Walking After Midnight by Chelle

Chapter #1 - 1

Prologue “The final tests are back. They don’t know if she will ever walk again.” Joyce told everyone, then promptly fell into one of the lime green chairs of the hospital’s waiting room. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed; for her daughter, for the bruises that covered her and for the prognosis that would forever alter the course of her life. “And she still won’t eat. Until she does, she has to stay here.” Giles would have moved to comfort her, but he was too busy trying to comprehend it all for himself. He walked away from the sobs and headed toward room four-eleven. Buffy’s room. The place where she was resting as comfortably as could be expected. It was never meant to happen this way. She was stronger than any other slayer he had read about and she was smart on her feet, not apt to make mistakes. Nevertheless, here she was, lying in a bed with an IV tube in her hand and an untouched meal on the tray in front of her. He sighed and lifted the lid on the tray. “Buffy, you need to eat.” “I won’t walk again, will I?” She didn’t look away from the window. Outside, rain beat hard against the glass, making it impossible to see anything, but she stared at it. “I can tell by how the nurses look at me and whisper to one another. My hearing is still fine, you know? I hear what they say. It’s such a pity. She’s so young. She won’t have a life. They’re right.” “You mustn’t think like that.” Giles told her, opening the carton of milk and sticking a straw into it. He held it out to her and slowly sat it back on the table when she made no move to take it. “You can’t go home until you start eating.” “I don’t want to go home.” Buffy mumbled without inflection. He lifted the plastic fork and knife and began sawing into the dried up piece of meat that the hospital liked to call pepper steak. “What would you like to do then? Stay here and be an invalid?” “Why not? That’s what I am, isn’t it?” “Certainly not. Think about your mother. She’s been worried sick about you and you can go home as soon as you show them that you’ll eat.” She turned to face him and shook her head. “Home? There are stairs in my home, Giles. My room is at the top of those stairs. I’m not going to crawl around like some kind of slug to get there and I’m not going to let my mother try to carry me. I don’t want to go home.” Giles slammed the fork down and shoved the table out of the way. Gripping her shoulders, he forced her to look at him. “You are not going to give up. Do you hear me? You are a Slayer and if they say you can’t walk again, then you show them that you will. You heal faster than anyone does, Buffy. A bone breaks and it’s fine within days. You get a cut and it closes within hours. This will not beat you.” Buffy shoved him away angrily, ignoring the pain in her back. “You don’t know anything. You aren’t the one lying here telling your legs to move. You aren’t the one who was slammed over a headstone so hard that it ruined your back. This didn’t beat me, Giles. Those vampires that did this beat me.” “You’re alive! They didn’t beat you.” “I’m alive?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Where am I alive at, Giles? My spirit is dead, my soul is dead, my hope is dead and my legs are dead. Who cares if I can still breathe?” “Buffy-.” “Get out.” “Buffy, please-.” Buffy reached for the table, grabbed her tray and threw it across the room, barely missing his head. “I said get out.” She told him through clenched teeth as pain seared up her back. She only felt it from the waist up. From the waist down, there was nothing and she never wanted to feel pain more in her life. Giles turned and walked out the door, bumping into a nurse who was rushing to see what the problem was. He heard the woman try to soothe Buffy, heard Buffy swear at her, and then he walked slowly down the hall. Nothing would be the same again. Part One Two Months Later Buffy sat silently in her seat as Joyce drove her toward their house on Revello Drive. The smell of flowers was threatening to choke her and one of the balloons from the bouquet that Willow had brought her kept hitting her in the back of the head. It floated into the front seat and Buffy grabbed it, squeezing it with all of her strength. It popped and Joyce shrieked, yanking the steering wheel to the right and hitting a curb. Buffy dropped the ribbon that the balloon had been attached to and stared out at the road, not even flinching when Joyce barely missed hitting a speed limit sign. Joyce clutched her chest as soon as she got the car under control. Her first instinct had been to shout at her daughter, but one look at her pale face and dark eyes had silenced her anger. Instead, she reached out and touched Buffy’s hand. The girl jerked away as if she had been burned and crossed her arms. Undaunted, Joyce patted her leg and spoke softly. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you this, but your friends are at the house. They want to throw you a surprise party.” “And you let them?” Buffy snapped, glaring at her mother briefly. “Thanks, I ’m fucking thrilled to know that people will be there to gawk at me.” “You won’t take that tone with me, Buffy, and you won’t use that word in my presence.” “Whatever.” The rest of the drive was traveled in an uncomfortable silence that wasn’t broken until Joyce turned into the driveway and Buffy groaned. There was a colorful banner hanging on the front porch and Xander and Giles were putting the finishing touches on a ramp that ran halfway down the sidewalk. As Buffy watched, the front door opened and Willow and Anya came rushing toward the passenger side. “Great. Just –fucking- great.” Joyce was already out of the vehicle, pulling the wheelchair from the backseat, but she heard and cleared her throat. “I meant what I said.” Buffy took her seatbelt off as Willow yanked the door open. “Hey, Buffy. It’ s so good to see you in street clothes. Those hospital gowns are so depressing.” “And you look good.” Anya supplied, taking the blanket that Joyce held out. Xander laid his hammer down and made his way to the vehicle. He exhaled tiredly, and brushed his hair back from his sweaty forehead. “We’re not finished yet. I don’t think it’s safe to push her up the ramp. I’ll just carry her in.” “Okay.” Joyce closed the chair and lifted it, heading toward the stairs. “Mom!” Buffy called angrily. “Hello? I think I should have some say. I don't want to be carried!” Xander shook his head and reached into the car. “You’re outvoted and out optioned.” Buffy closed her eyes as he hooked his arms under her legs and around her back. She couldn’t bear to look at him. She couldn’t bear to look at any of them and see the pain in their eyes and the pity that they tried to hide. Their Slayer was gone, replaced by the wisp of a girl who was being carried by her best friend; carried instead of walking tall beside him, where she should be. She opened her eyes in time to see Giles and immediately looked away. He had stopped hammering and was watching her intently. And his disappointment in her was written on his face. Once inside, Joyce ushered Xander into the living room, where she had put blankets on the sofa. Buffy looked back, over his shoulder, at the stairs and her throat constricted. She used to run up and down them, taking them two at a time. Now she would be lucky to ever see the top floor of her house again. Xander put her on the sofa and pulled a blanket around her legs, then he patted her head. Buffy pushed his hand away angrily. “What am I, your puppy?” “Sorry, Buffy. It’s just good to see you home.” Xander glanced at her, then at Willow, who motioned him to go outside. “Well, I’m going to go finish that ramp.” “I’m going to watch.” Anya said quickly. “I bet he’ll strip down to his wife beater before the day is done.” Rolling her eyes, Willow sat down in a chair beside the couch. “Some things never change.” “And some do.” Buffy said, trying to shift into a more comfortable position. “Do you need some help?” Willow got to her feet and reached for Buffy, offering her a hand to pull up on. “Did I ask you for help?” Willow stood upright quickly and then moved back to her chair. “I’m sorry.” “God, if one more person tells me that they’re sorry, I’m going to scream.” “Buffy, it’s just that-.” “That what? You’re sorry you can walk? You’re sorry I can’t? You’re sorry you weren’t there to help me? You’re sorry I’m a Slayer? Get over it, Willow. I don’t care.” The redhead’s chin quivered and she got to her feet, hurrying into the kitchen to help Joyce. Giles had tried to prepare them, going so far as to rent a video about dealing with paralysis victims. Buffy’s attitude wasn’t rare. It was actually common and Willow couldn’t hold it against her. It didn’t make it hurt less though. As she stepped into the kitchen, she saw Joyce leaning against the refrigerator, sobbing softly. “Miss Summers?” “Oh, Willow!” Joyce dabbed at her eyes with a paper towel and tossed it in the trash. “Does Buffy need something?” “I think she’s doing better than you are.” Willow crossed the small distance and gave the woman’s hand a squeeze. “Have you told her yet?” “No.” Joyce patted the younger girl’s back and then stepped away, busying herself at the coffee pot. “How do I tell my child that I can’t afford the kind of care that she needs? How do I tell her that insurance won’t pay for someone and I can’t quit my job or we’ll lose what little the insurance does cover?” “Well, the offer still stands, Miss Summers. I can take a semester off from school and take care of her while you work and travel for the gallery.” “No, Willow. Buffy’s a handful. You’ve seen how she is coping with this.” “I love her. I think I can handle it.” “It out of the question, honey. You’re only nineteen and you have studies and a life to live. I’ll think of something.” “What about Giles?” Willow pulled one of the stools away from the island and clasped her hands. “I know he offered to help.” “He has a new business to maintain. If it folded, he would lose everything.” Joyce poured herself a cup of coffee and pulled a soda from the refrigerator for Willow. “I don’t know what to do.” “Xander would do it if he and Anya weren’t together. You know how jealous she is of Buffy and how Xander used to feel about her.” “I know. I wouldn’t allow him to put his life on hold either. You’ve all been such good friends for Buffy.” Joyce blew her coffee and took a small sip. “I’ll call some agencies and see if I can find some cheaper nurses. Until then, I’ll just have to take the time off. Maybe Hank will pitch in.” “Why would he? He didn’t even come to see her. This is so awful.” Willow took a small drink of her soda and burst out crying. She glanced nervously toward the living room and stood, walking out the back door until she could collect herself. Joyce walked into the living room and glanced at Buffy. She was sleeping peacefully on her back, one arm thrown aimlessly off the sofa and the other over her head. Asleep, she looked young and vibrant. It was only when she was awake that you could see how dead and vacant her eyes were. Her legs weren’t the only things taken from her, her will to live was gone as well. Joyce pressed a kiss to her forehead and pulled the cover up over her. There had to be an answer somewhere. “Spike.” Giles bumped into the vampire when he walked into his house. “What are you doing in my house?” “You didn’t uninvite me.” Spike said with a shrug, then flopped down on the sofa. “And there’s a movie on I’ve wanted to see for months.” Giles glanced at his television and his eyes widened. “You ordered pay per view?” “Is that what it’s called?” “Did you pay for it?” “No, you did.” Spike lifted a credit card off the table and held it over his head. Giles snatched it and grabbed his wallet, shoving the card in one of the empty slots. “How did you find this? I only use this for emergencies.” “This was an emergency.” Spike shrugged and lay back, stretching out like a content kitten. “Angelina Jolie gets bare assed naked in this movie. That’s an emergency.” Giles shoved his wallet back into his pocket and stalked into the kitchen. He frowned when he yanked the refrigerator door open and several bags of blood fell out. “Spike, why is there blood all over the place?” “It’s not all over the place, mate. It’s in your refrigerator. Put it back if that’s what I heard hit the floor. It doesn’t grow on trees you know.” Giles hefted one of the bags and stomped back into the living room. He tossed it, smacking Spike on the side of the head. “You have a home now. Go there.” Spike grabbed the blood bag and bit into it, ignoring the sounds of disgust that came from Giles. He drained it, fired off a belch and glanced up at the man. “I can’t.” “Why not?” “These vampires I knew way back when have taken to stalking me. They go into my crypt and break things, rough me up and threaten me, then they rough me up some more.” “Why don’t they just kill you?” Spike’s eyes widened. “You’d like that wouldn’t you? They’re keeping me alive because they have this crazy notion that I would make a great gopher. They plan on beating me into being their minion and to hell with that!” “And why don’t you fight back?” Giles perched on the arm of his recliner and scratched the side of his face. “You can defend yourself against demons.” “I can’t, okay?” Spike motioned him away and looked at the television again. “Now leave me alone.” “Why can’t you fight back, Spike?” “Because if I do, then I’ll be on every demon’s hit list that comes to this town. These vampires are connected. They have their finger in everything.” “So what are you going to do?” Spike shrugged, then hollered at the television when the dark haired Angelina Jolie graced the screen. “I’m thinking I’ll stay here. At least until this mess blows over and they find someone new to pick on.” “Oh, christ!” Giles went back into the kitchen and fumbled around for an icepack. His head was already aching from all the hammering he had done that day. Spike being there was just enough to add insult to injury. “Hey, Giles?” “What, Spike?” “How’s the Slayer doing?” “Why do you ask?” “I’m just curious.” Spike replied, muting the television with the remote. “Word on the street is, she got it pretty bad.” Giles came into the living room and dropped into his chair, placing the icepack over his eyes. “Word on the street is right. She’s in a wheelchair.” “Broken legs?” The blond asked, studying the man intently. “You could say that.” Giles lifted his head and glanced at the television when a woman shrieked loudly. “She’s in the chair indefinitely because some vampires injured her spine severely. They don’t know if she’ll walk again.” “Bloody hell!” Spike shook his head and picked at his torn jeans. “She’s paralyzed?” “Yes.” “Forever?” He glanced up at Giles. “We don’t know.” Giles moved the icepack and glared at Spike. “Why? Do you want to laugh now?” “The vampires who did it to her are the ones after me too. They were bragging about it to me. They didn’t know they had paralyzed her, but they knew she was hurt. If the Scooby Gang hadn’t shown up when they did, they were going to turn her.” Giles swore softly and put the icepack back over his eyes. “She’s not handling it well.” “I didn’t either when I was crippled.” Spike grinned when a woman on the television was brutally shot and killed. “I wanted to take it out on everyone. I wanted to cripple everyone and make them all feel what I felt. No one knows what it’s like to be confined to a wheelchair until it happens to them. You’re mad and you’re pathetic and you can’t help it.” Giles listened carefully to every word the vampire was saying. Spike had been crippled for months. He had been exactly where Buffy was emotionally and was describing everything the Slayer must be feeling. An idea began to