They stopped to pick up his coat.  Actually, it was Spike that stopped, braking suddenly and bending forward so that Buffy was almost pulled with him into a nosedive back onto the grass.  She braced her legs, struggling to remain upright while still holding onto the vampire.  "What do you think you're doing?" she asked through clenched teeth, biting back a curse.

"Getting my sodding coat."

For an instant Buffy seriously debated letting go, just dropping him on his head and leaving him there.  But she couldn't.  He had saved her life.  Of course she had saved him too, so maybe they were even.  Life would be so much easier if...

At that moment, Spike straightened, his duster in one hand.  Wordlessly he pulled it on, flinching as the leather came into contact with his burns.

Buffy shot him a look.  "Isn't that painful?"

"Well yeah.  Why?  Enjoying the view, were you?"

She purposely misunderstood him.  "Unlike you, Spike, I don't enjoy watching people in pain.  Although I'd probably be willing to make an exception in your case."

He laughed briefly then moved forward again, slowly and painfully.  "Looks like it's your night then.  'Cause I feel bloody awful."

"You look it."

"You're not exactly a picture yourself, darlin'."

That much was true.  Buffy glanced down at herself, relishing the fact that she could do so, that she could actually see again -- then sighed.  She looked as bad as she felt.  Her pants were ripped, her shoes soggy, and the black t-shirt she was wearing was definitely the worse for wear.  On the plus side -- her socks did match, she discovered.  Her hair though, appeared to be one big tangle; multi-hued bruises and/or bandages covered the bits of her body she could see -- and probably most of what she couldn't...and then there was the bite mark on her neck.  Gonna be really hard to explain that one to Giles.  And to Riley...

Riley.  A pang went through her.  What was she supposed to say to him?  How could she ever explain this night?  It was no good telling herself that nothing had happened, that she had only let Spike bite her in order to save his life.  It wasn't true.  Something had definitely happened between them.  A whole lot of somethings.  And Riley was already so twitchy about Angel...and Dracula.  She couldn't imagine what he would say if he knew that she and Spike had...

"Wondering what Captain Cardboard is gonna say about all this?"  Spike's voice broke in on her thoughts.

'What, can everyone read my mind tonight?' Buffy thought, a flash of irritation going through her.  "His name is Riley," she said out loud.

"Yeah.  Whatever.  So what's he gonna think about this then?"  He flicked the hand that was resting on her shoulders up to her neck.

"He'll...understand.  He's very understanding."

"Oh yeah.  Regular bloody saint, that one.  'Course, you ever consider that a saint's just about the last thing you really need?"

"My love life is so none of your business, Spike."

He laughed once, sharply, then winced and held his ribs.  "I'm just saying..."

"You know," Buffy interrupted, her voice as calm as she could make it, "if you irritate me enough I'm going to just drop you and leave you here.  You do realize that, don't you?"

"Think you'd make it back without me?"

"Actually, yeah.  You're only slowing me down."

"Right then.  Off you go."  With that, Spike stepped aside, removing his arm.  With his presence gone, Buffy found herself staggering, barely able to keep her footing.  She hadn't realized quite how much she had been leaning on him...and how weak she still was.  A second later though, he was back, his body preventing her from falling.

"You were saying?" the vampire said smugly.  "Face it Slayer -- we need each other.  Least for now."

She really, really hated it when he was right.

The journey back to the cemetery was a nightmare, the kind that went on and on and didn't stop until you woke up in a cold sweat.  The kind where you seemed to walk forever but didn't make any progress at all.  Every step was written in agony until Buffy was almost reeling from it.  'We must be a sight,' she thought through an exhausted haze as they rounded a corner together.  Dirty, injured, staggering as if they had both had too much to drink, and Spike half-naked under the coat.  And barefoot.

"Why didn't the Valet give your boots back?" Buffy said abruptly, staring blearily down at his feet.

"How should I know?  Maybe he's got a fetish."

"Doesn't that...hurt?"

A pause.  "Only about as much as walking on cut glass.  Why?  Worried about me?"

No.  It wasn't that.  It was just...  Buffy didn't know what it was.  Maybe the loss of blood was beginning to get to her at last, or perhaps she was losing her mind. Whichever, it bothered her that he had had to walk all this way with no shoes.  And it bothered her that she was bothered by this.  And...  No.  She was getting confused.  Again.  Dazedly, Buffy walked onwards, still looking down.

"We're here."  His voice interrupted her thoughts.

With almost the last of her energies, Buffy looked up, trying to focus on her surroundings.  He was right.  The cemetery was just ahead.  And not before time, she realized with a growing sense of alarm.  The pre-dawn light that had been growing steadily for the last while was now so bright that she could see the shadows receding, almost before her eyes, as a thin line of radiance glowed on the eastern horizon.

They didn't have much time.

Spike opened the crypt door with one hand and practically fell through the doorway, dragging the Slayer along with him.  He managed to stay upright, but it was a near thing.  With the very last of his strength he tottered the final few steps towards the easy chair in the corner of the room and collapsed into it...dragging the Slayer down too.  The vampire found himself looking down at her in some surprise as she fell forward with him, ending up sprawled halfway across his legs.  'Must've forgotten to let go,' he thought blearily.  Still, this was nice.  Home again.  Hadn't gone up in flames.  Slayer on his lap.  Could be worse.

"Spike..."

"I know, I know," he said, his voice practically shaking with exhaustion.  "'Let me go, get off me or I'll stake you', blah-bloody-blah.  You know, for someone who's supposed to hate me, you seem to end up on top of me pretty damned often."  A pause, then:  "What say we call a truce, blondie?  You stop threatening to kill me and I'll..."

"You'll what?"

"I...uh...I don't know.  You think of something.  I'm just gonna have a nap now."  His eyes were beginning to close, almost against his will, his arms tightening automatically around her waist.  "Wake me up later."

A thump on his shoulder.  "I am not staying here with you," Buffy said, her voice almost as weak as his.  "I'm going home.  Now."

"You'll fall on your face before you get three feet."

"And thank you so much for the vote of confidence."

Spike sighed, shifting in the chair a little, enjoying the feel of her on his lap.  "Nothing to do with confidence, pet.  Facts are facts."

"Yeah, well, fact one -- I'm going.  And fact two -- you...you really need someone to look at those burns."

