating…but he could already feel the bruises forming on his ebony skin from Spike's grip. “DOCTOR SANGRIO!”

        “I don't even know why I bother…”  Dawn huffed in annoyance, tucking a strand of hair behind her hair. To her annoyance, it immediately flopped back into her face, obscuring her vision. “I mean, fine…he wanted to go to college out of state, I so get that, but move in with him? We were only dating for a month! So, I tell him no, and he gets real pissy, saying that I just don't want to invest `time' in `us' anymore. Forget that all of my friends and family are here in Sunnydale…”

        “I thought he was nice,” Buffy tried not to smile as she listened to her sister's tirade behind her as she loaded the dish washer. It was the first word she had gotten in a thus far fifteen-minute `conversation' about Dawn's love-live…or lack thereof. It made her not miss the dating scene...much.

        “Yeah, sure…he was nice…I'm not denying that,” Dawn replied with a sigh, “But he was ultra-clingy. I should have known this would happen when after the first week, he almost started crying when I talked to any other guy…”

        “I thought you wanted a sensitive guy,” Buffy turned, raising an eyebrow at her nineteen year old sister, “That's what you keep telling me, anyway.”

        “Sensitive, yeah…as in listening to me even when he's really horny, and pretending that he likes the movies I drag him too. Not bursting into tears whenever a male happened to be in the same room with me.” Dawn shook her head, “I'm never going to find the perfect guy.”

        Buffy turned, sending her sister a slightly thin smile, “Dawnie…you're 19 years old…I really doubt that you should worry about spinsterhood just yet.” She glanced over her shoulder as the phone rang in the living room, and she started towards it, still talking over her shoulder, “Your problem is that you have really high, impossible standards no one can live up too. Try lightening up a little, and guaranteed, your next relationship will work out better…”

        Dawn snorted, rolling her eyes, “At least I have standards,” She muttered beneath her breath as Buffy answered the phone. Her eyes perked when she heard Buffy's voice suddenly rise in what sounded like surprise and she slid off of the stool and made her way towards the living room. She felt a flutter of panic when she saw Buffy's face had drained of all color and that she leaning against the back of the loveseat for support, since her knees seemed unable to support her by themselves.

        “We-We'll be right down…than-thank you, Dr. Sangrio…” She hung up the phone, and turned towards Dawn, her hazel eyes filled with tears. “Get your coat…we're going to the hospital…”

        “Oh God…” Dawn immediately rushed for the front door, Buffy following a little slower, still having trouble with her knees, “What happened?! Is it Spike? Is he okay!?”

        “I…they said…” Buffy shuddered, “He's awake.”

        Spike was more then a little disorientated.

        Around him, nurses and doctors rushed too and fro, shouting orders or questions at each other. Others just sat around , staring at him like a side-show freak, including a young black man who was sitting in a chair that looked vaguely familiar, hand over his mouth, and eyes slightly wide with either fear or wonder.

        The urge to jump up and start snapping necks till all activity ceased, or till he got answers was very tempting, but his body refused to obey his brain's commands. He could only watch with growing anxiety, confused and unable to fathom what was going on. He knew he was in a hospital, that much was certain by the confusing Latin names being batted back and forth over his head, and the monochromatic uniforms and lab coats of the attending physicians and nurses. However, what he couldn't figure out was why he was there in the first place. He hadn't been in a hospital…ever, except on the days when the blood bank disposed of either infected or old blood, and he couldn't remember any sort of reason that would have landed him in the hospital in the first place.

        He had tried to ask what was going on, but his voice was too weak to be heard over the shouts, and he soon gave up, deciding that lying prone and hoping that everyone left him the hell alone would work better then anything else he had tried. He turned his head towards the open doorway of his room, hoping to see a friendly face appear there, be it Buffy, Dawn…hell…he'd even take Peaches and the Whelp at this point, but no one came for him.

