PART THIRTEEN


"The sight of you is good for sore eyes"

Jonathan Swift


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * * * * * * *

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

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

And better.

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

Except...

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

Not kill her. Not drink until she died.

Not let his Slayer die.

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

He wanted to so much.

But in the end, he didn't.

And it wasn't the implant that stopped him.

* * * * * * * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why?" Her tone was flat. Uncaring.

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

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

* * * * * * * * * *

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

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

He wasn't.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Only for something to pummel."

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

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

He didn't say anything.

He didn't need to.

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

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

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

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

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

"Thank you, Spike."

"You're welcome, Slayer."


PART FOURTEEN


"And sight out of blindness"

Sidney Lanier


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

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

It was beautiful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Stop what?"

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

He grinned wearily. "Hate to break it to you baby, but you are. And very tasty too."

"Yeah...well...just don't go expecting any dessert."

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

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

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

"Why did you want me to kill you?"

"Told you. This chip..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Riley. Oh god. She couldn't tell him about this. He would never understand. She wasn't even sure she did. The pull of the attraction between her and Spike, the desire to just reach out for him and...

'La la la, so not listening,' she told herself firmly. 'Got a boyfriend. Don't need Spike. Don't care that he's all sexy and...and sexy. I don't want sexy, I don't want dangerous, and I *definitely* don't want another vampire. I want human and safe and normal and *not* sexy. I want Riley."

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

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

"Other side of town."

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

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

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

But it was too late now.

* * * * * * * * * *

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

At that moment Buffy leaned her head against his chest.

His burned chest.

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

"Hey, Slayer."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Dunno. Think you can walk?"

"No. But I will anyway."

"That's my Slayer."

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

"No?"

"No."

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

"Really, really hate you Spike..."

PART FIFTEEN


"I was eyes to the blind and feet to the lame"

Old Testament


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

"Getting my sodding coat."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You look it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She really, really hated it when he was right.

* * * * * * * * * *

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

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

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

"Doesn't that...hurt?"

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

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

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

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

They didn't have much time.

* * * * * * * * * *

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

"Spike..."

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

"You'll what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * * * * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

Any minute now.

He would be fine.

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

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


PART SIXTEEN


"The eye is not satisfied with seeing"

Old Testament


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

It was five.

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

OK. Poor choice of words there.

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

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

* * * * * * * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * * * * * * *

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

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

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

Almost.

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

* * * * * * * * * *

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

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

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

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

"I can see," she said simply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Uh, Mom? Sore arm..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Buffy."

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

A cassette tape.

Oh.

Damn.

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

"Too late."

She swallowed. "Giles, I..."

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

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

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

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

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


PART SEVENTEEN


"Truth will come to sight"

William Shakespeare


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Kitchen."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"V8? Giles -- ick!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Um...Giles. Are you mad at me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Remorse filled her.

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

"Meant what?"

"What I said before. In the tape."

A pause.

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

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

* * * * * * * * * *

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

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

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

And finding out what had happened...

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

"Dead. Hasta la bye bye."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Am not."

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

"How much blood did you lose?"

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

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

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

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

* * * * * * * * * *

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

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

"Spike bit me," she said at last.

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

Oops.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well. Yes."

"Ah. I see."

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

"Yes."

"You OK?"

"Fine, thank you."

"Oh. Good."

Silence descended.

PART EIGHTTEEN


"A sight to dream of, not to tell"

Samuel Taylor Coleridge


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

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

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

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

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

"You bit Buffy!"

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

"Oh. That."

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

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

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

Giles' eyes narrowed. "What?"

"Is the Slayer OK?"

* * * * * * * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah. I know."

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

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

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

"What happened to you?"

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * * * * * * *

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

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

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

"Seems appropriate, doesn't it?"

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

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

"You don't have the stones."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * * * * * * *

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

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

"Is that what she said?"

"Yes."

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

"And then you fed off her."

"She tell you that too?"

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

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

"How did you get round the implant, Spike?" That was the most important question, really. If the vampire had somehow found a way to circumvent its effects -- then he died. Right here, right now.

"I didn't," Spike said at last, obviously deciding that the Watcher wasn't going to go away until he got what he had come for. "Turns out the chip works on intent. If I don't plan to hurt her then it doesn't do a bloody thing."

"But you did hurt her."

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

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

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

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

With that, he closed his eyes again, curling slightly in the chair, his arms going around the chest as if he could make the pain go away by sheer force of will, suffering apparent in every line of his body. And in that moment the suspicion that had been steadily growing within Giles over the last few minutes suddenly crystallized. In that instant he knew why the vampire was doing this, why he had saved Buffy's life, and her sight.

Spike was in love with her.

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

"Does she know?" the Watcher asked abruptly.

Spike reluctantly opened his eyes. "What?"

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

"Know what? What the bleeding hell are you on about?" There was a hint of panic in Spike's voice now, as if he was desperate to cover up whatever it was he thought he might have let slip.

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

And with that he was gone.

PART NINETEEN


"I have thee not and yet I see thee still"

William Shakespeare


ONE WEEK LATER:

'You know you wanna dance.'

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

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

And again.

'You know you wanna dance.'

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

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

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

Riley.

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

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

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

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

'You know you wanna dance.'

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

She wanted him.

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

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

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

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

* * * * * * * * * *

'You know you wanna dance.'

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * * * * * * *

*Whump*

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

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

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

"And?" She stared at him expectantly.

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

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

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

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

"The English translation."

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

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

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

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

"Giles!"

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

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

She swallowed hard. "Um...why?"

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

* * * * * * * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

Because he had not made the ultimate sacrifice.

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

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

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

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

And she had kissed him back.

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

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

'You know you wanna dance.'

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


PART TWENTY


"If eyes were made for seeing"

Ralph Waldo Emerson


It was easier than Buffy had expected to find her way back to the Trial. In the end it had simply been a matter of going to the cemetery (carefully bypassing Spike's crypt), closing her eyes, and trying to retrace her steps. Fortunately it was dark and the streets were mostly deserted, so she didn't look quite as foolish as she expected -- even when she did walk full tilt into a streetlamp.

At least, she *hoped* she didn't look foolish.

It didn't seem to take as long either. In fact, the journey was a lot shorter than she remembered. Granted, this time she wasn't bleeding, blind, and in agony, but still... Of course, Spike had told her that the Trial tended to move around, so maybe it had relocated itself for her convenience tonight. Buffy had the faint but growing suspicion that she could have walked in any direction, for any length of time, and she would still have ended up precisely where she was -- staring down at an empty pool.