"Why?  You offering to play doctor?"  He opened his eyes and gave her a hopeful look.

"Spike, you are so..."  Her voice trailed off, words failing her.

"Yeah.  I am."  His eyes began to slide shut again and he abruptly let go, his arms sliding away from her waist.  "Shut the door on the way out," he said shortly.

That was it?  No innuendo?  No clever Spike quipage?  Buffy blinked.  He must be in worse shape than she had thought.

She really wasn't surprised she had ended up on his lap again.  Not with the way the night had been going.  This made -- what?  Three?  Four times she had ended up in close physical proximity with Spike?  More?  'The Fates must really be getting a kick out of all this,' she thought sourly as she tried to lever herself up and off the vampire.  Unfortunately, her strength chose that moment to desert her and she collapsed back against his chest, unable to move, gasping for air while the world spun in several directions around her.  Oh yeah.  Definitely having fun at her expense...

For a long moment the Slayer considered just staying put, curling up on Spike's lap and...

No!  What was she thinking?  Bad brain!  Bad!  Buffy took a deep breath then, with a superhuman effort, hauled herself out of the chair.  Her legs immediately threatened to buckle beneath her but she locked her knees and gritted her teeth, waiting for the dizziness to pass.  When it finally did she took a step towards the door...and stopped.

She wasn't sure what made her halt.  Something inside her -- something she didn't want to examine too closely -- was making her turn back to the motionless vampire, her eyes running across his still form.

The coat had fallen open a little, enough to see some of the burns on his chest.  They were bad.  Worse than bad.  But -- they were beginning to fade now.  Weren't they?  And surely the cut on his eye was no longer quite as jagged, or as deep?  He was healing.  She could go.

Any minute now.

He would be fine.

'Well, he should be,' Buffy told herself crossly, 'after a full-course meal of Buffy.'  Nevertheless, she found herself walking back toward him, almost against her will.  And the same something inside her made her reach out to touch the side of his face, just beneath the cut.  He didn't stir.  For several heartbeats Buffy stood there motionless then she slowly pulled her hand away, swallowing deeply.  "Thank you, Spike" she whispered softly...and then she turned and headed for the door, her legs unsteady but her shoulders set and determined.  This time she didn't stop and she didn't look back...

...and so she didn't see Spike's eyes open again, didn't see him watch her as she went back out into the daylight... and didn't see the unguarded look of naked longing on his face.

Spike was wrong.  Buffy didn't fall on her face after three feet.

It was five.

Between one step and the next her legs suddenly buckled and she found herself pitching forward to land face down in the cemetery's mud -- for the second time in twenty-four hours.  Swearing vehemently, Buffy spat out a mouthful of dirt then clawed her way back to her feet.  She wasn't going to do this.  She wasn't going to pass out, she wasn't going to go crawling back to Spike's crypt...and she wasn't going to give up.  No, she had made it this far, and she would finish what she had started -- even if it killed her.

OK.  Poor choice of words there.

With a deep breath that sent the world spinning dizzily around her once again, the Slayer tried to force her battered body back into motion.  Everything hurt, she found, and she had passed exhausted about an hour ago.  Exhausted would actually be an improvement right now.  All she really wanted to do was fall into a bed -- any bed -- and forget that this night had ever happened.  In fact, she wanted to forget the entire week.  Just let her get home so life could return to normal...school, her friends and family; trying to protect the sister who wasn't really her sister from a psychotic blonde force of evil; a little slayage; saving the world in her spare time...  Yup.  Totally normal.

Trying not to whimper too loudly, Buffy slowly began to make her way towards the graveyard's exit...and home.

Getting there was merely a matter of putting one foot in front of the other and not stopping, Buffy discovered.  Not so hard, really, not put in those terms -- even though her arm kept throbbing unmercifully, a killer headache was raging behind her temples, and everything else just plain hurt.  A lot.  But she refused to give into the self-pity that kept threatening to engulf her.  No.  After all -- life was pretty good.  She was still alive.  Her injuries would heal.  And the sunrise was beautiful.  But most of all -- she could actually see it.

    'When the sun comes up I'm still not going to be able to see it, no matter what you say or do, Spike...'

Had she really said that, just a few hours ago?  And -- had she really been that desperate?  That...suicidal?  A shudder ran down her spine and, for an instant, Buffy felt cold, despite the sun's warmth.

But...she hadn't been herself.  The Buffy who had gone out to face the demon and get herself killed...that hadn't been her.  She had been -- OK, let's just say it -- completely out of her mind.  A prime candidate for the loony bin.  Three fries short of a happy meal...

Or -- maybe that was the real Buffy.  Someone who gave up when things got bad, who...

No.  She wasn't a quitter.  She wasn't.  She had proved that over and over.  And she was the one who had killed the demon.  She had saved Spike.  She hadn't quit, she had just...

...just been too quick to give up.  Too impatient to take what she had thought was her only way out.  One week.  One week was all she had given herself, and it would have been even less if she could have gotten away sooner.  She certainly hadn't taken the time to explore all her options, to look for another way out.  It had taken Spike -- Spike  -- to give her back the choices she had thought were lost...

No.  Don't dwell on it.  The past was just that -- past.  She couldn't change what she had done and brooding about it wouldn't make anything better.  If there was one thing she had learned over the past few years -- it was that she had to live with her mistakes.

But a tiny thread of self-doubt continued to linger, even as she slowly trudged the rest of the way home.

There was a red sports car outside her mom's house.  Giles'.

Buffy hesitated, a tremor going through her.  She wasn't up to this.  She barely had the strength to remain standing, let alone deal with all the questions, the explanations.  The whys and whens and wherefores...when all she really wanted to do was fall over in a heap and not talk to anyone, not even see anyone for at least a week...

But she didn't have that choice.  Buffy could almost see the old, familiar burdens beginning to gather around her as she stood there, staring at the door.  The need to appear strong and in control, to be what they needed her to be, to...  For a moment her spirit quailed and she almost found herself wishing that she was back in Spike's crypt, back where she could let down all her defences and just be herself.

Almost.

But not quite.  With a deep, steadying breath, Buffy reached out...and opened the door.

