"What?"  Buffy took a quick step forward, actually running into Spike as she did.  She hadn't realized he was standing so close.  Swearing briefly she stepped around him to where she thought the Valet was.  "No, he can't," she said sharply.  "This is my problem, not Spike's.  I should be the one to take this trial, whatever it is."

"Now now, my dear."  The Valet gave her an avuncular pat on the shoulder.  "Haven't you ever heard of 'an eye for an eye'?"

"An eye for... What are you planning to do?  Blind him too?"  Alarm coloured her voice and Buffy reached out a hand to the vampire's arm, holding on to it tightly.  She barely noticed when his hand come down on top of hers.

"Blind him...?"  The Valet laughed.  "Oh, that's very good.  No, Miss Summers.  We have no plans to blind your young champion here -- although accidents have been known to happen.  No, the trials are a matter of life...and death.  If young Spike should succeed, you will regain your eyesight."

"And if I don't?" the vampire asked harshly.

"Why, then I'm afraid Miss Summers' life will be forfeit.  You, of course, will already be dead."

'Well, isn't this just sodding special?" Spike thought.  The night kept getting worse and worse.

Actually that wasn't quite true.  Things had been getting steadily better, from the moment he had first noticed the Slayer in the cemetery, right up until a moment ago.  True, he'd gotten a few broken ribs for his pains...but that was a small price to pay, really.  She had kissed him.  Apologized.  Not staked him in the back.  And he'd seen her half-naked.  Yeah, not bad at all.

But this... This was more than Spike had bargained for.  When he had brought her here he hadn't realized that he'd be gambling with both their lives.  And, while she might be willing to die tonight, he certainly wasn't.  'I've got an unlife to live," he thought resentfully.  'Things to do, places to go...'

Only...what would life be like without her?  Spike had no doubts in his mind that if they left here tonight and the Slayer was still blind...then she would die.  And probably sooner rather than later.

So it came down to this:  How much did he really want to keep her alive?  And how much was he willing to risk?

Slowly, the vampire turned his head, registering the way Buffy's hand was still resting on his arm, seeing the anxiety in her expression as she looked sightlessly up at him...

...and he swallowed, letting his eyes drift slowly shut.  The answer was everything.  He would risk everything for her.

"But...but he's got broken ribs," Buffy was saying, trying to think of a way out of this.  She couldn't let Spike do this for her -- not that he would he agree to it anyway.  But still...

"And you are blind.  What, as you Americans say, is the point?"  There was a note of impatience in the Valet's voice now, as if he were growing tired of the conversation.
"Well, he..."

Spike broke in abruptly.  "I'll do it."

"What?"  Buffy turned to him in shock, her fingers unconsciously tightening around his arm.  "Spike, no."

"Buffy, yes," he said mockingly.  "Look, this is what we came here for.  You didn't think anything called a 'trial' was going to be easy, did you?  So let's just get the bloody thing over so I can get you back to your sodding life and out of mine.  I've got my own problems to worry about, remember?"

Buffy frowned, not buying his act.  He had just offered to risk his life.  For her.  But why?  What did he have to gain?  One possible answer flickered briefly through her mind but she discarded it as impossible.  Not that it mattered anyway.  She had no intention of allowing him go through with this.
 
"I won't let you," she said firmly, her fingers digging into his arm.

One of his hands touched her hair.  "And you plan on stopping me how, Goldilocks?  You're blind, remember?  Couldn't even kill one little demon without my help."

"It was a big demon," she said, a trifle shakily.  "and I don't understand why you're doing this.  We hate each other..."

"Yeah, Slayer.  We do."  And then he pulled her roughly forward, pinning her against his chest...and his lips descended on hers.

The kiss was even more powerful than the one in the crypt.  Partly because she was fully conscious this time...and partly because Buffy could sense more than a little desperation fuelling it -- on both sides.  Spike was kissing her as if nothing else mattered in the world, as if he expected her to push him away at any moment...

Only she couldn't.  His tongue was moving sinuously against hers, his hand going around her waist to pull her even closer so that she could feel every inch of his body through the soaking t-shirt and jeans, could feel his arousal pressing against her -- and she couldn't do it.  It felt too good.  Too real.  Too  necessary.  Nothing else mattered, only this moment.  Only him.  Instinctively, Buffy reached her good arm up to hang onto him, her fingers tightening in the wet material of his shirt as she tilted her head back, allowing him to change the angle of the kiss, to deepen it as his hands roamed freely across her body...

Inevitably, the end came too soon.  Far too soon.  Something was tapping Spike on the shoulder, although he barely noticed it at first through the red haze obscuring his senses.  But there it was again...  With a silent snarl, he wrenched his head up, breaking the kiss but not letting go of the Slayer.

"What?" he growled, looking back over his shoulder.

"Ahem."  It was the Valet.  "While I can quite understand your...er...ardour sir, there is still a series of trials to undergo.  And time is passing.  Rapidly."  The little man pulled out a gold pocket watch on a chain and waved it under Spike's nose.  "If you wish to do battle for the lady's favour then I suggest you put her down and GET ON WITH IT."  The Valet folded his arms and waited, glaring at the vampire impatiently.

Spike sighed then turned back to Buffy.  She was looking thoroughly surprised...and thoroughly kissed.  Her lips were swollen, her hair dishevelled, and there was an expression in her sightless eyes that sent a wave of pure self-satisfaction coursing through him.  He had kissed her.  And she had kissed him back.  Life was good.

"You don't have to do this," she said, her voice a trifle unsteady, her heart racing against his.

"Might as well," he said off-handedly, making sure the emotions that were rolling through him weren't echoed in his voice.  "Nothing better to do."

"Spike..."

He cut her off, kissing her again, fast and hard this time... and then he stepped backwards, out of her arms.  Instantly she and the Valet began to fade.  Spike watched them go, trepidation already beginning to replace the passion within him, then he took a deep breath and said aloud:  "Be seeing you, Slayer."

And then they were gone and he was all alone.