'I trusted him and he made me jump into that?' was the Slayer's first thought.

Her second was: "This had better be worth it."

Then, after one more moment's hesitation, she took a deep breath, closed her eyes...and stepped forward, dropping like a rock.

* * * * * * * * * *

Buffy landed gracefully, rolling across a stone floor in a torchlit room that *felt* just the same as the one she had been in before, coming back to her feet in one smooth movement.

"Welcome back, my dear," a familiar voice said.

The Slayer straightened hastily then turned, brushing her hair back with one hand as she peered into the shadows. It was the Valet. He looked just as she remembered him, from the one fleeting glimpse she had had after her vision had been restored -- small, dark hair, and clothes that looked as if they had been stolen from the set of Masterpiece Theatre.

"Welcome," he said again. "We've been expecting you. Although I did think you might show up rather sooner." He pulled a gold pocket watch out of his vest, glanced down at it then shrugged and put it away.

"Still," he continued. "Better late than never. I'm sure you've been quite busy with the...er...slaying of things."

Buffy frowned. "Let's get something straight," she said. "I appreciate what you did for me, but I still think your methods suck. So why don't we skip the polite chitchat and just get on with it?"

The Valet nodded, staring at her appraisingly. "I quite agree. Time is at a premium just now. But then, it always is. So -- you are here because you wish to know what your champion's sacrifice entailed and why he was willing to make it for you. Correct?"

Buffy stared at him in consternation. How did he know that? Then she remembered -- he could read her mind. For a moment hostility flared within her but she forced her body to relax. What did it matter, really? He could read her mind. Well, so what? If that's what it took to get the answers she had come for...then fine.

Oh, who was she kidding? The thought of anyone sifting through her head, reading her deepest thoughts, was enough to send her blood pressure soaring. In fact, it made her want to kill things. Lots of things. Very slowly and painfully. Buffy focused her mind on the last thought, smiling slightly when the Valet paled and took a step back.

"Ah...may I remind you that violence is not be allowed on the premises?" he said, a little nervously.

The Slayer bit back a laugh of disbelief. "Not allowed? So last week was what? All-You-Can-Kill-Tuesday? Two for the price of one?"

"And neither do we appreciate sarcasm. The Trial is...the Trial. And I didn't hear any complaints from you at the time, as it happens."

"Well you would have heard them if you hadn't been so busy gloating and pouring tea all over the place. I told you that..."

He interrupted her. "So are you saying that you wish to return your prize, Miss Summers? Because we can certainly do that. No trouble at all."

That stopped Buffy cold. She stared at him for a long moment then shut her eyes briefly.

"No," she said at last. "I don't." She certainly wasn't willing to give up her eyesight. One week of blindness was one week too many. Her emotions beginning to cool once more, Buffy gave the Valet what she hoped was an apologetic look (difficult, since she wasn't feel in the least repentant) and said more calmly:

"No. I'll keep the...er...prize, and yes, I do want to know about Spike's sacrifice."

The man still looked cross. "Well did it ever occur to you to just ask him?"

She shifted uncomfortably. "I did. He wouldn't say."

The Valet sighed. "Then it appears that our efforts on your behalf were unsuccessful. Oh dear. This is quite unusual. I told them dealing with Slayers was notoriously difficult, but they said everything would work out in the end. They never listen to me, you know..."

Buffy frowned. This conversation was becoming increasingly surreal. They? They who? And what was that about Slayers?

"How many Slayers have come here?" she asked, genuine curiosity in her voice.

The Valet was still frowning worriedly, his mind clearly on other things. "Oh, not many," he said vaguely. "Most of them don't survive long enough to need our services. In fact, most of them wouldn't appreciate Enlightenment if it was handed to them on a silver platter. Ungrateful lot, on the whole."

"Thanks so much," she said dryly. "Uh...enlightenment?"

His gaze suddenly sharpened, his attention focusing back on her. "My dear Miss Summers -- did you honestly believe that the sole purpose of your trial was just to give you back your eyesight?"

Buffy blinked. "Wasn't it?"

"No, of course not. Really, my dear. Do try to be less obtuse."

Another flicker of anger. "OK," she said sharply. "Why don't you tell me what you're talking about then? And try not to use any big words because I'm just a simple Slayer and might not be able to understand anything with more than one syllable. Or maybe you'd like to draw a picture for me with bright colours and funny animals..."

The Valet pinched his forehead. "Please. Sarcasm."

"Please. Answers!"

"Oh very well. I suppose we are obligated since your trial appears to have been rendered null and void. We do guarantee satisfaction after all -- can't have you sullying our good name."

"Yeah, certainly can't have that."

The Valet glowered at her. "This facility's purpose," he began, his voice as near a growl as she had ever heard it, "is not for details such as saving lives or restoring vision, although those are indeed useful by-products of what we do. No, our purpose is Enlightenment. Understanding. The promotion of self-awareness and perception. The..."

"OK, can we fast forward past the infomercial? Because I get it."

"Slayers!" The Valet sighed again. "All right, Miss Summers. Here is your answer in terms which even you will understand -- I hope. The 'point,' as you would say, is that the Trial provides a means of understanding oneself. Your champion, for example, learned something very important, during the course of his trial. You were supposed to learn from it as well, but it would appear that you did not. I suspect it was your antipathy toward young Spike that contributed to that failure."

Buffy glared at him. "I am not antipathetic. And yes, I *do* know what the word means."

"Then I can only conclude that it was due to your own natural stubbornness. If you would just..."

"Enough already!" Suddenly the urge to just throw up her hands and turn around and leave was almost too strong to bear. She didn't need this. She didn't need this annoying little man and she certainly didn't need the weirdness that had been besetting her for the past two weeks. 'Why me?' Buffy thought bitterly. Why did things have to get so complicated? All she had wanted was a few answers about what had happened to her, a little insight into a certain bleached blond vampire, maybe. But now it turned out she was supposed to find 'Enlightenment'. Or something.

"So what exactly was I supposed to figure out?" she asked drily. "And what did Spike learn?"

"Two very interesting questions indeed." The Valet straightened his shoulders. "All right, Miss Summers. As I said, we are obligated to finish what we began. But do try to keep your displays of temper to a minimum. I do not wish to have to replace another teapot."

"If you get anywhere near a point..."

"And please remember," the Valet went on determinedly, "that our dealings are concluded after this. You will not be allowed to return here. Because, quite frankly, you give me a headache."

Buffy shot him a look. "Likewise, Jeeves."