        “Hey! Hey! HEY!” Spike winced at the loud shouting that pierced even the din the nurses and doctors were making, and he glanced towards the black man who was now standing, “Everyone needs to clear out of here, NOW!” He shouted angrily, “Everyone but Dr. Sangrio! You're scaring the shit out of him!”

        He was ignored, for the most part, until a harried looking doctor came into the room and glanced around in irritation, and repeated the order that the black man had issued, but this time, it was obeyed.

        Spike sighed with relief as the room soon cleared and he relaxed a tiny fraction when the new doctor and the man that had previously attempted to get rid of everyone were the only ones left.

        “All right, William…I know you're a little confused right now, but I want you to bear with me,” Dr. Sangrio told him in a soothing voice, “Jake, help him to sit up, please.”

        “Hey, man,” Jake gave him a smile filled with straight, white teeth as he slipped an arm around his waist, “How you feeling?”

        “Like shit…” Spike croaked out with some effort, his voice having not been used for years. “What happened? Why am I here? Where's Buffy?”

        Jake and Sangrio exchanged a look, and then Sangrio was pulling out a little flashlight and shining it into his eyes, making him flinch away. “I want to check your reflexes first…follow the light with your eyes.”

        Spike did so, irritated at the apparent avoidance of his questions. Sangrio then used a hammer to tap his knees, and watched as Spike's legs responded to the reflex forced by the nerves. “Left leg is slow responding, he'll need an MRI,” Sangrio said more to himself then anyone else. “Hopefully, it's something that physical therapy can remedy and not brain damage…”

        “Brain damage?!” Spike tried to shout, but it came out more as a half-hearted wheeze.

        “Don't worry…I really doubt it's brain damage,” Jake assured him, patting him on the shoulder as Dr. Sangrio started to put on his stethoscope, “Um…doc? That's not going to work on him, remember?”

        “Ah…right…” Sheepishly, Sangrio lowered it back around his shoulders. “Now…Spike…I'm going to ask you a few questions that may seem…odd to you. But please, try to answer them…and then I'll answer yours. All right?” Spike nodded, and Dr. Sangrio cleared his throat.

        “Who is the president of the United States?”

        “Bush, Jr.,” Spike answered with a frown, and Jake opened his mouth to correct him, but caught himself in time. Five years ago, Bush had been president.

        “All right…how many fingers am I holding up?”

        “Seven,” Spike replied, already starting to grow impatient.

        “Okay…and what color is my lab coat? And that plant?”

        “White and green…what kind of soddin' questions are these, anyway? If you're worried about a concussion…”

        “Just a moment more, please,” Sangrio interrupted, “What's the last thing you remember?”

        Spike rolled his eyes, “Me an' Buffy were heading out to the woods to…” He stopped suddenly and seemed to be thinking quickly, “For…uh…for a quick shag…”

        “William, please, answer truthfully. We already know what you were doing.”

        Spike eyed him distrustfully, “We were scarin' up some demons that had been munching on a few campers. We killed them…” He smiled suddenly, “Killed more then her this time…and we were driving back. It started raining and…” His smile disappeared, “It…started raining…” He shot a panicked look at Sangrio and Jake, “I can't remember anything else. What happened!?”

        Sangrio usually preferred a patient to take several days to acclimate themselves to be awake from a coma before explaining what had happened to him, but Spike was hardly an ordinary patient. Already, he was more coherent then a normal coma patient recently awoken.

        “William…you were in a car accident…”

        “Oh…shit…” Spike tried to stand, but Jake gripped his shoulders and forced him back into a sitting position, eliciting a somewhat weak growl from the vampire, “Where's Buffy?!”

        “She's fine,” Sangrio assured him hastily, “She's already fully recovered…” Spike visibly relaxed at that, but then he winced.

        “What about my car?”

        “It was pretty much totaled,” Jake told him apologetically, “Sorry…”

        Sangrio shot an annoyed look at Jake before plunging on, “William…there's more.” Spike gave him a puzzled look, and Sangrio took a deep breath, “You were in a coma…” Spike continued to stare at him blankly. “It's the year 2005, William…you were asleep for five years.”