And then a door swung open behind him...and he wasn't.

Buffy staggered as the world reformed around her, but the Valet put out a helpful arm, steadying her.  "What happened?" she said in alarm. "Where's Spike?"

"Undergoing the trial."

"I want to see what's happening!"

The Valet chuckled shortly.  "Yes, well that is rather the point, isn't it?  If he succeeds you'll get your eyesight back soon enough."

"And if he doesn't we'll both die."  Her voice was laced with frustration.

"Yes.  Quite.  Cup of tea?"

The Slayer ignored him, moving forward as she tried to sort out her surroundings.  Her toe caught on something...a chair.  "Where am I?" she asked, turning slowly.

"The antechamber.  Please, have a seat."

"I'll stand.  And where is Spike?  Specifically?"

"Specifically?"  The Valet paused, as if consulting something.  "He's still on the first challenge.  Doing quite well too, I must say.  Not as well as our last supplicant, but still...not bad at all."  He crossed the room toward her and pressed something into her hand -- a cup and saucer full of something hot.  "It's Earl Grey," he said.  "I hope you like lemon.  And do please sit down.  This could take a while."

For a moment Buffy debated throwing the cup, tea and all, at him, then decided against it.  She needed information, after all, and Jeeves here was the only one who could help her.  Might as well try to be polite.  She could always beat him to a pulp later.

"So what is the first challenge?" she asked, sitting down carefully, holding the teacup with both hands.

"He must walk through a door."

Buffy narrowed her eyes.  "No way is it as easy as that."

The Valet sat down beside her in another chair.  "Of course not.  You're very astute.  But it's no good...ah, how do you put it?  'Pumping me for information'.  It's quite against the rules for me to tell you anything else, I'm afraid.  Sugar?"

Buffy shook her head.  "Why?" she said flatly.

"It will make the tea sweet."

"No.  Why can't you tell me what's going on?"

"Ah.  As I said.  Rules.  Surely as the Slayer, you understand the importance of regulations?"  He paused and she could feel his gaze on her, boring intently into her.  "Or perhaps you don't."

She frowned.  "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, you are here with a vampire as your champion, after all.  Which is, to put it baldly, simply not done.  And then there was the...ah," he coughed delicately. "The... er...farewell embrace.  Also quite surprising for a Slayer."

Anger flickered within her.  "What do you know about Slayers anyway?" she said, gamely ignoring the reference to the kiss.

"Quite a lot, actually.  Still, mustn't..."  The Valet abruptly broke off.

"What?"  Buffy said, alarm in her voice.

"Excuse me a moment, will you my dear?  Duties to tend to..."  He stood and she could hear him setting his cup and saucer down on his vacated chair...and then he was gone.  One instant he was there, the next he was not.
 
Buffy surged to her feet, her tea spilling down her leg.  She ignored the momentary pain though, instead stretching out with her senses to detect the Valet's presence.  Or anyone's presence, for that matter.  Nothing.  "Come back here," she shouted abruptly.  "Come back and tell me what's going on!"  But there was no answer.

She was all alone.

Yet again.

Buffy closed her eyes, rubbing her temples with her right hand, wishing the headache that was gathering behind her eyes would go away.

'I need an aspirin,' she thought unhappily.  'I need Giles to tell me more about this place.  I need to know what's going on.'

'And I really need to hit someone.'

Unfortunately, it didn't look as though she was going to get any of the above, at least in the near future.  She had made her painstaking way around the entire antechamber only to find that there were no exits.  At all.  No doors, no windows, no grates in the floor...not even a handy ventilation duct.  'There's never a good ventilation duct around when you need one,' she thought sourly.  The walls themselves were made of thick stone, she had determined, and the only things inside the room were the two chairs, a small table with a teapot on it, two cups of tea (one spilled)...and Buffy.  Absolutely nothing she could use to help her escape.  The room was Houdini-proof.

Frustration growing within her, Buffy rose again and began to pace, albeit carefully.  It wasn't fair and it wasn't right.  Spike was out there risking life and limb while she sat here like...like some pathetic damsel in distress.  All she needed was a long dress and a simpering attitude, and she would be just perfect for the role.  'Helpless,' her mind whispered tauntingly.  'Completely helpless.  Counting on your mortal enemy to save you...'

With a curse the Slayer flung the teapot across the room, listening to the resounding crash with a grim sense of satisfaction.  First thing she had done all night that had made her feel good...

Well, OK.  There had been the kiss.  Kisses.  Actually, now that she thought about it, Buffy seemed to have spent a significant portion of the night up close and personal with Spike...either clinging to him like a vine or letting him kiss her senseless.  And, to be completely honest...kissing him back.

But why?  Why now?  And why Spike?  Yesterday Buffy would have said that she didn't even like him, but today...  Well, it was obvious that some part of her found the vampire attractive, at least on a basic, hormonal level...  Hormones -- that was it.  Well, bad hormones!  Bad!  Icky Spike.  Dangerous Spike.

Exciting Spike.  Exhilarating Spike.  Being with him was like playing with fire.  Living on the edge.  Skating on thin ice.  And pretty much every other cliche she could think of...

...much more exciting than Riley...

Feeling like a traitor for even thinking it, Buffy leaned her aching head back against the chair.  This was  pointless.  Her mind kept going around in circles, always coming back to the same thoughts -- none of which were going to help her to get out of this place alive...or help Spike.  'If only I knew what this trial was,' she thought dismally.  'Maybe then...'

"I would offer you more tea, but there appears to have been an...um...accident...with the teapot."  A voice said suddenly, mere inches away from her ear.  Buffy jumped violently, her heart hammering in her throat as her body moved automatically and instantly into a defensive position.

"So sorry, Miss Summers.  Didn't mean to startle you."  It was the Valet.  Again.

Buffy took a deep unsteady breath then let her hand fall back down, waiting for her heartbeat to regain its normal speed.  "How did you get in here?" she said accusingly.

