Title: Love Is Blind
Parts: 1-24
Author: Avalon
Email: avalon99@telusplanet.net
Disclaimer: I own nothing. All belongs to Joss and UPN.
Summary:When Buffy is blinded, Spike, of all people, becomes her only hope.
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Up to 'Listening to Fear'

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Prologue

"But love is blind and lovers cannot see"

William Shakespeare


//click//

Dear Giles.

Well, this is pretty strange. Plus, I'm not certain this thing is working. It sounds like it is but I can't really be sure. I hope so. It would be too ironic if my last words wound up as just a bunch of static on the tape.

Oops. Gave the ending away there, didn't I. Sorry. Still, it's not like you didn't see this coming, right? We both know this is bad. Actually I think I've reached a whole new level on the Buffy bad spectrum.

And it's not going to get any better, is it?

Poor Giles. You've been trying so hard to sound upbeat and positive around me. But...well, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you're a really bad liar.

Or maybe it's just that you can't lie to *me*.

Not that I don't appreciate you trying, really. It gave me a nice couple of days, where I could pretend everything was going to be all right, that my eyes would somehow get better, and we'd all live happily ever after.

Damned demon.

OK, back to what I was saying. Since I can't tell when the tape is about to run out, I'd better get to the important stuff sooner rather than later.

First of all -- this wasn't your fault. Please don't blame yourself (and don't tell me you're not -- I can hear it in your voice). You gave me plenty of warning -- I distinctly remember the words "...and be careful Buffy. Don't forget it can spit acid...." And how revolting is that anyway? (the acid, not your warning).

I did listen to you, honest. But I was...well, not overconfident, exactly. More -- distracted, I guess. Too much going around in circles in my mind. I should have known better, especially after that vampire skewered me with my own stake. Guess my heart wasn't really in it that night. Too worried about my mom, wondering what I was going to do about Dawn, thinking about Glory... And besides, it was just a little demon -- relatively speaking. But then its really, really big cousin showed up and... well, you know what happened next.

I know I killed the small one while I could still see a bit, but the other got away. Actually, I'm kind of surprised it didn't stop and kill me on the way, but maybe the wound I gave it was more serious than I thought. Still, that means there's an injured monster roaming around out there...and no Slayer to stop it.

You've all done a great job of patrolling and keeping things under control, really you have. I know I shouldn't blame myself for what happened to Willow. Yes, I know she'll be all right, and that we're all lucky that it was just a broken arm and all, but still...

It was *my* job. I'm the Slayer. I'm the one who's supposed to be out there keeping the night safe, not sitting here, all sheltered and warm. And I keep asking myself -- what's going to happen when Glory crawls back out from whatever rock she's hiding under? She wiped the floor with me before - you guys won't stand a chance.

No offence.

So -- where does that leave us? The doctors weren't exactly holding back with the naked truth. I'm never going to see again, not even with Slayer super healing powers. Just too much damage. I know there's no magical cure either -- we already had this conversation when my Mom got sick. And I'm not sure I believe in miracles -- at least the good kind -- anymore.

So what's left? I know - I'm being way rhetorical. And probably pretty pretentious. Must be all those Psych classes at College. But I'm just trying to prove that I really have thought all this out, that I'm not just doing this on some suicidal whim.

Sorry. Poor choice of words there. I don't have a death wish, really I don't, no matter what Spike said (and why am I even thinking about him right anyway? Sometimes I worry about my psyche...) Anyhow, I really have thought this through and we both know there's only one answer.

The world needs a Slayer. And...and I can't be her anymore.

So I'm going out tonight to hunt down the demon that helped do this to me.

Don't get me wrong. I know I don't have a hope in hell. I'm not blind. Well, OK, I am. But you know what I mean. I know what the odds are and how this is all going to end. It's pretty much a given. But maybe, just maybe, I can take the demon with me. Give Willow a little goodbye vengeance present. And keep the night a little bit safer until...

...until the next Slayer comes along.

Poor little Slayer. Doesn't seem fair to load all this on her somehow. I know how tough it was when I was just starting out, and I had Merrick and then you and all my friends to help me.

I hope she has someone.

I don't know if you'll be her Watcher. There's a lot of stuff I never asked, although I always wondered. Just seemed like it would be too painful to talk about somehow. And the time was never right. Well, it's definitely too late for twenty questions now. But -- if you do get to meet her, the new Slayer I mean, will you ask her to watch out for Dawn for me? I still don't know what or who she is, but I know she's important. Besides, she *feels* like my little sister. I love her, even if she is annoying pretty much all of the time.

So, where was I? Oh yeah, Buffy's famous last words.

Er...drawing a blank. How about if you just think of something clever and pretend I said it?

Anyway, you do understand why I'm doing it this way, rather than in person, right? For starters, I know you guys wouldn't let me out of your sight if you knew what I was planning to do. Which is why I had to wait over a week until you all let your guard down a bit.

Still, I got a week. More time than most Slayers do, probably. And I got to say goodbye to everyone, in my own way. I don't think anyone suspected what I was planning, although I could be wrong. It wouldn't surprise me if you knew, or at least guessed. You could always see right through me, couldn't you? No pun intended.

Today was nice. A day in the sun with my Watcher and all my friends. Will you tell Riley that I'm sorry for snapping at him? I didn't mean to, it's just he seems to like me so much better helpless, like he wants to protect me and look after me and...

...and I am so not going to discuss my boyfriend with you. Besides, I can tell him everything on his own tape. Just forget everything I just said, okay?

Except...you will look after him, won't you? And Willow and Xander and all the rest? And my mom and Dawn? They're going to need someone.

After.

OK. I'll put the other tapes in the top drawer of my nightstand. They'll be labelled, although it's kind of hard to write when you can't see. Not that my handwriting was ever that great to start with. Still, I'm sure you'll figure out which is which. You'll make sure my Mom and the others get them, won't you? Thanks.

I...I guess there's nothing more to say.

Except...

Thank you for being my Watcher.

I love you.

//click//


Part One


"Ever wayward, weak and blind"

Gustave Nadaud


Everything was harder when you were blind. Even the simplest things became more difficult, more time consuming. Things like getting dressed. Sneaking out her bedroom window. And navigating. Yeah, navigating definitely had them all beat. Buffy didn't really care if she was wearing different socks or if her clothes clashed -- although looking frumpy on the last night of her life was a pretty big downer. And climbing down the tree outside her window hadn't been all that hard really -- it had mostly been a matter of hugging the trunk for dear life and trying to figure out when it was safe to let go -- OK, she had misjudged that one a bit...but finding her way through the night, all alone in the dark...that was a bit much, even for her.

Forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty. Buffy came to an unsteady halt and stretched a cautious toe forward, feeling for the curb. Feeling stupid.

This was ridiculous. If you had asked her a week ago, she would have said she could have found the cemetery blindfolded. All those nights of patrolling, all of those evening trips to and from the graveyard -- she should have been able to close her eyes and find the way without even thinking about it.

Only it hadn't quite worked out like that. She had crept out at just after midnight -- somewhat startled to discover that she knew *exactly* what time it was, despite the fact that she couldn't see any of the clocks in the house. Somehow, she had been able to tell the time by the level of darkness pressing upon her, as if she could sense how far away the dawn was and how long ago the sun had set. 'I wonder if the vamps can do this?' she had thought, then had shuddered slightly at yet one more example of how much her life had changed since becoming the Slayer, and how closely her world was entangled now with the other creatures of darkness.

As if that wasn't depressing enough, it had started to rain. Hard.

Swell.

The most difficult part (besides not being able to shake the feeling that she was completely and irreversibly lost) had been trying to look as if she could see, as if she knew exactly where she was and what she was doing, in case someone did spot her and wonder what a blind girl was doing wandering about at this hour. The streets were pretty much deserted -- she hadn't sensed anyone since she had left her own neighbourhood, but that didn't mean there weren't people out there. She was almost as worried about running into a good samaritan as she was about the vampires and demons. Well, almost. Still, her spidey sense wasn't tingling. That was a good sign. She would know if there were people -- or monsters -- about. Really she would. She drew in a quick, somewhat shaky breath. She had to trust her remaining senses, and that *other* sense deep inside her, the one that made her who and what she was.

After all, it was all she had left.

Buffy hitched her weapons bag a little higher on her shoulder and shook her head, feeling raindrops spray around her with the movement, and an icy tendril of water roll down the back of her neck. Shivering slightly, she crossed the road then turned right. The cemetery was close... maybe. Still, it was a small town. She'd find it eventually. She hoped. Or the monsters would find her first. She reached a cold hand inside her bag and checked that her weapons were all within reach, reminding herself where everything was stashed. She had just brought the basics - a couple of stakes, a long, wicked-looking knife, and a crossbow -- although she wasn't sure how much use the last one would be. She didn't think she could hit the side of a barn right now (not that there were a whole lot of barns that needed slaying within Sunnydale city limits) let alone a moving target. Maybe if she asked nicely the demon would stand still while she shot at it...

Or not.

Buffy sighed, then trudged onward. Nobody had ever said this would be easy, after all. At least the weapons check, plus her constant tension, blended with just a little bit of fear and a whole lot of frustration, kept her mind off other, more unpleasant things. Like how she didn't want to die. How she really *really* didn't want to die. Not tonight. Not any night, actually, but especially not tonight, and not like this -- blind, soaking wet, and probably wearing mismatched socks. 'I wanted to be the first Slayer to retire. I wanted to graduate College. I wanted to see the world. I wanted to have a life..." Misery welled up within her.

"This is so not fair," she thought as she took another step forward...

...and promptly fell over a tombstone.

With a startled yelp, the Slayer found herself over- balancing and falling forward, only reaching out to slap the ground with her hands and cushion the fall at the very last second. She still landed jarringly hard. For a moment she lay motionless, wincing as a shaft of pain shot through her arm, starting at her elbow and working its way up.

She was lying on a newly dug grave, Buffy realized (which beat lying *in* a new grave, but not by much). The rain had turned the earth to a sea of mud and she could feel it plastering her body, coating her like...well, like mud. With a sound of disgust, the Slayer reached up to scrape a large clump of dirt off her forehead and out of her eyes. Not that it made any difference, sight-wise, but it was stinging. Then she sighed and hauled herself slowly to her feet, checking for any major damage. Nothing. Just a few more bumps and bruises to add to the collection she had started when she had fallen out of the tree...plus a funny bone that was feeling pretty un-funny.

Rubbing her elbow, Buffy turned slowly, unsure of her footing, making sure the bag was still looped around her neck. She pushed ineffectively at the mud caking her shirt and pants with one hand -- it felt like she was wearing half the graveyard -- and suppressed a shudder as yet another gallon or so of rainwater ran down her back. 'I do not believe this,' she thought miserably as she prised one foot out of the ankle-deep mud, trying not to lose her shoe as she did. "Life just sucks," she said out loud.