        Sangrio started in surprise when Spike exhibited the oddest reaction to this type of news he had ever seen.

        He began to laugh uproariously.

        “Come on, doc…” Spike said once he gained control of himself, chuckles still erupting from him every few seconds, “Pull the other one.”

        “Oh…God…”

        Spike glanced over his shoulder, all mirth disappearing when he saw Buffy leaning heavily against the doorway, tears standing in her eyes and both hands clamped over her mouth, as if to prevent a scream from escaping her lips.

        “Buffy…” He breathed softly, and then fell deathly silent as Buffy collapsed to the ground and began to sob violently.

        It was nearly an hour before everyone had calmed down.

        At seeing Buffy's reaction to him, Spike became a believer, which was further enforced when Dawn showed up, no longer a lanky, awkward fourteen-year-old, but now a confident, beautiful looking nineteen-year-old…with a bob. Oddly enough, it was Dawn's new hair-style that had truly shocked him up to this point.

        He had been mostly silent since Dawn had embraced him tearfully, and he had hugged her back, somewhat self-consciously, as she was no longer the innocent little girl he remembered; she was truly a woman now, if he went by looks alone, that is. She still clung to his arm like a limpet, which was what he was familiar with.

        Buffy, however, had given him no hug, no embrace. As soon as she had gotten the worse of the crying under control, she had retreated to the opposite side of the room.

        Jake still hung around the periphery of the group, and several times she had glanced up to see his gaze on her, and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat, wringing her hands in her lap. She was also aware of the hurt and confused looks Spike kept sending her, probably wondering why she wasn't jumping all over him and raining his face with fevered kisses. Not that she didn't desperately want too, but she was far too confused and emotional to properly judge what should be done.

        “It is really…quite a miracle, William, that you are even with us now, especially with…your thought processes apparently intact,” Sangrio was telling him, “There was very little chance that you would have woken up…”

        Spike wasn't even listening to him. He was too busy watching Buffy and tracing the changes in her face and appearance. She was twenty-five years old now. Old for a Slayer, but the years had done little to change her. Her hair was longer now, hanging down nearly to her waist in a golden flow, and her eyes appeared even older then he remembered…and maybe her eyes were a little duller and without the spark of fire he was so used too…but she had been through a lot today…hell…over the last five years…which could explain that away very easily.

        However, he couldn't help but wonder what else had changed for her. Five years was a long time…especially for a mortal. Did she even love him anymore? He certainly couldn't tell from the way she hadn't even hugged him or said really much of anything beyond `Oh, God,' but once again…that could just be the trauma and stress getting to her.

        When Sangrio finally stopped talking and went to leave them alone so they could catch up, he couldn't even get out one question before Willow and Tara arrived, and he had new strangers to observe now.

        Willow, with flaming red hair to her shoulders, was a bit plumper then he remembered, while Tara exuded a confidence he hadn't equated with the blond witch before. Willow also seemed vastly calmer then she ever had before, exuding less of the hyped-up, nervous energy that was a Willow trademark.

        “Spike! Oh, thank the Goddess you're awake!” Willow threw her arms around him, and Spike immediately tensed, his eyes widening slightly as his mind was flooded with images.

        “Willow! Tara! Watch out!” Buffy shouted as she dodged the attack of a Fyral demon, trying to move past him to where he and Tara were chanting in a circle lit by candles. Tara looked up as another demon, covered in spikes, swung his arm towards her head. She ducked backwards, but one of the spikes slashed across her throat in a spurt of arterial blood and he screamed…

        “SPIKE!”

        His eyes snapped back into focus, and he was back in the hospital room, everyone staring at him in concern. “What…happened?”

        “You…just blanked out,” Buffy told him, with a sharp edge of fear to her voice. For a moment, she had thought he was slipping back into his coma and had nearly died inside, all over again.