She could hear the smile in his voice, could almost imagine him winking knowingly at her.  "Ah.  Trade secret, my dear.  I just came to see if you were all right.  Not too bored, I hope?  Of course, I see you've been amusing yourself by flinging the crockery about..."

"How's Spike?" Buffy interrupted, half dreading the answer.

"On the second challenge as we speak.  Only one more to go.  You chose your champion very well, I must say."

"And...and he's all right?"

"Erm...I wouldn't go that far.  But he's still standing.  And conscious.  So, really, he's about as well as can be expected."

Buffy swallowed, a sick feeling going through her at the thought of him being hurt.  "Call this off," she said resolutely.  "Right now.  I wouldn't have come here if I had known..."

"If you had known that someone else might have to suffer for your sake?"  The Valet asked gently, covering her hand with his own.

She didn't bother to pull away.  "Yes."

"You really care about him that much?"

"I..."  Did she?  Did she care about Spike?  Buffy suddenly had the feeling she was standing on the edge of a precipice.  If she admitted that it was more, that it wasn't just her hormones controlling her...then there'd be no going back.  And things would never be the same between them.  Her mind shied away from the thought.

"I don't want him to be hurt," she said finally, skirting the question altogether.

"Too late for that, I'm afraid.  Still, perhaps it will make you feel better to know that he is doing this willingly."

It didn't.  Because...that meant that he cared for her.  On some level, Spike truly cared.  And that wasn't possible, was it?  He was a demon.  He had no soul.  He couldn't care, couldn't feel, couldn't...

Except...except he had loved Drusilla.  He had been devoted to her.  And devastated when she had left him.

The Valet leaned closer and whispered, as if sensing her thoughts:  "Demons can feel love too, you know."

Yes.  They could.  They weren't all evil, emotionless creatures.  She knew that.  But vampires?  The only one she had ever met who wasn't truly bad was Angel, and he had a soul.  So -- where did that leave Spike?  Was the chip in his head changing him somehow, or was it all just an illusion?  Some kind of complicated trick?

No.  It couldn't be.  He had nothing to gain from doing this, and everything to lose.  And how could the chip in his head be responsible?  It might prevent him from hurting people but it certainly wasn't forcing him to help her.  Was it?

No.  It couldn't be.  So it had to be something else.  Something more.  Which brought her right back to where she had begun -- with the notion that Spike truly cared for her.  Maybe even...

'So not gonna go there,' Buffy thought determinedly, hunching her shoulders as a small shiver ran down her spine.  She wasn't going to do this.  Not again.  She would never fall for another vampire.  It was wrong and it was pointless -- and it was dangerous.  Very dangerous.  'Been there, done that, got the emotional scars...'

"I rather think it's too late for that, Miss Summers."

No, it wasn't.  And besides, she had a boyfriend.  A nice, safe, normal boyfriend who loved her...

And then she realized...  Buffy turned back to the Valet with a frown, shoving the disturbing thoughts aside.  "Are you reading my mind?" she asked coldly.

"Well yes I...er...that is... Oh."  He paused.  "So sorry.  That was very impolite."

"Yes," Buffy said, crossing her arms and glaring at him.  "It was.  So read this."  She thought a phrase and felt him start beside her.

"How rude," he said.  And then, in an eyeblink, he was gone.  Again.

Buffy put a hand on the chair, feeling to see if he was still there, then groaned aloud in frustration.  "Stop doing that!" she said to the empty air.

Only silence answered her.

This time, when the Valet returned, Buffy was ready for him.  The moment she felt his presence in the antechamber she seized him by the throat with her right hand, holding the stake in her left, trying to ignore the waves of pain that rolled up her arm with the motion.

"Do you mind?" the little man said, unruffled, trying to slide her hand aside.

"Yes," the Slayer said, tightening her grip on his throat.  "I mind a lot.  I'm all out of patience.  As of now, I'm patience-free.  So you're going to do two things for me or Mr Pointy here gets to meet the inner you.  You're going to get me out of this room.  And you're going to end this trial before Spike gets himself killed.  Understand?"

The Valet did not move.  "Yes, I understand.  But it's too late for that, I'm afraid."

What?  Too late?  But...  Then it sank in.  Spike was dead.  Oh god.  Abruptly she released her hold on the Valet, her left hand dropping to her side, her suddenly numb fingers barely maintaining their grip on the stake.

Dead?  He couldn't be dead.  Not this way.  Not because of her.  And not now.  Not when she was just figuring out that...that she didn't hate him.  That... Oh god.  Spike.

Pain hit her then, driving all the breath from her body.  For an endless moment Buffy felt only anguish...and then even that faded away...leaving behind a cold sense of anger.  And determination.  She lifted her head slowly, unaware of the feral glitter in her eyes.  Her hand tightened around the stake.  "If he is dead," she said flatly, "then so are you."

It hurt.  Actually, hurt wasn't a strong enough word.  A holocaust of pain was burning through Spike with every breath he took.  From the deep gashes in his right leg to the many burns on his feet, chest, back, and hands, the cut just under his left eye, to the metal chains biting into his wrists...no, there was no part of him that wasn't in torment.

Including his heart.  He couldn't even lie to himself anymore now, thanks to this sodding trial.  Not after what he had just gone through...and what he had just done.

He had offered his life for the Slayer's.  And the fact that he wasn't dead -- yet -- didn't mean a bloody thing. As the Valet had said, it was all in the journey, all in the willingness to make the sacrifice.  For her.  For Buffy.  His Slayer.

He loved her.  Enough to die for her.

Bugger.

Spike closed his eyes.  The thought hurt, even more than the physical pain sweeping across his body.  His injuries would heal...eventually, but the agony inside him wasn't ever going to go away.  Because he loved someone who would never love him back, who would never look upon him with anything other than hatred, or at best polite indifference.  And he couldn't even delude himself anymore, couldn't tell himself that it was only her body he lusted after...

'Should've killed me after all,' he thought bitterly -- and then the chains around his wrists abruptly vanished.  And Spike found himself falling as the world around him disappeared...