"That is does, darlin'."

The voice came from behind her and a little way to the right. Buffy gasped and spun around, her feet sliding a little on the wet ground. Nevertheless, in less than a heartbeat she was in a defensive stance, weight balanced on both feet, knees slightly bent, crossbow in one hand and knife in the other while her heart hammered wildly as she tried to lock in on the other presence. The driving rain was making it difficult, the water messing with her senses and throwing her off balance. There was definitely *something* out there, she could tell, and it wasn't human. But other than that... If only she could *see*. Buffy caught her breath then stilled, blinking away the raindrops running into her eyes. And *listened*.

There. He...it...whatever it was, was moving toward her. Slowly, unhurriedly, as if it had all the time in the world. And...it was familiar. She knew it. Him.

"Look like you've seen a ghost. Feeling jumpy tonight, are you, Slayer?" A pause, then: "Gotta say I'm loving the wet t-shirt look..."

English accent. Taunting overtones. Sexual innuendo.

Spike.

Buffy's shoulders abruptly sagged with relief. Not a demon (well, yes, technically he was, but not a threat to life and limb. Maybe.) She lowered the crossbow and knife before he could see how much her hands were shaking as a single thought flashed across her mind. 'Don't let him know.' Buffy wasn't quite sure why, but there was definitely something inside her that did not want the vampire to know that she was blind. Not questioning the instinct, the Slayer turned her head to where she *thought* he was and said flatly: "Spike. What are you doing here?"

"I live here, remember?"

She must be near his crypt then. Good, that told her where she was...more or less.

"Haven't seen much of you lately," he was saying. He made it sound as if it was because she was wearing too much clothing, not that she hadn't been around the cemetery, and suddenly Buffy became acutely aware of how much her wet shirt was clinging to her. Resisting the urge to fold her arms over her chest, she put the knife away, though keeping a good grip on the crossbow, and turned fractionally to follow the sound of his voice.

"Too busy with Captain Cardboard to come out and kill the bad guys, is that it? Lad seems pretty high maintenance to me. Wonder what your Watcher thinks about all this shirking..."

"Flattered as I am that you seem to be so worried about my job *and* my love life, I really don't have time for this, Chip Boy." Sarcasm dripped from her voice and for just a moment Buffy felt better, probably the best she had felt since she had been blinded. Somehow, trading veiled -- and not so veiled -- insults with Spike, not having to worry about his feelings or be treated like a piece of glass that was liable to break at any minute...it was refreshing. And she had missed it. And for just a moment, she could almost believe that things would be all right, that everything would work out in the end, somehow...

And then he was at her back, one hand seizing her right wrist, the one holding the crossbow, while his other arm snaked around her waist, pulling her tightly against him, his grip like iron. She hadn't even heard him move. Her heart, which had been slowing, jolted painfully and resumed a frantic pace. He would be able to hear it, Buffy knew, would know just how frightened she really was. Anger flashed through her instantly at the thought and she struggled against the vampire's grip. Nothing. She could get no purchase on the wet mud, her feet slipping beneath her, while he seemed to be rooted into the Earth itself, solid as a tree trunk behind her.

"Ken doll is obviously a bad influence on you, Slayer." Spike's voice said in her ear. If he had breath, she would have felt it along her neck, he was that close. "You're all distracted," he continued. "You'd never have let me get this close before."

"Maybe I just let you get close so I could do this." With that Buffy lashed downward with one foot and jerked her head backward, feeling a reassuring thud as the back of her skull impacted with his nose while her heel drove into his instep.

"Bloody hell," Spike said, dropping her like a hot brick, both of his hands going to his nose while he teetered precariously on one foot behind her.

The Slayer spun, her actions coming fast and automatic. A stake was in her left hand, the crossbow pointed unerringly at his heart -- she didn't need to see to know where it was pointed. She just *knew* -- and the adrenaline rushing through her was helping, rather than hurting her fighting skills. Another joyous rush went through her. She was still the Slayer. She could still kick major vampire ass...

...and then a demon launched itself at her out of the night and she flew backward beneath its weight.


PART TWO


"The night has a thousand eyes and the day but one"

Francis William Bourdillon


The demon was big, scaly, and seemed to have more than its fair share of claws and teeth. And it smelled. A *lot*. "There's just no excuse for not flossing," Buffy said breathlessly as she fought to remain upright, her feet skidding on the wet earth. But then the demon's full weight was on her, razor scales pressing against her skin...and she no longer cared about the smell.

Buffy tumbled to the ground beneath the monster, its weight driving all the air from her lungs and for a moment it was all she could do just to breathe. It reached for her throat with its fangs -- and even oxygen didn't seem all that important anymore. The Slayer rolled aside, evading the teeth, and reaching out desperately for a weapon -- any weapon -- but her fingers encountered only empty air. The creature's first rush must have sent them flying -- and she couldn't see where they had gone. Unless she rolled over them by accident, she realized grimly, she wasn't going to be getting them back in a hurry either.

This was bad.

Gasping, the Slayer lashed upwards with both feet -- and missed. By a mile. She tried again and managed to land a weak blow on the demon's -- shoulder? -- which it ignored, backhanding her so that she found herself flying through the air, hitting the ground even harder than before.

Very bad. Badness on a cosmic scale.

Buffy sensed movement and rolled again hastily, barely avoiding the demon's raking teeth. One tooth-edge caught her along the back of the hand, drawing a thin line of blood, but she ignored it. Instead she aimed another kick up at the monster.

She might as well have kicked one of the tombstones. The demon rocked back slightly from the impact then lunged for her again, roaring in what she could only presume was fury. 'Great. Guess I made it mad.' Together Buffy and the monster rolled down a slight incline with it, their limbs tangling.

"Very nice," she heard Spike say distinctly as she fell. "Slayer mud-wrestling. Wish I'd known ahead of time. Could've sold tickets..."

Buffy came to a stop on top of the demon and, for just an instant, she had the upper hand. But no weapons. With a frustrated curse Buffy settled for hitting the demon as hard as she could. Maybe she could beat it to death...

Or maybe it would die of boredom. Her blow had no effect at all, at least not on the monster. Her own arm went slightly numb from the impact though, as her fist connected with its jaw. It was like hitting a slab of concrete. Big, angry concrete with fangs. With an ease that was frightening, the demon threw her off and she landed hard again, several feet away.

If she had injured it in her previous fight, the monster certainly wasn't showing the effects now. Which meant that it healed fast. Or was pretty much impervious to whatever she could throw at it. And it was fast. The Slayer barely had time to get her feet beneath her before the creature was on her again, roaring like a banshee and slashing at her with both sets of claws. She aimed a series of punches at it, driving it back a little by sheer force of will, but she was beginning to tire...and it still seemed as strong as ever.

* * * * * * * * * *

What the hell was she playing at? Spike frowned and moved closer to the two combatants. He had been keeping out of the way, enjoying the fight...and the view. Wet, muddy Slayer, with bits of clothing starting to come undone... very nice. But she kept leaving herself open to hits that a child could have avoided, and passing up obvious opportunities to go in for the kill. And why she refused to use her weapons when they were so close was beyond him. As he watched, the Slayer reeled back from another blow and Spike's frown deepened. This was just...weird.

* * * * * * * * * *

Buffy was still hitting the demon with everything she had, but all it was doing was making her arms ache. Whereas, when its blows connected, it felt as though buildings were falling on her. Big, bricky buildings. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps -- on the upside, at least she *could* breathe again -- and her reactions were beginning to slow. Actually, everything seemed to be slowing, the Slayer realized distantly. The world around her, what she could still sense of it, was fading, as if time itself were coming to a halt. For a moment, alarm darted through her...and then recognition banished the fear.

She had experienced this sensation before -- just a few times, true, but often enough that she recognized it for what it was. She had felt it when she had faced the Master, and when she had gone up against Adam. Had felt it at the moment when Angelus had had her cornered and defenceless. 'Take everything else away,' he had said then, mockingly, 'and what's left?'

'Me.' She had answered. Buffy.

No, not Buffy.

The Slayer.

And, as simply as that, she forgot the rain, forgot her blindness, forgot where and when she was...forgot everything except the battle. And the enemy.

She was the Slayer. And she would not go down without a fight.

* * * * * * * * * *

'Atta girl,' Spike thought, as Buffy surged back to her feet, landing two swift hits on the demon and following up with a roundhouse kick, one foot connecting squarely with its chest. 'That's the Slayer we all know and hate.' He took another step closer...which was when he noticed it.

She was fighting with her eyes closed.

* * * * * * * * * *

The end came suddenly, unexpectedly. An unseen, *unsensed* blow caught Buffy across the chest and she found herself sailing backwards, crashing into a nearby statue, hard enough to crack the marble. And, for just a moment it felt as if something else, besides the statue, had cracked.

As quickly as that, it was over. The trance -- whatever it was that she had been in -- ended and she was suddenly all too aware of her body again, of the burning in her lungs and the way her muscles were trembling with fatigue. And most of all, of the pain shooting along her shoulders and down her back, over her right thigh and hip, and across the back of her hand. Once again she was aware of the cold rain pouring down on her and the ambient noises surrounding her...

The demon howled, as if sensing its triumph and then, to Buffy's complete and utter lack of surprise, it came at her once more. Only this time the Slayer couldn't seem to move. Her battered body refused to surmount the wall of pain that had risen up around her. She managed to get her hands up in time to grasp the creature by the neck and hold it away from her, but that was all. She could do no more. And she couldn't keep this up much longer...

* * * * * * * * * *

Spike was becoming seriously worried. Stupid git was going to get herself killed. And she wouldn't even ask him for help. Bloody arrogant Slayer. He should just walk away and let the demon finish her off. Serve her bleeding well right...

Only...he couldn't. Much as part of him would like to, he couldn't really let her die. Could he?

* * * * * * * * * *

Buffy's fingers were starting to cramp, the muscles in her arms and back screaming from the strain of holding the demon back, and her tired mind was all out of options. She couldn't let go of the monster or it would kill her. On the plus side, the demon could get no closer while she had it by the throat. So the only question was which one of them was going to weaken first. And, given the way Buffy's arms were trembling, it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out which way the fight was going to go.

The impasse was finally broken when the demon suddenly did the unexpected -- pulling *backwards* and breaking her grasp. Before she could move again, before she could even *think* about moving, the monster was lunging at her, raking downward with one set of claws...

...and the world stopped.

The horrible sound of something tearing...

Something warm and wet pouring down her left arm, mixing with the rain...

The feeling when the body knows that it has been injured but the pain hasn't had time to travel up the nerve-ends to the brain yet...

