Title: Humanitis
Author: Saber ShadowKitten

(notes in part one)

Spike closed the kitchen door to the Summers' residence behind him and leaned back against it, eyes squeezed tightly shut. His head was pounding, the pain radiating from the large bump on the back of his head. "Bloody fucking hell," he swore once again, pushing himself from the door and over to the cabinet where he'd seen Joyce put the aspirin.

He found the white bottle and turned the cap. All it did was make a clicking noise, not opening. He kept turning, getting more and more angry, making his head hurt worse. "Damn it!" he said loudly, turning to throw the bottle against the wall. At the last minute, he dropped it into the sink, grabbing the edge and leaning back, head towards the floor.

"Make it stop," he begged no one in particular. He felt a tightening sensation in his throat, then his eyes filled up with water. Tears began to fall, mixed with gasping sobs. The only time he'd ever cried before was when Drusilla had left him, and he only did it after he was exceedingly drunk. But this was different, felt different.

He didn't know how long he was there crying. When the tears finally stopped, his head was pounding even more, he couldn't breathe through his nose, but for some reason he felt much better. He picked up the pill bottle, got out a spoon and the jelly, then made his way upstairs to Buffy's room.

Spike looked around the room thoughtfully as he set the items in his hands down on the night stand. The last time he'd been up here, he'd only gotten a brief look while retrieving the spellbook for Willow. It seemed like so long ago. Shedding his duster and his favorite red shirt, he began to curiously pick things up, studying each item before returning it to its spot. He adored the pictures, the little stuffed pig and cow on the bed, the mixture of makeup and slaying supplies scattered across the desk.

He glanced at the alarm clock, wondering when Buffy would be back from patrol. He really needed that aspirin. His head felt like it was going to explode. Picking up a book, he propped up the pillows on the bed, then settled against them to wait.

After a few minutes of reading, he did something really strange. His mouth opened uncontrollably and he inhaled deeply. He couldn't stop whatever was happening and it made him feel sleepy. Blinking several times, he wiped his nose with the Kleenex he'd found, then went back to the book.

Buffy climbed through the window silently, then froze before a smile crossed her face. On her bed was a sound asleep Spike, breathing heavily through his mouth, book held loosely in his hands on his lap. She finished coming into the room and walked over to the side of the bed, gently taking the book from him and setting it aside. She saw the aspirin, jelly and spoon on the night stand and her smile grew wider. She hadn't taken pills that way since she was a kid.

Grabbing some pajamas, the Slayer went into the bathroom to clean up and change, mentally calculating how long it's been since they'd left the school. While she'd been out on patrol, she'd done a lot of thinking about her woe-be-gone guest, effectively blocking out Wesley's droning on and on about whatever he'd been droning on and on about.

Just like a child, Spike had no idea on how to control his body, or what certain things his body did meant. After two hundred years of not having to do anything with it, she understood why he wouldn't remember how to go to the bathroom, or what normal hunger felt like, or a headache. If he really got sick, he'd probably act in typical male fashion, but it could probably be worse. And if he got hurt, he wouldn't heal as rapidly as a vampire. He could actually be killed quite easily.

She stopped by the linen closet on her way to her room, digging out extra blankets. Returning to her room, she snatched a pillow he wasn't using and made a bed on the floor for herself. Then, she carefully removed Spike's Doc Martens, pulled one end of the comforter over him, set the alarm for two hours later and put it on the floor within easy reach, then went to sleep.

Buffy felt as though she'd just closed her eyes when the alarm went off. Disoriented, she slapped her hand on it and looked around. *Why am I on the...oh, yeah,* she thought, sitting up. She blinked sleepily and yawned, then stood, looking down at the bed. Spike had turned on his side in his sleep, one hand curled into a fist by his face. "Spike," she said quietly, sitting next to him on the edge of the bed, rubbing his shoulder to wake him.

"Just kill the wanker," Spike muttered.

She giggled. "Spike, wake up," she tried again, still rubbing his shoulder like her mother did when she was younger.

Spike pried his heavy eyes open, trying to focus on the person calling his name. When he saw Buffy, he smiled. His tired brain didn't grasp the fact that he was waking up, he thought he was still asleep and dreaming. He loved having dreams about her. "What is it, luv?"

"You should probably go to the bathroom," Buffy told him. "I figure you don't want to wake up in a wet bed again."

"Why would I want to go to the bathroom?" Spike asked, confused at his dream girl. "Unless you fancy taking a shower with me. I got that scented stuff you like."

"What?" It was Buffy's turn to be confused. "Spike, what are you talking about?"

"That stuff that makes you smell like vanilla," he explained, his eyes drifting shut again. "We used it up the other night taking that bubble bath."

"We did?" she asked. *Bubble bath? Ok, something strange is happening in the state of Spikemark,* she thought.

"I used the last bit on your toes, luv, remember?" Spike said. "You said it tickled."