Spike hit the stone floor hard, not having enough strength left to even try to cushion his fall.  Not that it would have done any good if he had - his left hand was so burned from the holy water that had engulfed it earlier that even the air dancing across the back of it was enough to ignite every nerve end on it.  As for the right one -- there were multiple cross-shaped burns on the palm, matching the ones on his back, chest, and feet.  And meanwhile blood still coursed from the wounds on his leg while grey fog was beginning to gather on the edges of his vision.

Slowly though, random images began to filter into his consciousness.  Cold stone.  He was laying on his back on a stone floor, he realized.  A cool draught was playing over his naked chest, tracing lines of agony across the burns.  And there was light.  Flickering shadows.  Torches, that was it.  He was back in the first room, where he and the Slayer had entered...

Buffy.  A small jolt of alarm shot through him.  Where was she?  Gritting his teeth, Spike struggled to lift his head -- and groaned.  Even that one small movement was almost too much, the fog around him growing thicker.

He should welcome it, he knew.  Should welcome anything that would make the pain go away, welcome the oblivion that was waiting to take him...elsewhere.  But -- but not just yet.  He had to find the Slayer first...

Probably wasn't going to get the chance though, he realized remotely.  The darkness around him was growing, all sensation washing away on a tide of pain.  'Sodding hell,'  Spike thought dimly as the realization hit him.  He knew what was happening.  He was dying.

It hurt more than last time, though.

Buffy smelled the blood first, its metallic tang sharp in the air, so thick she could almost taste it.  Lots of blood.  And there, on the floor... 'Vampire,' her Slayer instincts told her helpfully.

'Spike,' she corrected them.

Buffy darted forward, crossing the room to kneel by the vampire's side, the stake forgotten in her left hand.  "Spike?" she said, reaching out to him tentatively.

His only answer was a low moan when her fingers brushed against bare skin.  Hastily Buffy snatched her hand away, not wanting to cause him further pain, then she sat back, wondering what to do next.

"What's wrong with him?" she asked tautly over her shoulder.

"He's dying."  The English tones were cold and indifferent now, all hint of any prior emotion long gone.

Dying?  How could he be dying?  Vampires didn't die like this.  Not slowly, in pain and bleeding.  So how...?

"This is the Trial, Miss Summers.  The rules are different here."

The man must have been reading her mind again, but Buffy no longer cared.  "Well damn your rules," she said grimly.  "And damn you!  What more do you want?  If you wanted him dead then why do it this way?  Or is it me you want dead?  Well fine," she continued, climbing to her feet and taking a menacing step toward him.  "You want me, then come and get me.  But unless you're really willing to take on one majorly pissed off Slayer, I suggest you stop quoting some damned rulebook and help him!  Because I so meant what I said earlier."

"And what about your eyesight, Miss Summers?  And your champion's choice to sacrifice himself for you?"

"It's not his choice to make," Buffy said flatly.  "It never was.  And you know what?  I don't even care anymore.  I don't want my sight back if it means somebody else has to die for it."

"Are you certain?"  There was an edge of -- something -- in his tone.  Tension maybe?  Or anticipation?

"Yes.  I am.  After all -- what would be the point in being able to see again...if I couldn't look at myself in the mirror?  So just...just end this.  Now."

There was a pause, and then:  "Only you can do that, I'm afraid."

Huh?  Buffy frowned, turning back to Spike.  How?  What was she supposed to do?  What could she do?  He was in so much pain and there was so much blood...  It was soaking into her shoes, the smell of it filling the air until she thought she would choke on it.

Blood.

Oh.

A shudder went through her.  She couldn't.  She couldn't  "There has to be another way," she said, almost to herself, more a plea than anything else...

"Oh will you just shut the bloody hell up and stake me already?"  Buffy jumped.  It was Spike's voice, wracked with agony and barely louder than a whisper, but he was awake.  Just barely, but awake.  Which meant he had heard everything that had been said...  Buffy swallowed then sank slowly back to her knees again beside him.  "What did you say?"

"You heard, blondie... Get it over with."

She shook her head violently.  "Are you crazy?  I'm not going to kill you.  Well, not today anyway."

"Stubborn...bloody...woman.  Year ago you wouldn't have so much as batted an eyelid.  Would've staked me as soon as look at me.  And you know you still want to..."

With an effort Spike managed to raise his upper body slightly, reaching out with unsteady fingers for her.  Buffy didn't move away, didn't even flinch as his hand closed around her left wrist and pulled it forward until the stake in her fingers was resting against his chest, the point just over his heart.

"You said it before, Goldilocks.  World needs a Slayer.  And with this chip in my head I'm just a waste of space.  Be doing me a favour, really.  So just...bloody do it!"  He tightened his grip on her wrist.

Buffy closed her eyes and for one instant -- just one -- she actually considered it.  With one move she could have everything back, could regain everything she had lost when she had first felt the demon's acid burning in her eyes.  Her sight.  Her life.  Her future...

But she would lose too.  Self-respect.  Peace of mind.  And Spike.  She would lose Spike.

"Stupid vampire," the Slayer said savagely, wrenching her arm out of his grasp and pulling the stake away from him.  "Much as I would love to stake you into dust right now, I'm not going to."

"Slayer..." his voice was weaker now.

"And don't 'Slayer' me, either.  Who was yelling at who about choices earlier tonight?  You can dish it out pretty good, Spike, but can you take it?  It takes a lot to live.  I should know.  Dying's easy, but living...living is hard and painful and everyday.  And it doesn't ever get easy.  The hurt and the loss and the pain don't ever go away, whether you live to be twenty, or a hundred and twenty.  But, if you're really, really lucky, you get a few minutes of happiness too, mixed up in all that pain."

"And you know what Spike?  Those few moments make it all worthwhile."

"You don't understand..."  His speech was slurred.

"No?  You don't think I know what it's like to feel helpless?  Defenceless?  Weak?  Dependent?  Feel free to stop me at any time.  Well, big surprise, Fang Boy, but I do.  I know exactly what it's like.  So you've got a chip in your head that won't let you kill people.  Well forgive me if the sorry just keeps eluding me.  You've still got a life, Spike.  And you can't tell me there's no joy in it anywhere, even if it's just in the little things..."

