Gods And Monsters

Chapter Seventy-two:

The kettle was whistling shrilly when Hel entered the kitchen, chewing her lower lip anxiously. Her mind was elsewhere as she slid onto one of the island stools, her movements mechanical as her body resorted to autopilot.

"Hey, how is he?"

Hel lifted her head, her deep contemplation shattered by the familiar, tentative voice of Willow. "The last I saw of him he was still alive." She replied absentmindedly. "He's coping."

"Well, there seems to be a definite lack of screaming." Willow noted, an attempt at positivity. "That has to be good."

"One would think so, yes."

Cautiously, Willow poured hot water into a lavender mug on the countertop.

Hel raised her eyebrows. "For Kennedy?"

"Yeah. Thought I'd bring her some tea, help her feel better."

"Ooh, I see." Hel crooned suggestively.

"It's just tea." Willow countered unconvincingly.

Hel smirked, endlessly amused by the lack of self-awareness so many mortals suffered from. Then, her expression sobered. "Willow, how much do you know about the chip in Spike's head?"

"Well, I remember trying to dig up stuff back then, but, you know, turns out, when a government agency studies vampires and puts chips in their brains that keep them from hurting people, they don't really build websites."

"Even with the chip, Spike was more than capable of slaughtering many mortals while under the influence of the First. It must be damaged somehow."

"The chip is misfiring all on its own, then." Willow hypothesised. "Well, this'll be fun." She added, cheerfully sarcastic, and turned to exit the kitchen, mug of tea in hand.

"Have fun... Delivering tea." Hel called after her teasingly.

Willow paused, glancing back at her. "Okay, not when you make it sound all dirty like that." She remarked sheepishly. "It's just tea..." She mumbled to herself under her breath, resuming her journey upstairs.

Hel brewed a tea for both Spike and herself, and retrieved a face towel on her return trip to the basement. She found Spike laying across the cot, prone on his back and his head supported by a pillow. The unmistakeable garnet flow of blood trickling from his nose seemed to have slowed. Striding briskly over to him, she perched on the edge of his cot.

"Popped another blood vessel, I think."

She handed him the towel, which he accepted gratefully and used to wipe his nose. "Do you think this could be related to either the trigger or the return of your soul?"

"Or maybe I wasn't meant to last this long."

"There has to be someone who can be of assistance."

"It's a long shot, but Buffy could make a few calls, try to track down her soldier boy-toy."

A coy, crooked smile curved her lips. "Who you gonna call?"

"Oh god." He chuckled. "That phrase is never gonna be useable again, is it?"

"I doubt it." Her smile grew slightly, touching her eyes. "I cannot believe you made me watch that ridiculous film."