Dawn was the first to see her.  The teenager was crossing the hallway, still in her pyjamas, a worried expression on her face.  When Buffy opened the door their eyes met...and Dawn let out a shriek, flying forward to wrap her arms tightly around her sister.  And then Buffy's mother was suddenly there too and the Slayer was enfolded by both of them, both talking at once.

Buffy almost went down under the dual impact, barely managing to keep her footing.  'Great,' she thought distantly, 'I survive the demon and the Trial and it's my family that finally finishes me off...'

And then Giles appeared, his clothes looking as though they had been thrown on hastily, an anguished expression on his face.  He saw her...and froze.

As if sensing his arrival, both Joyce and Dawn pulled back at the same time, releasing their holds on Buffy and stepping back, just a little.  Buffy stared back at the three of them, gratefully drinking in all the details she had already begun to forget, even in the space of just a week.  Several seconds ticked by in silence.  Finally though, the Slayer managed to swallow around the lump that had formed in her throat.

"I can see," she said simply.

"Oh."  Joyce put her hand to her mouth, reaching her other hand out, as if she might fall.  But Dawn moved quickly to support her, even as she was staring back open-mouthed at her sister.  Giles, meanwhile, began to sink to a sitting position on the stairs, as if his legs could no longer hold him.

'I know the feeling,' Buffy thought, staring blankly down at her Watcher.  If she didn't sit down soon she was going to fall down...

Something of what she was thinking must have been reflected on her face, because the next minute Giles was back on his feet and Buffy found herself being steered towards the place on the stairs that he had just vacated.  She sank down gratefully, wondering as she did how she was ever going to get back up again -- and then Joyce was on her knees before her, both arms going tightly around her daughter.

"Oh Buffy," she said, her voice choked with emotion.  "I thought we had lost you."

The Slayer hugged her mother back, one-handed.  "I know.  I'm sorry."  There were tears in her eyes now, threatening to spill down her cheeks.  "I'm sorry, Mom."

Joyce pulled back a little to look at her, both of her hands going to Buffy's upper arms.  "Don't you ever do that to me again, do you understand?  You scared me."  Her fingers tightened.

"Uh, Mom?  Sore arm..."

"Oh."  Hastily Joyce released her, then gave her a crooked smile.  "Sorry honey.  I'm just...I..."  Her voice trailed away as pain flitted across her face, and she put one hand up to her forehead.

"Mom?"  Buffy reached out a hand to her mother, worry lancing through her.

Giles cleared his throat.  He had stepped back, giving the two of them some space while Dawn stood awkwardly nearby, but now he moved forward again.  "Dawn -- why don't you help your mother back to bed?  Don't worry," he said reassuringly to Joyce.  "I'll look after her."

Buffy could see indecision on her mother's face, warring with the pain, but finally the pain won out.  She nodded slowly then stood, reaching an unsteady hand for the banister.  "Thank you.  I...we'll talk later, Buffy.  OK?"

Buffy swallowed.  "Sure Mom.  Just...get some rest.  And don't worry.  I'm fine.  Really."

Dawn moved past the Slayer, one arm going around Joyce to help her mother up the stairs.  "I'm glad you're not dead," she said to Buffy over her shoulder.  "But does this mean I don't get your room now?"

"Yeah.  Hands off."  Buffy smiled at her faintly, craning her neck to watch as the two of them moved away.  It seemed to take her mother a long time to climb the stairs, but finally they both disappeared from sight.  And Buffy's smile immediately vanished, her shoulders sagging as anxiety poured through her, the pain of her own injuries momentarily forgotten.  Just how long did it take for CAT scan results to come back anyway?  Or...or maybe they had found out something, but they hadn't told her while she was blind.  Or...

"Buffy."

The Slayer blinked then looked back up.  Giles was standing in front of her, his expression unreadable.  As she watched he slowly reached inside one pocket and removed something small, holding it up in one hand.  Not saying a word.

A cassette tape.

Oh.

Damn.

Buffy bit her lip, dropping her gaze, no longer able to meet her Watcher's eyes.  "I...I wanted to get back before you found that," she said shakily.

"Too late."

She swallowed. "Giles, I..."

And then he too was on his knees before her, pulling her into a warm hug, his arms going tightly around her.  "I thought you were dead."  His voice was muffled.

It was all too much.  Too much emotion, too many things said and left unsaid...Buffy closed her eyes as her right arm slid around her Watcher and a lone tear spilled over her lashes and onto his shirt.

"I know.  I'm so sorry."  More tears were gathering in her eyes and there was a scratchy feeling in the back of her throat.  And even more embarrassing -- she was starting to sniffle.

Hearing her, Giles gently released the Slayer, fishing inside his jacket for a handkerchief -- 'colour me so not surprised that Giles uses handkerchiefs,' Buffy thought randomly -- which he handed to her.  Her own hand shaking, she took it and wiped away the tears and blew her nose one-handed.  At last, she looked back up and gave him a watery smile, crumpling the handkerchief in her right hand.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it."  An awkward silence fell.  "Right then," Giles said as he climbed back to his feet.  "Let's get you cleaned up."

"So...ah...how badly are you hurt?"  Giles was suddenly all business, the emotions that had been evident on his face hidden now.  "Buffy?"

"It's not as bad as it looks."  The Slayer glanced down at herself, all muddy, dishevelled, and roughly bandaged.  "Sorta.   Had an argument with a demon, got a little sliced and diced, but I'm OK..."

"I should take you to a hospital..."

Buffy shook her head violently.  "No.  No hospitals.  I just need some sleep and I'll be good as new.  Shiny new Buffy."  Using the banister and her one good arm, she hauled herself to her feet -- and almost fell as yet another wave of dizziness washed over her.  Hastily Giles stepped forward, catching her before she could hit the ground.

"OK.  Might have lost a little blood too," she added weakly, leaning on his shoulder.

The Watcher bit out a curse.  Buffy blinked.  "Giles -- I didn't know you knew that word..."

"And you didn't hear me say it either.  First aid kit?"

"Kitchen."

"Right.  Come on."  With that he helped her stand, one arm going around her back to support her, the other beneath her right elbow.  Buffy closed her eyes and leaned into him, letting him do the steering, finding his strength comforting.  It had been a long night -- too long -- and reaction was finally beginning to set in, her body starting to shut down in protest of all the abuse she had heaped on it.  Just a little longer, she told herself firmly.  Just need to hold on a little while longer...