And then the agony. Like a wall of flame, tearing through her body, burning every nerve end and scorching her soul. 'Didn't think it would hurt this much,' Buffy had time to think...and then her eyes were sliding shut as the world around her began to fade away.

* * * * * * * * * *

Spike was already in motion. He had begun moving the moment that the scent of the Slayer's blood, sharp and metallic, had pierced the night air. As the demon's claws were ripping down the length of her left arm, starting at the collarbone and ending just above the back of her wrist, he was launching himself through the air toward the monster.

Once, Spike would have stood back, admiring the details as he watched the Slayer die. He probably would have applauded...or helped. Or he might have attacked the demon himself so he could be the one to finally end her life. He had fantasized about this moment so many times, had visualized what it would be like to stand over this Slayer while her blood poured out onto the ground and the light faded from her eyes. He had dreamed about it, had envisioned every nuance, every motion, every word...

But never once had he pictured himself leaping into the fray to save her. To *save* the Slayer.

Bugger.

Spike's rush hit the demon with enough force to send it staggering to one side, away from Buffy. His game face on, he threw everything he had at the monster. Just keep it on the defensive, keep it moving away from her...but then it hit him on the jaw and the vampire's goal changed to merely staying conscious. Damn, the thing was strong. Spike ducked another blow and backed up a step, wondering what to do next.

In his right mind he never would have taken on something this big. At least not without a hell of a lot more reinforcements and/or weaponry. Yeah -- heavy ordinance would be good. And a plan. Definitely a plan. Like running. Spike had never had a problem with running away. Live to fight another day, or at the very least come back and stab the enemy in the back -- that was his motto. Well, one of them, anyway. He could just go, take to his heels -- odds were good the demon wouldn't even follow him. Only...

"Stupid bloody pillock," Spike snarled to himself as he launched himself forward again and swung another punch at the demon. "Bleeding soft-hearted prat." He punctuated every word with a hit to the creature. "It wasn't bad enough you went and got this sodding chip in your head, that you're about as scary as Donald-Bloody-Duck now. But no, now you have to go and risk your stupid un-life for the stupid bloody Slayer. Isn't that just great? How pathetic can you get?"

On the other hand -- it did feel kind of good to finally have something on which to take out his frustrations. A little violence to take the edge off. Couldn't hurt, could it? For just an instant Spike found himself grinning as the demon reeled back under his assault. But then it struck him in the middle of the chest...and the vampire's grin vanished.

Spike went down like he had been hit by a wrecking ball, enveloped in pain. For a moment the world spun and it was all he could do to keep his eyes open...to see the monster reaching down for Spike's head with both sets of clawed hands.

The vampire's mouth went dry as the demon took a good grip on both sides of his head...and began to twist. Fear tore through him. The sodding demon was going to rip his sodding head off and smile at him while it did it.

Shit.

Spike was struggling frantically -- and futilely -- reaching for something to use as a weapon when the creature suddenly stiffened. A surprised look flitted across its face and then its eyes rolled back in its head. A thin stream of dark blood trickled out of its mouth...and it collapsed. Right on top of him.

Well, that was unexpected.

And uncomfortable.

Hesitantly at first, then with more force Spike reached up and shoved the creature off then put a hand that was shaking slightly up to his neck, as if to reassure himself that his head was still attached to the rest of him. It was. Oh good.

Another movement caught his attention and Spike looked up, blinking away the rain that was running into his eyes. Someone was standing over him, he realized, a long silver knife held in a bloodstained hand.

"Is it dead yet?" Buffy managed to ask, her voice reed thin and shaking. And then she too crashed to the ground beside him, her legs crumpling beneath her.

PART THREE


"Comes the blind Fury"

John Milton


Spike didn't catch her before she fell. He didn't even try. He was still flat on his back, trying to make the pain go away and hoping the world would stop spinning, when Buffy collapsed. For a long moment he stared across the soggy grass at her, blinking in surprise, then he hauled himself upwards slowly. Or tried to.

It hurt. That last hit from the demon felt like it had broken a few ribs. Actually, it felt like it had broken a whole *lot* of ribs. Damn. Spike hated broken bones. They hurt like hell.

Still...he had other things to worry about. The ribs would heal soon enough, but not if the demon got back up and continued with the killing. And then there was the Slayer, who might or might not be dead. Or at the very least, bleeding to death beside him.

No. There. He could hear her heartbeat through the rain. It was a little weak, but even and steady. She wasn't dead. Or even dying. Not yet. Relief poured through him, followed by a chaser of annoyance at yet more evidence of how much he cared, despite his best efforts to the contrary.

"Damned Slayer," he muttered as he climbed painfully to his feet, holding his side with one hand. "This is all your fault. Couldn't even kill one demon without getting yourself all shredded. Not to mention me." Stiffly he walked over to her then bent down and pulled the knife from her limp grasp. Narrowing his eyes, he turned and moved towards the demon, kicking the unmoving creature in the side and enjoying the solid thump of his boot on its hide.

"As for you," he said, hefting the knife in one hand. "Let's see how you like this..."

With that, Spike bent down and, with relish and a certain grim sense of satisfaction, hacked off the demon's head.

* * * * * * * * * *

It didn't take long. Once Spike might have lingered over the task, enjoying himself, but he had more important things on his mind. Like the fact that he had an unconscious Slayer to deal with. And how anyone could come along at any time. Her friends would probably jump to the wrong conclusion -- what else was new? -- and stake him on the spot, whereas *his* friends...er...acquaintances... fellow creatures of the night -- whatever -- would try to finish her off. And him too if he got in their way. Besides which, she was still bleeding. The scent was wafting around him like honey and clover -- and probably drawing every creature within a five mile radius. Slayer blood. The ultimate goal of half the undead population of Sunnydale.

Scratch that. The *entire* undead population of Sunnydale. Including him. His fangs had descended again, unbidden, at the thought of all that lovely hemoglobin, just laying there. Spike licked his lips...then shook his head. He didn't need the warning tingle from the chip in his head to stop that line of thought in its tracks. No. It was...

It was one of those emotions that Spike had decided he wasn't going to think too hard about. He glared down at the unconscious Slayer. "I should just leave you here," he said out loud. "You're more bloody trouble than you're worth..." Nevertheless, with a sigh he straightened, wincing, then crossed to her side.

Her heartbeat was still steady and the bleeding from the wounds on her arm had slowed a little. When Spike laid one palm along her cheek though, her skin was cold and she did not move at his touch. "Probably get sodding pneumonia, you will. *And* find a way to blame me for it." Swearing under his breath, Spike shrugged his coat off, wrapped it around her, then, bracing himself against the pain in his ribs, bent down to pick her up.

She was surprisingly light, the vampire found as he lifted her. There was so much strength that emanated from her, so much force of mind, that he tended to forget just how small she really was. Now though, her body limp and cold in his arms, she seemed almost...

Actually, she seemed pretty much like she always did. Only unconscious. And bleeding. He had to get her out of here. Neverthless, for the briefest of moments, Spike allowed himself to savour the feeling of having the Slayer in his arms. He swallowed once, deeply, then straightened and, ignoring the fire that was burning a path along his right side, carried her off into the night.

* * * * * * * * * *

Buffy was dreaming. She was on a boat sailing away from something or someone, the spray from the water lashing her across the face and the even motion of the craft making her faintly nauseous. Besides which, she was cold. And her arm hurt where the giant tuna fish had fallen on it. And why the hell was Giles dancing with an octopus anyway?

OK. This was way too bizarre. Time to wake up. But then the dream changed and she was underwater, miles beneath the surface, the light swiftly receding. There was something else with her in the dark, something that grabbed her by the ankles and was trying to pull her even deeper... Buffy kicked out desperately with both feet, fighting to get back to the light, but it was no use. A fish, or another creature altogether brushed by her, its skin cold against her own, but she couldn't see it, could see nothing except the inky blackness surrounding her. Then, even the fish was gone, and she was all alone. In the dark. Panic ripped through her, and she flailed out with both hands...

...and hit something solid. Buffy's eyes flew open -- and met only darkness. Suddenly the terror from the dream became real. She was trapped in the dark, couldn't see, couldn't...

"Quit bloody struggling, will you?" A voice said, sounding slightly winded. "I'm trying to help!"

Buffy stilled, her heart thudding as reality crashed in around her. "S-spike?" There was a faint quaver in her voice, one that she couldn't quite conceal.

"No, it's bleeding Prince Charming. Who do you think?"

Buffy blinked as the last traces of the dream faded. She gradually became aware of her surroundings. The scent of leather and stale cigarettes. The sound of rain falling. Cold water running down her face and neck. Something warm and soft enfolding her -- Spike's coat, her mind supplied - and her cheek resting against something cool and solid. The sensation of movement... He was carrying her. Buffy jerked once in instinctive reaction and Spike's grip around her tightened.

"Are you *trying* to make me drop you?" he snarled.

Buffy stilled, but it wasn't because of Spike's words. No, it was the pain that was rising up inside her with every movement. Her left arm felt as if it were on fire and she could feel blood dripping down her fingers onto the ground below. And, for the first time, she was glad to be blind - - she so did not want to see how bad the damage was. The rest of her wasn't much better either -- pretty much everything hurt. A lot. That demon had really done a number on her.

The demon... Buffy tensed slightly, ignoring the various body parts that shrieked at her and the wordless growl from the vampire carrying her. "Is it dead?" she asked, her voice a little breathless. It wasn't from fear though. It *wasn't*. And neither did it have anything to do with the fact that she was cradled against Spike's chest while he carried her to god knows where...

"Yeah, it's dead," he said.

"You sure?"

She could almost sense his grin. "Pretty sure."

Buffy frowned, but let it go as relief began to cascade through her, leaving her weak and shaken. It was over. The demon was dead. And she was still alive.

She was still alive.

Oh.

Not quite certain how she felt about that, Buffy turned her mind to other things. Like the fact that she was in Spike's arms...and wrapped in his coat. She twitched. "Put me down," she said, her voice as steady as she could make it.

"Oh sure. So you can fall on your face before you get three steps. Not bloody likely."

"I can walk..."

"Sure you can." With that he moved his left hand, the hand that was beneath her shoulders, and squeezed her left arm, just above the elbow.

She didn't quite pass out, but it was a near thing. The pain became agony, sweeping all the way down to her toenails, and she couldn't stifle the gasp that rose to her lips. The world rocked for a moment and she distantly realized that Spike's chip had kicked in with his actions. He staggered briefly then righted himself and kept going. 'Serves you right,' she thought hazily.

"Sure you can walk, Slayer," Spike was saying, an echo of pain still in his voice. "Run a bloody marathon, you can. I'll just leave you here then. Let you find your own way home."