        Spike turned his attention away from Buffy and back towards Tara, who was standing behind Willow uncertainly, just as confused as everybody else. For the first time, he noticed that she was wearing a high-necked, baggy sweater, but he could see a faint line of scar tissue peeking over the top. “Wh-what happened to your neck?”

        Tara's hand flew up to her throat, and she shared a self-conscious glance with Willow before slowly lowering her turtleneck, allowing Spike to see the jagged, pinkish scar that marred her pale throat. “It was a h'edregho demon,” Willow answered, keeping her tone light, even though there was still a faint trace of fear in her eyes, “It's not as bad as it looks, believe me.”

        “She almost died,” Spike whispered.

        “She was lucky,” Willow answered, dropping her hand to Tara's and giving it a firm squeeze, her smile wavering on her face, “It…destroyed her voice box, so she's mute now…”

        Spike glanced at Tara as she used her hands to sign something to Willow, and she was smiling at him, her expressive eyes twinkling in her soft face. “Oh! Right,” Willow turned back towards Spike, “She said that you still need to meet Moira…she's Anya and Giles' daughter. They'll be here in a few days, so you'll…”

        “Giles…and…Anya,” Spike repeated, feeling as if his brain was overloading. Between that strange vision...which he was starting to think was Willow's doing, albeit, accidentally, finding out Tara was now a mute, and, apparently, Giles knocking Anya up, there was a good chance his head would explode. Tara whacked Willow's shoulder.

        “Oh, Goddess…that's right…Giles and Anya weren't together when you…um…it's kind of a long story.”

        “Xander left Anya at the altar, and Giles caught her on the rebound and knocked her up,” Dawn summarized, “They're married now.” She shot a glance at Buffy, who flushed.

        Spike lifted a hand to his eyes, where he was starting to develop a migraine. Jake saw this and moved forward, clapping his hands explosive to get their attention. “All right, girls…I think the patient's had enough. You can come back tomorrow.”

        Spike was both relieved and disappointed that they were leaving, but exhaustion, physical, emotional and mental, was starting to overtake him. Funny…he had been asleep for the last five years, but the first thing he wanted to do was sleep. How was that for irony?

        He mumbled a goodbye to the Wiccans and allowed Dawn to embrace him before she bounced off after Tara and Willow, and he turned his attention to Buffy as she slowly unfurled from her seat.

        She shifted uncomfortably before approaching him, “Do you want anything before I go?” She asked him, and he grinned at her with the same wicked smile she remembered so well.

        “Smoke, scotch and a shag…not necessarily in that order,” He joked, attempting to get at least a tiny smile at her. He succeeded, but it was tight and there was no humor in her eyes, only confusion.

        “Pretty sure they don't allow any of that in a hospital,” She told him, quickly leaning forward to plant a chaste kiss on his forehead and then she was hurrying towards the door.

        “Buffy?” She paused in the doorway, “Love you, pet…”

        Her shoulders tensed slightly, and then she left, without looking back or returning the sentiment.

        Spike's headache intensified.

        When Buffy finally returned home, after dropping Dawn off at the Sunnydale U campus, she immediately walked into the mouthwatering scent of food cooking. However, a few seconds later, she remembered why she had been out in the first place and not cooking dinner like she was supposed to and her appetite failed her.

        She chewed on her bottom lip as she shrugged out of her jacket and hung it on the hook beside the door before heading towards the kitchen. She couldn't help but smile when she saw a tall, broad-shouldered man bent over the stove and cursing up a storm beneath his breath as the spaghetti sauce boiled over and stained the sides of the too small metal pot.