form in the back of his mind. The vampire needed a place to stay. Somewhere safe and private, where the other demons would not find him. Joyce needed someone to look after Buffy when she was working or had to go out of town for her gallery. Spike was harmless, unable to bite anyone and unable to hit anyone. It had potential. It had the possibility of Buffy staking the annoying vampire. She could still use her hands, after all. “Spike, I have a proposition for you.” Giles leaned forward and put his icepack on the coffee table. “Look, I know that this movie is dead sexy and stuff, but I’m not that kind of man. Thanks anyway. I’m flattered.” “Not that kind of proposition, you stupid blighter.” Giles reached toward the television and flipped it off. “Another one. I think we may be able to help one another out.” “Absolutely not!” Buffy shouted, rolling her wheelchair around the couch and toward the kitchen. “I would rather die!” Joyce glanced at Giles, then followed Buffy through the house. “It’s only for a few hours a day. Spike will stay in the basement and only come out to make sure you’re comfortable and have breakfast and lunch. I’ll take care of everything else, honey.” “No!” Buffy bumped the island in the middle of the floor, bounced back, and found herself stuck between the stove and the sink. She swore loudly, yanked her wheels back and almost flipped, causing Giles to jump forward and grab her. “I don’t need your help!” She cried, grabbing a glass from the dish drainer. She rolled to the sink, locked her wheels and leaned forward, struggling to fill her glass. Giles watched her for a few painful seconds and moved forward again. He was pushed aside by Spike, who had been listening from the doorway of the basement. The vampire unlocked Buffy’s wheels, rolled her away and snatched the glass, filling it with cool water. He held it out, waiting patiently for her to take it. Buffy smiled gratefully at the blond, took the glass, then threw it at him, hitting him square in the chest with it. Spike caught the plastic glass before it could hit the floor. He filled it under the tap, smiled down at her and did the same to her, soaking her t-shirt. Astonished, Buffy could only stare down at her soaked body. Spike filled the glass again and sat it on the countertop. “If you get thirsty enough, there it is. If you throw this out, you can just suck on your shirt to keep from dehydrating.” He turned to look at Joyce and nodded at her. “The basement is fine, Joyce. Thank you for the fresh linens and the refrigerator.” He turned his gaze back to Buffy. “I think this is going to work out just fine.” Buffy watched him walk out of the room and down the stairs and shook her head. “You can’t leave me with him! He’ll kill me!” “He can’t harm the living, Buffy.” Giles replied, trying to give her a hand towel to dry her face with. Snatching the towel, she threw it on the floor. “You think that stops him from striking a match and setting the house on fire?” “He needs a place to live as much as you need someone to look after you.” Joyce told her, picking up the towel and wiping at her daughter’s face. “I don’t need anyone!” Buffy cried, wheeling backwards and successfully maneuvering around the island. “You saw what he did to me! He’s only here to make fun of me!” “He’s staying.” Joyce replied, using the ‘mother-tone’ that she had not used since Buffy was injured. “And I won’t hear another word about it. Do you understand?” “Fine.” Buffy spoke through clenched teeth. “But whatever he does to me is on your conscience, Mother!” Giles could only shake his head as she rolled out of the room. A few minutes later, he heard the television come on and he moved to lay a hand on Joyce’s arm. “Perhaps you should explain the financial situation to her. Perhaps if she knew, she would be more cooperative.” “She knows. I told her everything.” Joyce sat at the table and dabbed her eyes with a tissue. "If it’s possible, I think it made her hate me more. For failing to keep her safe, for failing to provide what she needs, for failing to keep her family together.” “She doesn’t hate you.” Giles poured two cups of coffee and sat one in front of her before he pulled out a chair. “Buffy has always been self sufficient, Joyce. She has been stripped of who she was and what she was capable of. Imagine that. Imagine how hard it must be to go from being stronger than five men, to being as needy as a newborn.” Spike poked his head out of the basement suddenly. “Whoa, newborn? Is she wearing those adult diapers? I don’t change diapers.” “No.” Joyce motioned for Spike to join them. As soon as the vampire was seated, she spoke again. “Buffy isn’t completely helpless or reliant on others. She can still use the restroom, but you’ll have to wait outside in case she falls. I had rails installed and she’s got great upper body strength, so she can get around in there and take care of her business.” “Oh. Good, cause I’d hate to have to quit on the first day.” “You should get fired after what you did!” Giles snapped, then lowered his voice. “I better not hear that you are being mean to her.” The vampire pointed at the front of his soaked shirt. “Hey, if she can still dish it, she can still take it. I don’t plan on letting her run over me. If I don’t make that clear right off the bat, she’ll won’t let me help her.” Spike glanced at Giles and then toward the living room. “Great upper body strength, huh? Have you made sure that it’s a stake free zone around here?” Part Two Joyce lifted Buffy from the tub and sat her on the towel that was spread over the toilet. Buffy quickly pulled the edges over her lap and grabbed another towel from the sink, wrapping it over her hair. “I can do it myself.” “I want to help you, Buffy.” Joyce said softly and lifted a third towel, rubbing down her daughter’s feet and legs. That was the first time that Buffy had spoken to her since the Spike fiasco in the kitchen and the silence was beginning to ache. Her hands were tied as far as work and taking care of Buffy was concerned and she had no other options. And it had pushed her even further away. Cringing, Buffy swallowed her pride and allowed her mother to dry her off. She blushed slightly when her mother kneeled before her and lifted her feet, putting them into her panties. Joyce urged her to put her arms around her and pulled her upward, sliding her panties into place. Buffy felt tears of humiliation burning behind her eyelids as Joyce lifted her nightgown, slipped it over her head and then picked her up and moved to put her in her wheelchair. Holding Buffy firmly around the waist, Joyce paused before she sat her in the seat, enjoying the only physical contact Buffy allowed her to have since she had been injured. This was as close to a hug as she was allowed. “When you were little, I had to beg you to take a bath. Your grandma let you watch Jaws and you were convinced that a shark was in the tub.” Buffy had her arms around her mom’s neck and she relaxed a little. “I remember. You used to promise to make me popcorn if I would let you wash my hair.” “If I offered to make you popcorn, would you quit giving me the silent treatment?” “If you tell me that you’re going to get rid of Spike, I’ll-“ “I can’t do that, Buffy.” Placing her in her chair, Joyce stood and ran her hands through her hair. “Do you understand that I have to work to provide for us and keep our insurance? As it stands, the parts that the insurance didn’t pay are through the roof. There is no one else and Spike can’t hurt you.” “Can’t hurt me?” Buffy narrowed her eyes. “He can damn well drive me crazy though! I hate him!” “My hands are tied. I’m out of options.” “Well, one day when you come home to find me hog tied with a million railroad spikes through me, you’ll realize how many other options there were.” Buffy wheeled herself out of the bathroom and down the short hallway into the living room. Spike was folding up the blankets that constituted her bed on the sofa and he turned to look at her. “Your mom said for me to carry you upstairs. I’ll bring you back down when she leaves tomorrow.” “I don’t want to go upstairs.” Buffy replied, grabbing the blankets he had folded and tossing them to the floor. “I want to sleep here.” “Pick those back up.” Spike told her, sitting on the arm of the sofa and crossing his arms. She lifted her chin defiantly and stared at him. His cheekbones caught her attention as he ground his teeth back and forth and she was struck, not for the first time, by how good looking he was. His black t-shirt clung to his chest and she rolled her eyes, willing herself not to go there. Ever since Willow had done the marriage spell, she had found herself ‘going there’ more and more. Especially since she had been injured and had nothing but time on her hands. “You pick them up.” “I didn’t throw them in the floor. And don’t you roll your eyes at me, Slayer!” “Put them back on the couch, Spike. I’m sleeping here.” Spike got to his feet when he noticed Joyce in the doorway. She was listening intently to them and he shook his head slightly, telling her not to intervene. “I’ll tell you what, Slayer. I’m going to go into the kitchen and see about my dinner. If you want to sleep here, you remake the bed. If you don’t, I’ll carry you upstairs.” “My bed was already made here, asshole. Remake it!” Buffy cried, grabbing a knickknack off the table. She drew it back to toss at him, but he caught her wrist and twisted, forcing her to drop it. “You bastard!” “Let’s get something clear right now. You don’t give me orders. You don’t throw things at me and you don’t treat me like you do the other people around you because I’m not going to take it like they do. I’m going to give as good as I get, Buffy.” “My mom won’t allow you to mistreat me.” “Your mom won’t allow you to mistreat Spike either.” Joyce replied, coming into the room all the way. “This has to work out, Buffy. It has to.” Spike took Joyce’s elbow and led her toward the kitchen. “Don’t worry, Joyce. It’s going to work out. I’ve been putting up with her venom for a while now. I’m immune.” “We’ll see about that!” Buffy shouted. She rolled toward the sheets on the coffee table and pushed the table out of the way. Rolling back and forth in front of the sofa, she smoothed the sheets in place and then retrieved the blankets. Once her makeshift bed was back in order, she pulled herself out of the chair and struggled to get her legs up onto the couch. After several attempts, she finally won the war and flopped back, totally out of breath. Spike watched from the doorway and applauded noisily. He walked into the room and leaned over the back of the couch, smiling down at her. “Now, was it worth it? You went to all that trouble to keep me from taking you up the stairs for nothing. You didn’t hurt me at all and all you succeeded in proving is that you can do more for yourself than I thought.” “Piss off.” Buffy growled, rolling away from him. She almost rolled off the sofa and he caught her, pulling her back in place with one arm. “Get off me.” “Joyce wants to know if you want a snack.” “I want you to go to hell.” “Sorry, ducks. Free cable television, warm shelter, a nice lady who can actually carry on a conversation and you to keep me entertained. I think I’ ll stay here. Hell can wait.” Buffy glared at him for a few long seconds, then turned toward the television. The remote control was lying on the coffee table, quite a few feet away. “Get me the remote, Spike.” “What was that?” He had leaned over the couch again and was watching her closely. “Did you want to –ask- me to do something for you?” “I said get me the remote.” Buffy sighed and waved toward it. “It’s all the way over there.” “And over there is where it will stay unless you rephrase.” He smiled sweetly when she glared up at him. “You decide.” “Spike, Roswell is going to be on in three minutes!” “So?” Buffy swallowed her pride and glanced back at the remote. “Will you please get the remote control and give it to me?” Spike nodded and made his way around the sofa. He grabbed the remote and handed it to her. “God forbid you should miss Max and Liz acting out the Buffy and Angel torment hour.” “Hey!” Buffy growled, turning on the television. “We did not brood and mope all over the place. And we didn’t fight it and whine so much.” “Yeah, you keep believing that.” Spike raised his eyebrows and flopped into the recliner near the couch, throwing an arm over his eyes dramatically. In a high pitched voice, he wailed, “Oh, Angel, you are so dashing in your leather and the envy of every other hormonal teen girl in the Bronze and you ’re mine, mine, mine.” Then he sat up and exhaled, looking pained. “Oh, Buffy, my heart, my soul, my loins ache for you, but no, we have to fight it. We can’t give in.” He leaned back again and whimpered, “But, but, Angel, my forbidden fruit, my demon boytoy, who will I shag now?” Sitting up, he looked pained again. “Please, Buffy, don’t mention that to me. Don’t remind me of what I can’t do. Remain celibate, Buffy. If nothing else, let our one night teach you that sex is evil and bad. And it messes up your hair.” Spike stood and bowed, “Ta-da.” Buffy watched him for a second, too stunned to say a word. When he fell back into the chair and stared at the television, she cleared her throat. “What the hell are you doing?” “The cable isn’t working in the basement yet.” He shrugged. “Oh, wonderful. I have to put up with you at night now too?” “Sod off, it’s starting.” Spike waved his hand at her, silencing her, and leaned his head back. Buffy frowned, but focused on the television instead of him. Instead of his blond hair, his smooth skin and piercing blue eyes. No matter how many comments he made or how many opinions he had about where the show was heading, she did not reply. By the time the show ended, she had no clue what had happened, but she did know that Spike was going to be an interesting installment in the house. Maybe it was the medication, maybe it was the fact that he was so annoying or maybe it was the fact that he stood up to her without a moment’s hesitation. Whatever it was had her attention. And she hated it. Cool air blasted her in the face and Buffy propped herself on one elbow, glancing over the arm of the sofa in time to see her mother close the front door behind her. She blinked several times, wiping the sleep from her eyes, and looked at the clock. It was after eight. Five months ago, she would have been walking to her first class of the day at UC-Sunnydale. Willow would be beside her, probably quizzing her on the content for a test and Buffy would have been half listening and half contemplating her hair and wardrobe. Five months ago, she would have gotten up on her own, walked to the bathroom and taken care of her business. Now she had to roll there. Reaching for her chair, she pulled it as close as she could, locked the wheels and crawled up into it. Her legs made a disgusting dragging sound and Buffy squeezed her eyes closed, unable to look back at them dangling behind her. After several attempts, and almost tipping her chair over, she made it in and rolled down the hallway. Her mother had safety rails installed in the bathroom and with her extra strength, Buffy had no trouble hefting herself out of the chair. She used the restroom quickly, then moved back to her chair. As she fumbled for her toothbrush and cup of water, she stared at her reflection. Her hair needed to be bleached again. There were dark roots at least two inches long and she could use a trim. Her features were sunken and her eyes appeared to bulge, contrasted against the pale skin and dark bags that had become commonplace on her face. She brushed her teeth and studied her reflection again. Her shirt was pulled to one side, twisted from her attempts to get into her chair and her collarbone protruded grotesquely, threatening to break through her thin layer of skin. Glancing downward, she lifted the front of her shirt and stared at her stomach. It shocked her to see her ribs so visible and her stomach curving inward. It had been five months since she had seen herself nude or really looked at herself in a mirror. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed water on the mirror, momentarily blurring her image and giving her a chance to escape without seeing it again. She rolled back down the hallway and into the kitchen. Her mother had moved most of the snack food to the lower cabinets and Buffy opened and closed several, looking for pop tarts. She found an empty box and tossed it across the room and into the trash, when Spike cleared his throat behind her. “You’re supposed to wake me up.” He said, walking into the kitchen. His hair was sticking out everywhere, he had no shoes on and he pulled a light blue T-shirt over his naked chest as she watched. It matched his boxer shorts, which depicted beach scenes. “Nice ensemble.” Buffy said, not bothering to stifle her giggle. Spike ignored her and pushed her out of the way. “What do you want. Eggs? Toast? I can probably even make an omelet.” “Pop tarts are fine.” Buffy replied, wheeling around to watch him sort through the cabinets. She studied his back, drinking in the cool muscular lines that she had never been able to see under his coat. Her gaze lowered, roaming the curve of his backside and then the toned muscles of his legs. When they had made out, under the marriage spell that neither spoke of, she had been shocked to feel how hard his body was. Now, she was seeing it for the first time and it was causing her to replay that night in her head. He was a really good kisser. Really good. “Slayer?” Spike asked for the third time. “What the hell are you looking at?” “Oh, uh, your boxers. I was wondering why a vampire would wear underwear with beachballs, sandcastles and a big yellow sun.” She spoke rapidly, blushing a little. She couldn’t possibly tell him that she was admiring his body. “Oh, that’s right, you aren’t a vampire anymore.” “I stole them from Giles and yes I am a vampire. It’s probably a good thing you’re no longer a slayer, right? I might be in trouble if you were.” Spike shrugged when she didn’t reply and grabbed a box of oatmeal from the pantry. “You like this, yes?” “No, not really.” “Today you do. This can’t be that hard.” Buffy sighed and rolled away, making her way to the living room again. She busied herself with flipping through the TV Guide and listening to the sounds coming from the kitchen. Pots and pans banged, his bare feet slapped back and forth on the linoleum and it was accentuated by a swear word every few minutes, usually followed by ‘Slayer’ or her name. She grinned, wondering how this had become her life and how she could find it funny that a vampire was cursing her name. The smell of something burning assaulted her senses and she frowned. The smoke detector went off suddenly and she jumped, tossing the TV Guide onto the sofa. She rolled herself into the kitchen quickly and stared at the smoke boiling from the pan on the stove. Trying not to giggle, Buffy watched Spike fan the smoke out of the way and climb into a chair to yank the battery out of the smoke detector. She lost the battle and snorted when his boxer shorts fell low, exposing half of his ass. “Laugh not, Slayer.” Spike ignored his boxers as he stepped off the chair and lifted the pot off the burner of the stove. He lifted the lid, slammed it back on quickly and shuddered. “You’re the one eating it, not me.” Still chuckling, Buffy shook her head. “Even a Slayer can’t digest rocks. What did you do to it?” “I cooked it.” Spike picked up the box of oatmeal and shook it. “This is instant, right?” “Did you add enough water?” Buffy lifted the lid herself and craned her neck to peek over the rim. As soon as she did, she slammed it back on tightly. “Why is it black?” “I was supposed to use water?” He grinned sheepishly. “I thought since you like chocolate milk so much, you’d like the flavor.” Buffy wrinkled her nose and shook her head in disbelief. “You boiled oatmeal in chocolate MILK?” And how did he know she loved chocolate milk? “What do I know? My food usually comes in O positive! Or it used to, back in the day.” Spike glanced at Buffy pointedly. “It burned anyway, so now what?” “I’m not hungry.” Buffy replied, clutching her wheels and propelling herself forward. Despite how cute he was in his morning wear, he was still an asshole. “Not so fast.” He caught her chair and blocked her, not letting her through the door. “I have a job to do here. I intend to do it well. Now, you’re supposed to eat twice a day and stay out of trouble until your mom gets home. You’re going to do just that.” “You can’t make me do a damn thing.” Buffy tried to roll past him, but he gripped the chair tighter and locked the wheels. She struggled, trying to push him away, but he pinned her wrists to the arms of the chair. “Let me go!” With all of her might, she tried to will her legs to kick him, to lash out in any way possible, but they didn’t comply. Spike waited until she stopped struggling and shook his head. “See there? If you would eat a decent meal every now and then, you might have a little strength. As it is, you couldn’t fight off a newborn baby.” “I hate you.” She growled through clenched teeth. He winked at her. “And you can’t do a thing about it.” Using every ounce of her strength, she wrenched an arm free and let her fist fly. He caught it right before it connected with his jaw and held it firm. She shrieked again, yanking on her arm and said, “You just wait until I tell my mother about this.” “About what? Me trying to feed your bony ass? Or about how you wouldn’t cooperate with a damn thing?” Buffy pulled her arm loose and shoved him away, barely causing him to move an inch. “I hate you!” She screamed again, her voice breaking this time. “I hate you so much it kills me.” Spike stood and stared down at her. “No. What’s killing you is the fact that you can’t walk. Now, roll on out of here and let me clean up this mess.” “I hope the blind falls off the window and you fry.” She rolled away fast so he wouldn’t see the hot tears that were blinding her. Spike waited until she was out of earshot and glanced at the dirty pans on the stove. “Fry? Hmm. Maybe that’s easier than boiling.” Buffy’s stomach growled loudly and she clenched her jaw, hoping that Spike had not heard it. It was almost four in the afternoon and she had not eaten or had anything to drink for the entire day. A glass of cola sat on the coffee table; condensation making a million beads of water roll off the sides. She eyed it for several seconds, then looked at the sandwich that was beside it on a plate. He had given her eggs and toast that morning after the oatmeal fiasco and had taken it away, untouched, at noon. He replaced it with a ham and cheese sandwich at one-thirty, then flopped into the recliner beside the sofa and stayed there, staring at her intently. “Why don’t you watch television instead of me?” Buffy asked finally, tired of having to concentrate on the carpet or the walls to keep from looking at him. The remote control was on the table beside his chair and she wasn’t itching to get close enough to him to retrieve it. “Because, watching you wallow in self pity and starve is far more interesting to me than what’s on the telly at this time of day.” He leaned forward and pushed the plate of food toward her. “And you’re more fun to listen to, with the stomach noises and all, but I’m pretty tired of hearing it now, so why don’t you eat?” Her stomach rumbled again and she looked away, glancing at the clock on the wall. Her mother wouldn’t be home for at least another hour. “I would rather faint from dehydration than touch anything you make for me.” “Is that right?” Spike leaned back in the chair and shrugged. “Fine. Could you hurry and faint though? You might fall out of your chair and I could use a good belly laugh at your expense.” Buffy bit her lip and backed her chair up, rolling it around the sofa and out the door. She rolled into the bathroom, pulled herself up on one of the rails and moved to sit on the toilet. As she turned, she saw him leaning against the hallway wall, watching her closely, and she shoved her chair back through the door and slammed it. For several seconds, she didn’t move, and then she pulled herself up beside the sink and turned the water on. It was hard to support her weight with one arm, but she was finally able to wrap one arm behind the faucet and bring handfuls of water to her mouth. Spike pushed her chair, which had toppled onto its side, toward the door and knocked lightly. “Your chair is right here when you’re finished, okay?” “Go away.” Buffy called, letting herself drop down to the floor and scooting back to lean against the tub. “I’m not coming out until my mother gets home.” “That could be a while. She said she had a lot to do today.” Spike replied and moved around to sit in her chair, ready to wait her out. The minute he sat down, he was taken back to a place that he didn’t want to go to. The minute he felt the soft seat mold around him, felt the leg supports behind his calves and laid his hands on the wheels, he was repulsed. He stood quickly and ran his hand over his face. “Come on out now, Slayer. Your mom told me not to let you sit in your chair all day." “I’m not in my chair, freak.” “If I have to take the hinges off of the door, I will.” Spike ran a hand over the hinges and nodded. “It wouldn’t be hard. It would only take me a couple of minutes.” “You wouldn’t dare.” Buffy snapped. “I am a woman and I need privacy and if you just broke in here-,” She heard him click something that sounded like a pocket knife, then heard loud squeaking as he began to work the bottom hinge loose. “Spike!” “Just a minute, Slayer, and you can talk to my face.” “Just turn the fucking door knob.” She shouted, throwing her hands in the air. She waited until he swung the door open and then she shook her head. “You’re not the sharpest tool in the shed, are you?” “Your mouth is getting too big for your muzzle.” Spike told her, and leaned to pick her up. “Why are you on the floor?” “If ignorance is bliss, you must be orgasmic.” Buffy shook her head and pushed his hand away. “Where else should I be? Standing in the shower? Standing at the sink? I’m pretty limited in options, just in case you failed to notice.” “I didn’t fail to notice. I’ve actually been there, in case you failed to remember.” Confusion wrinkled her forehead and then Buffy gasped. “I put you in a wheelchair.” “I was there.” “That’s why you took this job! Poetic justice for you to get to see me in the same boat!” “No, I took this job because I needed a safe place to stay and I’m willing to put up with your ass to save mine.” “It’s that bad, huh?” Buffy made eye contact and held it. “What? Are you hiding out from demons? Some big bad monster want you for his plaything? You owe money to someone? Or wait, maybe the demon world finally realizes what a liability you are and they want to nuke you. Am I getting warm?” “It’s vampires.” Spike told her, rubbing his palms up and down his thighs. “And I don’t want to talk about it.” “You’re running from vampires? That’s kind of pathetic.” Buffy smiled cruelly at him. “You’d think you could take on your own kind. Wimp.” Spike cupped her jaw and leaned down, a few inches from her face. “You’d think you could take on my kind. You are the Slayer after all.” He watched her face cloud and continued. “Those vampires who did this to you are the same ones after me. If you couldn’t take them in your peak, then what in the hell makes you think I can take them with the way I am?” “Why don’t you just leave town?” Buffy shoved his hand off her face and pulled herself to one side, trying to get away from him. “And do what, Slayer? I can’t just take food when I need it anymore. I can’t bite anything. I have to buy my dinner and to do that, I need money. And I’m not leaving this town until those idiotic soldier boys fix my head.” Spike gripped her under the arms and pulled her upright, holding her in front of his face as he stood. “The chance of me surviving out there the way I am is zero. I can still fight a demon, hell so can you, but I’m not like them anymore and they want to make me pay for that.” Buffy said nothing. He stared at her for a few more seconds, then stalked with her to her chair and put her down. She watched him lean against the doorjamb and for the first time in months, she felt sorry for someone other than herself. He was just as crippled as she was. The chip in his head, or wherever it was, had left him just as broken as the vampires had left her. Sure, he could walk, but the thing that set him apart, the thing that made him a vampire, had been stripped away. Just like the thing that made her a Slayer had been stripped away. For the first time in her life, she relied on others for everything. She was dependent on –him- during the day and he was dependent on the safety of her home. She cleared her throat and started to roll away, then paused and glanced back at him. “People shouldn’t have to be in a wheelchair.” “Is that your way of apologizing for putting me in one?” “No.” Buffy shook her head and clutched her wheels tighter, hating him for making her feel anything at all. “I said people. You aren’t a person. You’re a thing and you’re a broken thing.” “You should talk.” Spike brushed past her. “I’ll be in the basement if you should decide you need something.” Buffy watched him go, hating him for walking, hating him for standing up to her and hating him for saying what no one else would say to her. And hating herself for respecting that he could do that. And would. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Tara asked, watching as Willow began to light candles. “I mean, the human spirit isn’t really something you want to mess with, you know?” “Buffy has no spirit. You said yourself that she’s hollow inside.” Willow lit the final candle and blew out the match. Motioning Tara to sit down across from her, she took a deep breath. “It has to work.” “We’ve been doing it for three days and it hasn’t worked yet.” “We didn’t have all the ingredients, that’s all.” Tara sighed and took the hand that Willow held out. “I just think that it’s wiser to let her heart and soul come to terms with her body’s limitations on its own. You can’t manufacture closure and magick can’t resolve feelings, Willow. Not really.” “Tara, we’re just opening her up to her unresolved feelings and letting her admit it to herself. That’s it. She’s in denial about her disability and she ’s not willing to accept that she needs help. We’re just going to open her mind to all the possibilities. It’s going to be okay.” Pulling several petals from a wilting rose, Willow dropped them into a bowl and used the thorny stem to stir the concoction she had mixed. “Are you ready?” Nodding, Tara dropped a strand of Buffy’s hair into the potion. “Wilting rose and candlelight, open up her mind tonight, make her recognize her fear and let her strength begin right here.” Willow used a dropper to add vanilla into the mixture and spoke softly. “I offer the sweetness of vanilla and rose, to call upon the one who knows, shine a light into the dark and let the truth speak to her heart.” “Willow!” Tara cried, leaping to her feet. She grabbed a book off the bed and flipped the pages. “You aren’t supposed to speak to her heart! You were supposed to shine the light into the dark and let it show her where to start.” “Oh no.” The redhead took the book and stared at the spell. “What do you think will happen?” “Nothing.” Tara said quickly, closing the book. “You did it wrong so nothing should happen, but-.” “But?” “Well, we asked for her to recognize her fear. Those are matters of the mind. When you get her heart involved, it can confuse it. Confuse the magick.” “Confuse it how?” “Well, if she wants to care about someone again, and stop pushing them away, and is scared of that, it will be less scary now. We’ve given her strength to admit her pain and the feelings in her heart. At least to herself.” “Tara?” “Yeah.” “The rose isn’t wilted anymore.” Willow held it up what had been the dying flower, turning the stem in her fingers to show the deep crimson petals on the full bloom. “Oh, boy.” Tara took the rose and sniffed. “It smells like vanilla.” “Buffy’s favorite scent.” Willow bit her bottom lip and glanced at the photo of Buffy on her nightstand. “Next time I want to do magick, please turn me into a toad.” “You got it.” Part Three Joyce half expected to find a pile of cinder, smoke and ash when she pulled into her driveway. She breathed a sigh of relief to see that her house was still standing and stepped from the car carrying two bags. One was full of Chinese take-out, Buffy’s favorite, and the other was full of plasma for Spike. Giles had taken it upon himself to secure Spike’s blood, ordering it from out of town. He had explained how important it was not to leave any sort of trail to Spike back to her door. If the vampires who were looking for him found out that she was having blood delivered from one of the butchers in town, they could piece it together. This way, no one would find out at all. She balanced her bags and opened the front door, nervously glancing around the foyer as she stepped inside. After Buffy had mentioned railroad spikes and mutilation to her, she had been compelled to speak to Spike about his previous hobbies. She had regretted it immediately, since he held nothing back. Joyce was happy that she didn’t see her daughter’s body parts dangling from anything and cleared her throat. “Buffy?” “In the living room.” Buffy called. Joyce began to walk around the corner and met Spike coming out of the kitchen. “Oh, Spike, hello. I brought home Chinese food.” “Mmm.” Spike grinned at her and took the bags. “Did you happen to bring me home the cook?” The woman paled and her eyes widened, causing Spike chuckle loudly. “Relax, Joyce, I was kidding.” Joyce smiled, still looking perplexed, and walked further into the living room to see Buffy. She noticed the uneaten food immediately and frowned. “Have you eaten today?” “No.” Buffy replied and sat up further on the couch. “I haven’t eaten at all and I haven’t had anything to drink either. And that, MONSTER, tried to take the hinges off the bathroom door when I was trying to have privacy.” Joyce glanced up at Spike. “For future reference, the door doesn’t lock.” “The door doesn’t lock? That’s all you can say?” Buffy shouted, pushing herself into a complete sitting position. “Mother, he came into the bathroom not knowing if I was half naked or using the restroom or anything else.” Spike shifted uncomfortably and clutched the bags tighter. The little bitch was really going to try to get him fired. He shook his head and spoke up quickly. “She told me she was going to stay in there until you got home and I didn’t know how long that would be.” “Spike, why don’t you take those bags into the kitchen for me?” Joyce asked, not taking her eyes off Buffy. She waited until the vampire had left the room and then cleared her throat. “I spoke with our insurance company today. Given our situation, they would be willing to pay for care for you.” “Good. Fire Spike.” Buffy flopped back and crossed her arms. “I refuse to stay with him.” “Buffy, the only way they will pay is if I have you institutionalized. I can do that because I can’t physically take care of you like you need or afford home care. It’s an option.” “You want to put me in some home now? Some sterile facility with horny orderlies and mean nurses who let you sit in your own piss for days?” Reaching for her chair, Buffy’s voice rose. “I told you I can take care of myself! I don’t need anyone.” She forgot to lock her wheels and when she put her weight on the chair to pull herself into it, it tipped to one side, causing her to fall off the edge of the couch. Joyce grabbed her shoulders before she fell completely and pulled her upright, shaking her angrily. “No, I don’t want to put you in a home, but I want you to be safe, Buffy. I want you to have someone here who can make sure that you are getting enough to eat and haven’t fallen. Either you help me out here or--.” “You don’t want me here. I know that now more than ever.” Buffy yanked her arms loose and fumbled to pull her chair upright. “Go ahead, put me away. Then you can forget me just like dad did! You can’t take care of me, right? That’s your reason? Well guess what? You never could.” Buffy managed to get herself into her chair, knocking over the coffee table in the process. She rolled toward the dining room and her voice rose. “You never could take care of me. You never stopped to ask me why I was bruised and bloody half the time. You never asked me why my clothes were always torn and why I had bags under my eyes. You never noticed the pain that I was in, inside and out, and when you finally did, you kicked me out! Go ahead, do it again!” “Buffy!” Joyce had risen to her feet and was walking toward her daughter with her hands out, as if to pull her into her arms. “You can’t believe that. I never wanted you to leave, honey. Never.” There was a knock at the door and Buffy rolled her eyes. “I don’t care what you do with me. Put me away, leave me with Spike, or toss me out again. I just don’t care.” She rolled away, leaving Joyce standing with tears streaming down her face. Spike, who had listened from the kitchen doorway, followed her into the makeshift office that her mother used in the back of the house. Buffy realized he was behind her and stopped rolling. “What do you want?” “I want to know why you’re such an ass, but wait, I’ve always wanted to know that. So that’s not new.” He stepped into the room and flipped on a lamp that was on one end of a computer desk. “What I want to know is when you’re going to stop thinking with legs that don’t work and start thinking with your head.” “I don’t want to hear this.” Buffy closed her eyes and pressed her fingers over them, begging her emotions not to betray her and make her sob. “You don ’t know anything about it.” “Yes, I think I do.” Spike leaned against the desk and crossed his arms. For several seconds, he collected his thoughts, and then he spoke again. “I sat in your chair today when you were in the bathroom and I couldn’t take it. The minute I sat down, I remembered vividly what it felt like to be stuck there. I remembered how I hated everyone around me who could walk. I remembered how I hated myself for not being strong enough to get up and most of all I remembered how it felt to feel like you weren’t good enough. Weren’ t worthy enough to be alive anymore.” “You should feel like that all the time.” Buffy snapped angrily. “After all, you are a freak, just like me.” “And your friends?” Spike didn’t flinch and kept talking instead. “You’re pushing them all away to make it easier for them to leave you. You’re afraid that they’re going to run out on you and you can’t catch up.” Spike saw the tears begin to roll down her cheeks and walked into the kitchen, grabbing a role of paper towels. When he went back into the room, Buffy was sobbing, her breath hitching in the back of her throat. He ripped one of the towels loose and handed it to her, kneeling beside her chair. “I don’t like you and you don’t like me, but this is the hand that we’ve been dealt. Now, you can accept that and get over it or you can pack up your things and go to a hospital with horny orderlies and if you think my cooking is bad-.” “What do you know about hospitals?” Buffy blew her nose loudly and mopped at her eyes with her sleeve. Spike glanced down at the floor, wondering if he should tell her the truth. She was the type of person who would most likely laugh at him and call him names. Deciding to tell her just enough, he shrugged and said, “Well, you know, I was a mortal once and one thing you can guarantee is the fact that hospital food is going to suck, no matter how much time passes.” “I don’t want to have to go away.” Buffy’s voice broke again and her chin quivered. “I’ve lost everything. I don’t want to lose my home too.” Spike watched her, hating the fact that he was going to have to hug her. She was staring at him like she expected it and if he wanted to keep the ‘job’, he would have to make sure she stayed there instead of some facility. If there was going to be a truce, he would wave the white flag, but this would not become a habit. Absolutely not. Shifting closer to her, he patted her on the shoulder uncomfortably, then slid his hand around her back. He felt her lean her head against his chest and gritted his teeth. This was not happening. Buffy sniffled against him and pushed him away. Spike was pulled from his thoughts and looked up at her, still kneeling beside her chair. “So, what’s it gonna be, Slayer.” “I hate this.” She said softly, staring at the tissue in her hand. There was a big difference between being trapped with a demon and being trapped inside yourself and Buffy was facing both. Hate was putting it mildly. “I hate it too.” Spike looked at her distastefully. “Being cooped up here with you all day and night isn’t exactly my idea of a good time, but I can just about guarantee you that it’s a lot better than the other alternatives that either of us have.” “Buffy?” Willow suddenly poked her head around the doorway and gave her a smile. Her features fell immediately when she saw the tears on her friend’s face and she stepped into the room. With her purse, she slapped Spike over the head and pointed at Buffy with her free hand. “What the hell did you do to her?” Spike caught her purse and yanked it out of her grasp. “I didn’t do a damned thing, Red.” “It’s okay, Willow.” Buffy dried her face and nodded at her. “It’s fine. What’s up?” Willow glared at Spike, causing him to throw his hands in the air and walk out, then she pulled a chair up beside Buffy. “How are you feeling?” “You came here to ask me that? You could have just called. It’s dark out and without a Slayer in town-.” “Right, I know.” Willow exhaled and ran a hand through her hair, wondering how to broach the topic of another possibly spell gone awry. “So, uhm, do you feel any better about, you know, what happened?” Buffy stared at her blankly and Willow fidgeted in her seat. “Are you happier or anything?” “Do I look happy at all to you?” Buffy held up the tissue in her hand and pointed at her legs. “Do I look jovial in the least?” “Well, no, but I was just curious.” “And you came here to ask me that?” “And to see you.” Buffy narrowed her eyes. “What did you do?” “Do? Me?” Willow felt every bit of the nerve she had built up start to diminish. “I didn’t do a thing. Mmm mmm, no way. Nothing at all.” Spike stepped into the room and put his hands on his hips. “Are you doing some kind of magickal mojo on her, Witch?” “Spike, quit eavesdropping!” Willow got to her feet and pushed him out of the room, closing the door behind him. She took a deep breath and went to her seat again. “Buffy, let’s just say, hypothetically, that if you do start to feel a wiggins, don’t ignore it. Let me know.” “You did do a spell!” Buffy tossed her tissue angrily and rolled her chair as far away from Willow as she could. “You –would- use magick to deal with me. You can’t accept me this way so you have to try to change me.” Willow’s face flushed red. “You would think that. You have absolutely no faith in me as your friend at all. I want to help you, Buffy, but I’m not going to let you keep doing this to me. You can’t keep making me feel bad for wanting to help you.” “Then go. It’s simple.” Buffy turned toward the door. “Spike!” The door opened immediately and she shoved the blanket off her legs. “I want to go to my room now. Please?” Spike nodded and brushed past Willow, lifting the Slayer from her seat. He paused before he got out the door and glanced back at Willow. “You can’t fix everything. Some people are better off with friends instead of sorcerers.” Buffy said nothing as Spike carried her back through the house, past her mother and Tara, who watched them as they made their way up the stairs. She turned the knob on her door and flipped the lightswitch. She noticed that Spike was staring around her room and pointed toward her bed. “Just put me on the bed.” Spike nodded and sat her on the edge of her bed. “Do you want me to bring up your chair?” “No. Just leave me alone, okay?” “How about your dinner?” “Please. Leave. Me. Alone.” Spike turned on the heel of his boot and left the room, leaving her door open. Walking down the stairs, he paused at the bottom of the stairs long enough to watch Willow and Tara leave, then glanced at Joyce. “She wants to be left alone.” “She needs to eat.” “She needs to learn that she gets what she asks for.” Spike walked around her, into the kitchen, then turned and came back. “And just for the record, telling her that you were going to have her committed was a really low blow.” “I-I-.” Spike held up a hand and interrupted. “No. There was no excuse for that. She needs to know that people are not going to take the easy road out of her life, Joyce. No matter how intolerable she is, you have to tolerate her and be there.” He took a deep, unneeded breath and nodded toward the kitchen. “Dinner?” Joyce followed him into the kitchen, pondering what he had said. “I was only trying to scare her into complying.” “Scare tactics don’t work. Especially on a Slayer.” Spike rammed a knife through the tip of his blood bag and emptied the contents into a mug. Joyce regarded him for several seconds. When she spoke again, her tone was thoughtful and her eyes had misted over. “You know, Spike, granted, I haven’ t been around many vampires or demons for that matter, but speaking with you like this, I wonder why there needs to be a Slayer.” Joyce opened the cartons of Chinese food and dipped several spoonfuls onto a plate. “Because we’re evil.” Spike stuck his cup into the microwave and turned to face her, shrugging indifferently. “That’s how it works.” “Well, I think there is an exception to every rule. You’re the exception.” Joyce lifted her plate and nodded toward her office. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go over some paperwork.” “Of course.” Spike waited until she was securely confined in her office and pulled a plate from the cabinet. He filled it with contents from every container and grabbed a glass of juice from the refrigerator before he made his way up the stairs. The door was open and he paused, staring in. She seemed to be asleep, lying on her back with her arms tossed over her head. She was still on the foot of the bed and her legs dangled over the side. He put the plate on top of her dresser and gently tugged the cover down on her bed. Lifting her slowly, he positioned her in the bed and pulled the cover up, then put the plate and drink beside her bed so she could reach it. He decided to bring her chair up and left the room. Joyce sidetracked him, asking him to retrieve a box of paperwork from the basement, and when he finally found the time to take her chair, the plate of food he had left was empty and Buffy was snoring. He pushed her chair close to her bed, locked the wheels and lifted the dirty dishes. Shaking his head, he growled low in his throat, cursing himself for keeping a slayer, of all things, alive. Joyce cleared her throat behind him and he walked toward her. She pointed at the plates. “What happened to her getting what she asked for? I didn’t hear her ask.” Spike chuckled. “There’s an exception to every rule, just like you said.”