"So why don't you?" Her voice was tired, bleak, and wracked with agony. "Why are you helping me anyway? Why didn't you just let the demon kill me?"

He didn't answer her. Instead, there was a brief silence then he said shortly: "We're here."

"Where?" Buffy whispered, the agony in her arm beginning to abate, just a little. But not enough. Not nearly enough.

"My place."

Sensations sweeping over her. No more rain. Damp earth. A sense of great age. A small, enclosed room. Spike's crypt. He was telling the truth.

Something deep inside in the Slayer loosened, some tension that she hadn't even known was there until it was gone, vanished. She knew where she was. With that knowledge came a sense of relief -- and she began to shake, her body trembling violently within the folds of Spike's coat. It wasn't because of her injuries or the cold, she knew. It was...everything was beginning to crash down upon her. The aftereffects of the battle with the demon. Shock probably. Surprise that she was still in the land of the living -- more or less. And...and something else altogether.

For just an instant she felt Spike's arms tighten around her...and then, without warning, he let her go. Buffy tensed, expecting to hit the ground hard. Instead she found herself being deposited fairly gently on the top of the marble tomb in the middle of his crypt. He set her down...and she immediately began to topple over to one side, just managing to brace herself with her good arm so that she remained upright -- weak, dizzy, blind, and shaking like a leaf. But sitting up. Yay for Buffy.

"You okay?" Buffy heard the scratch of a match, then a wreath of smoke wafted toward her. She shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a position where her arm didn't hurt quite so much.

"Yes," she said firmly, keeping her gaze levelled downward so he couldn't see her eyes, wishing the trembling would stop. "I'll be fine."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"Good." With that he seized her, holding her firmly by both wrists, ignoring the way she flinched as his fingers closed on her left arm. "Then do you want to tell me what the hell that was all about?" There was real fury in his voice and Buffy leaned backwards, trying to free herself.

"Let me go!"

The vampire ignored her, his fingers tightening around her. "Are you trying to get yourself killed? 'Cause if you are maybe you could let me know ahead of time and I won't bother to save your sodding life in future."

At that moment something broke inside her. Later, Buffy would say that it had all finally become too much. Her blindness, the battle, everything that had happened to her up to that point... She had finally reached breaking point. The straw that broke the Slayer's back. With what was probably the last of her strength, she wrenched loose from the vampire and shoved him violently away with one well-placed fist, sliding down the tomb until her feet reached the ground. Her legs held her up...just.

"I never asked you to save me!" Her voice was choked with emotion and she swung her right arm, desperately wanting something...anything to fight. Something she could actually defeat, someone she could beat into the dust until it all went away... Fury was running through her in torrents, wiping away the pain and the memories and leaving only rage behind. Pure, unsullied rage. Buffy aimed another blow at the vampire. "I was doing fine on my own. If you hadn't interfered I would be..."

Spike evaded her with ease then moved forward again, shoving the Slayer violently back against the side of the tomb and pinning her hips with his own. He caught both of her wrists and forced her arms behind her back, holding on to them both with one hand. Then he reached up with his other hand and seized a fistful of her hair, tilting her head back as far as it would go, baring her throat to him. She struggled, but he held on, moving even closer so that the full length of his body was pressed tightly against hers.

"Dead," Spike said menacingly in her ear, listening to the pulse of the vein beating beneath the skin of her throat as he held her. "Dead is what you would have been if I hadn't *interfered*. What's the matter, Slayer? Sacred duty finally got too much for you? Got a little taste of that death wish and you want more? Well, just give the word, girl, and, chip or no chip, I'll still..." But then his voice trailed away as what his brain had been telling him for several minutes now, finally began to sink in.

The Slayer was still fighting to get loose, though her efforts were weaker now. Her heart was fluttering against his like a wounded bird and her entire body was shaking, with more than cold. But that wasn't what had stopped him. No, it was her eyes. And their complete and utter blankness. The way they *weren't* focused on him and the way they didn't follow his every movement. Almost as if...

Spike dropped her abruptly and stepped backwards, stunned.

Blind?

He must have said the word out loud because her shoulders sagged, all the fight abruptly going out of her. Buffy collapsed back against the tomb as if it were the only thing still holding her up, and dropped her head, no longer meeting his gaze. There was a long moment of silence, then she said wearily: "Yes, I'm blind."

"Happy now?"


PART FOUR


"Before mine eyes in opposition sits grim Death"

John Milton


"Yes, I'm blind. Happy now?" At that moment, Buffy's knees abruptly gave way and she found herself sliding down the side of the marble tomb until she was sitting limply on the ground. With a shudder, she leaned her head back against it and closed her eyes. Waiting.

Silence. Spike hadn't moved. A few more heartbeats passed then the stillness finally became too much for her shattered nerves to bear any longer. "Well?" Buffy asked tautly. "Aren't you going to say it?"

"Say what?" Spike's voice sounded odd. Flat somehow.

"I don't know. Some crack. How this really makes your century, maybe. I don't know..." Her voice trailed away and she shifted a little, cradling her left arm in her lap, wishing the waves of pain that were rolling across her body would go away for a while. Wishing *he* would go away...

"How?" Spike's question abruptly brought her wandering mind back to the present.

Buffy didn't pretend not to know what he meant. "Acid- spitting demon. Ducked right when I should have dodged left. End of story."

"When?"

He really was a vampire of few words. Or syllables. "Last Tuesday. And no, there's nothing anyone can do. I'm blind. For life. However long that turns out to be." This time her words were laced with bitterness.

She heard him shift his weight, sensing the slight movement of his feet on the hard-packed dirt, and braced herself for the...no, not sympathy. She didn't expect sympathy from Spike -- despite that moment on her mother's porch a week ago when he had...when he had been kind. No. She couldn't deal with any more kindness right now. She'd had more than enough from her friends and family, and it was killing her. Insults, threats, demons trying to murder her -- those she could handle. But not kindness. Not now. And not from him. Buffy opened her eyes -- not that it made any difference -- and straightened her shoulders. "And don't bother saying how sorry you are, because I won't believe you," she snapped.

There was another long pause and then: "Not likely. I was just going to say that you're bleeding all over my bloody...uh...coat."

Oh. Buffy reached up with one hand to the leather that was still wrapped around her. For a moment her fingers tightened around one edge, then she doggedly began to pull it off, trying to jar her left arm as little as possible. A moment later hands were touching hers, helping to slide the leather duster off her shoulders.

"Always figured I'd get to undress you one day," he said tauntingly.

Buffy tried to bat the vampire's hands away but failed miserably. "In your dreams," she muttered.

"Yeah," he breathed, so quietly that she almost didn't hear him. And then he was pulling the coat aside, causing a fresh wave of agony to shoot through her, and she decided she had misheard.

"Can you stand?" Spike's voice was calm, matter-of-fact, as if he didn't care one way or the other. He probably didn't.

Buffy frowned, then shook her head, not even trying to make the effort. She knew she couldn't stand. The dizziness was back with a vengeance and she was colder than ever. So cold she felt as if she were turning to ice. Buffy the Snow-Slayer. Funny. She could no longer feel the ground beneath her, she realized dimly, and the world was becoming distant and remote. Blood loss and shock, part of her mind supplied...but she couldn't really find it in her to care. Maybe *this* was it. This was how she would die -- not in battle as she had always thought, but bleeding to death in Spike's crypt -- which was ironic in a way that pretty much redefined the word 'irony'. Still, maybe that would be ok. She didn't think she'd ever have the courage to try this again. If it didn't end tonight... Buffy's eyes began to flicker shut.

A resounding cuff across the face banished the oblivion that was beginning to enfold her and the Slayer's eyes flew open again. Without warning she found herself being dragged to her feet then tossed roughly onto the top of the tomb. Buffy gasped, wincing at the pain in her jaw which now rivalled that of her arm. "Ow. What are--?" she started to say, but Spike's words overrode hers.

"You are so damned...pathetic, do you know that? God, any more nobility and self-sacrifice around here and I'm going to throw up."

"What..." she tried again but he ignored her, reaching out to give her a shove so that she fell backwards, laying full length on the top of the tomb.

"Just shut up and keep still," he said. His voice was practically vibrating with fury and for a moment the clouds in her mind rolled away. Chip or no chip, Spike was still dangerous. Always would be. Buffy froze as she sensed him moving closer...but then he went around the tomb, heading across the crypt where she could hear him rummaging for something. Then he moved back towards her and she tensed again, wishing for the millionth time that she could see what was happening.

"If you think you get to bleed to death here you're off your rocker. I don't want your gang of Scoobies staking me because I let you die. And I certainly don't want the next Slayer coming along, out for revenge and a little Spike- slayage -- not while I've got this chip in my head at any rate."

"So throw me out in the rain and don't get involved," she said weakly.

"Don't tempt me. No, I'm going to patch you up -- only to keep you from dripping blood all over my floor, mind -- and then I'm taking you home where you can be somebody else's problem. *Anybody* else's problem."

"No!" Buffy tried to sit up but he held her down easily. "Spike, you don't understand..."

"Don't I?" He reached for the collar of her shirt, yanking open the top button. "And before you get any ideas, I'm taking this off so I can fix your arm, is all. So don't get excited."

"Like this would excite me. Listen, you don't know..."

He undid the next button and then the next, wrenching her shirt open. Buffy flinched and her shivering increased as a cold draft played over her bared skin.

"How 'bout I tell you what I know," Spike was saying, pulling her right arm through the shirt sleeve. "Like how you probably spent the last few days deciding that the world needs a Slayer, a new Chosen-bloody-Whinger. Since the other one's, what? Doing ten to twenty for murder?" He succeeded in freeing her right arm and moved on to the left. "So heroic little Buffy decides to go out and get herself killed so the next Slayer can be called and fight the forces of evil, blah blah blah. How'm I doing so far?"

She said nothing. Partly because he was right, partly because she was in too much pain to do more than clench her teeth and try not to scream -- and partly because she was *way* too aware of the fact that Spike was undressing her. Which was more than a little surprising, given that she was in agony, frozen to the marrow, and hanging onto consciousness by a thread. What the hell was the matter with her anyway?

Spike's fingers brushed against her bare stomach and she inhaled sharply, then shook the bizarre thoughts away, concentrating instead on remaining awake.

He was still talking. "Bet you planned everything," he said derisively. "Wrote all the Scoobies tragic little goodbye notes. Probably shagged your boyfriend one last time and then went out demon-hunting. Right?"

A small shaft of anger went through Buffy and for a moment she forgot everything else. How come Spike got to be the one who could always get inside her head? Why could she fool everyone else but not him. Never him. It wasn't fair...

"Well, am I right? I like the lacy lingerie, by the way," he added, almost as an afterthought as he pulled her injured arm through the shirt sleeve then let the blood- soaked garment drop to the floor.