*Maybe he thinks I'm Drusilla,* Buffy thought. "Spike, you really need to wake up." Suddenly, she felt an arm snake around her waist and pull her down next to him, her back to his chest. She felt him nuzzle her hair. "Spike!" she squeaked.

"I'm sleepy, pet. You should be, too," he mumbled into her hair. "I love you, Buffy."

Buffy's eyes grew huge at his sleep-filled words. She heard his breathing grow even and knew he was totally out of it again. Frozen in place, she repeated over and over in her head what he had said. *Me? Spike loves me? How can he love me, I'm his mortal enemy? Oh no, my life is not too strange.*

She had to admit, however, that his arm felt nice around her stomach, the steady rise and fall of his chest against her back comforting. With a small groan at the absurdity of the situation, she pushed herself upright and shook Spike, saying his name sharply. "Spike, wake up."

"What?" Spike said, eyes coming open to glare at the person shaking him. When he saw Buffy this time, he sighed. "I take it my being a bloody human wasn't a nightmare."

"Sorry, but no," Buffy told him.

He frowned as he took in her sleep tousled appearance. "When did you get home? I was waiting for you to open that bleedin' bottle for me."

"A couple of hours ago," she replied. "You fell asleep on the bed."

"Oh," Spike said, his face heating up. "Sorry."

"‘S-ok," Buffy said. "Do you still need the aspirin?"

"No," he answered, raising his hand to touch the back of his head. He winced at the pain when he pressed on the lump, but he had no headache.

Buffy saw him wince and frowned. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said. She raised a brow skeptically and he sighed again. "I hit it on a wall."

"Ouch," Buffy responded. She reached over and turned on the light. "Let me see."

Spike squinted when the light burned his eyes. "Hey, what's wrong with my eyes?"

"Huh? Oh, that's your eyes protecting themselves until the iris adjusts to the change in light," Buffy explained. "I actually paid attention in science that day."

"When will it stop? This doesn't feel good," he whined.

"In a minute," she replied, moving his head to look at it. She gently ran her fingers over the back of his head. He hissed the same time she found a very large lump. "You whacked yourself pretty good."

"No kidding, Slayer," Spike said sarcastically, his eyes now open normally. "Stop poking on it, you're only making it hurt worse."

"It should go away by tomorrow," she told him. "It'll be tender, though, for a day or so."

"Bloody marvelous," he said under his breath. Then he did that strange thing again, his mouth opening wide and inhaling deeply. "Will you tell me," he said with the action. "What the hell is happening?"

"What do you mean?" Buffy asked, the yawn passing to her.

"That. What you just did," Spike said.

"I yawned," she replied.

"Oh," he said. "Why?"

"Because I'm tired," she explained. "When you yawn, your body is telling you to shut up and go to sleep."

"Then why aren't you shutting up and going to sleep?" Spike asked, grin on his face.

"Two reasons - one, some big galoot is in my bed," Buffy replied. "And two, you should hit the head. I don't want to have to change my sheets in the morning. That would just be eew."

Spike frowned in confusion. "Why do you want me to hit you on the head?"

"Ugh!" Buffy threw up her hands and stood. "You're two hundred years old! You should have heard all these euphemisms already." She looked back to see him now sitting on the edge of the bed, eyeing her. "Just go to the bathroom, ok?"

"But I don't have to," he replied.

"Do it anyway," she said through clenched teeth. "Or I'll ship you over to the mansion and Angel can babysit you."

Spike stood. "I didn't bloody ask to be a human and I can take care of myself," he snapped. "I don't need a bloody babysitter."

Buffy sighed, not in a fighting mood and knowing that he was angry with the situation, not at her. "Listen, I only wanted to prevent you being embarrassed. Your human...ness is new, so you don't know how to control it yet. I'll have to figure out how you to teach you to sleep through the night without wetting the bed. Now, will you please not argue and just go to the bathroom so we can go back to sleep?"

"Why would I wet the...bloody hell," he finished the sentence by closing his eyes. When he opened them again, his face was extremely red. "Thank you, Slayer. I'll just...uh...go."

Buffy watched as he hurried out of the bedroom. "Only I would end up in my bedroom with a vampire who hated me turned human who loves me," she muttered as she unmade the bed. She reset the alarm and put it back on the night stand, then climbed in. Spike returned, still red faced, and looked anywhere but at her. "Your turn to sleep on the floor."

"Right," he said.

She waited until he was settled, then switched off the light. "Hey, you know what we didn't ask you?"

"What's that, pet?"

"Did you get your soul, too?"

Spike frowned. "I don't know. What does it feel like to have a soul?"

"Do you care if you kill anyone?" Buffy asked. "Would you feel guilty if you did?"

"No," he replied.

"Then you didn't get that back," she said. "You're the same annoying Spike, just with a living body instead of a dead one."

"Undead."

"Whatever. Go to sleep."

"Yes, dear."

"Spike?"

"Hmm?"

"Shut up."

Spike chuckled and closed his eyes. "Goodnight, Slayer."

"Goodnight, human."

"Slayer?"

"Hmm?"

"Shut up."