Buffy's voice softened.  "'Cause sometimes the little things are all we have left."

"Nice speech, Summers."  Spike's voice was still frighteningly weak, but he somehow managed to inject a note of scorn into it.  "Not exactly life-changing though.  'Cause like it or not, I'm still gonna die.  It's just gonna take longer unless you stop mucking about and bloody do it!"

Buffy closed her eyes briefly, a tremor going through her.  But the decision had already been made.  She opened her eyes again.  "Look," she said softly, leaning closer to him.  "You need blood.  And I've got it.  So...so just go for it.  Drinks are on Buffy.  Only...try not to take too much, OK?  The Slayer supply is running kinda low right now."

Which was true.  Actually, now that she thought about it -- really thought about it -- Buffy was still far too weak to even be considering this.  The blood she had lost earlier, combined with her injuries...well, she just shouldn't be doing this.  If she did, it could kill her.

But if she didn't, it would kill him.  And besides, it was too late to back out now.  Far too late.  Better to just get it over with, before she started thinking too much...and before he died and made the whole thing pointless anyway.

Licking suddenly dry lips, Buffy leaned further over the vampire, bringing her neck even closer to his mouth.  "Do it Spike," she whispered.  "You finally get what you've always wanted...and it's probably not even your birthday..."

Nothing.  No answer, no movement.  Buffy frowned.  What was he waiting for?  Had he passed out?  Or...?  Her frown deepened.  No, he was still conscious.  So what was the holdup?  Another tremor ripped through her.  If she had time to think about what she was doing, time to let the fear that was gathering in the pit of her stomach take control...then she wouldn't be able to do this.  As it was, her fingers were already beginning to shake at the thought of...of...

It wasn't like she had never done this before, Buffy told herself firmly.  She had.  The Master, Angel, Dracula...  For a Slayer, she had spent way too much time with fangs in her throat.  But she had always walked away before, one way or another.  This time though...this time she wasn't sure she would.  Because she was already so weak.  And because this was Spike.  Former mortal enemy number one, head of the Slayer most wanted list...  Only it went deeper than that now, didn't it?  And maybe, just maybe it was more frightening than all those other times...because he was most wanted in more ways than one...

Buffy swallowed deeply then forced the thought aside.  "Do it, Spike," she said again.

"Love to pet."  His voice was barely a whisper now.  "But
-- chip."

Oh yeah.  Buffy paused, holding herself just above the vampire's prone body.  The chip.  Then she shook her head slightly, feeling her hair brush against his chest.  He didn't even flinch, was obviously holding onto consciousness by a thread.  "Doesn't matter," she whispered softly.  "Remember?  You told me the chip works based on intent.  If you don't plan to hurt me then it won't hurt you."

He didn't answer.  Buffy sighed softly, wishing she didn't have to say this, wishing there was some other way.  Any other way.  But there wasn't.  And she was all out of time.  And options.  So...time to bare her soul along with her neck.

The Slayer leaned closer until her mouth was right beside the vampire's ear.  "I've been bitten before, Spike.  And we both know that..." her voice quivered, but she went on resolutely:  "that if I want you to do it, that if I want you, then...then it won't hurt me.  That is -- it will hurt...but I'll enjoy it."  A pause.  "And Spike?  I'm going to enjoy it."

And then there was only the sensation of fangs, tearing through skin and sinking deeply into her, a lean, cool body beneath her own, and an arm coming around her to pull her even closer...

And Buffy was right.  She did enjoy it.

It was primal.  Passionate.  An inferno of flame tearing through her body, leaving her scorched...and wanting more.  As if sensing her need, Spike bit even deeper, one hand going up to the back of her neck to hold her steady while the other moved slowly down the length of her back, over her behind, then back up again, under her shirt this time, caressing the bare skin of her back.  Buffy whimpered, deep in the back of her throat, and twisted desperately on top of the vampire, trying to get even closer, trying to...

Sensations.  Almost too many to count.  Cold fangs, deep in her neck.  The heat of her blood flowing over them and into his mouth.  His tongue, moving rhythmically against her skin as he drank.  Her heart, pounding harder against his chest, trying to keep up with her body's sudden, new demands on it.  And the scent of him, surrounding her.  In her.  His arousal, pressing insistently against her, the way her muscles clenched spasmodically with his every move...

Too many clothes.  She was wearing too many clothes.  There was too much between them.  But she could do nothing about it with only one good arm, couldn't even focus enough to pull off the leather coat she was still wearing.  She tried, scarcely noticing how much her hand was shaking, how weak her fingers were -- and failed.  Frustrated, Buffy whimpered, making another half-hearted tug at the edge of the leather.

Spike reached up for her hand, pulled it away from the coat...and then flipped her onto her back, rolling on top of her, maintaining his contact with her throat the whole while.  If anything, the bite deepened, now that he could get more purchase, a better angle...  Buffy gasped, then arched upward, straining desperately for more...more Spike.  More...everything.

Still drinking, Spike pulled the coat savagely from her shoulders then down both of her arms.  Pain stabbed through Buffy's left arm, but the feeling was distant and barely noticeable so she ignored it, moving closer to him instead, both of her legs curling up and around his hips while her right hand went around his back to hold on desperately.  Finally the vampire managed to pull the duster free and fling it to one side.  Then he ran his hand back under the t-shirt, caressing her breasts.

Buffy convulsed, calling his name, her nails digging into his back...and the world exploded.  There was fire.   Passion.  Need.  Everything around her began to fade, the world vanishing on a flood of desire.  She was sinking fast, back into the dark waters she had dreamed about.  Only this time she didn't care, didn't even try to fight the darkness.  Because this time she wasn't alone.