Buffy didn't answer. Couldn't. The sudden jolt of pain in her arm was overwhelming and she felt as if she were being pulled backwards and downwards, sinking ever deeper into shadows. 'Can't faint,' Buffy thought desperately, a tremor going through her. 'Won't...' But her grip on the world was failing. For a fleeting moment the Slayer thought she felt something soft brush against her hair -- Spike? -- and then even that was gone and she was alone in the dark.

Again.


PART FIVE


"Winged cupid painted blind"

William Shakespeare


Something twisted inside Spike as he watched Buffy lose consciousness. Unbidden, his hand moved forward to touch her hair then he snatched it back as if he had been burned. 'Just do this quick,' he told himself, 'while she's still out.' He knew just how fast a Slayer could recover, even from the worst injuries, and he didn't want her coming around and instinctively trying to kill him before he was done. And this way she wouldn't feel any pain...

Ignoring the irony of the thought of a vampire wanting to spare a Slayer pain, Spike unrolled a length of bandage and moved closer to her. He had begun keeping a small supply of bandages and other such when he had started getting staked, shot, and stabbed on a regular basis. 'Never thought I'd be using it on *her* though,' he thought grimly. Then, no longer hesitating, he picked up a nearby bottle of alcohol, uncorked it with his teeth, and tossed a substantial amount of the fluid over her wounds.

Buffy stirred, moaning, as the alcohol ran over her bare arm and shoulder, washing away much of the blood and revealing the full extent of the damage to Spike. He stared at it for a moment. Three deep parallel gashes ran down the length of her arm, starting near the collarbone and ending just above the back of her wrist while another, lighter slash ran across the back of her left hand.

Even as he watched blood welled up again in the cuts...and as quickly as that, bloodlust was surging within him like a tidal wave, blurring his vision and filling his senses. Spike's fangs descended unconsciously as the reality of the situation struck home. The Slayer was here, unconscious and helpless, her blood dripping down the side of the tomb, the scent of her filling the air. It was everything he had ever dreamed of, everything he had wanted since he had first come to Sunnydale. To sink his teeth into her, to feel her convulse around him while he drank her lifeblood, to go over that dark precipice with her in his arms... It would be so easy. All he had to do was bend his head and drink, to sink his fangs into the perfection of her throat and...

Only...he couldn't. Even though the very core of his being was screaming at him to just take her, his body aching with raw desire...he couldn't. Something inside wouldn't let him. And it wasn't the chip in his head either. Spike shook his head, trying to force his face to resume its human form, trying to will the bloodlust away. Just then, Buffy stirred, her head turning to one side, unconsciously baring even more of her throat to him. The vampire gulped then ran his tongue over his fangs. On the other hand, he could still have just a taste. Just a little. He had wanted, no, *needed* this for so long, and it wouldn't hurt her, not really... Unable to resist the craving still tearing through him, Spike slowly leaned forward, losing himself in the scent of her blood...

...then yelped as a shaft of blinding agony tore through him. Spike jumped backwards, almost falling, clutching his head with both hands as his lust and hunger turned instantly to fury. And, not for the first time, his self- control threatened to slip. It would be so easy to give into the rage that almost consumed him every time he thought about the chip in his head, to fight against it until it killed him... But he wouldn't. He *wouldn't*. No, he was smarter, stronger than that. And he wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

Besides, there was the Slayer to think about.

She needed him.

Shaking, Spike leaned on the tomb, eyes shut and fingers clenched, one hand on either side of the unconscious Buffy. Waiting. Finally, his fangs receded and the desire quieted. Just a little. But enough. With hands that were shaking only slightly, he poured more alcohol over her wounds then began to wrap the bandage around her wrist, trying to take his mind off...other things.

She was lucky the demon had got her on the back of the arm, Spike decided as he worked his way upward, his seething emotions finally beginning to cool. If it had clawed her on the inside of her wrist and hit the veins... Well, she'd be dead by now. End of story. Would probably have bled to death out there in the rain. Spike's heart contracted at the thought and another tremor went through him, one that had nothing at all to do with the chip in his head this time. He glanced up at her ashen face and his jaw tightened. She was so beautiful, so helpless, so...

'So likely to sit up and break this bottle over my flipping head,' Spike thought, self-derision lancing through him. The Slayer was about as fragile and breakable as a jungle cat. A cranky, bad-tempered jungle cat.

Except...

Except she was blind. And either completely suicidal, or near enough as made no odds. The bands around Spike's heart tightened even more. She had come here to die and as soon as she woke up she'd probably be heading back out into the night to finish the job...unless he did something about it. But what? For an instant the surreal -- and incredibly erotic -- image of tying her up with the spare set of chains and holding her here until she came to her senses, was pretty damned appealing...on a multitude of levels.

Nevertheless, he discarded the notion. Enjoyable as it might be, it wasn't very practical. She'd break free and stake him. Her friends would show up and stake him. *Someone* would show up and stake him. Guaranteed. Whichever way he played it in his mind, every scenario still ended up with him as a big pile of dust. Spike cast a quick glance down the length of the Slayer's body, taking in the smooth skin and lacy bra, the blood pulsing just beneath the paleness of her throat...and swallowed deeply. 'Might be worth it in the long run though,' he thought unsteadily.

* * * * * * * * * *

Spike tied off the bandage and stood back to survey his handiwork. The Slayer was looking a lot better -- and slightly less mouth-watering -- now that she wasn't bleeding all over the place. Not that he wouldn't bite her in a heartbeat...if he could. But he couldn't, so he might as well think about something else. Like what he was going to do with her.

'Can't let her go back out there,' he thought. Not tonight. He damned well *would* chain her up, if it came to that. She wouldn't stand a chance, alone and sightless. She'd be a nice snack for the first nasty that came along. And if he couldn't have her for dinner, then nothing else was bloody going to either.

Likewise, he couldn't just send her back to her so-called friends and family. They'd already proven they couldn't keep her safe, couldn't protect her from herself. Pillocks. No, if he took her back to them she'd end up just as dead. Maybe not tonight, but soon.

He had to do something. Unfortunately, nothing brilliant was coming to mind. Spike sighed then straightened, wincing as pain stabbed him again in his right side, then walked around the tomb and picked up his leather coat, surveying it for a moment. Blood, drying slowly now, coated the inner left side. Still, it was all he had in the way of a blanket, so it would have to do. Be just his sodding luck if she caught pneumonia, after all he'd done.

Walking stiffly so as not to further aggravate his injured side, the vampire picked up one of his spare black shirts then returned to the tomb and leaned over the Slayer. There was a bit more colour in her face but her skin was still cold to the touch. With another sigh, Spike began threading her unmoving arms through the sleeves of his shirt, trying not to do any further damage to her injuries. 'Hope you appreciate all this when you wake up,' he thought crossly.

* * * * * * * * * *

Buffy was dreaming again. She was still underwater, but somehow the dark and cold seemed less frightening this time. Maybe because she could sense that she wasn't alone. There was someone in the darkness with her, someone who didn't mean her any harm. She didn't know how she knew. She just did. Buffy stretched out a hesitant hand -- and the sea answered it. It was ageless. Powerful. Inhuman. And...welcoming. For the first time in a very long while, she felt safe. Protected. Like she could just surrender to the waters around her and...

...and there was something above her. Buffy opened her eyes and looked up. A light was shining dimly in the distance, faint and golden, miles away above her head. She frowned. Was she supposed to try to reach it? It was too far, she would never make it. She would drown first...

The moment that thought entered her mind, the Slayer was suddenly aware of her body's raging need for air. Fear tore through her. She didn't belong here. She had to get to the surface...or die. Fighting down the panic inside her, she began to swim upward, her eyes focused on the distant light. Around her she sensed consternation, concern - and something else -- from the being nearby, but she ignored it. It wasn't important. Nothing was. Only reaching the surface...

The light was too far away. She wasn't going to make it. Already her lungs were burning, her heart pounding, her limbs weakening. And the undertow had returned, trying to pull her deeper again, preventing her escape. Buffy struggled desperately, risking a quick look at the darkness below. It was powerful and endless, and she knew that if she gave into it she would be lost. Forever. With one final, desperate lunge, she threw herself to one side, breaking the thing's grasp on her and...

...and landing with a jarring thud on hard earth. She could see nothing in the darkness, but sensed instantly that somebody -- some*thing* -- was standing over her. 'Vampire!' her Slayer senses screamed...and adrenaline flooded her system. In a heartbeat she had gathered her feet beneath her and was surging to her feet, vaguely aware of pain in her left arm. The vampire took a step toward her...and the Slayer came up fighting for her life.

PART SIX


"Heav'n but the vision of fulfill'd desire
and Hell the shadow of a soul on fire"

Omar Khayyam


Everything happened very quickly. One moment Spike was leaning over Buffy, tucking the leather coat around her, the next she was flinging herself away from him, off the top of the tomb and onto the ground...and the moment after that he was flat on his back halfway across the crypt's floor where she had thrown him. And there was a very angry -- and dangerous -- Slayer on top of him.

Still slightly stunned, Spike gazed up into Buffy's unseeing eyes. She was sitting on his chest, pinning him to the ground while she reached automatically for a weapon. There was no recognition on her face, no sense that she even knew where she was or who she was sitting on. Instead, something primitive and ferocious burned behind her eyes...

...something that Spike recognized, that caused the demon within himself to leap forward in welcome.

He must have moved without thinking because Buffy snarled once, soundlessly, then lashed down at him with one fist. Spike dodged the blow then surged up, sweeping her off so that they ended up rolling along the crypt floor together, their limbs tangled.

Part of the vampire was enjoying this to the hilt, even though his broken ribs complained with every movement. The length of her body against his...having the Slayer in his arms, even like this...it was probably as close to heaven as he was ever going to get. But another part of him was busy worrying about her injuries. Just then, though, she rolled on top of him, certain parts of her anatomy pressing against certain parts of his...and Spike told the second part of himself to bloody well sod off.

They came to a sudden stop beside the tomb, rolling into its side with such force that the impact jarred them both. On top, at least for the moment, Spike took advantage of the Slayer's momentary pause and reached out with lightning speed, seizing her wrists and pinning them to the ground. Buffy fought him wordlessly, furiously, but could get no leverage to free herself, his weight trapping her beneath him. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she stilled, her chest heaving. There was a long pause and then an emotion he did not recognize flickered across her face...

...and everything changed. Slowly, purposefully, she shifted, arching upwards just a little. Just enough. And Spike caught fire. Or at least, that's what it felt like. Desire was suddenly coursing through him like an inferno, answering the change in her mood, while the air around them seemed to crackle with electricity.