Chapter #2 - 2

Part Four Spike awoke to the smell of coffee percolating and glanced at the small windows in one corner of the basement. The sun was just rising, casting shades of orange and gold, and he was tempted to peek out, then thought better of it. No use longing for a glimpse of something he would never get to fully enjoy again. Damn the Slayer for taking the Gem of Amara, he thought as he grabbed his bag, a tattered duffel with small holes all over it, and dug through for a fresh shirt and jeans. He frowned when he realized that he had nothing left in the bag, and glanced at the washer and dryer in one corner of the room. With a sigh, he gathered the few articles of clothing he owned and tossed them into the washer, setting the temperature on hot so it would get all the grime out. His favorite black jeans were newly torn at the knees and his button down shirt was now buttonless, thanks to the last run in with those vampires who were hellbent on making him a minion. He had stolen one pair of pants from Xander and one from Giles, but he had tossed the Xander's when he realized that they were ‘homeboy’ style, with a crotch that hung halfway to his ankles. And the ones that he had taken from Giles were the ones he had worn yesterday. He heard Joyce walking around in the kitchen and glanced down at his attire. The beach scene boxers that Buffy had made fun of made his legs look even whiter, and the light blue T-shirt was extremely baggy over his thin body. It would probably be rude to walk around Joyce this way, but he shrugged and walked up the stairs, figuring he was bad and rude and he may as well make that clear from the start. Joyce was standing in her robe, stirring a cup of coffee and staring at the back door, almost as if she was contemplating walking out of it and not coming back. She heard Spike step in behind her and quickly dried the tears on her face before she turned to face him. “Good morning, Spike. I hope I didn’t wake you.” Spike studied her intently, taking in the bags under her eyes and the tear tracks on her cheeks and shook his head. “You did, but that’s good. If she’s going to start staying upstairs, I need to get up when you do so I can hear her better.” “I could buy one of those monitor things.” Joyce grabbed another mug from the cabinet and handed it to him. “Should I do that?” “I don’t think so.” Spike shook his head and glanced at the box of hot chocolate on the counter. Deciding to forego blood for the morning, he filled his cup with water and stuck it in the microwave. “I think you should keep everything as normal as possible. If you start making a fuss then she’ ll fuss back. Don’t give her a reason.” “She woke up last night and called me to come to her room. She didn’t even mention the argument we’d had. She only wanted me to help her into the bathroom.” “I noticed that there are no rails in that bathroom.” Spike took his cup from the microwave and dumped a packet of cocoa in it. “Oh, I have them, but Giles has been too busy working to install them. And to be honest, I didn’t expect her to go back upstairs.” “I’ll get them put up today.” Spike took a sip of his drink and watched her closely. “She probably didn’t mean everything she said to you last night.” Joyce nodded and put her cup in the sink. “She did mean it. And she was mostly right.” Spike raised his eyebrow. “You want to put her away? You view her as a burden?" “Not about that. She was right about the fact that I should have figured out a long time ago what was happening in her life. I haven’t been a good mother.” “Not every mother has a Slayer for a kid. There really wasn’t a parenting handbook for that.” Joyce blushed and chuckled a little. “You found my box of parenting books in the basement.” “Yes, and no offense, but you really should get better reading material around here.” Spike finished his cocoa and put his empty mug beside Joyce’s in the sink. “Look, you have to deal with her injury the same way you dealt with her being a Slayer.” “Get drunk and kick her out?” “You did that?” Spike stared at her in shock when she nodded. “You kicked her out after her friends had been injured, her psycho-lover had taken her watcher hostage and she was being hunted by the cops?” “I told you, I’m a bad mother.” For once, Spike was speechless. He crossed his arms and watched as Joyce left the room to get ready for work. He had been with Buffy when she told her mother about being a Slayer. Of course, he had laughed at the time. Laughed at the woman’s reaction, enjoyed Buffy’s discomfort and took pleasure in the fact that the Slayer’s entire world had fallen apart because of one night with Angel. But he wasn’t laughing now. Buffy shifted uncomfortably against her sagging pillows and rolled her upper body, snuggling deeper into the bed. Her mother’s alarm clock had jarred her from slumber a half hour before and she had been unable to doze again. Not that she wanted to fall back into her dreams at all. For what felt like the entire night, she'd dreamed about the vampires that had injured her. She dreamed about being surrounded, fighting for her life, trying to run away, and then being slammed against one of the headstones. In some of the dreams she cried and screamed, trying to tell herself that she could outrun it, outrun the crippling blow, but the outcome was always the same. Her lying on the ground, the world slipping in and out of darkness, and a voice calling from the sidelines just as fangs pierced her flesh. The voice was familiar, but she couldn’t place it. It could have been Xander, since he was the one who had reached her first, but she wasn’t sure. Fragments of a conversation clung to her subconscious and she squeezed her eyes closed, trying to make sense of the jumbled words she was recalling. She could remember someone saying her name and then voices rising in anger, but she had no idea what it was about. And if it had been Xander, then why was he having an argument with the vampires and how had he won? She would have to call him and ask him how he had come to find her and what he had said to stop the vampires. She made a mental note and sighed, trying to force herself to sleep again. The more she slept, the less time she would have to spend thinking about her lack of a future. She was in a partial sleep state when Joyce walked into her room and stopped beside her bed. Buffy could feel her staring and contemplated letting her know she was awake, but she remained still. Her mother brushed her hair away from her forehead and kissed her temple. “I’m sorry, Buffy.” Several minutes passed, punctuated by the sound of Joyce’s heels on the stairs, her muffled good-byes to Spike and the sound of her car starting before Buffy replied. “I’m sorry too, Mom.” “You should probably tell her, not me,” Spike spoke up from her doorway. Buffy rolled quickly, causing a sharp pain to shoot up her spine. “Ow. You shouldn’t do that, you know? Eavesdropping is wrong.” “So is talking to yourself.” Spike shrugged, then regarded the look on her face. “You still have pain?” “You’re still here, aren’t you?” Buffy asked through clenched teeth. She waited for the ache to dull and swallowed hard when it did. “And yes, I still have pain sometimes.” “Why?” “I’m guessing because my back was hurt, Spike.” She pushed herself up and rolled her shoulders, trying to stretch out the muscles that were throbbing. “It happened so long ago, and with you being a Slayer and all, it shouldn’t still bother you. Have they checked you out for muscle and nerve damage? Sometimes the trauma to the spine can be ...” He trailed off, lost in a sea of thought. “Listen to you! You sound like a physician’s home reference guide. When did you get your medical degree, Spike?” Buffy asked sarcastically. “Eighteen seventy,” Spike said absently, not even thinking of what he was saying. He was too busy pondering the pain in her back and the implications it could have. “Yeah, right. You’re a doctor. Tell me another one.” “What?” Her chatter pulled Spike from his thoughts and he realized what he had said. “You’re a doctor?” He ran a hand over his hair, nervously ruffling it out of place. “Oh, I was kidding.” “I figured, and if it wasn’t so farfetched, it would probably be funny.” “Why is it farfetched?” “Look at you! Bleached out hair, raggedy clothes and a cockney accent from hell.” "I have never been 'cockney'." "You've never been much." “I was a mortal once.” “And I’m sure the term loser could apply to that too.” “I thought we had a truce,” Spike pointed out. “When did I agree to a truce?” “I have things to do today. I don’t have time for this.” Spike pulled her cover back, ready to lift her and put her in her chair. “Do you need to use the restroom?” “Yeah.” “Okay, I’ll take you downstairs. I’ve got to install some of those safety rail things in the bathroom on this floor.” Lifting her, Spike carried her out the door and down the stairs. He deposited her on the toilet, then stood for several seconds, watching her pull herself upward on the counter. He was tempted to ask her how she managed to get her shorts down alone, but thought better of it. “I’ll just go get your chair.” “No,” Buffy said quickly, holding herself up with two rails. “No?” “Well, I ... could I ... Uhm, I don’t want to be down here alone so when I’m finished, can I sit up there and watch you put the rails in?” “You want to watch me install rails?” Spike was stunned when she nodded. “Fine. Whatever.” He pulled the door closed and walked into the kitchen. He got her a glass of juice, toasted several pieces of bread and took it up to her room, then returned to the bathroom door. “Are you almost ready?” Buffy finished securing her hair in a ponytail and smoothed a few flyaways into place. She was out of breath, partly from wriggling in and out of her shorts on the floor, but mostly because doing everything she had to do was almost impossible in a room built for people who walked. Just brushing her teeth was daunting enough considering how high the sinks were. Luckily for her, her mother had a full length mirror on one wall, so she could check her hair from her current position on the toilet. And she had no idea why she was worried about her hair at all. It’s not like she cared to impress anyone, right? Pulled back this way, exposing her darker roots, she looked like a brunette again. She studied herself, narrowing her eyes, then opening them wide. She definitely liked blonde better. The darker growth made her look paler than usual and didn’t really bring out the greens and grays of her eyes. “Buffy?” Spike knocked again. “Oh, come in.” Buffy took a deep breath and waited for him to open the door. Spike pushed the door open and looked her up and down. “You look human again.” “Shut up!” Buffy snapped, trying to camouflage the glee she felt that he had noticed her appearance. He lifted her and headed up the stairs, wondering if she would be willing to tell him about what had happened after her mother had forced her out of the house. Ever since Joyce had told him about it, he had been curious about where Buffy had gone and what she had done. Sitting her in her chair, he lifted the tray that fit across the handles and snapped it into place, then put her breakfast down on top of it. “I’ll be across the hallway.” Buffy nodded and began to pick at the toast he had prepared for her. “Okay.” “Eat that, Slayer. We are not going to have a repeat of yesterday.” “I don’t like toast.” Buffy peeled off the crust and pushed it aside, eyeing it warily. “You are worse than an infant.” Spike snatched the plate and put one hand on his hip. “What will you eat? Should I get you some bird seed? You certainly eat like one.” “I’m still full from my late dinner. My mom gave me Chinese food.” “Your mom didn’t give you a damn thing. I did.” Buffy’s eyes widened and she gasped, not believing him for one second. “You brought that up here?” “What? Are you going to say it wasn’t good now?” “I was going to say thank you,” she replied seriously, then sipped her juice. “That’s it?” Spike watched her closely, waiting for her to insult him, then rolled his eyes. “You’re welcome.” Buffy watched him walk out the door and set her glass down on her tray. If he brought up her dinner, he may have been the one who had turned down her bed and put her under the covers. She had been sleeping soundly and barely recalled it at all. It had been the smell of Sweet and Sour Chicken that had woken her up entirely and she had realized that someone had put her to bed. She had just assumed it was her mother. Why would Spike bother at all when it wasn’t his responsibility? She heard him tinkering around in the bathroom and rolled out into the hallway, watching him intently. He was wearing those loud shorts again, the ones with the sun and sand castles. He was kneeling with his back to her, laying out various screws and pieces of railing and she watched him, studying his movements. He didn’t look at all like a demon right then. His feet were bare, toes curling to support his weight as he squatted on his knees and fumbled with a sheet of instructions, and his appearance was anything but frightening. The shorts, the bare legs and the bed hair made him look normal and sexy. ~ I did not just go there! ~ “Bloody hell!” Spike shouted suddenly. Buffy jumped in her seat at the sound of his voice. At the sound of his very familiar voice saying a very familiar phrase. She ignored the fact that he had stood and was hopping around the small bathroom. All she could think about was the fact that her dream suddenly made sense. Spike had been the man she heard when the vampire bit her. He had shouted ‘bloody hell’ and then argued with them, telling them something about seniority. Then he had lifted her, cradling her against his chest until Xander shouted her name. “Slayer, I just rammed a screw through my knee!” Spike tapped her on the arm and pointed at his bloody leg. “Where does your mum keep the band-aids?” She was oblivious to anything he had said after he had shouted. It was beginning to make sense. The vampires were after Spike because of *her*. She stared into his face and whispered, “It was you.” “What?” Grabbing a roll of toilet paper, Spike pressed it against the hole in his knee and glared at her. “You stopped those vampires from killing me, didn’t you? You saw what was happening and you ran up and made them stop. That’s why they want to get back at you, isn’t it?” Spike stared down at the floor, unsure of what to say. She was absolutely right. It was bad enough that he had taken to hunting demons for food and violence, but when he had intervened and prevented them from killing the Slayer, he had broken every demon code there was. He had lied, pretending that he was still the big bad and wanted her for his own. He had claimed that she was responsible for the chip in his head and that if anyone had earned the right to kill her, it was him. They had finally backed off, leaving him to it. He had lifted her, intent on taking her to Giles’ place, but he had heard Xander shout for her and knew she would be safe with him. How was he supposed to know that one of the vampires had stayed behind to see the Slayer catch her death? That night was the first of a series of beatings that he had endured for her. Because he had turned on his kind and saved her life and he made no apologies for it. Buffy touched his arm tentatively. “The first aid kit is in under the sink.” Saying nothing, he retrieved the kit, sat on the edge of the tub and began to rummage through it. He was painfully aware of the fact that she was watching his every move and concentrated hard on securing the bandage on his knee. Once it was in place, he closed the lid and stood, rolling a towel to put under his legs to keep from having the same accident twice. Buffy shook her head when he went back to work, turning his back to her again. “Don’t you think I deserve an explanation?” Spike sat up straight and sighed loudly, not looking at her. “Don’t you think I’ve been looking for an explanation since it happened?” “You saved my life, Spike. Why?” “I’m not going to talk about this.” “If you don’t, I’ll draw my own conclusions.” “Just don’t color outside the lines,” he mumbled absently, trying his best to ignore her. “Did you know I was paralyzed and would be miserable? You did it to spite me, didn’t you?” Spike stood abruptly, tossing the railing in his hand against the wall. “You would think that!” “What am I supposed to think? That you did it out of the kindness of your heart? You don’t have kindness! You did it to punish me! Just admit it. Say it. Say that you wanted me to go through life alone and miserable and half dead and unwanted because I did it to you! You should have let me die!” Buffy began to sob and rolled herself back, going into her bedroom. She slammed the door as hard as she could, causing it to splinter at