She barely noticed as her hand slowly released its grip on the vampire, sliding across his naked back to land limply on the floor.  Didn't notice that she could no longer feel the floor beneath her, could barely even feel Spike's weight on her.  Something, a last flicker of the Slayer's survival instinct perhaps, tried to shout a warning, but it was too far away...and she didn't want to listen anyway.  Nothing else mattered.  There was only this moment.  And these feelings.

"Spike," Buffy whispered...and it wasn't a plea to stop.  It was an entreaty not to stop.

The Slayer's blood was like nectar.  Honey.  Sunlight and fire.  Its heat warmed him, filling his cold body and engulfing his senses.  Lust and need were cascading through the vampire, one after another, until he couldn't think, couldn't see, could do nothing but hold on and wait for the flames to burn out, for the feelings to fade away and die...

Only they didn't.  Instead, they got better.

And better.

Everything.  This was everything he had ever wanted, everything he had dreamed of...and it was better than he had ever dreamed.  The vampire swallowed deeply, savouring the taste of her blood on his tongue, the texture as it slid down his throat.  And the scent of her as she surrounded him, the way her body felt beneath his own...

Except...

Except there was something he was supposed to remember.  Something he was supposed to do.  Or -- not do.

Not kill her.  Not drink until she died.

Not let his Slayer die.

He wanted to.  Everything that made him a vampire, that had spent the last century feeding, killing, and taking whatever and whomever he wanted, when he wanted...it was all telling him to just do it.  To finish her off.  To keep drinking until her heart beat its last and her body went limp in his arms.

He wanted to so much.

But in the end, he didn't.

And it wasn't the implant that stopped him.

Buffy moaned as Spike broke away, his fangs slowly pulling loose from her throat.  No!  She didn't want this to end, didn't want the sensations to stop. Desperately she tried to reach up, to draw him back to her, but her arms were too weak, her hands too heavy to lift...

...and besides...sanity was beginning to return.  Slowly.  Reluctantly.  But inexorably.

Hesitantly the Slayer opened her eyes, gradually becoming aware of the sound of her own panting, the way her chest heaved beneath him as her starved lungs struggled to draw air in.  Her heart was fluttering like a bird's and her body was shaking, she realized dimly, both from exhaustion, loss of blood...and the aftershocks of the climax that had rocked her.

With difficulty, Buffy looked up, her eyelids weighted like stones.  There was blood on the vampire's lips.  As she watched, he licked it away...and, weak though she was, a faint tremor of desire went through her.  She still wanted him.  God help her, she still wanted him...

Spike felt her quiver and for an instant their eyes met, awareness reflected in each other's gaze...

...as awareness of another kind went through Buffy.  She could see.  She could see Spike's eyes, his expression, see the torchlight casting shadows on the angular planes of his face...

"I can see."  She managed to say out loud, her voice a ragged whisper.  But she had no strength left for joy or relief.  The best she could manage was tired surprise.  It was taking so much effort just to form the words, to control her breathing enough to get them out...  Too much effort.  Alarm buzzed faintly in the back of her skull.  Drained.  That's what she was.  In more ways than one.  But at least she was still conscious.  He couldn't have taken that much if she was still conscious... Right?  Even though it was becoming harder and harder to hang onto that awareness, to keep the darkness lurking on the edges of her vision at bay...

"Miss Summers?"  It was the Valet's disembodied voice, coming from somewhere to her left.

Buffy blinked and, with a superhuman effort, managed to stave off the shadows, at least temporarily.  "I can see," she whispered again wearily.

"Yes, my dear.  I'm afraid I wasn't completely truthful earlier.  The first part of the Trial was indeed Spike's three challenges...but the last part was yours."

"Why?"  Her tone was flat.  Uncaring.

"Rules, Miss Summers.  Rules.  And now," he continued, more briskly, "The Trial is complete.  Thank you for your patronage.  Have a nice day."

And then the world began to fade around them and the stone chamber...vanished.

Spike almost had control over himself again, over the demon inside that was still clamouring to sink his fangs back into the paleness of the Slayer's neck, to take the last of the blood pumping through her veins and to continue where he had left off...

No.  No, no, and no.  He wouldn't do it.  It didn't matter how much he wanted to, how much she might want him to even, he bloody well wasn't going to do it.

He wasn't.

Locked in his inner battle as he was, he barely heard the Valet's words, scarcely noticed when the room disappeared and was replaced by wet grass, sharp night air, and darkness lit only by starlight and a quarter moon.  What Spike did notice though, when he finally stirred slightly, was the pain that came roaring back over him like a freight train.

He actually had been hit by a train once, he remembered.  And this felt pretty much the same.  The first incredible agony of the impact followed by a whole barrage of lesser torments that just kept getting worse and worse.  Oh yeah.  Pretty sodding similar.

The burns were still there, he realized, as well as the gashes in his leg, although those at least had stopped pumping blood.  And the pain had abated, just a little.  He wasn't dying now, at least.  That much was certain.  The Slayer's blood had done it, had saved him...

The Slayer.  Spike blinked and looked down.  She was still beneath him, unmoving.  Her skin ashen, her heart going a mile a minute...but she was awake.  Alive.  And staring up at him with a faintly puzzled expression on her face.  Staring up at him...

He remembered.  She could see.  She had said so, just a moment ago.  'Course, he'd been too busy trying to prevent himself from killing her, for it to really sink in but now... Despite the pain, Spike suddenly found himself fighting the urge to break into a grin.  He had done it.  She could see.

There was a long moment of silence as the two stared at each other, then Spike finally spoke.  "You know, Slayer," he said, trying to keep his voice from reflecting both his pain...and the pleasure.  "I could get used to this."

"What?"  It came out in a whisper, as if she were only half listening...or half conscious.

"Waking up on top of you.  We keep on like this and I might start thinking you want my body."

Some reserve energy seemed to return to her and she managed to push at him, albeit weakly.

"Only for something to pummel."