The Valet frowned at her then abruptly pivoted on his heel, heading towards a small arched doorway that Buffy would have sworn wasn't there a moment ago. She blinked, trying to see what lay beyond it, but could see nothing but darkness and shadows, swirling like fog.

The Valet paused impatiently on the threshold and glanced back at her.

"Well? Are you coming?"

"What's through there?"

"Knowledge, my dear Slayer. Knowledge."

PART TWENTY-ONE


"My blindness is my sight"

Alice Cary


'Knowledge,' he had said. Buffy didn't want this kind of knowledge. Didn't want to see the things she had seen.

Buffy still wasn't sure whether she had actually gone back in time, or if she was somehow merely seeing the events that had taken place a week ago. Whichever it was, she had somehow found herself back at Spike's trial, watching events unfold but unable to intervene in any way.

Which she would have, if she could.

The first two Trials had been...blatant acts of cruelty. Spike had been forced to take on a bigger, stronger, *armed* opponent, with only his wits and his speed to rely on. That had been when he had injured his leg. As for the second Trial -- asking a half-naked barefoot vampire to cross a corridor lined with crosses and then have to reach into a container of holy water for the key to open the door...

God. It was sick. A shudder of revulsion went through the Slayer, along with a sense of shame at the part she had played in all this. If she hadn't agreed to come here then none of this would have happened. She wouldn't wish this torture -- there was no other word for it -- on her worst enemy, let alone on...on whatever Spike was now.

He certainly wasn't her enemy anymore, Buffy thought bitterly, as she followed the Valet through yet another doorway. If nothing else, what she had seen here today had proven that. For the vampire to go through so much for her, to endure such pain... No, they weren't enemies any longer.

But, while she might know what he wasn't, she still didn't know what he was. And that, according to the Valet, was what she was here to find out.

Buffy bit her lip, her thoughts still racing, then came to a sudden halt when she she realized that the Valet had stopped moving. She looked up and saw...

Spike. A dozen feet away, half-naked, badly burned, and hanging from two long chains that had him spreadeagled in the centre of the room, his head lolling forward upon his chest.

Buffy froze.

Once again it was all she could do not to act, not to try to change things. But she knew she couldn't. She was as insubstantial as a ghost here. And the helplessness was driving her crazy. To be forced to watch while someone suffered for her...it was horrible. And wrong.

"I've had enough," Buffy said abruptly. "I don't want to see anymore."

The Valet -- the one from her own time -- turned to look at her.

"But there is still the final Trial to go."

"Unlike you, I don't get my jollies watching other people get tortured. I've seen enough."

The Valet smiled coldly. "Actually, to paraphrase one of your Hollywood icons, I believe -- you haven't seen anything yet."

The Slayer closed her eyes. Damn him. And damn her. She should never have come back here. But she had and it was too late now. She had to see this through, no matter how difficult it might be. Reluctantly she opened her eyes and focused on the bound vampire. The burns on his chest and back were clearer now than when she had seen him last week, with only the quarter moon to illuminate his injuries. So many burns. And so much pain. Why?

She must have asked the question out loud, or else the Valet was reading her mind again, because he answered her softly. "It was necessary. Now -- shhh."

Unhappily, the Slayer turned back to Spike, flinching at the sight of the chains biting into his wrists and the blood soaking through the leg of his black jeans, as she steeled herself once more to watch...and do nothing.

* * * * * * * * * *

Spike was hanging limply in the chains, barely conscious. The Valet from the past moved close beside him, gazing emotionlessly at the vampire.

"You've done very well to get this far," the small man began calmly, "but you should end this now, while you still can."

Spike raised his head -- Buffy's jaw tightened at the livid cut just under his left eye -- and met his gaze. "Does th' Slayer get her sight back if I do?" His speech was slurred and laden with pain.

A pause. "Well, no. Not unless you pass the third test."

"Then bring it on. Gettin' tired of hangin' around here..."

"As you wish." With that, the Valet stepped aside and raised one hand slightly...and the far wall that had previously been shrouded in darkness began to move forward, just enough to allow the flickering lights to illuminate the hundreds of wooden stakes -- all lined up in rows and pointing at Spike.

The vampire frowned at them blearily, trying to focus. "What am I s'pposed to do now?"

"You're supposed to die."

Spike seemed to gather a little strength at the Valet's words, standing a bit straighter in the chains. "That's the third trial?"

"Yes. A life for a life."

Spike shook his head, as if trying to clear his pain-fogged thoughts. "But it's not a life for a bloody life, is it? 'Cause I'm not alive...and we're only talking about her eyes anyway. Not her sodding life."

The Valet smiled slightly. "Semantics. We both know that it is indeed Miss Summer's life under discussion here. You yourself came to the same conclusion earlier tonight --if your Slayer does not regain her sight she *will* die. So the choice is up to you. Her life or yours. But you only have to say the word and I will release you right now. You may leave us in peace."

Spike swallowed painfully. "What about her?"

"She will die of course." The Valet leaned a little closer. "But really -- why should that matter to you? You are a vampire and she is the Slayer. She cares nothing for you. One day she will most certainly kill you. It's what she does, what she is. Wouldn't you rather just end all this and walk away, free and clear?"

The man paused, then went on. "In fact -- because you have completed the first two challenges, I can even offer you what you most desire...if you stop this final Trial now."

Spike merely stared wearily at him, saying nothing.

"The implant." The Valet's voice lowered persuasively. "We can remove it for you. Here and now. It will be quite painless and I assure you there will be no lasting effects. You will be exactly as you were before your capture. Come now -- is that not worth the life of one Slayer?"

The vampire froze, staring at the Valet in disbelief. Buffy could see various emotions warring on Spike's face - disbelief, hope, need...and something else altogether, something she was afraid to put a name to. And she found herself holding her breath, her fingernails digging deeply into her palms, even though some part of her was aware that all this had taken place days ago.

And that's when it hit. Realization. *This* was what she had come here for, this was the answer she had been seeking. But a tremor went through her. Did she really want to know? If she did, everything could change. She wouldn't be able to ignore the truth any longer, wouldn't be able to lie to herself...

Lie to herself. Was what she had been doing? Was it possibly she had known the truth all along but was simply too afraid to accept it? Beside her the Valet -- *her* Valet -- shifted, making a tiny self-satisfied sound. Buffy glanced at him, frowning at the pleased smile on his face...

And then her attention was drawn back to the vampire in chains before her who had still not moved or spoken. Hesitantly, Buffy took another step forward, raising a hand as if to touch him, then let her arm fall limply to her side. 'Spike,' she thought despairingly.

The other Valet was still waiting. A long moment passed then at last the vampire shook his head.

"No," he said simply.