The Slayer sensed it too. No longer struggling, she stared sightlessly up at him while the tip of her tongue darted out to lick her bottom lip. Spike groaned. Then her legs slid slowly upwards, bending at the knees, her inner thighs caressing his hips, and he could take no more. His self- control completely gone now, he lowered his head and met her lips with his own, roughly forcing them apart with his tongue. After a moment, he let go of her left hand to seize her by the hair, tilting her head back so that he could deepen the kiss.

He could die happy now, Spike thought distantly as the Slayer's tongue entwined with his. He could turn to dust tomorrow and still be a happy man. Her free arm had slid around his back, pulling him even closer, and she was writhing beneath him, her hips grinding against his own. 'A very happy man...'

Which was when he became aware of it. Distantly at first, then more urgently he realized that something was poking into his back. Something sharp. The haze surrounding him receded a little and he recognized it for what it was. A wooden stake.

Oh shit.

Spike broke the kiss abruptly, pulling back enough to gaze down at the Slayer. She stared blankly back up at him, her lips slightly swollen from his kiss and the echoes of passion still radiating from her eyes...but the hand holding the stake at his back was motionless and there was a hint of ice behind the passion...

Spike froze. And remembered. After the fight with the demon he had picked up the stake. It was in the coat. She was wearing the coat. Meaning she was armed. And blind. And confused. And severely hacked off, from what he could tell.

Bloody hell.

A long moment passed in which neither of them moved, then Spike swallowed and said carefully: "You don't want to do that, pet. I helped you, remember?"

She frowned, as if trying to recall but not quite succeeding. He tried again. "Remember the demon? In the cemetery? I helped you kill it." He softened his voice even further. "I saved your life. Brought you back and wrapped up your arm for you."

Her frown deepened and she moved her left arm slightly, as if testing the truth of his words. Spike's mouth went dry at the feel of the stake sliding across his back and a tremor went through him, despite himself. The Slayer felt it, her eyes flickering back up to meet his own, even though she could see nothing. There was confusion in her face now and an odd blankness, as if she were still asleep. But he was getting through to her, he could tell. He only had to keep talking...

"Come on, Buffy. Put the stake down, love."

* * * * * * * * * *

Buffy. It was the sound of her name that finally brought the Slayer back to complete awareness. When she had first emerged from the dream...it was like she hadn't truly been awake. Or as if her body had been on auto-pilot. She had known, in a distant, detached way what she was doing, but it was almost as if someone -- or something -- else had been pulling the strings. Something primitive and violent. Something she had encountered once before, also in a dream. The Slayer. The *first* Slayer.

Buffy shuddered, then fought the reaction down. No. Don't think about it. Focus on the here and now, rather than on the what-ifs. That was what Giles had taught her. Concentrate on what she could see...hear...feel, and worry about the rest later.

OK. See. Nothing. Hear. Her own heavy breathing and racing heart. Feel. Hard, slightly damp earth beneath her. And...someone laying on top of her. *Completely* on top of her. Spike. Recognition came with a shock, like a bucket of cold water being thrown over her, and the last of the cobwebs in her mind cleared instantly. *Spike* was laying full length on top of her, one of his hands tangled in her hair, the fingers of his other entwined with hers. Both of her legs were wrapped tightly around him and... Oh. Aroused Spike. *Very* aroused Spike. And it all came flooding back to her...

He had kissed her. And she had kissed him back. With enthusiasm. And major tongue action. She had *kissed* him. Kissed *Spike*. Buffy blinked. What the hell was she thinking? And, for that matter, why was she still just laying here beneath him, not moving?

Well, she couldn't answer the first question, but she could definitely do something about the second. Tightening her jaw, she said, as firmly as she could. "Get off."

Buffy felt some of the tension ease from the vampire -- No! That's all wrong. There will be no relaxing on top of Buffy! -- then he leaned forward a little and said, a mocking edge to his voice:

"Love to pet, but in case you hadn't noticed, you're the one who's all wrapped around me."

That was true. She still had both legs around him and her left arm was curled up around his body, holding him close to her -- and holding a stake on him.

Spike stirred slightly, drawing her attention back to his lower body. "You planning on using that Slayer?" he said. "'Cause if not, I know a lot better uses for that hand..."

That did it. Buffy shoved him away, untangling herself hastily from the vampire. Then she clawed her way back to a sitting position and transferred the stake to her right hand, wincing at the pain in her left as she did so. "You're a pig, Spike," she hissed. "Just stay the hell away from me."

She could almost see the taunting grin she knew would be on his face. "Hey, you're the one who had your tongue down my throat! Not that I'm complaining, mind you, but just so we're clear on who was doing what to who..."

Yeah, right. "You kissed me first!" she said furiously.

"Well...yeah." A pause. "So you do remember it all then?"

His weight pressing into her...his lips on hers, rough and hard...raw, sexual energy consuming her... Oh yeah. She remembered it. All of it. And it was disturbing on practically every level. Spike? Wanting and needing *Spike*? What was that about? She had a boyfriend. And there was nothing within her that was even remotely attracted to Spike. There. Just. Wasn't.

In the end, Buffy fell back on denial. "I am not going to talk about this," she said firmly, trying to calm her racing mind. "In fact, I am not even going to think about this. Ever, ever again. It *so* did not happen."

"Fine." She heard him climb to his feet then move towards her. "I'm gonna help you up. Don't stake me." Was that a hint of anger she heard in his voice? But then his hands were on her and he was pulling her to her feet...and all thoughts of what happened between them faded as pain took their place.

It hurt less now, Buffy realized, but that wasn't saying a lot. Her arm still felt as though...well, as though it had been clawed by a demon. It was bandaged, she noticed, and the bleeding seemed to have stopped, but even the slightest movement was enough to set waves of agony crashing across her body. For a moment the world spun and she swayed. If she hadn't been blind she would have been seeing spots, she knew. Despite her best intentions, her knees began to buckle.

* * * * * * * * * *

Spike saw the Slayer start to fall and cursed under his breath...then he reached out and caught her, holding her tightly against his chest. 'Why me?' he thought as he held her. 'Why do I have to sodding care?' The old Spike would have just let her fall. Hell, the old Spike would never have been in this position in the first place. For a moment he yearned for the old days, before the Initiative, before the implant in his head, before he ever came to Sunnydale... He had been happy back then with Dru, wreaking havoc on the world, doing what he wanted, when he wanted...to whom he wanted.

Now though...now he was reduced to this. Living off discarded butcher's blood. Following the Slayer around night after night just to catch a glimpse of her. Risking unlife and limb for her. And...

Sod it. Who was he kidding? It was enough to just be here like this, holding her so up she wouldn't fall on her stupid Slayer face. Enough to know that it was him she needed, even if it was just for now.

And as for the kiss... There *had* been something there, something real, no matter how much she might try to deny it. They had both felt the heat. It had been fire and sunlight, all...

Oh god. Poetry. He was bloody thinking in poetry now. That was... He was...

Bleeding pathetic.


PART SEVEN


"Be to her faults a little blind"

Matthew Prior


"Spike," Buffy said at last into his shoulder, her voice muffled.

"Yeah, Slayer?"

"Uh...what exactly am I wearing?"

"One of my shirts. And my coat."

"Oh."

A brief pause, then:

"Spike?"

"Yeah?"

"Put me down."

"Fine."

For the second time that night, Buffy felt his hands on her waist and then she was being lifted onto the tomb again, her legs dangling over the side. She took a deep breath, trying to ignore the dizziness...and the quivers that kept going through her body every time he touched her. It was just *Spike*, for god's sake. Spike the soulless, evil demon. Spike the undead. Definitely *not* quiver-worthy. Not even human. But it made no difference. It was as if her body had suddenly decided to fixate on him, despite what her brain kept saying. Buffy's jaw tightened. 'Fixate on someone else,' she told herself fiercely. 'Get a grip!'

Of course, she had had a grip on pretty much all of him not long ago...

Buffy shook her head, forcing her thoughts away from *that* image through sheer willpower. Instead, she focused on her injuries. And there was a lot to focus on.

The dizziness was still there, although it had abated a little, she realized. Her head still swam if she moved too quickly but she didn't feel as if she was constantly on the verge of passing out anymore. Her arm continued to throb and pain pulsed across her back and down the length of her right leg...but overall she felt better. Probably a five plus on the battered-but-better-Buffy scale. Maybe even a six... Now if she could just shake the memory of rolling around on the ground with Spike...

As the thought flashed through her mind, Buffy became vividly aware of just how close the vampire was standing. When he had lifted her up he had somehow manoeuvred it so her legs were on either side of him, his hips fitting snugly between her knees. And he was still holding her, both hands on her waist. Buffy swallowed. Hello! Personal space issues!

"What are you doing Spike?" She was proud of her voice this time. It was cool and steady with just a hint of steel beneath the words.

"Keeping you from falling on your face," he said matter-of- factly, making no attempt to move...except for his hands, which shifted slightly as he spoke.

Buffy's breath caught in her throat...but then sanity reasserted itself and a sense of outrage *finally* overwhelmed the other, more erotic feelings shooting through her. Hastily Buffy knocked the vampire's hands away and leaned back. "I don't need your help," she said, her voice cold. "So back off Fang Boy. Right now."

There was a long pause then Spike did step back...and for a moment she missed his proximity. But only for a moment.

"Oh yeah. I forgot. I'm 'beneath you'." Spike was saying scornfully from a few paces away. "Well, we won't get into who was beneath who a few minutes ago. 'Course you don't need my help. The mighty Slayer doesn't need anyone, does she? You can go and get yourself killed all by yourself. Certainly don't need me for that."

"Shut up, Spike. You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh don't I?" He stepped forward, crowding her again and she fought the urge to shove him back...violently. "The fact that I saved your life means bugger all to you, doesn't it? Fact is, you probably wish I'd let that demon finish the job..."

"Stop it." This time she did shove him away, using both hands and a great deal of force.

It didn't help. A moment later he was back, closer than before, seizing both her wrists as he had done earlier, ignoring the stake still clutched in her right hand.

"Ruined your little plan, didn't I?" Spike continued, pressing his verbal attack. "Thought you were going to go out all noble, didn't you? Be the right little martyr. Well, let me tell you this, Slayer -- I've seen martyrs in my time. Killed a few of them myself. And you know what? In the long run, at the end of the day...all they got was dead. Didn't make a blind bit of difference what they did. 'cept to them of course."

Buffy shook her head violently. "That's not true."

"Sure. Say it's not true. Say you can make the world a better place by not being in it -- and who am I to argue? But it's just you and me here. So let's be honest, right? You weren't going out to save the world -- you were running away from it. Come on, admit it -- you gave up. The going got tough and little Buffy ran away and hid from the big bad world. Tell me, were you thinking of anyone beside yourself when you decided to go out and off yourself? That family of yours, f'rinstance?"