Silently Giles helped her towards the kitchen then set her down in one of the chairs, shooting her a quick, worried look before turning toward the cupboards.

"Under the sink," Buffy supplied helpfully, content for the moment to just sit there and ache quietly.  Giles nodded, pulling out a medical kit which he tucked under his arm.  Then he turned to the fridge and began to rummage inside.

Buffy frowned.  "Uh...Giles?  In pain here.  Is this really a good time for a snack?"

"Not for me.  For you.  You need to eat something, start replacing some of the blood you've lost."

A faint quiver of nausea went through her.  She really, really didn't feel like eating...but she should, she knew.  She would recover faster if...

At that moment Giles turned and thrust a bottle of -- something -- under her nose, which immediately began to wrinkle with distaste.

"V8?  Giles -- ick!"

"Yes, ick...and full of iron...I expect."  He paused, shot a dubious glance at the list of ingredients on its side then shrugged slightly and handed it to her, followed by...was that broccoli?  Raw broccoli?  Buffy stared down at it in disbelief.

"I think I was better off with the demon..." she grumbled quietly.

"Stop complaining and get that down you,"  Giles set the kit on the table and pulled it open.

Buffy took a cautious sip of the vegetable juice, almost gagging at the taste.  "You know," she said through her grimace, "I think there's a rule somewhere that says Watchers aren't allowed to poison their Slayers.  Or if there isn't -- there should be."

He gave her a look.  "Vegetables or hospital.  Your choice."

Hastily Buffy took a large swig from the bottle, shuddering as she forced the clammy fluid down her throat.  "Yum.  Liquified vegetables.  All that taste of...green.  Just gotta -- Ouch!"  Buffy shot Giles a baleful look as he unceremoniously reached out and began to unwrap the bandage on her arm.

"OK, great bedside manner...not so much."

"Um...ah...sorry.  This is probably going to hurt."

"And you couldn't tell me that before?"

"Sorry.  But I need to..."  With that, Giles removed the last of the rough dressing that Spike had wrapped around her...and his voice trailed off.  Almost reluctantly Buffy turned her head, not really certain she wanted to see what he was...

Whoa.  That was...whoa.  Buffy stared in sick fascination at the three deep gashes running parallel down the back of her arm from shoulder to wrist, the cuts dark with caked-on blood, the edges jagged.  "Well -- this is going to make an interesting conversation piece," she said weakly.

Giles said nothing.  He was staring down at her injuries with an unreadable expression.  Finally though, he wrenched his eyes away and turned, ripping open a sterile cloth with undue force.  He didn't meet her gaze.  And Buffy found herself watching him a little warily.

"Um...Giles.  Are you mad at me?"

He turned quickly, surprise on his face.  "Mad at you?  No, of course I'm..."  He stopped, as if re-evaluating his feelings.  "Well, yes, actually, I am.  Tell me -- did you even think about how your mother would feel about what you were doing, or how...how I would feel, for that matter?"

Odd, how much that echoed what Spike had told her earlier.  Buffy closed her eyes briefly, remembering, then turned and met her Watcher's gaze.  "But you...you do understand why I did it.  Don't you?"  The last part came out sounding rather tentative.

"Yes, I understand.  But that doesn't mean I condone it.  You should have waited, Buffy.  We would have found a way to restore your eyesight, given time.  We could have helped you.  But once again you acted without thinking, didn't weigh the consequences.  You just..."

A quick flicker of resentment shot through her -- partly because that was precisely what she herself had been thinking earlier...but mostly because he was right.  Nevertheless, Buffy couldn't quite keep the undercurrent of anger out of her voice.  "Oh, I weighed, Giles.  I weighed everything.  What do you think I was doing this past week?  Learning to crochet?  Do you think I decided to do this on a whim?  Do you have any idea how hard it was to...to..."

Buffy's breath caught abruptly in her throat and she stopped, blinking rapidly against the tears that were threatening to fall again.  She frowned, took a deep breath, then managed to say waveringly:  "Uh...can we maybe postpone the whole let's-argue-and-make-Buffy-feel-guilty thing?  'Cause my arm really hurts."  She flashed him what she hoped was an endearing smile.  Or maybe pathetic.  Right now she would definitely settle for pathetic.

"I promise to let you yell at me as much as you want later," she added hopefully.

The Watcher's face softened.  "Yes, of course.  You've been through a lot.  I didn't mean...  Sorry."  Then, more sternly:  "But don't think you're going to get off easily for what you put us all through..."

"Got it.  A stay of execution, to be followed by penitence, repentance, and remorse.  Check."  Buffy hesitated.  "Um --I have to ask though -- does anybody else know?  About tonight, I mean?  And...and did Mom and Dawn listen to their tapes?"  Buffy held her breath, half dreading the response.

"No and no.  Dawn discovered you were missing just before...er....dawn, and your mother called me right away.  There wasn't a chance to telephone anyone else before you arrived."

Relief shuddered through her.  At least she had spared Willow, Xander and the others the same worry.  "And...the tapes?"

Giles didn't look at her, focused instead on digging through the medical kit.  "Still where you left them, I imagine.  I'd only just listened to...ah... mine, when you came in."

"Good."  Buffy sat back, relief going through her.  She wasn't sure how she would have handled it if everyone had heard the tapes.  Some things weren't meant to be said until after...after...  Then she frowned as another thought occurred to her.  Maybe she was wrong.  Maybe...maybe those were the things that needed to be said the most.  In person.

Hesitantly, the Slayer looked back up at her Watcher.  Really looked at him this time.  The signs of what he must have gone through were still evident on his face, no matter how much he might be trying to hide them.  Worry.  Fear.  Anguish.  Grief.

Remorse filled her.

"Giles -- I am so sorry.  I never meant to hurt anyone by this.  And..."  Buffy stared down at her right fist, curled tightly in her lap, then swallowed deeply and continued.  "...and I meant it."

"Meant what?"

"What I said before.  In the tape."

A pause.

"Oh.  Ah.  I...I know.  And...and I do too, Buffy."

Their eyes met, then the Slayer smiled, some of her distress beginning to fade, just a little.  "So," she said, lifting her left arm slightly.  "You gonna first aid me or what?"