"You do understand the offer, don't you? The implant..."

"I understand your flaming offer, but the answer's still no. And just get a bloody move on, will you?" Spike's voice was shaking now, from both pain and anger.

The Valet did not stir. "You are refusing our offer, then, to remove your implant and release you from this final challenge? And you freely offer your life in return for Miss Summer's vision. Is that correct?"

Another long moment passed. Spike did not move, did not even blink, his eyes unfocused and distant. Finally though, something flashed across his face and then was gone, as suddenly as it had appeared. And he nodded once, slowly.

"Yeah," he said wearily. "That's right."

* * * * * * * * * *

Buffy froze. She didn't -- couldn't -- believe it. Spike would never give up his life, a chance at freedom, for her. And yet he had. And...somehow she wasn't surprised. Not really, not deep down. Because somehow, she had known all along.

The book had been right. This was all about making the ultimate sacrifice. And Spike had just done that.

But why? For him to do that, to even consider it, that meant that...

Buffy shivered, her mind skittering fearfully away from the thought. It couldn't be true. It *couldn't*.

Except it was. It had to be.

Spike loved her. Enough to die for her.

Buffy could feel the blood draining away from her face, shock and disbelief pouring through her --

-- and the Valet leaned closer, whispering in her ear. "So now your eyes are truly opened. Your Trial is now complete."

And with that, everything vanished. The Slayer blinked... and found herself back in the first room, the torches still casting shadows on the wall, the Valet standing beside her.

Buffy did not look at him, did not even move. She was too busy trying to deal with the sudden maelstrom of emotions swirling chaotically inside her. Too much. Too much information. She didn't want to deal with this right now. Didn't want to have to face the truth. Because if she did, if she admitted to herself that it was true...then her whole world would change. If Spike, a soulless vampire, was capable of so much love, of so much self-sacrifice, then...then she had been wrong. Wrong about him. And about so much else.

"Ahem." It was the Valet. The Slayer turned to him, her mind spinning.

He gave her faintly sympathetic look. "Enlightenment is never easy, is it?"

No. No, it damned well wasn't. But -- it was better than ignorance.

Wasn't it?

"I need to go now," Buffy said numbly, not looking at him.

"Yes. Well...I wish you luck. And I do hope things work out. Goodbye, Miss Summers. And remember -- your dealings with us are now finished."

And with that, the world changed...

...and she was outside once more, standing in the cool night air beneath the stars, staring down at the empty swimming pool. Everything was exactly as it had been when she has first arrived...

...but nothing was the same anymore.

Nothing would ever be the same.


PART TWENTY-TWO


"I see thee better in the dark"

Emily Dickinson


Buffy found herself walking back to the cemetery, her mind whirling. She had tried not to think as she had left the Trial, and she had tried not thinking as she made her way back through the dark streets, but it hadn't worked. Thoughts kept popping stubbornly to the surface of her mind, flashes of memory going through her while she walked.

The first time she had met Spike, in that dark alley so long ago... Her mom hitting him over the head with an axe... Spike, stopping his minions from wreaking havoc when she had threatened to kill Drusilla... Her uneasy alliance with the vampire and the bizarre image of him sitting at her kitchen table drinking hot chocolate... The vampire chained up in Giles' bathtub...almost destroying her relationship with her friends...and saving her life. The moment when he had sat down beside her on the back porch with kind words -- and a shotgun. The kiss -- kisses. The memory of his weight on top of hers, his fangs locked in her throat...and most of all, the image of his burned and scarred body hanging from chains while he calmly gave up everything that mattered most to him. For her. All for her.

He loved her.

Spike *loved* her.

Somehow Buffy couldn't quite make that sink in. She knew it was true, knew that what her instincts had been telling her all along was correct, but still...she couldn't make herself believe it.

Why? How? Why would he possibly...? No. Buffy shook her head unhappily...then went back to the not-thinking.

It even worked for a while -- right up until the moment she found herself outside Spike's door.

* * * * * * * * * *

*Slayer*

Spike twisted around in his chair, a warning tremor going through him. She was here. Just outside the crypt. He could smell her.

Bugger.

He didn't need this right now. One look and she'd probably guess everything. His feelings were probably written all over his face. Wearing his bloody heart on his bloody sleeve, he was. Sodding wonderful. Just what he needed.

But then again -- this was better than the alternative, right? Hiding out in his crypt, diving around corners whenever he saw her. No. Let her come. He wasn't William the Bloody Wanker, for god's sake. He was Spike. And it was high time he started acting like it...

The door swung open behind him but the vampire carefully did not move, his gaze remaining on the TV in front of him. All his other senses, however, locked on the Slayer the moment she entered, tracking her as she stepped into the crypt, coming to a hesitant stop a few paces back.

"Summers," Spike said casually, not looking behind him. "Still alive then?"

Buffy didn't answer him. Instead she moved forward, crossing in front of him, then reached down and turned off the television.

"Hey! I was watching that!"

"Newsflash, Spike. The ship sinks. Jack drowns."

"And thank you very bloody much." He glowered at her. "So what do you want now? More help saving the world? Battling the bad guys? A few more lessons on Slayer slaying?" He paused, a grin appearing on his face. "Or would it be Slayer saving this time?"

She shifted her weight, looking uncomfortable.

"I need to talk to you."

"Well, since you just ruined the movie and the only other thing on right now is 'Jerry Springer', which I'd rather be buried six feet under again than have to watch, I'd say you've got my undivided attention. So what's the topic of conversation gonna be this time?"

Buffy hesitated, then said flatly: "I went back to the Trial."

Spike froze, staring up at her in disbelief. "You what?"

"I went back."

"Well...why?"

She swallowed. "I...I had to know what you did. What your...sacrifice was."

Ice began to form in the pit of Spike's stomach and his mind started spinning in circles. Big, violent, nerve- wrenching circles. She knew? Bloody hell. What was he supposed to say now? How could he explain?

He gave it a good try though.

"Well, don't flatter yourself, Slayer. It was...I was... just wanted to make sure I'd be the one what finally kills you. Didn't want some demon to get all the fun..."

Bollocks. That was terrible. He could do better than that, right? He thought for a moment. No. No he couldn't.

"Spike..."

And then he was on his feet, trying to put some much needed distance between them while he attempted to figure out what to do, how to handle this.

"It's not all about you, you know," he said belligerently. "I mean, it may have *looked* like I was doing it for you, but really, I was just..."

"Spike!" Buffy spoke more forcefully this time, cutting him off in mid-sentence.

The vampire swallowed then turned and looked at her with just a hint of trepidation on his face.