'Atta girl,' the vampire thought.  'Take more than a little blood loss to do you in...'  Speaking of...  His gaze sharpened as his eyes fastened on the thin tendril of blood running down her throat.  Slowly, instinctively, knowing that he was playing with fire even as he did it, the vampire lowered his head and ran his tongue over the rivulet, licking it up...savouring the way she immediately gasped and stiffened beneath him, the way her body arched up toward his...  'Oh yeah - not so indifferent now, are we?'

Trouble was, he wanted more.  A hell of a lot more.  And unless he was willing to kill to get it...  No.  Reluctantly Spike pulled away, just enough, rolling the last mouthful of blood around in his mouth to get the full flavour before swallowing it, a feeling of deep satisfaction coursing through him.

He didn't say anything.

He didn't need to.

The moment stretched between them until he thought time might stop altogether, but then the Slayer stiffened, the hands that had been running down his sides now beginning to tense and push at him, this time with more force.  "Get off."

"That's what?  Three, four times tonight you've said that?  That song's getting a little old, love.  How 'bout we try a new one?"

"Sure.  Do you know 'I'm going to get off Buffy before she stakes me'?"

Spike's tone became serious.  "You won't stake me."  It wasn't a question.  "Didn't then, won't now." Nevertheless, with an effort he pushed himself aside and off the Slayer, rolling onto his back beside her and stifling a groan as his burns protested.  Loudly.  Then he lay still, waiting for the pain to recede while the stars whirled above him.

Another, longer silence fell between them.  Finally, though, he felt her hand move, sliding across the wet grass until it found his own, her fingers entwining in his.  "No," she said sombrely.  "I won't."  She swallowed once then said:

"Thank you, Spike."

"You're welcome, Slayer."

At least it had stopped raining.  The ground was still wet and soggy, the tree overhead laden with water that kept cascading down on Spike and Buffy every time the wind blew through its branches...but at least it wasn't raining.

The Slayer lay motionless, a thousand thoughts going through her head as she stared silently up at the night sky -- the sky she had never thought she would see again.  Stars glittered as the last of the rainclouds scudded away into the distance, and the trees themselves seemed to shine.

It was beautiful.

And hard to believe.  She had never truly thought she would get her eyesight back.  Not really.  Yes, she had hoped and yes, she had wondered...but she had never really believed.  Not deep down.  Not on any level.

Spike had though.  She turned her head slightly, even that small motion enough to send waves of dizziness coursing through her, and looked at the vampire laying on the grass beside her, his pale body glimmering in the moonlight.  He must have believed or he never would have gone through all this.  And now that her vision was back, Buffy could see the results of that belief, the scars on his chest that could only have been caused by crosses coming into contact with vampire flesh.  Painful contact.  And many crosses.  Buffy's jaw tightened.  What kind of hell had he gone through?  Most of his clothes were gone, only the black jeans left, his chest and feet bare.  There were more burns on his feet, she could tell, and probably on his back too, if the way he had groaned when he had rolled off her was any indication.

Because of her.  Her fault.  She should have stopped the trial earlier.  Should never have agreed to go there in the first place...

But if she had done that, she would still be blind.  Or dead.  And...and selfish though it may be...she couldn't say she was sorry.  She wasn't even sure she would change things if she could.  No, she liked being alive.  And she liked being able to see again.  Her gaze went up to the stars again then back to the vampire...

...who was watching her now, a predatory, almost possessive look on his face.  Their eyes met...and a faint chill shot through her.  But it wasn't fear.  No, it was almost as if she was afraid...of the fact that she wasn't afraid.  She should be, she knew.  Spike was still dangerous, despite the implant.  He had proven that when he had...when she had let him bite her.  Her eyes still locked on him, the Slayer's free hand drifted up slowly towards the wound on her neck.

It hurt, she realized remotely, though the pain was small in comparison with the rest of the agony that was sweeping through her.  But now that the passion and desire that had scorched through her like wildfire were gone...her neck just plain hurt.  She touched the place tentatively then flinched.

"Quite the collection you've got there."  Spike's voice still vibrated with agony, but there was the usual mocking edge to it beneath the pain...and something else altogether.  Something that Buffy didn't recognize.  She stared at him blankly for a moment, then shifted uncomfortably, closing her eyes.

Quite a collection.  It was true.  The Master.  Angel.  Dracula.  And now Spike.  The Master's mark was barely noticeable, she knew.  His bite had been quick and clean, his fangs razor sharp.  The same with Dracula.  Only a tiny mark still marred her throat where he had bitten her.  Angel's though...his scar was jagged and long, the skin as much torn apart as bitten through.  Of course, he had been dying at the time, half out of his mind from the poison.  Couldn't really expect neatness under those circumstances.  And what would Spike's be like?, Buffy wondered.  Would it be neat or ragged, large or small...?

'OK.  Size so does not matter,' Buffy told herself firmly...or as firmly as she could, given that it was taking a concerted effort just to remain conscious.  Shadows kept washing in and out on the edges of her vision, like a dark tide threatening to engulf her.  But she wouldn't let them.  There was too much to do.  She had to get home, and quickly.  It was almost dawn.  Her family would be up soon, would find her gone.  And Spike would go up in a puff of smoke if they didn't make it back before the sun came up...

Buffy opened her eyes.  He was still watching her, the hungry look still there.

"Stop that," she said sharply.  Or at least, it was meant to sound sharp -- actually it came out sounding tired and pathetically weak.

"Stop what?"

"Stop looking at me like I'm something to eat."

He grinned wearily.  "Hate to break it to you baby, but you are.  And very tasty too."
 
"Yeah...well...just don't go expecting any dessert."

A brief silence fell, then:  "Why did you do it, Buffy?"

She blinked in surprise.  Whatever she had been expecting from him -- it wasn't that.  For a moment the vampire had actually sounded serious, solemn even, no hint of the usual derisive tones in his voice.  It was as if...as if he really wanted to know.  Buffy's mouth went suddenly dry.  She couldn't tell him.  Definitely not the whole truth -- if she even knew what that was, anyway.  And she couldn't even begin to vocalize the emotions that had flooded through her when she had found herself holding the stake against his chest...  She couldn't.

So she evaded the question entirely by countering with one of her own.