A vast smile kept threatening to take over Giles' face.  He fought the impulse away as he sat down in the empty chair beside the Slayer, concentrating instead on getting the bottle of disinfectant open and pouring some of the liquid onto the cloth in his hand.

The relief was incredible.  She was still alive.  When he had first found the tape in her room addressed to him, had listened to her voice in the darkness, thinking he would never see her alive again -- well, he never wanted to experience those feelings as long as he lived.  The thought of her out there, alone in the dark, dying...

Hastily Giles shook the grisly thoughts aside.  It wouldn't do to dwell on it.  He couldn't, not and do his job too.  It was hard enough as it was just watching her go out night after night to risk life and limb, facing dangers that would never end, would never...  No.  'Just focus on the task at hand, Rupert,' he told himself firmly.  Like cleaning her wounds.

And finding out what had happened...

"So, the demon that did this is...?"

"Dead.  Hasta la bye bye."

"Ah.  Quite.  So...what happened?  Exactly?"

Instead of answering him, Buffy looked away and took another swallow of the V8.  Giles frowned slightly.  He knew her well enough by now to recognize evasiveness when he saw it.  She was hiding something.

"Well?"  he prompted as he gently began to wipe away some of the dried blood on her arm.

She flinched violently at his touch, gritting her teeth against the pain.  "God, Giles, do you have to?"

"Oddly enough, yes.  There's a wonderful new medical technique called washing.  Perhaps you've heard of it?"

"Not fair.  I'm all hurt and you're being Sarcastic Giles.  Where's the sympathy, the caring Watcher shoulder to lean on, the...?"

"Busy patching you back up.  And you're avoiding the question."

"Am not."

"Yes you..."  Giles caught himself in time, stopping the argument before it could escalate, before she could distract him from whatever it was that she didn't want him to know.  He tried another tack.

"How much blood did you lose?"

Buffy took a deep breath then responded slowly.  "Not sure.  I was kind of passed out at the time.  Some, I guess."

He glanced up from her wounds, trying to read her expression.  And that's when he noticed it -- almost but not quite hidden by her hair.  The Watcher frowned, his gaze sharpening -- and cold fear ripped suddenly through his body.

"I see," he said.  Then, moving quickly, Giles reached up and flicked her hair back, revealing the mark on her neck -- the twin punctures that were so obviously the results of a vampire's bite.

"And this?" he said flatly, his fingers resting on her neck just below the bitemark.

Buffy instinctively pulled back, dislodging her Watcher's grip, her own hand going up to cover the mark.  She had forgotten about that.  How could she have forgotten?  Her hair must have hidden it from her mother and Dawn, but Giles had seen it.  He knew.  Oh god.  Suddenly cold, she looked up into his eyes...and met worry and anger.  Lots of anger.  But she didn't think it was directed at her this time.  She hoped.

He was saying nothing, waiting for her answer, for some explanation.  For a brief moment Buffy considered lying, or at the very least glossing over what had happened... but she couldn't.  Not really.  She owed him the truth -- or at least the PG-13, heavily abridged version of it.  Some of what had happened -- like certain Spike-based activities --she was never going to tell anyone.  Ever.  But as for the rest...well, she owed him the rest.

"Spike bit me," she said at last.

Something snapped.  Buffy jumped, startled, then looked down, frowning at the broken bottle in Giles' hand and the knuckles curving white around it.  Then she looked back up...to see an expression of sheer homicidal rage on her Watcher's face.

Oops.

"It's not what you think," she said hastily, visions of a Giles-turned-Ripper heading out to wreak havoc on an unsuspecting Spike, going through her mind.  "Well, not exactly.  It was...I mean...I kind of let him."

OK.  So not handling this well.  Unable to meet Giles' eyes, Buffy looked away, staring at the toaster.  She took a deep breath then started again.

"He helped me kill the demon.  He's the one who bandaged my arm and stopped me from bleeding to death.  And...and it was Spike who helped me get my vision back."

"And the bite?"  The Watcher's voice was vibrating with tension, as if he was controlling his emotions only by sheer force of will.

"He was dying.  After...after what he had done, I couldn't let that happen.  So I...he...you know."

Giles carefully loosened his hand from around the remaining fragment of the glass and set it gently on the table.  "So -- and I just want to make sure I have this straight -- you're saying that Spike, also known as William the Bloody, killer of two Slayers -- saved you from a demon, patched you back up, and then somehow restored your sight?  After which you freely allowed him to feed from you?  Is that correct?"

"Well.  Yes."

"Ah.  I see."

Silence.  Buffy stared worriedly at the man as he continued working on her arm.  "Uh...Giles?"

"Yes."

"You OK?"

"Fine, thank you."

"Oh.  Good."

Silence descended.

Spike was dreaming.  It was another one of those dreams, the ones he had been having all too often lately.  The Slayer was in it.  At first they had been fighting, all sweat and violence and bodies clashing with one another.  And then it had changed -- and it was still sweat and violence and bodies clashing -- only it was better.  Much better.  Buffy was naked on top of him, riding him, her body glistening and...

And then the door to the crypt crashed open with enough force to shake the building, and sunlight poured inward, its rays reaching a short way into the gloom.  Blurrily Spike managed to open his eyes...in time to see a furious Watcher haul him to his feet by the collar of his coat then slam him against the crypt wall, one hand going around his throat.  And the vampire came fully and violently awake as the burns on his back came into sudden and agonizing contact with the wall.

"Bloody hell!  What d'you think you're doing, mate?"  Which was when he finally noticed the stake in Giles' right hand, levelled at his heart...and the murderous intent in the Watcher's eyes.

"I'll tell you what I'm doing, 'mate' -- I'm putting down a dangerous animal."  Giles raised the stake, preparing to bring it down on the vampire.

"Wait a minute!"  A frantic note began to creep into Spike's voice.  "Remember the chip?  I'm not a sodding danger to anyone anymore.  So what's this all about?"

"You bit Buffy!"

Memories flashing through his mind.  The Slayer's blood gushing down his throat.  Her body convulsing beneath his.  Nails digging into his naked back.

"Oh.  That."

"Yes.  That.  And unless you've got a good explanation, you're history, Spike.  Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say."