        “Hey,” She greeted softly, and he turned swiftly, brandishing his wooden stirring spoon threateningly. He immediately relaxed when he saw it was her, and ran a hand through his sandy blond hair. “Sorry, John…I know it was my turn to cook…”

        “Buffy, it's fine,” He sat down the stirring spoon, his brown eyes meeting hers squarely, “I figured you'd be a little preoccupied tonight…word got around the hospital pretty fast. I would've gone over to you…but I figured that wasn't the best time for it…”

        Buffy smiled wanly as she took a seat at the island, absently twisting her golden wedding band around her finger, but the smile was gone almost right away. “I…I didn't tell him,” She lowered her eyes, “I…I didn't know how to tell him…”

        John smiled at her warmly as he took the spaghetti sauce off of the stove and sat across from her, reaching over to clasp her hands in his own and still her fidgeting. “Buffy…it wasn't the best time for it. I know that he meant-means a lot to you, and you to him,” Jealously flashed across his face briefly, but he stamped it down rapidly. He had long grown used to his wife having unresolved feelings for Spike; the man was in a coma, after all, and therefore, there was no real end to their relationship. However, he knew she still felt a little guilty about moving on with her life, and he did his best to not let his jealously be known. It would only make things more difficult for her. “Best to wait a few days, at the very least…it'll give him time to get used to everything else before he gets another huge shock.”

        “Thanks, John,” Buffy murmured, chewing on her bottom lip, “I'm not sure if I should have left him alone…”

        “Don't worry, he's in good hands,” John assured her, “Dr. Sangrio is very good at his job.”

        “I…guess…” Buffy stifled a sigh and managed to give her husband a half-hearted smile, “So…dinner smells good…”

        “That it does, Mrs. Mayers,” John grinned as he kissed his wife on the mouth, “Why don't you get started on the garlic bread while I finish up here?”

        “Okay,” Buffy smiled at him,  her mood lightening just a little. “Sounds great, hon.”

        Jake wiped the sweat from his forehead as he sat up from the bench press, his muscles aching with a pleasant tingle. He rolled his head, the tight shoulder-length braids of his hair brushing across the bare skin of his shoulders and making them itch a little.

        He was trying to put his mind off of work, but was finding it hard to do in light of all that had happened that day. He had stuck around for pretty much the entire time after Spike's friends had taken off, watching the poor guy as he had gotten stuck with about a hundred needles, had his head scanned about three times and pretty much every other unnecessary procedure meant to drive up his hospital bills. By the time it was over, Spike had been pretty much shell-shocked, which had only gotten worse after he was finally allowed to go back to bed and had turned on the television.

        CNN probably hadn't been a good idea at the time, especially after seeing Spike's face when he heard about the wars in the Middle East and the growing hostilities between the United States and Russia. He had fortunately turned off the television before he could hear about the constant terrorist bombings taking place in the larger Eastern cities. There would be time for him to catch up on current events later.

        Instead, he had sat by Spike's bedside and made idle chat and kept look-out after sneaking Spike in a pack of cigarettes. The nurses would bitch and complain, but the guy had been in a coma for five years. The least they could do was let him have a damned smoke.

        Jake stood up and started throwing together a small dinner for himself, throwing speculative looks at his telephone. The urge to call his father was overwhelming, despite the fact the old man had disowned him when he had came out of the closet. “Don't be an idiot, Jake,” He muttered beneath his breath, rolling his eyes as he grabbed out some orange juice from the fridge, “The guy just woke from a coma…he was babbling bullshit…”

        However, he couldn't force the look out of Spike's eyes when he had first came awake, his eyes filled with madness…but also, something indefinable…almost like fear…but even so, he was freaking out about nothing, right? Spike couldn't possibly have meant his father when he said `your dad'. Spike had never meant him, since he had been a vegetable up till then.

        However, he couldn't shake off the feeling that something was off and he finally gave in to the urge and dialed his father's number, listening apprehensively as it rang several times and preparing to hang up the moment he heard his dad's voice. He just needed to know that…

        “Hel-hello?”

        “Aunt Lucy?”

        “Oh, sweet Jesus…Jacob!” There was the sound of hushed voices on the other end of the phone before she spoke again, “Jacob, oh honey, there's something I have to tell you…” She sounded tearful, and Jake swallowed heavily.

        “Aunt Lucy…is dad okay?”

        “Oh…no, Jacob…your father died this afternoon…”