"What?"

The Slayer took a step toward him, her eyes boring into his. And she said, very slowly:

"Do you love me?"

* * * * * * * * * *

Buffy stared unblinkingly at Spike, waiting. She knew the answer already -- really she did -- but there was still that one small uncertainty in the back of her mind. And she had to know. Somewhere along the way she had decided, even if only on a subconscious level, that she had to know the truth, no matter how difficult it might be. She had to hear him say it. Only then would she be able to decide what to do. Only then could she face her own feelings.

The vampire swallowed again, an expression of sheer panic flashing across his face, tension written in every line of his body.

"Slayer, I..."

She shook her head. "No. Just one word, Spike. Yes or no. Do you love me?"

Another endless pause. Buffy noticed distantly that her nails were once more digging into her hands and she forced herself to relax. Finally though, Spike's shoulders straightened, his chin came up...and he met her eyes unwaveringly.

"Yes."

* * * * * * * * * *

Time seemed to crash to a halt. Finally the silence became too much for Spike to bear.

"I know you don't feel that way about me..." he began hesitantly.

Buffy shook her head. "No. I don't."

It shouldn't hurt this much. Really it shouldn't. He had known all along that she didn't love him, probably never would... But to actually hear her say it, to shred all his hopes -- and his heart -- like this...

Anguish tore through Spike, ripping through every aspect of his being. So this was what being staked through the heart felt like, he realized distantly. He had suffered his fair share of pain in his time, a hell of a lot of it in just the past week, but this...this was beyond words. Nothing had ever hurt quite this much. Nothing. It felt as though small pieces of himself were crumbling away, breaking off into some void that threatened to consume him.

And suddenly the need to hurt her back was too much to bear. His fists clenching, Spike took a step forward and said viciously:

"You really are a piece of work. A right little bitch. This is all some game to you, isn't it? Make Spike admit he's gone all soft then spit in his face. So what's next? You go back to your little fanclub and you all have a good laugh together? Laugh at the vampire that's got the hots for the Slayer..."

"No, I..."

He ignored her, his voice trampling over hers. "You don't care, do you? Just 'cause you've been hurt in the past, you think that gives you the right to do anything you want, hurt whoever you like..."

Buffy took an angry step forward. "Will you let me finish?"

"Why? So you can twist the knife a bit more? No thanks. I can see why Angel left you. Self-bloody-preservation..."

* * * * * * * * * *

That did it. Without warning Buffy's fist slammed into Spike and he crashed to the floor, laying still for a moment, slightly stunned. Then she stepped forward and stood over him, speaking coldly.

"I'm going to ignore that last comment. And you're going to shut the hell up so I can finish."

Spike raised one hand to his jaw, glaring up at her with something very close to hatred in his eyes. But he remained silent.

This wasn't going the way Buffy had planned. Actually, she hadn't planned it at all -- hence the problem. But she couldn't change things now. All she could do was move on. And to do that, she had to be completely honest with him. And herself. No more holding back. It wouldn't be easy and it was probably going to hurt like hell...but it had to be done.

After all, she had no choice.

"What did you expect me to say, Spike?" Buffy's voice was calmer now, only a faint tremor in her body betraying the myriad emotions running through her. "Did you really think I would declare my undying love for you just because you saved my life? Well, I'm sorry, but that sort of thing only happens in bad romance novels. One good deed isn't enough to make up for 120 years of carnage. I can't just forget what you are, what you've done."

He snarled up at her, pain etched on his face. "That's rich, coming from you. You were all over Angel from the minute you met him, weren't you? Never asked what kind of a monster he was. If you'd seen some of the things he did, you'd..."

"Shut up," Buffy snapped. "When I said I didn't love you, that was the truth. But...it wasn't the whole truth. And...and you deserve to know everything."

She took a deep steadying breath, then continued.

"Part of me hates you, for what you've done to me and my friends, for what you did in the past. I've read the Watcher's journals, Spike. I know how dangerous you were. Still are. Part of me is afraid of you, of what you might do if you ever get that chip out of your head. And an even bigger part says you're not trustworthy and never will be."

He climbed to his feet slowly, glowering at her. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Not really," she said flatly. "And I'm not done yet. You see, the part you don't know is that it...it's not just hate and fear between us anymore, Spike. Something's changed. I'm not sure when it happened. Maybe when you saved my life last week. Maybe earlier. I don't know. What I do know is that you've always understood me better than anyone else. More than my family, more than Giles even. Definitely more than Riley ever did. You...you can see right through me, see through all the lies I tell myself and no one else has ever been able to do that. And while most of the time I hate that...sometimes I find it comforting too. How strange is that?"

She smiled painfully, crookedly, then went on, not waiting for an answer.

"A lot of the time I think you're bad for me. But sometimes I think you're the only one I can ever be with, *should* ever be with. When I'm with you Spike -- I can be myself. I don't have to pretend to be something I'm not. I can just let go. No one else has ever done that for me. Not even Angel."

"So I guess it doesn't matter if part of me still thinks you're a killer, if I don't know if I can trust you, or even if you're bad for me. Because there's a much bigger part of me saying...saying..."

Her voice trailed off. She couldn't go on, couldn't get the words out. Her throat was tightening, fear clenching in her stomach. She couldn't do it. She didn't have the courage.

"Saying what?" The anger was almost gone from Spike's voice now, only a faint residue of hurt still remaining. But there was something else in his eyes...something that gave Buffy the nerve to take that final step. The step that would change everything between them.

It came out as a whisper, so faint that only a vampire could have heard it.

"I want you," she said.


PART TWENTY-THREE


"Blind and naked"

Alfred Tennyson


"I want you."

Spike froze. "You what?"

Buffy licked her lips, having to force the words out through the fear that was threatening to overwhelm her. She hadn't thought it would be this difficult.

"I...I..." It wasn't working. She couldn't seem to make herself say it. Not again.

Spike eyed her for a long moment, then slowly began to move forward, the pain on his face beginning to dissolve. And something else was taking up residence there. Disbelief. Shock. And then anticipation. And hunger. A predatory gleam appeared in his eyes and Buffy instinctively took a step back, swallowing hard. He was stalking her, she realized, like some big cat. She moved away again, her heart-rate increasing. This was a mistake. She should never have come here. She should just go and...

...and then he was on her, moving as fast as she had ever seen him. One hand twisted roughly in her hair, pulling her head back and baring her throat to him while the other wrapped tightly around her right wrist, holding away the stake that had suddenly materialized in her hand.