Spike reached up one hand, trying to loosen the fingers around his throat, then gave up.  He was still too weak.  And oddly enough, he couldn't seem to care much, either way.  So what if he got staked into dust?  Might be better all round.  For everybody.

"Fine," he said at last.  "Go ahead.  But just tell me one thing first."

Giles' eyes narrowed.  "What?"

"Is the Slayer OK?"

Bafflement shot through Giles, momentarily outweighing his fury.  For a moment Spike had almost sounded...concerned.  Worried even.

"She'll be fine," he said shortly.  "No thanks to you."

With that, Giles suddenly released Spike then hit him on the jaw.  The vampire flew backward across the crypt to land hard on the dirt floor while the Watcher stalked menacingly toward him.

"We both know that Buffy would never let you feed off her, at least not in her right mind.  So I want to know what you did to her, you manipulative bastard.  What hold you managed to gain over her.  And get up so I can hit you again."

Spike reached up with one hand, touching the blood that was beginning to trickle down one corner of his mouth, but he made no effort to stand.  "What's the point?" he said flatly.  "If you're going to do it then just get it bloody over with."

With an inward snarl, Giles bent down and hauled the vampire back up, holding onto him by the duster's collar.  "She was injured and you fed off her," he said furiously.  "You could have killed her."

"Yeah.  I know."

Giles paused again, blinking.  What the hell was going on?  Was that really...remorse?  There had been no hint of mockery in the vampire's voice, none of his usual self-satisfaction.  But if Spike had somehow found a way to circumvent the implant, to feed on Buffy...then surely he would be more pleased with himself.  More smug.  Doubt began to rise within the Watcher.

And at that moment the vampire shifted slightly, his coat falling open.  Giles glanced down...and felt shock go through him.  Burns.  Cross-shaped burns.  All over Spike's chest.  Wordlessly the Watcher took in the cut on the vampire's cheek, the bare feet, also burned -- and then he abruptly released him, shoving the vampire violently away.

Spike staggered, barely keeping his footing then he shot a venomous glare at the Watcher before limping back to his chair and sinking into it, holding his side tightly with one hand.  Giles stared at him for a long moment then slowly lowered the stake.

"What happened to you?"

"Nothing.  And if you're not gonna stake me then sod off.  I'm busy."  The vampire closed his eyes, determinedly ignoring the Watcher.

Giles hesitated then walked over to the tomb and leaned against it, the stake going back inside his coat pocket.  He could always use it later if he had to.  But in the meantime...he still needed answers.

Buffy had been -- less than forthcoming.  Before heading upstairs to bed and some much needed sleep, she had given him a confused tale of something called a "Trial" -- which he was going to have to do some intensive research on as soon as he got back to his shop.  But there had been huge gaps in her narrative, most notably whenever Spike seemed to come into the story.  She was obviously hiding something.  Something important.  He hadn't had the heart to push for more information though, not when she was still so weak and exhausted.  It was a miracle really that she had managed to stay on her feet as long as she did.  The loss of blood, combined with her injuries...well, it was a wonder she was alive at all...  And as for the fact that she could see...

Which was why he was here.  What had Spike done to her?  And what was this Trial?  Giles had enough experience with the Otherworld to know there was always a price attached to their gifts...and the more miraculous they were, the higher the price.  He had to know what had happened.  Without that knowledge -- he wouldn't be able to protect her.

"Let's start again, shall we?" Giles said, a very Ripper-like smile on his face.  "You're going to tell me everything that happened tonight, Spike.  And if you leave anything out you'll wish I had killed you."

Spike opened his eyes and stared at Giles with weary hatred.  'Why me?' he thought.  'The rest of it isn't bad enough, now I've got her flaming Watcher out for my blood too.'  Life used to be so simple.  Eating people, a little carnage and mayhem, Dru always beside him...  So where had it gone wrong?  When had it all gotten so complex?

'When I fell in love with the sodding Slayer,' he answered himself.  And what had that gotten him?  Pain, ridicule, contempt, more pain -- Buffy in his arms, kissing him, holding him -- saving him.  Her blood was coursing through his veins at this very moment, the taste of her still in his mouth.  She was part of him now, he realized.  He couldn't change what had happened, couldn't go back to the way he used to be, even if he wanted to.  But he couldn't move forward either.  He didn't know how.  And he probably wouldn't live long enough to try, if her homicidal Watcher had any say in the matter.

"Or you'll what?" he said out loud.  "Torture me till I tell you?"

"Seems appropriate, doesn't it?"

The vampire shifted slightly.  "It was Angelus that did the torturing, mate.  Not me."

"No.  You just watched.  Now are you going to tell me about this Trial or do I show you a little of what I learned that night?"

"You don't have the stones."

"You think not?"  Giles' voice was softer now.  More menacing.

Spike stared at him for a long moment.  "OK," he said at last.  "Maybe you do.  But how 'bout you tell me something -- like what did Summers have to say about all this?"

"I'm looking for the unabridged version, Spike.  The whole truth."

The vampire raised an eyebrow.  "The Slayer keeping secrets from her Watcher?  That doesn't sound good," he taunted.  "In fact, it sounds like you two have got some serious trust issues..."

He broke off abruptly, his body rocking back from the right cross Giles had dealt him.  For a moment the world spun, then Spike shook off the effects and grinned, licking the blood off his lower lip.  "Hit a nerve there, did I?"

"It's not going to work this time, Spike," Giles said, more calmly now.  "I'm not going to let you try to drive a wedge between us again.  Not that you could."

"No?  Did all right last time, didn't I?  That was quite the sight, the four of you at each other's throats, all..."

"Enough!"  The Watcher pulled the stake out again, holding it up slightly.  "Tonight, Spike.  I want to know about tonight.  And what you did to her."

Spike nodded at the weapon with derision.  "Can't talk if I'm dead."

The Watcher seemed to hesitate.  "Maybe it would be better for her if you were dead."

Spike leaned his head back against the chair.  "Yeah," he said, his voice flat and lifeless now.  "It might at that."

There it was again.  This whole conversation was...off, somehow.  Something was different, something Giles couldn't quite put his finger on.  But he would figure it out, he knew.  Sooner or later.  In the meantime though...

"Did you really save her life?" he asked, watching Spike closely for any signs of evasiveness.

