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squawks
05/18/17 04:16 am
pj! I remember wishing one of your stories would be finished seriously about a decade ago. Amazing. I just tried an old password I used to use and amazingly got in too. Memories!
pj
03/20/17 01:20 am
10 yrs later, i finally rem my username and password. Pari, you rock. Hope you are well.
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Great post.
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And anyone else who loves this site, it's worth mentioning there's a nifty little "Donate" option just below the shout box here! ;)
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Chapter One

Run! Don’t stop. Never stop running. Buffy revelled in the adrenaline that surged through her. The chilled night air sawed in and out of her burning lungs. The muscles in her legs screamed at her to rest. Still she kept on, the distance stretching out behind her in ever greater lengths. Only one thought consumed her, Faster. Must go faster.

She crossed four of Sunnydale’s largest cemeteries before her legs began to falter. Panic threatened to engulf her as she realised she was slowing down. With an anguished cry of frustration she fell heavily to the ground, pain shooting up her left leg as her foot twisted awkwardly beneath her. Her chest heaved as she lay there, making no enough to rise. Tears tracked a silent path down her cheeks. That’s how he found her.

Spike was on his way home, bag loaded with Wheaties and blood in one hand, bottle of Jack Daniels in the other. He’d been weaving through the cemetery humming to himself when he heard the Slayer cry out. Shrugging absentmindedly he made his way toward the sound. No harm in helping her out, he reasoned to himself, not like I’ve got anything better to do.

Spike was surprised to find Buffy just lying there on the ground. Not a demon in sight, he noted with a quick look around before turning his attention back to Buffy. Her face was flushed and sweaty, her body shaking slightly. She looked for all the world like she might just lie there till she rotted.

“Dangerous place to take a nap Slayer.”

Buffy’s eyes snapped open at the sound of Spike’s sarcastic drawl. “Fuck off Spike,” she muttered. Spike noted the lack of fire in her harsh words. Disappointment filled him as he realised that the past two months had done nothing to change the fact that she hated being alive again. He’d thought that with time, and the love and support of Dawn and her friends, Buffy would begin to heal. But looking at her vacant eyes and gaunt face, he knew that if anything she suffered now more than ever. That’s it, he thought to himself. She’s wallowed long enough. If her friends can’t help her, I’ll just have to do it for them.

With that thought in mind Spike dropped his bag and the bottle of JD, moved behind her and, gripping her under her arms, hauled her unceremoniously to her feet. “Spike what the hell…” Buffy’s shriek of outrage turned to a cry of pain as her weight landed on her left ankle.

“What’s wrong,” Spike asked as he reached out to steady her before she fell down again.

Buffy glared at him. “I hurt my ankle. You would have known that if you’d bothered to ask before you manhandled me.”

Concern marred his brow as he knelt to inspect her ankle. Relieved to find it wasn’t broken he stood. “You’ve sprained it,” he stated simply.

“Duh,” Buffy spat at him, attempting to put pressure on it and wincing at the pain.

“Right then.” Reaching for his things Spike shoved them at Buffy, who grabbed them instinctively. Then, sweeping her up into his arms, he carried her in the direction of his crypt, tightening his grip when she began to struggle. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.

“Oh pipe down,” Spike answered irritably. “I’ve got ice at my place. It’ll take the swelling down.” Spike paused to look at her. “Unless you’d rather I took you home.”

Upon hearing his words Buffy became still. She didn’t particularly want to go with Spike (just his presence was making her stomach do flip flops), but she couldn’t face the thought of going home yet. Sullenly she turned her face away from him and kept her silence.

“That’s what I thought,” Spike said quietly. Then, settling her more comfortably in his arms, he took her home.


Chapter Two

Spike strode into his crypt with Buffy still cradled in his arms. At first he’d relished the feel of her warmth against him. And her scent – all sunshine and vanilla. But as his body began reacting to her closeness, holding her had become a kind of exquisite torture. Reminding him of everything he could never have.

With a mixture of relief and regret he deposited her in his one comfy chair. Kneeling in front of her he began removing her left boot, praying she wouldn’t notice the bulge in the front of his jeans and stake him for getting off on touching her when she was injured.

Daring a glance at her face he found her staring at him like a petulant child. Her hair was all mussed, her full lips drawn into a tight line. He thought she looked adorable.

Quickly Spike moved to retrieve some ice from his small freezer and, wrapping it in a towel, returned to place the towel around her ankle. The silence in the room weighted heavily on him and he sort to break the tension. “What happened to you tonight?”

Buffy knew instinctively that no matter what she told him he would accept her as she was. He wasn’t desperate for her to be happy like everyone else in her life; he was content just to spend time with her. Watching him wait so patiently for her to answer, his ice blue eyes never wavering from her own, Buffy found herself talking. The words tumbling from her mouth in a torrent, revealing everything, and the relief that began to fill her was overwhelming.

She’d been out patrolling when she’d found herself just sitting on a gravestone staring at nothing. Remembering the peace she’d felt when she’d been in Heaven and how she longed to feel that way again. Even for a moment. But no matter how still she became, no matter how silent, there was always that deafening roar of activity. Her heart beating, her blood flowing, air being drawn in and out of her lungs. In and out, in and out. It was an endless cycle that drove her crazy. Then a thought had suddenly occurred to her, if only she could break free of the body, maybe her soul could know peace again.

“Stupid idea I know,” Buffy said, dragging herself back to the present. “But at the time I didn’t exactly stop to think about it. I just ran, hoping that…”

“Hoping what Buffy?” Spike encouraged.

Glancing at him, Buffy shrugged, “That my soul could go faster than my legs?” She looked disdainfully at her hands, stretching them out before her. “That this shell would fall away and I could soar into the darkness. Free.” Turning one hand toward him she placed it on Spike’s chest, over his un-beating heart. “I almost envy you your stillness,” she whispered.

Shock kept Spike silent as he took in all she had told him. He’d known that being brought back to life had been traumatic for her, and that she was grieving for what she had lost, but he’d had no idea that her mind was so completely out of touch with her body. It was like she’d been fractured into two pieces. Absently he placed a hand over hers. He couldn’t think straight with her fingers gently stroking his chest like that. He had to think if he was going to help her.

Suddenly an idea occurred to him and he latched onto it with fervour. Doesn’t like her body does she? he thought with a sly grin. We’ll just see about that.




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