Buffy could have fought him, could have pulled free...but something inside wouldn't let her. For a long moment she stared at him, frozen, her heart racing -- then Spike gave the weapon a slow, sideways glance, a wolfish grin appearing on his face.

"You gonna use that?"

Was she? No. Probably not. Maybe.

She didn't answer him. "Let me go," Buffy said instead, as forcefully as she could.

He lowered his voice. "That really what you want?"

A long pause. A *really* long pause. Entire civilizations rose and fell while Buffy stood there, her chest heaving. And finally, staring into the vampire's eyes, the Slayer loosened her grip, allowing the weapon to fall to the ground beside her.

"No."

And, as quickly as that, Spike had seized her and swung her around, slamming her up against the crypt wall. Buffy gasped at the impact...then froze as he traced one fingertip along the side of her jaw and down her throat, dipping even lower until it was just inside her shirt. She shivered but still made no effort to move.

"Tell me what you want," the vampire whispered, his voice hot and seductive, his mouth close to her ear.

The Slayer licked her lips nervously, watching as he moved back enough to look into her eyes... And in that moment she reached a decision.

"I want you," Buffy said at last. "Hard. Now. Inside me."

And, as if that was what he had been waiting for, Spike abruptly reached for her shirt, yanking it over her head in one quick movement and tossing it onto the ground. Cool air met Buffy's suddenly exposed flesh and she shivered... the shiver becoming a deep shudder as Spike tore away her lacy bra.

"You want hard," he said, his voice rough. "I'll give you hard."

And then he bent his head to her breast, his mouth closing around it, sucking and pulling, his teeth almost, but not quite, breaking the skin. Buffy gasped, one hand going to the back of his neck, holding him against her while his left hand plunged inside her leather pants, delving deeply.

Automatically, the Slayer spread her legs, just a little, giving him better access. She was panting in earnest now, her heart pounding as her body tried to keep up with this sudden assault on her senses. The fingers of her left hand curled tightly in Spike's hair while her other arm went across his back, running across his corded muscles. Then, with no warning at all, he plunged two fingers inside her, as far as they would go. Buffy stiffened and inhaled sharply, her head arching back even further.

"Oh god."

"That's not gonna save you now."

Spike withdrew his fingers part way, then plunged them into her again...and tremors began to go through the Slayer, her legs starting to shake uncontrollably.

"Spike..." It came out as a moan.

He withdrew his hand, his fingers wet, and Buffy whimpered. Then, not pausing, he undid her pants and yanked them, along with her underwear, partway down her thighs.

She was almost completely naked, Buffy realized dimly, while he was still fully clothed. Weakly she reached for his t-shirt -- but he batted her hands away, his mouth descending ruthlessly on hers while his hand went to the zipper of his own jeans.

It was a complete invasion. Spike's tongue was thrusting forward, past her lips while his free hand returned to her breast, tightening around it, almost to the point of pain, his thumb running over her nipple. And then his jeans were undone, pushed down just enough to free his erection, its hardness pressing insistently against her.

She wasn't going to be able to stop this, Buffy recognized distantly. She was at a complete disadvantage, pressed against the wall like this, her leather pants effectively binding her legs while Spike's weight held the rest of her prisoner. She *might* be able to stop him, if she really tried...if she really wanted to. He might even stop if she asked him...but she didn't know for certain. And the not knowing, the realization that she wasn't the one in control anymore, that he could do what he liked...

Oh god. It was a turn on. And it was like nothing she had ever experienced before. Angel had been a tender lover. Riley had been kind and loving but had lacked her strength and stamina. Parker was just a mistake. But this -- this was pure force and aggression, primal in its intensity. Dangerous.

Exciting.

Moving even more swiftly now, Spike seized both her wrists, pinning them against the wall beside her head...and then, with one savage move, he drove himself completely inside her. The Slayer convulsed almost instantly, calling out his name. Supernovae seemed to be exploding behind her eyes while great tremors racked her body. And through it all, the vampire held himself back -- filling her, stretching her as she had never been stretched before...but hardly moving.

An eternity or two passed while Buffy was rocked with pleasure. Finally though, the shocks began to subside, just a little, and she managed to open her eyes, trying to focus. Her head was resting on Spike's shoulder, she realized, her hands still pinned behind her...and he was moving again now, withdrawing almost completely. Then he slammed back into her so that her body rocked back with the force of it, her back hitting the wall with each thrust. And Buffy moaned, unable to do much for the moment except hold on.

* * * * * * * * * *

Her heat was incredible. Spike felt as though he was standing in an inferno, its intensity almost overwhelming. The flames were threatening to consume him. But there were worse ways to die, he thought raggedly as he continued his relentless barrage on her body. To have this happen, to actually be the one...to be *inside* the Slayer, to feel her disintegrate around him, his name on her lips...it was heaven. Or as close as a vampire like him could ever get. 'Please,' he thought incoherently, 'if this is a dream, don't let me wake up.'

After some time, Spike changed the rhythm, his thrusts becoming slower but harder, burying himself as deeply as he possibly could with each stroke. And slowly but surely, he could sense the pressure beginning to build within her again. Well, good. He was going to make her forget the poof, forget G.I. Joe, forget every man who had ever been between her legs. Or in her heart. She might not love him -- but she sure as hell wasn't going to be able to ignore him.

"Look at me," he growled at her.

Blinking a little, she did.

"Say my name."

"Spi-ike." It came out on a gasp, as he drove himself mercilessly into her. And he even managed a triumphant grin, through the sensations that were sweeping through him.

"This hard enough for you, Slayer?"

* * * * * * * * * *

He was grinning. Smug bastard. Buffy could think now, just a little, although her mind kept threatening to fly apart at any moment. Conceited, self-satisfied vampire. Just because he had forced her body's complete surrender, had made her experience the most blindingly powerful climax of her life...didn't mean he got to *stay* in control. Surrender might be exciting for a while...but it only went so far. And it wasn't who she was. Buffy glared at him, saying through clenched teeth even as she tried to fight off the waves of pleasure cascading over her:

"No. It's not."

Surprise flitted briefly across his face...even more so when she wrenched her wrists out of his grip and tugged his t-shirt up. Then she dipped her mouth to the vampire's chest, running her tongue across his skin while she clamped down on him with her inner muscles.

Hard.

Spike tensed, a startled look in his eyes. And Buffy began to rock forward, her hips meeting his, every muscle working...and it was his turn to groan.

"Slayer..."

"That the best you can do, Spike?" she whispered mockingly.

Their eyes met, challenge going from one to the other, and then Spike's grin widened. "Not bloody likely."