the hinges, and rolled toward her bed. She knocked the tray off her chair and leaned forward, resting her forehead against her comforter and crying softly. Spike opened her door and walked slowly into the room. “You wouldn’t have stayed dead. They were planning on turning you, you know?” “Go away.” “You wanted an explanation and there it is! I didn’t want you to be a vampire. You think I damned you into that chair? You don’t know what damned is, Slayer.” “I said get out!” Buffy screamed at him, reaching for something to throw at him. He caught her arm as she tried to throw her phone at him and pinned her wrists. “You think being in a chair is hell, don’t you? You think that being stuck on your ass is the worst feeling in the world. Do you want to know what’s worse? Knowing that there is a sunrise out there that you can’t see because it will kill you. You don’t forget how it feels to have sunlight on your face. You don’t forget how clouds look like cotton balls and the sky changes colors like a prism. It stays with you and every day that you don’t have it makes you want it more.” “And so does knowing what it feels like to walk! You think I can just forget that?” She shouted, her face flushing in anger. Her hands shook as she ran them over her face, and looked away. “So you would rather be a vampire?” “I would rather be dead!” “Then you are a fool!” “Fine, I’m a fool.” The reply came with no inflection. Spike let go of her and put her phone back on the cradle. “Admitting it is the first step.” Buffy watched him stroll toward the door, then looked away when he paused and turned to face her. He cleared his throat and stepped back toward her. “And just for the record, you aren’t alone. I know that I’m not the best company in the world, but I’m here.” He waited for her to reply and when she didn’t, he went back into the bathroom and began working again. His mind wandered the entire time, replaying the things that Joyce had told him that morning and the things that Buffy had said to him. The more he thought about it, the more he began to realize why she was so screwed up. People had a habit of abandoning her. He had been there a couple of days now and only Willow had stopped to visit. Her father wasn’t around, Giles wasn’t around and most of all, Angel had not been around. Surely he had to know what had happened to her. News traveled fast in the demon world. As he installed the final rail, he stood and surveyed his handiwork. He was about to go and tell Buffy that he was finished and ask her if she wanted lunch, when he noticed her sitting in the hallway watching him. “Slayer, you are a lot of trouble.” “Did you only do it because they were going to change me?” She watched him closely, her eyes betraying the pain she felt. Spike walked into the hallway and squatted down in front of her. He knew that she needed to hear something more, something good, anything to make her life seem valuable. He shook his head and spoke slowly. “I did it because of who you are. I did it because I wanted to. I guess I figured the world would be really boring without you in it.” “Are you sorry you did it?” “No.” His eyes met hers and held and he was stunned to feel something in his heart tugging at him. “And don’t you be sorry that I did it.” “Spike?” Buffy leaned forward and laid a hand on his shoulder. “It’s really hard to have a serious moment with you when you are wearing this outfit.” His face broke into a grin at the same time hers did. “Yeah, well, it’s hard to have a serious conversation with someone who thinks Max and Liz are a super couple.” “Max and Liz are a super couple, dummy. And at least I don’t think that Passions is the best hour on television.” “Hey! Attack me if you want to but don’t you dare attack my soap!” “You’re pathetic.” Buffy laughed lightly, then paused, realizing that she had let her guard down and actually enjoyed his company for a split second. “I-I-.” “You like me.” Spike shrugged and winked at her. “It was bound to happen sooner or later. No one can resist me.” “You mean repel you.” Buffy smiled easily and listened to him grumble about her needing to have the last word all the time. She watched him pick up the spare parts, ribbed him about the fact that there were spare parts at all, and then rolled into her bedroom when he went down the stairs to find them some lunch. She went to her window and raised the blind, staring out at the noonday sunlight that filtered through the trees in her yard. Spike was right. She would have missed never seeing the sun again. He was right about a few things. It was bound to happen sooner or later. She liked him. Part Five Buffy chewed on a potato chip thoughtfully and pondered the popularity of the Jerry Springer show. Before she had been injured, she envied the couch potatoes that could stay up to date on talk shows, soap operas and current events, but as the second fight broke out on the television, she flipped it off and shook her head at Spike. "Daytime television leaves a lot to be desired." Spike watched with satisfaction as she finished off her sandwich and dabbed her face with a napkin. "Enjoy your lunch?" "Yeah, it was good." Buffy threw her napkin into her plate and rolled toward the kitchen. Spike followed behind her, leaning against the counter as she tossed the bread crust into the trash and put the plate in the sink. "I could have brought that for you." "I get kind of tired of sitting there. Even rolling myself from room to room beats sitting in one spot." "Aren't you exercising?" "Yeah, funny. I walk on my hands on my treadmill every single night." Spike frowned at her and crossed his arms. "Doesn't Joyce stretch you out and massage the muscles in your legs and back to keep the blood flow stimulated?" "No." "You're kidding, right?" He studied her closely and shook his head when she shrugged indifferently. "Slayer, you have to do that!" "No, I don't." "You can cause permanent damage if you don't." "I already have permanent damage." "You don't know that. Your mum said that the doctors gave you a fifty/fifty chance. And you are making it an eighty/twenty chance by not exercising." He spun on his heel and walked back into the living room. He pushed the coffee table to one side of the room, grabbed a blanket from behind the sofa and made a pallet on the floor. Turning to see Buffy behind him, he unhooked her tray and reached for her. "Come on." "What?" Buffy smacked his hands away. "You can't possibly think that I am going to let you---" She was momentarily silenced by Spike lifting her under the arms and laying her out on the floor. "Spike, no! Put me back!" Spike kneeled down and lifted her foot and leg, pushing her foot upward toward her body several times. "This simulates walking, the pressure that I' m putting on it is like taking a step." "Would you put me back in my chair?" Buffy rolled her eyes when he lifted the other leg and repeated the process. "Spike, I can't feel a thing you're doing." "It's not hurting you then, is it?" He wiggled his eyebrows and then began pushing her leg toward her chest, leaning against it to add pressure. "This will help with your back pain too. I imagine that the pain is being caused by a severe lack of stimulation." Buffy flushed angrily and tried to sit up. Being in this position, having him touch her in any way, was just too much. It made her very aware of the fact that no man would ever touch her in desire again. "This is ridiculous! You don't know what you're doing." "Yes, I do. You forget that I was here once." Spike pushed her back down on the floor and laid her leg down, then began kneading her thighs. "Ack!" Buffy sat up again and leaned over her legs protectively. "You forget that you're a vampire! Wounds heal faster on you." Spike tugged her upward and forced her to look at him. "And you're a Slayer. Seems to me that we're just about alike when it comes to healing. Now lie back and hush." Buffy flopped back, her head thumping the floor lightly. "Oww." "Your fault." He rubbed his hands together and began massaging her thigh again, frowning when he felt how thin it was. "Your leg feels like a chicken bone." "That's it," she cried, pulling herself into a sitting position again. "Yes, that is it." Spike moved behind her and pushed her ponytail to one side. She opened her mouth to protest, then moaned when his strong hands began to massage her shoulders and neck. He rubbed hard, causing her arms and fingertips to tingle as he worked away the tension she had from using her upper body so much. Buffy felt him urge her forward and she leaned willingly, propping herself on her hands. He trailed down her spine, massaging with one hand, and feeling for damage with the other. Playing it carefully, not wanting to alert her to the impromptu exam he was giving, he cleared his throat and spoke softly. "Your mum and I had a talk this morning." "Really?" Buffy exhaled and leaned more, letting him move even lower. "About what? Ooh, that feels good right there." Spike grinned a little, then frowned, remembering what Joyce had told him. "She told me that she kicked you out of the house after she found out that you're a Slayer." Buffy tensed immediately and Spike paused, "We don't have to talk about it." "No, it's okay. She did kick me out. And I was a Slayer, past tense." She wished that she could pull her knees up and rest her head on them; instead she picked at the fibers of the blanket and tried to concentrate on the feel of his hands. "I guess she couldn't handle it. She just gave up or something." He used his thumbs to massage circles at her shoulder blades. "You know, I don't think she's planning on giving up again." "Last night she---" Spike cut in quickly. "Last night she gave you an ultimatum that she regretted this morning. She wouldn't send you away." "Whatever." Buffy rolled her head as he moved to her neck again. "God, I didn't know how sore I really was." "Where did you go? When she made you leave, I mean." "I went to Los Angeles. I got a job at this really greasy diner called Helen's Kitchen and I worked all the time. I ate when I had money and I slept a lot." She closed her eyes, remembering the lonely hotel room that she barricaded herself in. "I cried a lot too. I don't like being alone." "Not many people do." Spike pushed along her spine again. Buffy had relaxed completely and when he pressed at the middle of her spine, pain shot through her back and she cried out. It was almost unbearable, hard to breath, hard to sit still and most of all, hard to endure. She felt hot tears behind her eyes and shook her head, oblivious to the fact that he had moved around her. "Stop!" "I have stopped." Spike was kneeling next to her and gripped her hand, shocked at how pale she had become. He had felt something in her back, a large knot, and when he pressed it, she had immediately reacted. "Do you have pain medication?" "Upstairs. Pills," Buffy hissed through clenched teeth. He let go of her hand and rushed up the stairs. As he ran back down, someone knocked at the door and he opened it, ignoring whomever it was. He raced back into the living room and grabbed her glass of juice. When she had downed the pill and taken several sips of her drink, he spoke softly. "Are you okay?" "I think so." Without thinking, Buffy leaned her head against his shoulder and exhaled loudly. Spike wrapped his arm behind her and took her glass with his other hand, then lifted her and laid her on the sofa. "It's okay, luv." "What is going on here?" Giles asked suddenly, making his presence known for the first time. "I was giving her a massage and she had a pain." Spike grabbed the blanket off of the floor and pulled it over her. Giles looked the vampire up and down, taking in his very casual attire and removed his glasses. "Can I speak with you in the kitchen please?" "Fine." He looked down at Buffy and said, "If you need anything just yell." Giles poured himself a cup of coffee as soon as they entered the kitchen. As he added sugar and cream, he glared at Spike. "What were you doing touching her?" "She told me that her mother doesn't massage her. I thought---" "Your job here is to cook for her and make sure she doesn't injure herself. Not touch her in any way." Spike stared at him for several seconds and then his eyes widened as realization dawned on him. "You can not possibly think that I would take advantage of her current situation and---" "That's exactly what I think. You are, after all, a demon. You may be living with a family and you may be awake during the day now, but you are still a demon." Giles took a sip of his coffee and looked the man up and down again. "And what are you wearing? That is hideous apparel." Spike glanced down at his clothing and bare feet, unable to argue the point that the man made. "I stole them from you." Giles' eyes widened and he choked on his drink. "Oh. In any case, that isn't the type of thing to wear around a woman." "My clothes are in the wash and I don't exactly have a big selection." "Fine, fine. I'll come by at sunset and take you to buy something less . blinding, and more appropriate for your job here." Giles poured the contents of his cup down the drain and started out of the room. He paused beside Spike and leveled him with an icy glare. "And don't put your hands on her again." Spike stood in one spot until he heard Giles speaking with Buffy, then he stomped into the basement and shoved his clothes into the dryer. A part of him couldn't blame Giles for thinking the worst, but another part of him was livid that the man would even consider such a notion. After all, a vampire wanting a Slayer? That was unheard of! Unless he had inherited some of his sire's traits. That was just what he needed on top of everything else. Buffy awoke to the smell of lasagna and stretched her upper body. Her back ached, reminding her of the horrible pain she had experienced earlier and she sat up slowly. "Spike?" "Just a minute!" Joyce called from the kitchen. "Where's Spike?" Buffy asked, as soon as her mother came into the room. Joyce pulled off her oven mitts and sat on the edge of the couch. "Giles and Xander came by and picked him up. They're taking him to the mall to buy clothing." "Why?" "Apparently, Mr. Giles came by this afternoon and wasn't pleased to see him walking around barefoot and in 'shameful under garments'." She brushed Buffy 's hair off her cheek. "Did you sleep well?" "I took a pain pill. I slept like the dead." Joyce regarded her daughter's features, recalling the rest of what Giles had told her that afternoon. "Honey, is Spike good to you?" "Sure. He didn't get on my nerves much today." Buffy stifled a yawn with the back of her hand and stared at her mother curiously. "Why?" "Nothing. Just making sure." Joyce tilted her daughter's face, forcing her to look her in the eye. "If he was doing anything that made you uncomfortable or scared, you would tell me right?" "No, I'd stake him if he did what you're implying, Mom." "I've never been good at subtlety, have I?" Joyce chuckled and stood up, smoothing down her slacks. "Dinner will be ready in about five minutes. Let me help you into your chair." Buffy held her arms up and smiled. "Don't drop me." Joyce shook her head and lifted her, holding her in a bear hug. "Precious cargo, baby. Precious cargo." As Buffy ate her dinner, she pondered what her mother had suggested. Spike would never, ever even look at her in a remotely romantic way. No one would. She was crippled, had really bad hair lately, and nothing going for her other than the fact that she used to be a powerful Slayer. Definitely not qualifications that would get the men lining up. Or one vampire. With really great hands for massaging. Xander nudged Giles with his elbow as a woman with a dress that looked like saran wrap walked past them. "Do you feel as out of place here as me?" Giles watched a man with a purple mohawk buy a dog collar and then stepped back as he walked past, the sound of his pants squeaking throughout the store. "Fear has pretty much eclipsed all other feeling right now, Xander. What is the name of this store again?" "Punk Town. I dunno, maybe I could be punk." Xander grabbed a pair of plastic pants with safety pins all over them and held them in front of him, ignoring Giles' mumbled comments. "Did you see that woman with the pink hair earlier? She wanted me. She wanted me to wear that leash she bought and be her loooove puppy." Spike walked up with several bags and grinned. "That wasn't a she. That was Thomas. He's actually a Huan demon, very aggressive lovers, I've been told." "Oh god." Xander turned crimson and laid the pants down. "All the attractive people in this town are demons!" "You found him attractive? Why, Xander, I'm shocked." Spike tried his best to look scandalized. Giles glanced at the vampire's bags and shook his head. "Shopping with a vampire! I have reached a new low." "Really, Rupert?" Spike slung his bags over his shoulder and fell into step with the two men. "I would think your all time low was the time you were a Fyoral demon." "You're right." Giles nodded seriously. "I had to rely on you for help." "Are we finished yet?" Xander asked as they stepped on the escalator. "I've got Anya shaped plans later tonight." Spike nodded. "I'm ready." Halfway down the escalator, Spike noticed a gift shop with several stuffed bears and candles. He was so engrossed in staring at the window, that he did not notice the gang of vampires that were riding the other escalator upward. They passed each other without incident and Spike stepped off, heading for the gift shop. Giles sighed heavily. "I thought that you were ready, Spike." "I'll be right back." Spike gave his bags to Xander and walked into the small store. Five minutes later, he came out and looked at Giles, who was seated on a bench. "I need thirty dollars." "What on earth for? Haven't I spent enough on you tonight?" Giles nudged the bags with his shoe. "It's not for me, you ponce. What would I need in there? It's for the Slayer." Spike held out his hand. "Some of us haven't forgotten that she is stuck at home tonight." Giles rolled his eyes, but handed over his credit card. As soon as Spike walked back into the store, he looked at Xander. "Why is Spike buying Buffy a gift?" "He's not. You are." Xander took a bite of the candy apple he had just picked up from the food court. "You know what I mean. They hate each other." "Maybe she threatened to kill him and he's making a peace offering." Xander shrugged and then swore loudly when his stick broke and the apple rolled across the floor. He tossed the stick quickly and pretended it hadn't happened. Spike joined them, carrying a brightly wrapped package and grabbed his bags again. "Now, I'm ready." A burly demon watched them leave. He stepped forward and crushed the apple under his boot and smiled as he looked at his companions. "And here we thought that this night was going to be dull. Boys, we just found ourselves a good time." Buffy glanced up from the television when she heard the door open. "Spike?" "Yeah, it's me," he called, dropping his bags beside the door. He pulled his duster off and hung it over the stair railing before he walked into the living room. "How's your back?" "It's fine."She muted the television and looked up at him. "I don't think you caused it. I hope that doesn't disappoint you." "Hah, funny." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Do you have pain a lot?" "It comes and goes." She shrugged so softly it was barely noticeable. "I see." He mentally filed that away and glanced toward the darkened kitchen. "Where's Joyce?" "She went to bed early. Headache." Buffy pointed at the television. "There's a good movie starting in ten minutes." "Good by whose standards?" He grinned, but sat down on the sofa. "Hey!" Buffy rolled back and grabbed a pillow, tossing it at him playfully. "I have excellent taste in movies!" Spike put the pillow behind him. "What is it?" "The Bodyguard. Whitney Houston and Kevin Costner." "Oh, bloody hell! Chick flicks are awful." "What's your favorite movie?" "Hellraiser. Friday the Thirteenth. Halloween. Nightmare on Elm Street." "I rest my case." Buffy giggled and shook her head. "So, how bad was shopping with Giles?" "Not too bad. He paled a little when I took him into that punk store, but he was fine." "You took Giles into Punk Town? I wish I could have been there for that!" She laughed again, then frowned when she remembered where she was sitting. Running her palms over the arms of her chair, she sighed and shook her head. "They don't actually have wheelchair friendly shopping at the mall." "I got you something, actually." Spike bit his bottom lip, watching as he face brightened considerably. "From Punk Town?" Buffy tried to remain calm, but her heart slammed in her chest at the thought of him buying her something, regardless of where it came from. "Would that be so bad?" Spike stood and walked into the foyer to retrieve her package. "Oh, dammit! I left it in Giles' car!" Buffy rolled back, about to tell him that they could call him, when something shattered the front window and rolled across the floor. The flaming liquor bottle landed right in front of her and she screamed. Spike rushed back into the living room and saw the fire. He grabbed the bottle and threw it back through the window, then yanked the blanket off her and smothered the small flame that was burning the rug. He looked at her, making sure she wasn't hurt, and the bottle flew through the window again. "Oh god, Spike!" Buffy shouted, when the bottle shattered and the fire spread along the floor, following whatever flammable liquid was inside. "I have to get you out!" Spike scooped her up and motioned Joyce, who had come running down the stairs, toward the door. Joyce snatched it open and yelped when she saw a vampire, completely morphed, staring back at her. Spike kicked the door shut and laid Buffy on the floor. "They can't come in! We have to put this fire out." Xander noticed that Spike had forgotten Buffy's package halfway across town and Giles had turned around. Xander was humming along to the radio when they turned onto Revello Drive. He was the first to notice the movement in Buffy's front yard and the first to see the smoke billowing out of the broken front window. "Giles, do you still have that supersoaker in the trunk?" "Yes." He stopped the car halfway down the block and stepped out. Xander met him at the trunk and grabbed a stake and the watergun. "I do hope you had it blessed." "Always." Giles grabbed the crossbow and headed toward the Summer's house. They moved as one, keeping close to the shadows. As soon as Buffy's lawn was in sight, Giles kneeled down and quickly dusted two of the vampires. It caught the attention of the others and Giles nodded at Xander. "You move as fast as you can, get the water hose turned on and feed it through that broken window. We have to worry about the fire as well." The vampires were advancing fast and Xander nodded. "Not before I smoke these." He aimed and fired, sending a steady stream of Holy Water into their faces. As he pumped and sprayed, he moved around them closer to the house. The vampires began to howl as the water burned them and Giles did a quick count. There were seven in all. Xander had effectively sprayed all of them, causing a momentary pause. He used that to his advantage and reloaded the crossbow, quickly dusting another and taking the odds down to six against two. Xander moved fast as he got closer to the water spigot and heard voices inside Buffy's house. He turned the knob and grabbed the hose, trying to toss it through the broken window. A hulking vampire tackled him, knocking the water gun out of his hands and sending him sprawling. Xander clawed for it, trying hard to stretch far enough to retrieve it, but the vampire kicked him in the gut. He rolled onto his back, pulled the stake from his pocket and held it upward when the demon lunged for him. A plume of dust fell around him and he grabbed his gun again, just in time to spray two vampires that were advancing. Rolling fast, he grabbed the hose, which was gushing water and fed it through the window. He heard Giles scream at him, felt hands grip him from behind, and was tossed through the air like a rag doll. Inside the Summer's home, the fire was crawling up the wall that separated the living room from the kitchen. Joyce hacked roughly, using the fire extinguisher she had retrieved from the kitchen. Spike had one as well, but wasn't bothered by the smoke. He heard Joyce choking beside him and pushed her away. "Get out of here! I can get the rest!" Joyce nodded and turned. She made her way back toward the front door, blinded by the smoke. "Buffy!" The spot beside the door was vacant and she screamed again. "Buffy, where are you?" Spike looked over his shoulder, trying to see what was happening, when he heard Buffy coughing behind him. He spun, just in time to see her crawling toward the water hose. "She's here! Get her to fresh air!" Joyce stumbled into the room and gripped Buffy under the arms, dragging her into the kitchen. She opened the back door and pulled Buffy as close as she could without making it possible for the vampires to grab her. Together, they lay side by side, both coughing so hard they could barely breathe the clean air. Finally, Buffy wheezed out, "Giles. Xander. Front yard." "What do you want me to do, honey?" "Put me in my chair, Mom. Give me my crossbow." Buffy pulled herself upward and tugged at Joyce. "Please? Just open the front door and let me do something!" "No." Spike spoke up from the doorway, his face covered with ash. "It's too late." Part Six “Too late?” Buffy fanned the smoke, trying hard to see Spike’s face. “Giles? Xander? Are they—“ She heard loud coughing coming from the living room and craned her neck to see. Relief flooded through her when she saw two silhouettes appear in the doorway. Her mother got to her feet and turned the kitchen light on and Buffy latched onto Spike as he lifted her and sat her in one of the kitchen chairs. Bathed in the light, Xander and Giles both looked as if they had been hit with a car. One side of Xander’s face was bloody from a gash in his forehead and Giles had a nosebleed and purple bruises along one side of his jaw. Clearing her throat, Buffy glanced at her friend. “Xander, are you okay?” “I’ll be fine.” He took the icepack that Joyce held out to him and allowed the woman to mop at the blood with a towel. “For about thirty more minutes. After I call Anya and let her know what’s happened, she will kill me.” “Why?” Buffy cringed along with him as her mother checked his head. “It’s fine.” Xander held a hand up to Joyce, then looked at Buffy. “We had a ten a.m. picture taking session in the morning.” “I’m sorry.” She bit her lip and looked at Giles, who was massaging his forehead with his fingertips. “I’m sorry, Giles.” Giles glanced at her, squinting to see her clearly since his glasses had been broken in the fight. “It’s fine, Buffy. It wasn’t your fault.” Spike spoke up for the first time. “It was mine.” He had been leaning against the island in the middle of the room, watching the others, and as he spoke, he headed toward the basement door. “They must have seen us at the shopping mall and followed us here.” “Spike.” Buffy watched him open the door and take a step inside. “Where are you going?” He stopped walking and sighed. “It’s me they want. As long as I’m here, they ’ll keep coming.” “You said you would help me,” she quietly pointed out. Spike turned on his heel and came back into the kitchen. “Did you see what they did to your house?" He shouted at her, leaning over her. He pointed to Xander and Giles. "And what about your friends? They're lucky to be alive, no thanks to me.” Xander stood up abruptly and walked out of the room, mumbling something about calling Anya. “They want me too!" She yelled back at him. "It’s not just about you and you said you would help me! You gave me your word!” Spike pushed away from the table and looked away. “I’m a vampire, my word doesn’t count for much.” Giles leaned against back in his chair and watched as the vampire headed back toward the basement. He noticed Spike's closed off expression and cleared his throat." “I have something to say.” Buffy looked at the floor, trying to focus on the linoleum through her tear filled eyes. Spike stood in the doorway of the basement, his jaw clenched tightly as he waited for the man to speak. Taking a deep breath, Giles collected his thoughts and said, “This was no one’s fault. The threat of these vampires finding out Spike's whereabouts was always there. This rather unfortunate occurrence has not changed the fact that Buffy still needs to be cared for and Spike still needs a place to stay.” “I can’t stay here,” Spike growled, his face masking into that of the demon inside of him. “Just because they have to be invited in doesn’t mean I’m safe." He pointed at Buffy and Joyce and shook his head. "It doesn’t mean that they are safe. They will come back and who knows what they will do next.” “They’ll come back with you gone, too. What would we have done if you weren’ t here tonight, Spike?” Joyce asked. She knew her daughter well and she knew that Buffy *needed* him to stay. The change in her in just the past few days was remarkable. “You would have gone to bed without almost being burned alive.” Spike forced the demon away and walked back into the kitchen. “There is nothing we can do. They know where I am. Unless I leave—“ “Fine! Just leave! Go! Everyone always does!” Buffy shouted and pressed her palms down on the table, almost as if she had forgotten she was paralyzed and was going to push herself up. Her hands made contact with the wood and she hissed in pain, snatching them away and examining her flesh. Both palms had cuts in them, but her left one had a piece of glass wedged just below the skin. Spike beat Joyce to where Buffy was sitting and took one of her hands in his. “You’re hurt.” Buffy snatched her hand away. “You don’t work here anymore.” “Just let me see it.” He reached for her hand again, only to have her glare at him. “I’d tell you to bite me, but you can’t.” She squared her shoulders and stared the blond vampire in the eye. “And, Giles, I want you to perform that uninvite spell on Spike. If he wants out, he's out for good.” Giles’ eyes widened and he jumped to his feet. “Of course! That’s it! A spell!” Xander came back into the room with the ice on his head. He moved aside as Giles rushed past him and grabbed the phone, then he turned to speak to Joyce. “Uhm, Ms. Summers, I can’t find Anya and my mom won’t come and get me, even though I told her I’m practically comatose. Could you maybe give me a ride home? I’d ask Giles, but those vampires took out their frustration on his car as they ran away.” Joyce nodded. “Of course.” “Mom!” Buffy held up her hands. “Could you help me first?” “I’ve got it,” Spike told Joyce. “You get him home.” Buffy watched her mother walk away and then glared at Spike. “You aren’t touching me with a ten foot pole.” He smirked at her, turned as if he was going to walk away, and then spun and lifted her from her seat before she even realized it. Without the use of her lower limbs, all she could do was punch him, but after two attempts, she stopped and settled for scowling at him as he walked up the stairs. Spike took her into her bedroom and sat her on the bed. “I’ll be right back.” “Thanks for the warning," she called after him. The second he disappeared around the corner, she broke down. It would be unbearable without him there every day. Since he had mentioned leaving in the kitchen, she'd had a dull ache in her chest. It wasn’t logical, it wasn’t wise, but she needed him. He had to stay. Spike took the first aid kit from under the sink and waited for a small basin to fill with warm water. He glanced at where his reflection should have been in the mirror and slumped against the sink. The prospect of leaving after he had made so much headway with Buffy would have been unthinkable if the circumstances were different. He felt at home here and he had not felt that in ages. And he was a fool to let himself believe that he would ever fit into her world. The basin overflowed and he dropped a towel onto the floor, then made his way back to her room. She was still in the same position, with her hands cradled in her lap, but her shoulders were shaking with silent sobs. He pulled a chair from under her vanity, sat before her, and put the bowl in his lap. Saying nothing, he took the hand with the glass still in it and dipped it into the water. Buffy watched as he used a pair of tweezers to work the glass free. Fresh blood flowed and she groaned when he pressed his finger against the small hole. It didn’t hurt badly, but the contact of his cool flesh against hers reminded her that this could be the last time he touched her at all. Another sob caught in her throat and she didn’t even bother to choke it back. “I don’t mean to hurt you.” He glanced up at her, then back at her hand, loosening the pressure he was applying. “Then don’t go.” She put her free hand in the bowl on top of his. “Please?” Spike put the tweezers on the night table and brushed his thumb over her cheek. “You’ll be fine. Your mum will get someone else.” “I won’t be fine. I can’t do anything! I couldn’t even help Giles and Xander!” She took a deep breath. “I want *you*!” “Buffy, anything that I can do for you can be done by someone else.” “No.” Her voice cracked again. “Aren’t you listening to me? I. Want. You.” Spike felt her thumb on the back of his hand, massaging small circles, and he glanced down at it. Surely she couldn’t mean that in the literal sense. She was saying that she wanted him to stay, not