"Is that what she said?"

"Yes."

"Then I guess I did.  Three cheers for old Spike.  Saved the Slayer.  Hoo-bloody-rah."

"And then you fed off her."

"She tell you that too?"

"She didn't need to.  I saw the bitemark."

Something flickered across the vampire's face, so quickly that Giles almost missed it.  Remembered pleasure.  Satisfaction.  And -- was that...possessiveness?  The Watcher's anger, which had been slowly subsiding, began to simmer again.

"How did you get round the implant, Spike?"  That was the most important question, really.  If the vampire had somehow found a way to circumvent its effects -- then he died.  Right here, right now.
 
"I didn't," Spike said at last, obviously deciding that the Watcher wasn't going to go away until he got what he had come for.  "Turns out the chip works on intent.  If I don't plan to hurt her then it doesn't do a bloody thing."

"But you did hurt her."

"There's hurt...and there's hurt.  You should know that -- Ripper."  The vampire shot a mocking look at Giles.  "You really want all the details?  Like how she asked for it.  How much she enjoyed it.  The way she came under me, begging me not to stop, till..."

Spike's voice broke off as he stared down in surprise at the stake that was suddenly protruding from his chest.  Then he looked back up and for a long moment the two men stared at each other, Spike's face contorted with agony and dread...until the realization finally hit.  "You missed," the vampire coughed at last, his body racked with tremors.

"No I didn't."  With a quick yank, Giles pulled the stake back out, calmly watching the way Spike cried out and clutched at his chest.  "Next one goes through the heart," he said icily.

Spike's voice was weak.  "What do you want from me?  D'you want me to say I'm sorry I did it?  That I'll be a good little vampire from now on and leave the Slayer alone?  Well I'm not, and I won't.  You want to know about the Trial?  Go back and read those bloody books you're so fond of.  'Cause what happened is between her and me.  She wants to tell you, that's her business.  But I've said all I'm going to.  So either kill me or sod off."

With that, he closed his eyes again, curling slightly in the chair, his arms going around the chest as if he could make the pain go away by sheer force of will, suffering apparent in every line of his body.

And in that moment the suspicion that had been steadily growing within Giles over the last few minutes suddenly crystallized.  In that instant he knew why the vampire was doing this, why he had saved Buffy's life, and her sight.

Spike was in love with her.

Blindly the Watcher put the stake down on the tomb, trying to come to grips with this new and rather alarming concept.  A vampire in love with the Slayer?  Well, that wasn't unique, certainly, but Angel had had a soul.  Spike didn't.  He was a demon, through and through.  And yet...  Giles closed his eyes briefly.  Maybe he should just stake him, for real this time, and go away.  Problem solved.  Except...

"Does she know?"  the Watcher asked abruptly.

Spike reluctantly opened his eyes.  "What?"

Giles sighed then abruptly picked up his stake and headed for the door.  The vampire twisted around in the chair to keep him in sight, groaning and holding his chest as he did so.

"Know what?  What the bleeding hell are you on about?"

There was a hint of panic in Spike's voice now, as if he was desperate to cover up whatever it was he thought he might have let slip.

The Watcher paused by the door, looked back at him for a long moment, then shook his head.  "You poor bugger," he said quietly.

And with that he was gone.

ONE WEEK LATER:

'You know you wanna dance.'

Buffy woke from the dream, sitting bolt upright in bed, her heart pounding and her body drenched with sweat.  Then she closed her eyes tightly, resting her head on her knees while she waited for the shaking to subside.

Not again.  This was the -- what?  Fourth?  Fifth time this week?  Every night it seemed, as soon as she closed her eyes -- Spike invaded her dreams.  Talking to her.  Taunting her.  Fighting with her.  Holding her and... and...well, let's just say the dreams gave a whole new meaning to the phrase "impaled on a Spike".  Buffy found herself blushing at the thought of what she and the vampire had done again and again.

And again.

'You know you wanna dance.'

'That's it,' Buffy thought angrily, flinging the covers back and standing up.  'Get the hell out of my head!'  Sure, Spike had saved her life and her sight, but that didn't mean he could take up lodging in her subconscious mind and...and proceed to drive her crazy.

But what if they were somehow prophetic dreams?  What if...?

No.  No, they weren't.  It was only because Riley was gone that she was even...

Riley.

Buffy sighed as she padded to the bathroom, barefoot, feeling the familiar pang go through her.  Riley was gone.  He had left, shortly after she had returned from the Trial.  She didn't even know where he was -- some jungle somewhere, fighting demons.  Or something.

It hurt.  But not as much as she thought it would.  She certainly didn't feel as devastated as she had when Angel had left.  So did that mean that she had never really loved Riley?  Or that she hadn't loved him enough?

Probably, the Slayer decided unhappily as she stared at her reflection in the mirror.  What was it about her anyway?  Why wasn't a normal, kind, everyday guy like Riley enough for her?  Why was she always attracted to the monsters, the demons, the 'bad boys'?  Was it because she was the Slayer?  Or was it something else altogether?

Hesitantly Buffy raised one hand, lifting her hair away from her neck.  The bite was almost completely healed now, along with the gashes down her left arm.  But both had left scars -- the physical and the mental kind.  The Slayer leaned a little closer to the mirror, staring pensively at the mark on her neck.  Whether by accident or design, Spike had somehow bitten her directly over top of Angel's scar, obscuring the older one completely.  'Was that supposed to be symbolic?' she wondered gloomily.  Had he done it on purpose?

'You know you wanna dance.'

It was true, Buffy thought with a sinking heart.  She did.  But not in the way Spike had meant it, that night in the alley.  Or...maybe it was the way he had intended all along.  Looking back, she realized that there had been  undercurrents swirling between them that night, things she wasn't aware of, didn't recognize, couldn't understand...  She still didn't know what all of them meant, but she knew one thing for certain.

She wanted him.

Hastily Buffy released her hair and stepped back, reaching for the toothbrush instead.  It didn't matter, she thought determinedly, squeezing some toothpaste onto it.  Just because you want something doesn't always mean you should go out and take it.  She had learned that much, at least, from Faith.

On the plus side, though, her mom's operation had been a success.  The relief was so strong she could almost taste it.  And, strangely enough, Buffy had found herself wanting to go tell Spike, of all people, once it was over.