With that, he bent slightly, pushing her pants down to her ankles, then plunged brutally back into her again without missing a beat. Buffy arched her back, trying to draw oxygen into her starving lungs, even as she stepped awkwardly out of the leather and kick off her shoes. And then both of her legs were up and around Spike's hips, her arms tightening around his shoulders.

Oh god. If it had been good before, it was shattering now. Buffy could feel herself hovering on the edge of another climax, shocks going through her. Spike moaned, his body beginning to quake alongside hers. And for just a moment, a sense of just how surreal all this was struck her. This was *Spike*, for god's sake. She had Spike inside her -- *deep* inside her, his body cool against her warmth and his hands -- and everything else -- on her. And, for just a moment, she wondered if she wasn't making a mistake...but it was too late now. A lifetime too late. She had made her decision and she was just going to have to live with it.

Long moments passed, while he continued to pound into her, his eyes never leaving hers, the Slayer's gasps sounding loud in the silence of the crypt. And then, just when Buffy thought she could bear the pressure no longer, something went through the vampire's eyes...and he buried his face in her neck.

Buffy tensed, expecting to feel his fangs rip through her skin at any second...but instead his arms tightened around her with the strength of desperation and he whispered her name against her skin.

"Buffy."

Her eyes widened in surprise...and then he was spilling himself into her, his body shuddering helplessly while he clung to her. And Buffy found herself going over the brink with him, falling into some dark chasm, only his arms around her still anchoring her to this reality. And finally, slowly, silence descended upon the crypt.

PART TWENTY-FOUR


"It is not love but lack of love which is blind"

Glenway Westcott


They slid to the floor together, Spike still inside her, both of them shaking from the combined power of their respective climaxes. The Slayer ended up on top, her forehead resting against the vampire's chest while she struggled to draw air back into her oxygen-deprived lungs, waiting for the trembling to subside.

It did, finally. And awareness began to flow once more through Buffy. She had just had sex with Spike. Wild, passionate, violent sex. Angry sex.

Really, really *great* sex.

But that's all it was. And she was so never going to do it again. Hastily the Slayer pulled away, fiercely ignoring the part of her that regretted the loss as she withdrew from him. Then she reached for her pants laying nearby and pulled them on, not even bothering with underwear...and not looking at the vampire beside her.

He was watching her though. She could feel his eyes on her as she got to her feet, feel his gaze burning as she picked up her shirt. Turning her back, Buffy pulled it on quickly, hoping he wouldn't notice just how much her hands were shaking.

"So that's it then?" Spike said flatly, at last. "Got it all out of your system, did you?"

Buffy froze. "Is that what you think I was doing?" she asked, her voice taut with tension.

He climbed to his feet, the sound of his zipper going up shockingly loud in the silence of the crypt.

"Wasn't it?" the vampire asked bitterly. "You had an itch and you got it scratched. Now you can scarper back home and convince yourself it was all just hormones. Or misplaced gratitude. Temporary bloody insanity, maybe."

At that, Buffy did turn, chewing on her bottom lip as she gazed at him.

"Well, wasn't it?"

"You tell me."

No. She wasn't going to do this. She wasn't going to get into a war of words with him. Not now. Not ever again, if she could help it. Shivering slightly, Buffy bent, picked up her shoes, then finally straightened...and looked him in the eye.

"You're right, Spike," she said at last. "It wasn't just hormones. Or gratitude -- although I can't vouch for the sanity part of the equation. And yes, it...it was great sex. But that's all it was. And I...I just need to go now, get away from..."

You. She didn't have to say the word. It hung there, unspoken, hovering between the two of them. The Slayer flinched inwardly. She hadn't meant that to come out the way it had. She really didn't want to hurt him. But neither could she deal with what had just happened, what she had done. What she was.

"You're such a hypocrite, Summers."

Buffy blinked, starting slightly. "I'm a what?"

"You heard." Spike moved closer, crowding her. "You say one thing but it's not what you really mean. So how 'bout I tell you what's going on in your head and save you the bother?"

"How about you don't?"

He ignored her, forging onward as if she had not spoken. "It's already driving you off your trolley," he said matter of factly, "how you gave yourself to me and how much you wanted it. No hesitation, no holding back. You asked me to take you and I did. And you loved it. But now you're scared that maybe you loved it too much. That maybe once isn't gonna be enough."

Buffy frowned. "Conceited much."

"Facts are facts, love. Speaking of...how 'bout the fact that you just got all up close and personal with the enemy? The Slayer having sex with a vampire, and him with no soul to justify it? Can't tell me that one's not bothering you. What would your bleeding Watcher say? Or the Slayerettes? The human boyfriend thing didn't work out and now you're scared to death you're always gonna need the monsters. Which makes you what? One of us."

Buffy stirred sharply, but he kept going, still not giving her a chance to respond.

"But you know what your biggest fear is, the one that's got you shaken down to the bloody core? It's not that I love you -- so bloody what, right Slayer? No, it's that maybe, just maybe, you love me back, no matter how hard you try to fight it. And that scares you more than anything. More than all the creatures in the night trying to kill you. More than being blind. More than dying, even."

A pang went through Buffy but she closed her eyes, shaking her head. "You're wrong."

"Am I?" he asked, edging closer, his voice softer now. "I know you, Slayer. Said so yourself. And I know you would *never* have done what we just did if you didn't have feelings for me in there somewhere. Maybe not a lot yet, and probably buried pretty deep. But they're there. And you know it."

She shook her head vehemently. "No."

Another step closer. "So if I do this then..." He leaned over and kissed her lightly then moved slowly downward, his mouth tracing light patterns against the underside of her jaw, just barely grazing the skin.

"...So if I do this, it means nothing to you?"

Spike's lips found the puncture marks on her neck and traced them slowly with his tongue. Buffy whimpered.

"No," she said breathlessly, a moment later, her hands curling into fists with the effort it was taking to *not* reach for him. "I can't do this, Spike. Not again."

Spike pulled back slightly and ran one hand across her shoulder, evoking a shiver.

"No. 'Cause that would make it real, wouldn't it? Once -- well, you can write that off as a mistake. One-time deal. But twice...you do this twice with me and it becomes real. No going back then."

Buffy shuddered. He was right. And she didn't want this to be real, didn't want to feel this pull toward a vampire. Toward *this* vampire. Once, and she could still pretend, could go back to telling herself lies. But twice...

Something of what she must have been thinking must have shown on her face, because Spike took a step backward, his hand falling away from her shoulder.