The anger that had been steadily growing inside her suddenly blossomed into an inferno and Buffy ripped her hands free from the vampire's grasp, not caring how much the motion hurt her wounded arm. "I *was* thinking about them," she said, her voice choked with emotion. "I can't protect them like this. The world needs a Slayer, and I can't be it! Not anymore!"

"So...what? So you just give up, is that it? The baddies win and the world gets a new Slayer?"

She was on her feet now, standing in front of him, not caring how she had got there. "Yes!" she shouted, her self-control completely shattered. "Yes, I came here planning to die tonight. Yes, this time I'm going to let the bad guys win so the world gets a new Slayer. One who can see, one who doesn't need help just to get dressed... Is that what you wanted to hear? Does it make you feel good to hear me say it?" Buffy's voice was shaking, along with the rest of her, and it was taking all of her willpower not to hit him, not to use the stake on him...not to take out all her fear and frustrations on the one being she knew could take it...

"No," Spike answered her quietly. "But you needed to say it."

Disbelief went through her. "Oh that's just great," she snapped, acid bitterness etched in her voice. "Psychiatrist Spike is in. What a good idea. Get Buffy to admit she's suicidal, make everything all better by talking about it. Well I've had the shrink job already thanks, from people who actually care..." She stopped, swallowed, then went on.

"You just don't get it, do you? None of this is going to make any difference. We can talk about my feelings all you like. Hell, we can pound on each other till dawn if that's what you want, but nothing's going to change. When the sun comes up I'm still not going to be able to see it, no matter what you say or do, no matter how much I wish otherwise. I am *blind*, Spike. I'm a blind Slayer. And I can't do my job, not like this. I can't...I..."

To Buffy's complete horror her voice suddenly broke and tears welled up in her eyes. No. No! She would not do this. She would not cry in front of Spike. *Especially* not in front of Spike. Taking a deep, ragged breath, she spun around and leaned both hands on the tomb, blinking fiercely, willing the tears not to fall.

He was right behind her. She could feel him, unmoving, a solid presence at her back. Buffy swallowed, desperately fighting the emotions that were threatening to overwhelm her. "Look," she said shakily. "You saved my life. Fine. Thanks very much. But I want you to leave me alone now so I can do...what I need to. So just...just let me go, ok?"

"No, pet. I won't."

Buffy sagged and for a moment she thought she was going to burst into hysterical laughter...or turn around and sob on his shoulder. 'Can't do that,' she thought disjointedly. 'I'm the Slayer. Have to be strong. Have to do this by myself. Have to...'

But then Spike was reaching out, pulling her back against him and wrapping both arms securely around her waist. Buffy tensed, half-heartedly trying to break free, but his grip around her only tightened...and somehow she couldn't find the strength to struggle anymore. It was as if all the energy had drained out of her, leaving her weak and exhausted, as if she were being sucked deeper into something that was cold and dark and she no longer had any strength left to fight it. Her dream flashed through her mind again and she remembered the cold presence she had sensed. Spike?

Buffy tried once more to free herself then gave up. "Let me go," she whispered weakly, her hands resting limply on top of the arms that were holding her.

He shook his head, his face brushing her hair. "No Slayer," he said, his lips close to her ear. I won't. Maybe you're right. Maybe this is the only way out. You want to get yourself killed, I'm not gonna stop you." There was a pause, and when he spoke again it was in a whisper, so soft she could barely hear it. "But you don't have to be alone..."

Yes. Yes, she did. Everyone needed her. She had to be strong for them, for the whole world sometimes. Not the other way round. Not...

But, standing there with Spike's arms around her, she could almost believe him. There was something comforting, even protective, in the way he was holding her, and her body relaxed, just a little. It would be so nice to let go, to stop being the Slayer and just *be*... Hesitantly, as if expecting him to pull away at any second, Buffy slowly allowed her head to lean back until it was touching Spike's shoulder and then, with a long quavery sigh, she closed her eyes, feeling the tension flow out of her.

* * * * * * * * * *

Spike swallowed. It wasn't possible to feel such ecstasy...and so much pain. Buffy was finally in his arms. Willingly. Not struggling, not fighting. Relaxed. And it was sweeter than heaven. But it was hell too. Because try as he might, he couldn't delude himself that he was the one she really wanted to be with, that she would be with him at all if anyone else was around. Soldier Boy...the Watcher...her gang of Slayerettes. It didn't matter. Any of them would do, better than him.

He was...he was convenient, was all.

But then again...did it matter if he was only a poor replacement for the others? After all, she was in *his* arms right now. And now was all that mattered. 'So just enjoy it while you can,' he told himself fiercely, 'and stop bloody brooding about it.' He closed his eyes, listening to the Slayer's heartbeat, feeling her warmth against his chest -- and a feeling of desperation went through him.

There had to be a way. Something the Scoobies hadn't thought of, didn't know about... With that thought, Spike's eyes flew open and he froze.

Maybe, just maybe, there was.


PART EIGHT


"If the blind lead the blind"

New Testament


Buffy sensed the change in Spike's mood and a faint tremor of regret went through her. For the first time in...well, ever...she had felt safe. Secure. Protected. It had felt so good to just let go, to lean on someone else for a change. She knew it was temporary, knew that it couldn't last. It never did. But, for a moment --just for a moment -- she had been able to convince herself that it would. That this feeling didn't have to end. But then she felt Spike's arms stiffen around her, the sudden tension in his body...and she sighed.

Spike. Weird. It seemed as if she had spent more time *in* his arms than out of them tonight. And, for the most part, enjoying it. It didn't make any sense. They had been mortal enemies, reluctant allies...and everything in between for the last few years. He had fought with her, kissed her, lied to her, and almost destroyed the most important things in her life. He had hurt her...and been kind to her. He had almost killed her...and had saved her life. More than once. Not even counting tonight. Buffy sighed again, her head still resting on his shoulder. I don't understand you, Spike.

"And you probably never will, love. But I know you."

She must have spoken out loud, Buffy realized. She opened her eyes. "What do you know?" she asked wearily, not moving.

One of his hands moved up to caress her hair and it was a true measure of her exhaustion that she just stood there and let him. "I know you don't want to die," he said. "I know you're not ready to dance that dance yet. That's why you fought that demon instead of just letting it kill you. Hell, if you'd really wanted to off yourself, there's lots easier ways. More certain. Less messy."

"Maybe I was afraid." Her voice was bleak.

"To die? Could be. Or maybe deep down you think you're not done with the living yet. Maybe you're too busy just trying to keep your head above water that you can't see the big picture."

Her dream. Endless darkness beneath her. Distant light above. And Buffy, caught in the middle, unable to reach the one, unwilling to give into the other. Trapped.

With a shudder, Buffy pulled free of the vampire and turned around to face him. "So what is the big picture, Spike? What is it I'm not seeing...besides everything?"

She heard him move slightly, his hands sliding into the pockets of his jeans. "Choices," he said simply. "Never looked at all the choices, did you? So busy trying to fight everything on your own it never occurred to you to ask for help. You know what it is that makes you different from all the other Slayers, pet?"

What? Buffy frowned, trying to keep up with the way the conversation kept changing gears. "No. But I'm sure you're going to tell me."

"It's all those friends and family you've got hanging 'round. Told you that when we first met. You've got all these people around you -- even me now, thanks to this bloody chip. But in the end, you're still alone. Too afraid to reach out to others, 'cause that makes you vulnerable, doesn't it? It's safer to go out and take on a demon by yourself than to ask for help. Because the worst the demon will do is kill you. But if you open yourself up...well, then you run the risk of having your heart ripped out. And that's a whole lot worse than death, isn't it?

"What do you know about it Spike?" she whispered, a lump forming in her throat.

There was a jagged, self-mocking edge to his voice. "You'd be surprised. But you know I'm right, Slayer."

Yes. She did. He could read her like a book. A large book with big print and lots of pictures. He was right. She didn't want to die. But she didn't know how to live either. The thought of rejection, of asking for help and not getting it...it was terrifying. On the other hand -- so was the idea of dying alone in the dark. And there was more to consider here than just herself. Spike was right. She had family and friends who loved and needed her. More than that, she loved and needed *them*.

The dream kept intruding on her thoughts. She hadn't been able to reach the surface by herself, no matter how hard she tried, she remembered. But maybe she wasn't supposed to. Because there had been something else in the water with her. It was dark and scary, but it was all she had.

*He* was all she had...

An eternity seemed to pass while the thoughts whirled around inside her. Finally Buffy drew in a deep breath, her heart pounding painfully, so loudly she knew he'd be able to hear it. Then, fear twisting snake-like inside her, she said softly:

"Will you help me Spike?"

Another eternity went by. And then:

"Yeah, love. I will."

* * * * * * * * * *

She had asked *him* for help. Not G.I. Joe. Not her whiny friends or poncey Watcher. But him. Spike. And better yet, he actually had some help to give her. He knew how to get her sight back.

Well, he didn't really, but he knew somewhere they could go. Some place that might be able to help her. It was a shot in the dark -- no pun intended -- but it was better than nothing.

"You're gonna have to trust me," he said fighting to keep his voice unruffled.

Buffy didn't move. "OK," she said.

"'OK?' That's it? No sarcastic remarks? No insults?"

She shook her head slightly. "No. Sarcastic Buffy is on vacation. This is the new-and-improved, non-scathing Buffy."

"Right. For what -- the next two minutes?"

She frowned. "I'm trying to be new and improved here. You're not helping."

"Just 'cause you're in touch with your inner self right now doesn't mean I have to be. Then again...getting in touch with the inner Buffy could be fun..."

Spike grinned as first awareness, then embarrassment flashed across her face. "You are...disgusting," she said, hitting him on the chest with one fist. But it was a half- hearted blow and they both knew it. Still, it helped to relieve the tension. The emotions that were running between them were too strong, too raw. Better to fall back on insults and violence. At least those were familiar. Safe...

And at least it wasn't the hand with the stake in it that had hit him.

"I am at that, darlin'." Spike agreed cheerfully. "That's why you like me."

"I happen to like nice men," she snapped.

Spike seized her right hand, pulling her towards the exit. "I'm a nice man," he said as he led her back outside, into the darkness.

* * * * * * * * * *

"So where are we going anyway?" Buffy asked, stumbling a little as she stepped up onto a curb.

"What happened to the trusting me?"

"Oh, I'm trusting you all right. This is me being all trusting...and gullible and naive and blind as a bat!" Her voice began to rise, becoming louder and louder as she walked alongside him. "And if you don't stop letting me walk into things I'm going to..."

"Going to what? Stake me? Won't be much use to you then, will I, blondie?"

"You drive me crazy, you know that?"