"Why did you want me to kill you?"

"Told you.  This chip..."

The Slayer shook her head slightly.  "No.  That's not it."  She didn't know how she knew that.  She just did.

For a moment they stared at each other in frustration, all the things unsaid hovering between them until the air became thick with tension.  Finally though, Spike looked away, turning his head to stare back up at the stars.  "Doesn't matter," he said flatly.  "Forget it."

No.  She couldn't leave it like this.  Not after what he had done.  Buffy bit her lip, undecided, then finally opened her mouth again.  Maybe a half-truth would be enough.

"I didn't want you to die," she said at last.  "Not after...what you did for me."

Spike didn't move, his eyes still locked on the night sky.  Buffy swallowed then went on gamely.  "You saved my life."

He did move at that, turning back to meet her gaze.  Something flitted briefly through his eyes, some emotion she had never seen in them before -- and then it was gone, as quickly as it had appeared, and she found herself wondering if it had really been there at all.  Perhaps she had imagined it.  Even as she watched, Spike's lips were already curling into the wicked grin she was so familiar with, the mocking light back in his eyes.  "Yeah, well, don't tell anyone," he said lightly.  "Never be able to live it down..."

"Tell me about it," she shot back, trying to hide just how shaken the exchange had left her.

"Still..." he continued, the grin widening a bit.  "Can't say it wasn't fun..."

Fun.  Not exactly the word she would have used.  Shattering.  Soul shaking.  Unforgettable.  Intense.  But not fun.

A shudder went through Buffy.  That made three times now that she had willingly allowed a vampire to bite her, three times that... Oh god.  OK fine, she was the Slayer and her life was strange and bizarre on a multitude of levels, but why did the most intense sexual experiences of her life have to come with her clothes on?  With a vampire's teeth in her neck?   What was wrong with her?  Why couldn't she be happy with a normal boyfriend?  She had a normal boyfriend.

Riley.  Oh god.  She couldn't tell him about this.  He would never understand.  She wasn't even sure she did.  The pull of the attraction between her and Spike, the desire to just reach out for him and...
 
'La la la, so not listening,' she told herself firmly. 'Got a boyfriend.  Don't need Spike.  Don't care that he's all sexy and...and sexy.  I don't want sexy, I don't want dangerous, and I definitely don't want another vampire.  I want human and safe and normal and not sexy.  I want Riley."

'OK,' Buffy paused, frowning inwardly.  'That didn't come out quite right...'

"I don't want to talk about it," she said out loud.  "And am I the only one who cares that the sun is coming up?  And...and where exactly are we anyway?

"Other side of town."

"Great."  Buffy shot Spike a quick glance, wondering if he would be able to walk...wondering if she would.  But then other images began to flicker through her mind as her eyes ran down the vampire's prone form, overlaying what she was seeing now.  Images of what they had done, of what had happened...and Buffy's mouth went dry, her heart beginning to pound even harder.  The look on Spike's face -- it was as if his injuries were all that were preventing him from rolling over and taking her here and now.  And worse yet -- despite the fact that she was so weak she could barely lift her head off the wet ground; that every part of her was aching unbearably; that she was about to pass out at any moment -- she wanted him too.  And he knew it.  She could see it in his eyes -- he could probably see it in hers.

In the space of a heartbeat, the air between them was once more sizzling with electricity.  And Buffy realized with a sinking sensation that the desire hadn't gone after all.  Probably never would.  There was a link between them now --and it wasn't going to disappear, no matter how much she might wish otherwise.

Tightening her jaw, Buffy managed to drag her gaze away, shutting her eyes tightly.  'Why me?' she thought despairingly.  'I don't need another vampire in my life.  I don't want another vampire in my life.'

But it was too late now.

In the end, they managed to get to their feet only by hauling each other up then holding onto each other to keep themselves from falling back down.  And once more Spike found himself with the Slayer in his arms, her warmth seeping into his cool frame while she clung to him -- and an unfamiliar feeling went through him.  If he didn't know better he would almost have said it was...peace.  Joy.  Or it might have been if every fibre of his being wasn't screaming out in agony until he wanted to grab the stake and put himself out of his misery...

At that moment Buffy leaned her head against his chest.

His burned chest.

Didn't really matter though, Spike decided through the pain.  Because he was never going to get a chance like this again, so what was a little torment, compared to having the Slayer in his arms?  'Course -- if she kept leaning on him this much, he was probably going to tip over backward.  And he didn't think either of them would be getting up again in a hurry, if he did.

"Hey, Slayer."

No answer.  Had she passed out?  Trying to brace himself against her weight, Spike raised one hand and tugged, not gently, at her hair.  "Summers!  Much as I would love to get horizontal with you again, I don't think this is the time.  Or the place."

She stirred slightly, as if realizing what she was doing, then straightened, easing her weight from him.  "I really hate you sometimes, Spike," she whispered against his bare chest.

"Only sometimes?  Must be improving then.  C'mon.  Let's get outta here before something nasty comes along and eats us."  The vampire took a careful step forward then almost fell, his knees buckling as the fire burning on the soles of his feet became an inferno.  "Bloody hell!"

This time it was Buffy's turn to hold him up, her heart pounding with the effort.  "Don't you dare," she said through clenched teeth, her fingers digging into his arms.  "If you fall over, I'm not picking you up again.  Got that?"

Got it.  It took a lot more energy and willpower than Spike wanted to admit, but somehow he managed to keep his footing.  And, after a short lifetime or two, he even succeeded in standing back up and easing a little of his weight off the Slayer's shoulders.  Then they hung there together, unable to move.

"Now what?" she said, exhaustion colouring her voice.

"Dunno.  Think you can walk?"

"No.  But I will anyway."

"That's my Slayer."

She took a cautious step forward, Spike doing the same beside her.  "Will you stop saying that?" she said in tired annoyance.  "I'm not your Slayer."

"No?"

"No."

"So the fact that I've got your claw marks down my back from when you..."

"Really, really hate you Spike..."