"I want you to stay," he said simply. "But it's up to you. You leave and I'm not going to try to stop you, not gonna let you convince yourself later on that I seduced you into it. You stay...it's 'cause *you* want to. Your choice, pet. Tell me what you want."

A sense of tired anger went through Buffy. Why couldn't he be wrong? Just once? Was that too much to ask? Obviously yes, because every word he had spoken was true. Which left her where? As one of the monsters, like he had said. Incapable of ever having a normal life, of loving someone normal, someone human. Of *being* human. Self-pity hovered for an instant, but she banished it quickly. So what if she couldn't have a normal life? She *wasn't* normal. And she wasn't human, at least not in the regular sense of the word. She was the Slayer.

So maybe it was time she started reaching out for whatever happiness she could find, in whatever time she might have. Even if she did keep finding it in the strangest of places...

And he did love her. If there had been any doubt left in Buffy's mind, it had vanished the moment when the vampire's arms had tightened around her, whispering her name and holding her as if she was the only thing that mattered in his world.

Spike loved her. And...and she had feelings for him too. They were too new and too deeply buried to bear much in the way of scrutiny, but they were definitely there. So why not? Why not do what *she* wanted for once? Be Buffy and not the Slayer. Just for a while. What could it hurt?

Ignoring the part of her that instantly began screaming a long list of all the ways it *could* hurt, Buffy took a step forward and reached one hand out, holding it flat against the centre of Spike's chest, noting once again the lack of a heartbeat and feeling the cool, hard planes of his body through the thin material of his t-shirt. And she decided.

"I want to dance," Buffy said slowly, looking up to meet Spike's eyes.

And then she said nothing else, for a very, very long time.

* * * * * * * * * *

It was slower than before. Gentler. As if Spike was trying to prove that not everything he did had to end in violence. Eventually they wound up on the chair, the Slayer on top this time...and then on the tomb. And after that...

At some point Buffy lost track of things. All she knew was that, for the first time in a very long while, she felt...calm. At peace -- when her body wasn't convulsing furiously around his, that was. But even then -- she no longer had to pretend to be something she was not, didn't have to hold back or hide what she was. She could just be.

She had forgotten what that felt like.

* * * * * * * * * *

Spike closed his eyes. He was -- well, the only word that came to mind was content. Yeah, that was it. Perfectly content. They had finally come to rest at last in the chair, the Slayer on his lap, his lone blanket covering both of their naked bodies. Buffy's head was resting on his shoulder, her hands resting on top of his arms which were wrapped loosely around her waist.

"Sun's coming up," she said tiredly.

He opened his eyes. She was right. He could sense the nearness of the dawn, feel the shadows outside beginning to recede. In his arms, the Slayer stirred slightly.

"I should go," she said, a trace of reluctance in her voice.

"S'pose so." Spike turned to look at her, taking in the rumpled hair and thoroughly satiated look on her face -- and a wave of pure self-satisfaction went through him. He had done this. Him. Grinning slightly, he ran one finger down her throat, towards the top of her breasts. And, despite everything they had already done...and the number of times they had done it...he could sense desire rising again within her. It wasn't the only thing that was rising.

Smiling slightly, Buffy leaned forward and kissed him, her tongue going forward to tangle with his, then she shifted so that she was straddling him, parts of her body coming into interesting contact with parts of his.

"Of course," she said provocatively, "I could be persuaded to stay a while longer..."

As it turned out, she really didn't need much persuading at all.

* * * * * * * * * *

It was considerably *after* dawn that Buffy finally managed to pull on her clothes again, wincing as certain parts of her body complained with every movement. As workouts went, tonight's -- activities -- certainly ranked up there with going one on one with a demon. Which, when she considered it, was exactly what she had been doing.

She cast Spike a quick look. He was standing by the tomb, watching her, fully dressed. And several conflicting emotions went through her. Lust and desire were foremost, despite the fact that even her vaunted Slayer stamina wouldn't be able to cope with much more tonight. A faint shiver of fear, which somehow made the desire taste even sharper. And...uncertainty. That tiny flicker of doubt deep inside her that refused to go away completely, that kept her wondering if she was making a mistake; the doubt that said she should stop this now, while she still could...

Or could she? Did she even want to? No. It was too late, had probably been too late from the instant when she had first stepped, blind and frightened, into the cemetery, to feel Spike's arms slide around her... Looking back, her body's reaction at the time made sense now. As did everything that had happened since.

It had not been one, but an entire series of decisions she had come to, Buffy realized. When she had let Spike bully her into telling her what she had been planning, had confessed her suicidal intentions to him. When she had gone with him to the Trial, tacitly agreeing to place her fate in his hands. The moment when she had realized that she couldn't let him die for her and had offered him her neck to avert it. And when she had seen him sacrifice his chance to have the implant removed, in order to save her. And all the moments since. Every action, every conclusion, they had all been leading her here, to this point in time.

But...while she might have to live with those decisions, it didn't necessarily mean she was comfortable with them...or with where they were leading her. Looking back though, she couldn't think of a single thing she would do differently, a single moment she would change. But still...this was no small thing she was doing. And not without its risk. Because nothing had changed, really. He was still a vampire, still dangerous.

And he loved her.

And what was life without risk, anyway?

Buffy pulled on her shoe with one hand then straightened and headed for the door. Spike didn't move, merely continued to watch her through hooded eyes. Once there, though, she paused, turning slightly to look back at him over her shoulder.

"Don't worry," he said before she could speak. "I'm not gonna tell anyone I spent all night banging the Slayer. Still got my reputation to maintain, after all."

"Love the pillow talk, Spike," Buffy said drily. "You're such a romantic. But that's not what I was going to say."

"Yeah, well, I got it where it counts. And don't think I'm going to change for you either," he added warningly. "I'm not gonna become the Slayer's tame lap dog just because we got horizontal...and vertical. Because we both know you don't want that. Face it, love --you like the danger. It excites you."

The Slayer's eyes narrowed. "Has anyone ever told you how arrogant you are?"

He grinned. "Let me think. Oh yeah -- you." With that, he moved forward quickly, caught her around the back of her neck with one hand and kissed her, hard and fast, his body pressing hers against the door, while her hands moved up his chest. Then he abruptly released her and stepped away.

"And that's what you love about me, blondie."

Buffy tried in vain to hide her smile. "Still don't love you, Spike."

The grin widened. "You will." A pause, followed by: "So what were you going to say then?"

She shook her head. "I'm not going to tell you now. Be seeing you, Spike." And with that, she opened the door and went out into the sunlight, closing it gently behind her.

Spike stared after her for a long moment then smiled and fished in his pocket for a cigarette.

"Count on it."

The End