"Yeah, well, right back at'cha. At least you're not the one holding hands with the Slayer. Hope no one I know sees me..."

"Tell me about it. And where are you taking me?"

Spike didn't answer right away, shaking some of the water out of his hair instead. It was still pouring bloody cats and dogs and he was getting soaked. Again. He shot a quick glance at the Slayer. 'Course, she was all warm and dry in his duster, wasn't she? Meanwhile his sodding jeans and t-shirt were...bloody sodden. Typical. Irritation flashed through him -- and something inside the vampire welcomed it with a sense of relief. It was better than the other feelings that had been welling up inside him, back there inside the crypt. Dangerous emotions that he hadn't felt in a very long time. Emotions he'd be just as happy doing without.

No. Think about something else. "It's called the Trial," he said abruptly.

"You're taking me to court?"

"Not that kind of a trial, you daft git."

"I am not a...whatever that is. Just tell me about this trial..."

"It's a..." Actually, he didn't know what it was. Precisely. Sure, he'd heard a few rumours, a bit of hearsay here and there, but that was it. Still, beggars couldn't be choosers. "It moves around, I'm told." Spike continued. "You don't find it. It finds you."

"So we're what? Walking in circles until some -- thing -- finds us? Good plan. Is it too late to go back to the cemetery and look for another demon?

"No. Yes," Spike said indignantly. "And I do have a plan. Actually, I've got an address."

"Uh huh. And what happens when we find it -- excuse me -- when *it* finds us?"

"We ask them to give you back your sight."

There was a long silence, then Buffy finally said, in a small voice. "They can do that?"

Spike nodded, then remembered that she couldn't see him. "Yeah," he said. "I think so."

"Maybe."

* * * * * * * * * *

Maybe.

*Maybe.*

Still, it could be worse. 'Maybe' was better than no way in hell. 'Maybe' was better than a whole lot of things. Besides which, 'maybe' was all she had.

The Slayer shivered briefly, then winced as she stumbled again, her arm jarring against her side and sending a stabbing pain into her shoulder. Silently, Spike reached out to steady her...and she felt him flinch too.

Buffy blinked, momentarily forgetting the pain in her arm. "What's wrong with you?" she asked sharply.

"I'm sure you're going to spend the rest of the night telling me."

"No, I mean -- Are you hurt?"

A pause, then: "A few broken ribs. From killing *your* demon."

Oh. She hadn't realized he had been injured. How could she not have realized? And because of her... "Sorry," she said quietly, wondering all over again at the incongruity of this conversation. Apologizing to Spike. Walking hand in hand in the rain with Spike.

Asking Spike to help her...

"Why are you doing this?" The question came out slowly, almost reluctantly.

She could sense his surprise as he turned to look at her. "Doing what?"

Buffy started to wave her free hand then stopped as pain tore through her arm once more. OK. Rule of the evening number 28 -- no gesturing with the left hand. She tucked it slowly and painfully into the pocket of his coat. And rule number 29 -- try to ignore the fact that you're wearing *his* clothes.

"All this," she said, a little unsteadily. "Taking me to this trial thing. Helping me..."

Silence.

"Spike...?"

He sighed, sounding annoyed and...something else. "Because you sodding asked me to," he said. "Happy now?"

She swallowed. "Oh."

There really wasn't much to say after that, Buffy decided. So she said nothing, walking on in silence with him instead.

PART NINE


"Charms strike the sight
but merit wins the soul"

Alexander Pope



"Well?" The Slayer sounded impatient. "Where are we?"

Spike shifted slightly. "We're gonna have to jump," he said, not answering her directly.

Buffy swallowed. "Up or down?"

"Down."

"Down," she repeated. "How far?"

"Not far."

"You're lying through your teeth, Spike."

"Yeah...well...OK, I am. Look, do you want to get your bloody sight back or not? 'Cause I don't have time to play twenty questions with you. You're just gonna have to decide whether you trust me or not. Your choice, Slayer."

* * * * * * * * * *

Trust him. Trust Spike. Before tonight Buffy would have burst into hysterical laughter if someone had suggested that to her. Because if ever anyone was untrustworthy, it was the bleached blond vampire. She still hadn't fully forgiven him for what he had done to her and her friends last year...

And yet -- he was different tonight. He had saved her life *and* gotten himself injured in the process. He could have left her bleeding in the graveyard; instead he had brought her back to his crypt and bandaged her up. He hadn't even taken advantage of her or made fun of her...much. And, of all the people who were close to her, he was the only one who had managed to break down her barriers, to see through the lies and to keep pushing until she had finally done the unthinkable and ask for help. Ask *him* for help.

True, he was annoying, arrogant, and way too sure of himself. And dangerous. Don't forget dangerous. He might have a chip in his head that prevented him from acting out his violent impulses, but she knew they were still there. She had seen that look in his eyes all too often...when she could still see, that is. One day he might even manage to remove the implant. And where would they be then? He'd go back to his old ways and she'd have to kill him. Or he'd kill her. Either way, it wouldn't be pleasant. And, for the first time since Angel, the thought of dusting a certain vampire was...distressing. It would -- it would hurt, to have to kill Spike...

And she was so never going to tell him that. 'That's all I need,' she thought bitterly. 'Give him another weapon to use against me. Good plan, Buffy.'

Only -- only he wouldn't, would he? He had proven that much, at least. And what about last week, when he come after her with a shotgun after their confrontation in the alley? The alley. Buffy closed her eyes briefly. What she had said that night, the words she had hurled at him in anger and pain... She had been wrong. He wasn't beneath her. He had proven that tonight, a hundred times over. And she had to tell him. She owed him that much at least.

"Well?" he was saying irritably. "Are we going to do this or not?"

Buffy opened her eyes and swallowed deeply. "Spike," she said quietly, concentrating on the feel of his hand in hers.

"Yeah what?"

"I didn't mean it."

"Mean what?"

"What I said. Last week -- in the alley. I...I'm sorry. And I wanted to say thank you. For what you're trying to do. Just...thank you."

The vampire said nothing, his hand cold and motionless in hers. An eternity seemed to go by.

"Spike?" Buffy said finally, biting her lip a little.

At last he stirred, shifting beside her. "Oh. Well. That's all right then." For a moment he sounded -- almost embarrassed. Sheepish. Sheepish Spike? The world just kept getting stranger and stranger...

Suddenly self-conscious and not really understanding the sudden tension that had filled the air between them, Buffy turned back to the -- whatever it was that lay ahead of her -- and said with false brightness: "So, are we going to jump or what?"

This time there was a hint of pleasure in his voice. "You trust me?" Spike said, pulling her into his arms.

She didn't fight him. "Yeah. I do. Call me Demento Girl, but I trust you."

"Good. After you then." And with that he gave her a hefty shove in the small of the back, stepping forward with her...and together they fell, the ground vanishing from beneath their feet.

* * * * * * * * * *

Only Spike saw how they crashed right *through* the concrete on the bottom of the empty pool, as if it didn't really exist. They fell together for several more feet and then Spike was tucking and rolling, and springing back to his feet with feline grace.

Buffy wasn't quite so lucky. Unable to see where the floor actually was, she couldn't anticipate her landing. She managed not too badly thanks to her Slayer instincts, but she nevertheless hit the ground pretty hard. For a moment she lay unmoving at Spike's feet and fear sliced through him. What if she were badly injured? Hastily the vampire reached down toward her...only to be shoved violently away as the Slayer climbed to her feet, unaided.

"Next time I decide to trust you, Spike," she snapped, rubbing her knee with one hand, "remind me to bang my head against a wall until the feeling goes away."

"That's my bad-tempered Slayer," he said absently, no longer listening now that he was sure she was all right. Instead he pivoted around, surveying the room.

It small, poorly lit, and devoid of furniture. Torchlight flickered off stone walls, giving it a medieval look. Shadows cast by the flames stirred in the corners, but there was no other movement. And no people.

"I am so not your *anything*," Buffy was saying peevishly. "And where the hell are we, anyway?"

"This is the place of the trials, my dear." The voice came from directly behind them. Where there had been only emptiness a moment ago. Buffy and Spike both spun toward the sound, the vampire instinctively morphing into his game face. "Who the bloody hell are you?" he growled.

A smallish man stood before them, wearing slightly rumpled, old-fashioned clothing and an expression of slight distaste. "Please, sir. Language."

"Sod my flaming language. Who the hell are you?"

The man drew himself up, holding onto both lapels. "I am...why, I suppose you could call me the Valet. I am here, after all, to make sure things go as...smoothly as possible." He had a distinct English accent, similar to Giles'. "And you are..." the Valet looked down at a tiny leather notebook in his hand, "William the Bloody, also known as...er...Spike, and Miss Summers. And you are here to restore Miss Summers eyesight. Quite a laudable goal, really. For a vampire."

As he spoke, the little man moved towards Buffy. Without warning, he placed both hands on either side of her head and she yelped in surprise, pulling away from him.

"Hey!"

In an instant Spike had interposed himself between the Slayer and the Valet, shoving the man away from her. "Touch her again and I'll..."

Unconcernedly the man shrugged off the vampire's hand and straightened his waistcoat. "Oh not to worry Mr...ah... Spike. I'm only checking to make sure we really can help her before the trial begins." He leaned a little closer, ignoring the fangs, his voice dropping conspiratorially. "Just between us, we had a bit of a...situation...recently. One of the supplicants actually managed to pass all his trials, but we weren't able to grant his reward due to a...an unfortunate mix up. All quite embarrassing really."

"Who was it?" Buffy asked curiously.

"Another vampire, oddly enough. Needless to say, I've been ordered to check first and make sure we can keep up our end of the bargain. After all, we do have a reputation to maintain. So..." He took a step forward, shooting a cautious glance at Spike who was still hovering protectively over the Slayer. "...if you will permit me..."

Buffy swallowed then nodded hesitantly. Once more the Valet reached out for her and closed his eyes. Several seconds ticked by and then he stepped back, smiling and looking pleased.

"Yes. We can definitely do something about that. No problem at all. So now there's just the matter of the trials..."

Spike didn't stir from Buffy's side, although he did allow his face to morph back to his human appearance. "What exactly does she need to do?" he asked, shooting a concerned glance at the Slayer.

"Miss Summers?" The Valet glanced at Buffy in some surprise then his gaze returned speculatively to Spike. A cold sensation began to crawl up the vampire's spine.

"Miss Summers?" The man said again. "Why, nothing at all."

"No, it is you who must undergo the trial."


PART TEN


"The End in Sight"

Robert Browning


"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.


PART ELEVEN


"None so blind as those that will not see"

Matthew Henry


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...

PART TWELFE


"Closed his eyes in endless night"

Thomas Gray


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.

{Next}