Not that she could have, even if she had given into the temptation.  The vampire, who had previously been underfoot constantly it seemed, was nowhere to be found.  She had actually gone to his crypt, the night after her return, to make sure he was all right, even though Giles had assured her that he was fine (and speaking of undercurrents, that conversation with her Watcher had been majorly weird).  Spike hadn't been there though.  In fact, she hadn't seen hide nor leather duster of him since that night.  In fact, if she didn't know better she would say he was avoiding her.

With another sigh, Buffy put the toothbrush back and headed back to her bedroom.  Sometimes it felt like she was the modern-day equivalent of Typhoid Mary.  Buffy Summers - scourge of vampires...and boyfriends.  Feeling more than a little dejected, she closed her door and began to dress.

'You know you wanna dance.'

With his own words ringing in his ears, Spike awoke with a start...from yet another x-rated dream involving the Slayer.  With a groan he rolled over on the tomb, wondering if he could get the images out of his head if he banged it hard enough against the wall.  It wasn't fair.  Not only was she haunting his nights, but now he couldn't even get her out of his mind during the day.  She was everywhere.  Dru had been right.

He had tried avoiding her.  Her and her sodding Watcher.  No more following her around like some bloody housepet, he had told himself, no more larcenous trips to her house to paw through her clothes.  No.  Time to have a little dignity.  Let her come to him for a change.  If she wanted to see him, she knew where he was.

Except...when she had come, he had ran away and hid.  OK, he hadn't really ran away -- just walked rapidly in the opposite direction, skulking back furtively only after she had gone.  And he knew why, too.

It was fear.  Not the old, adrenaline-filled rush that the Slayer might kill him, if he didn't get her first.  No, this fear was much, much worse.  It was the feeling that he wouldn't be able to hide his emotions from her any longer if she came face to face with him.  That she would see what he was feeling in his eyes...and she would laugh at him.

"Bugger!"  Spike lashed out with one fist at the marble tomb, succeeding only in making his knuckles bleed.  He licked half-heartedly at them then sat up, holding his head between both hands.  What was he supposed to do now?

*Whump*

Buffy blinked, staring down at the book as it thumped onto the table in front of her, then looked back up at Giles.  "And this would be...?"

The Watcher sat down across from her, the pleased expression of a paleontologist who has just found the world's biggest fossil, on his face.  "Information about the Trial."

Buffy's gaze sharpened.  After almost a week of searching she had pretty much given up hope that they would find anything at all.  None of Giles' books had contained even a syllable about the Trial, and it had taken some creative interlibrary loanage with just a touch of blackmail, from what she could gather, to get hold of this one -- which might or might not contain the information they were seeking.

"And?"  She stared at him expectantly.

"And...well, I think you should read it."

She stared at the book doubtfully, then flipped it open.  "Hello -- Latin.  Unlike you, Giles, my knowledge of Latin begins and ends with Antonio Banderas."

"Oh.  Sorry.  I meant this."  He quickly handed her a sheaf of papers.

"And...to repeat myself...this would be?"

"The English translation."

It was dauntingly thick.  Buffy shot him a winning look.  "Couldn't you just tell me the Slayer-friendly, Cliff Note's version?"

"Ah...I rather think you'll want to read this yourself."

Buffy frowned.  "Giles," she said slowly, "what aren't you telling me?"  Silence.  "Come on.  You've been acting wiggy ever since I came back.  What's going on?"

He turned away to fiddle with some books.  "Ah...I..."

"Giles!"

"All right."  With that he turned back and met her gaze.  "Buffy -- what are your feelings for Spike?"

Her jaw dropped open.  Whatever she had been expecting -- it wasn't that.  And...what were her feelings for Spike anyway?  Lust.  Need.  Dislike.  Desire.  Passion.  And a dozen more that she couldn't even put a name to.  And none of which she could tell her Watcher.

She swallowed hard.  "Um...why?"

He nodded at the papers.  "Just read those."

Buffy leaned back on her bed, letting the last page fall to the floor as she rubbed her left arm absently.  It had healed a little slower than usual, she had found, and was still somewhat sore despite the careful exercises that Giles had designed to strengthen it.  And then there were the scars...  Buffy turned her forearm slightly.  The gashes from demon's claws had turned to three long lines, white against the darker colour of her skin, running down the full length of her arm.  A reminder of what had happened.

As if she could ever forget.  Buffy tilted her head back, closing her eyes as she sifted through her memories of that night.  Fear.  Sadness.  Determination.  Pain and blood.  And then Spike.  Always there, never leaving her.  He had saved her.  From the demon, from herself...  But why?  That was the one question he had never really answered.  Why had he done it?  What possible reason could a vampire have for saving the Slayer?

And...how much did he have to give up to do it?

Buffy leaned over and picked up the last page again, staring down at it blindly.  Most of the text had been pretty boring, she had found.  Guesswork mainly.  Various scholars' attempts to record what they thought the Trial was, speculation as to its true purpose.  But nothing useful.  Except for the last page.

It was a relatively straightforward account of one champion who had failed.  Actually, most of them had failed, from what she could tell (the author wasn't really big on details, despite his or her apparent ardour for footnotes).  But this story was different -- this one said why the champion had failed.

Because he had not made the ultimate sacrifice.

Which, by extension, meant that Spike had.  Made the ultimate sacrifice.  For her.

Which, again, brought her right back to the why.  And the what.

The Slayer scowled, rubbing her forehead with one hand.  This whole thing was giving her a headache.  First there was Spike haunting her every moment, waking and sleeping, pervading her dreams so that she woke up each morning feeling as if she had had no sleep at all.  And now this.  Why did things have to be so complicated?  Why couldn't she just put it all behind her?

Because...because he had made an ultimate sacrifice for her.  And because he had kissed her.

And she had kissed him back.

So -- what were her choices really?  She could go on as she was, letting this slowly drive her insane.  Or she could do something about it.

Which was no choice at all.  And she had always preferred action over the alternative.

'You know you wanna dance.'

Resolutely now, Buffy got up, pulled on her coat, tucked a pair of stakes into her pockets, then headed for the doorway.  Once there, she paused briefly, as if debating the wisdom of what she was about to do...then she opened it and headed out.