that she wanted him. He felt her take the towel he had draped over his shoulder and then her hand was on his cheek. “Look at me, Spike,” she whispered. He raised his head and she leaned forward, pressing her lips against his lightly. For a split second, he was too stunned to react. She leaned closer, running her hand up his shoulder and behind his neck, increasing her pressure. Spike relaxed against her and opened his mouth, letting her tongue dance across his as he inhaled the sweetness of her skin. Buffy heard footsteps on the stairs and pulled back, coloring slightly when she realized how bold she had been. Spike sat upright, and busied himself with washing off the last of the blood, as Giles stepped into the room. He dried Buffy's hand absently and pretended to study the wound, anxious to do anything other than make eye contact with her. “I have wonderful news.” Giles smiled proudly. “Tara and Willow are on their way to do a hallowing spell. We’re going to put a ward on the house and make it impossible for any demons to step into the yard without an invitation.” “Can demons be in the house?” Buffy glanced at Spike shyly, then back at Giles. “I mean, can Spike stay?” “Yes, his invitation will stand as long as he is inside when the spell is performed.” Glancing over Spike’s shoulder, he watched as the vampire carefully applied ointment to the cuts and began wrapping the wounds on her hands. “Buffy, are you okay?” “I’m fine. Just a few scratches,” she replied with a shrug. “You should go make sure that mom gets in the house okay. I don’t want her outside alone when she gets back.” “Right you are. I'll go watch for her.” Giles turned quickly and retreated down the stairs. Spike secured a final piece of tape on her hands and wiped his own with the towel. A million different thoughts ran through his head, none of them making any sense. She had *kissed* him. Not a thank you kiss, not a friendly kiss, but a kiss full of passion and heat. His lips were still numb from it, but his mind was racing. “Spike?” Her eyes searched his face, silently begging him to relent. “Will you stay?” Standing, he glanced down at her, trying to weigh his options. Outside this house he faced the threat of his own kind, but inside he faced the threat of the Slayer, a vampire’s worst enemy. In her given state, she couldn’t do much damage to him physically, but mentally, she could destroy him. She was reaching out to him because he was the closest thing she had to reach for and if he allowed her to do that, she would wind up resenting him for it. No, he had to leave. Leave the house, leave the town, leave *her* before it was too late. “Please don’t say no,” Buffy pleaded. He let his gaze wash over her face, taking in her pouty lips, her trembling chin, and finally locking on her clear green eyes. It was too late. Buffy awoke the next morning to the sound of a saw and hammering. She glanced at the clock and sighed, wondering why anyone would be using power tools at such an ungodly hour. Then she remembered everything: the damage to her house, the vampires attacking Giles and Xander, and most of all, the kiss she had given Spike. He had reciprocated, she was sure of that, but he had walked out of her room without even saying a word afterward and she had cried herself to sleep. She had been wrong to assume that he would welcome her advances. She was crippled, unattractive, and capricious. He had every right to just walk out on her. It wouldn’t surprise her in the least if someone came up and told her that he had packed his things and gone during the night. That thought caused another wave of panic and she sat up. “Mom!” Willow, who was at the foot of the stairs watching Giles and Xander tear down the wall that had been burned, heard Buffy calling and walked up the stairs. She rapped twice on her friend’s door, then stuck her head in. “Hey, Buffy. Sorry about all the noise downstairs.” “It’s fine. Is Spike still here?” Buffy asked casually. “Yeah, but he’s down in the basement helping your mom get some paint and stuff ready for the walls. Ooh, good news -- it didn’t mess the floor up much. Of course, your mom will have to get new carpet, but the wood wasn’t really damaged. Just the wall.” Willow took a much needed gulp of air. “And we did the spell at dawn and tested to see if we could throw something into the house.” Buffy digested everything Willow had said. “And could you?” “Nope. To coin that lady in Poltergeist, which Tara and I were watching last night, ‘this house is clear’. Nothing’s gonna hurt you guys.” Willow bowed dramatically, hoping to draw a laugh from Buffy. When she heard no laughter, she stood back up and glanced at Buffy, who was fingering her cover. “Hey, are you okay?” “Yeah, just tired.” The slayer ran a hand through her hair and then glanced down at her clothing. “Ugh, could you maybe go and help Spike maybe so my mom can help me into the tub?” “Sure,” Willow replied and headed toward the door, pausing before she was in the hallway. “Hey, are you hungry? I brought donuts, just like I used to in high school when we were doing research.” Buffy’s stomach rolled and her heart ached at the memory of bounding through the double doors of the library and seeing her friends with their noses buried in thick books. “No, thank you." She shook her head. "I don’t want anything.” Willow shrugged and headed back down the stairs and into the basement. Spike and Joyce were both digging through boxes and she cleared her throat. “Ms. Summers, Buffy wants to know if I can take over here and you would come help her with a bath.” “Oh, sure.” Joyce glanced at Spike. “The paintbrushes are brand new and I’m fairly certain that they are in one of these boxes on bottom.” She indicated a row of boxes underneath a set of shelves. “I’ll keep looking.” Spike nodded and continued his search through the box in front of him. Willow joined him and rifled through the box that Joyce had been going through. She watched Spike out of the corner of her eye as he put his box on the floor and grabbed another one. “So, Spike, how’s it going here? Are you and Buffy getting along?” Too well, he started to reply. Instead, he shrugged and tried to look indifferent. “We lock horns occasionally, but for the most part, things are okay.” “Is she eating and stuff?” Willow pushed her hair away from her face and pretended to be engrossed in looking for paintbrushes. She was trying to segue into asking if Buffy was acting weird at all. The rose that she had us ed to do the spell with Tara was still in full bloom and it had not even been put into any water. “She eats like a bird, but you can tell that just by looking at her.” Finding nothing, Spike swore and grabbed another box. Willow spotted the paintbrushes in the bottom of her box, but continued to move the contents around. “How is she acting? Is she treating her mom any better? I mean, is she more agreeable?” Spike stopped what he was doing and stared at the wall opposite them, wondering if she was getting at what he thought. “Does this game of twenty questions have anything to do with the fact that you did *another* spell?” “Ooh! Found them!” Willow yanked the brushes from the box and waved them triumphantly. “I’ll just take them to Joyce.” “She doesn’t need them yet.” Spike caught the red-head by the arm as she started up the stairs. “I need to know what you did to her.” He silently added, because she kissed me last night and it made me weak in the knees, but I knew there was something more to it. With a small sigh, Willow sat down on the stairs and looked up at him. “I was worried about the fact that she wasn’t resolving the issues she has. She wasn’t facing her paralysis and stuff and I opened her mind.” “Opened her mind?” Raising an eyebrow, Spike crossed his arms. “Is that it?” “Well, no.” Willow felt herself blushing and glanced down at her shoes. “I got a little confused with the wording and got her heart involved.” “I’m not following,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “Well, wh-what Tara said is that if the spell worked at all, Buffy will have the strength to confront her fears and admit the truth to herself. She can admit what’s in her heart, but we don’t know that it worked.” She remembered the rose and frowned suddenly. “Only I think it did.” “Bloody hell!” Spike wagged his finger in her direction. “The next time you want to do a spell, do something that doesn’t involve your friends. Because as much as I am loathe to admit it, what happens to people around here happens to me and you don’t want me on your bad side.” “Are you threatening me?” Willow asked, raising one eyebrow. “No, I am promising you! The next time you want to do something witchy, how about you stick to the stuff that you can’t muck up.” Willow gasped and shot to her feet. “I just spent all morning making sure that you have a safety net here, so I’d be a little less quick to criticize if I were you!” “Safety net? Willow, you and your stupid tricks have made a mess of everything.” Spike stopped talking before he said too much and pointed up the stairs. “Go on, give Joyce the paint brushes.” “What are you not telling me?” She eyed him suspiciously. “What have I made a mess of?” “Go away.” “Can I fix it?” “If I so much as smell incense on you or even think that you have done another spell with her on your mind, I will—“ He paused, rethinking the death threat he was about to issue. “Nevermind. Don’t do a thing because you could just make it worse. Leave it like it is and don’t screw around with her emotions or her feelings again. I mean it. She’s strong enough without you interfering and if you were any kind of friend, you would have known that.” Spike crossed the room and sat on his bed, turning his back to her. She lingered for a full minute, then turned and went up the stairs. He sighed and laid back, putting the pillow over his head to drown out the sounds coming from the living room. For the first time, he admitted to himself that a part of him had wanted the Slayer's feelings to be real. A part of him had wanted that kiss to mean that she realized how lonely he was and was reaching out to him, inviting him into her life. He had wanted it badly. That was the only logical reason that the truth was bothering him so much. Willow had caused it. Whatever she had done wrong with the spell had to be the reason that Buffy had grown so fond of him. He had definitely noticed a change in her. The previous day, when he had massaged her back, she had engaged in very civil conversation and seemed to enjoy his company. It had carried over to that night, when she had invited him to watch a movie with her. Now it was all explained. Except for the parts about his own feelings. Why had he been so bothered when he stumbled onto the vampires killing her in the first place? He should have been thrilled. He should have taken off his shoes and danced all over her bloody body, but instead, he stopped them and made sure Buffy was safe. Why? What made him try so hard to help her and to see to it that she was fed and comfortable? He could tell himself that it was to save his own life, but he could have easily left town and avoided the trouble. He would have to tell Joyce that he would stay on until she could find someone else and until then, he would have to see to it that he didn’t give Buffy any false hope. Since there would be no spellcasting to reverse it, he would have to make her feelings go away on his own. He was evil. He could do it. Joyce was pleasantly surprised when Buffy asked to wear one of her old sun dresses. Her daughter had explained that it was easier to do what she needed to do in the restroom if she wasn’t wearing shorts or pants with snaps and zippers. Joyce helped her dress and stood back to watch as Buffy grabbed a big round brush from the vanity and began drying her hair straight. Smiling, Joyce left her to her business and turned to go down the stairs. Spike met her at the top and said, “Can I speak with you privately?” “Sure.” Joyce took him into her bedroom and closed the door. “Is everything okay?” “I don’t think so.” Spike ran his hand through his hair and shifted uncomfortably in the stiff new shirt he had purchased the night before. “I’m officially giving you notice to find someone else to care for Buffy. I’ll stay until you do.” Gasping, Joyce sat on the edge of her bed. “Well, I wasn’t expecting this now. I mean, the spell worked.” “I realize that and I realize that this is probably going to put you in a bind, but I really think that it would be wise if I moved on.” “Did something happen? Did you and Buffy argue again, because I can talk to her about it.” Joyce had begun to wring her hands nervously. The supplies for repairing her wall and new carpeting would definitely take a huge lump from her savings, which was already dangerously depleted. “No, please don’t say anything to her about it. It’s my choice.” With a sigh, she nodded. “I had a trip planned for later this week. A four day trip to Atlanta to purchase some pieces for a buyer in Santa Monica. I’m really relying on the money so if you could possibly wait until I get back, I’d appreciate that.” “Anything you need, Joyce, and I do apologize.” Spike nodded at her and stepped out into the hall. He heard the hair dryer going in Buffy’s room and knocked on her door. Buffy clicked the power button and glanced in the mirror. Her hair, despite the roots that had grown in, was full and shiny and she smiled at her reflection. Dabbing on a bit of lip gloss, she called out, “Come in!” Spike stepped into her room and put his hands into his pockets. He watched as she backed her chair away from her vanity and rolled to face him. When she turned, he stared her up and down, wondering if she was even remotely aware of how beautiful she was. “Hey.” Buffy smiled at him and pointed at his outfit, gray denims and a gray and white shirt. “I like the ensemble! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything except red, black and blue.” He wanted to comment on how pretty she looked, how pretty her skin looked against the pale straps of her dress, but he forced himself not to. “I’ve given your mother notice. She is going on a trip in a few days and after that, she will be finding someone to replace me.” Blinking rapidly, trying to disguise the pain that wanted to cloud her features, Buffy nodded. She had expected things to be awkward. She had expected him to have questions or tell her that it couldn’t happen between them, but never did she expect this. Her Slayer reflexes kicked in, the reflexes she relied on to protect herself. She nodded again. “Good. I was going to suggest the same thing.” Spike was caught off guard. “You want me to go?” “The sooner the better.” She chose a spot on the wall to focus on so she could avoid the cool blue of his eyes. “As a matter of fact, you don’t have to wait.” “I gave your mother my word that I would stay until she found someone and I am going to do just that. She’s got a trip coming up and she needs me to--” “Whatever,” Buffy shrugged and shooed him away with her hand. “So that’s it? You’re not going to ask me why I’m going?” “After last night I don’t need to.” “What is that supposed to mean?” He raised his voice in frustration, then silently damned her for making him react to her statements at all. Buffy turned her chair and went to her vanity, absently brushing her hair. “You have all the answers, you figure it out.” “You know what? I’m not going to do this.” Spike threw his hands in the air. “Do you want to come downstairs?” “My mom’s home. Take a day off.” She continued brushing her hair until she heard the door click. She turned to make sure that he had gone and then grabbed a tissue from her desk, wiping off the lip gloss she had applied. Glancing at her hair, she mussed it and then twisted it into a tight knot, securing it with a pin. Hot tears scalded her cheeks and she rolled toward the window and raised her blind. The sun filtered through the trees, bathing her in the mid-morning warmth. Looking down at her lap, she stared at her prone legs and let the blind fall. She was repulsive, and it was wrong to be surprised that Spike had rejected her. He may have been in love with a psychotic demon, but at least she could walk and didn’t have to slither on her belly like a snake. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she had not eaten, but Buffy ignored it and rolled toward her night table. She took two pills from the bottle and made her way to the bathroom, hoping against hope that she wouldn’t see him again. She could hear him downstairs, laughing at something Xander had said, and the sound only served to upset her more. Tossing the pills into her mouth, she downed them with a swig of water and rolled back into her room. Spike was leaving her and she couldn't run after him. She couldn't even roll after him. Sleeping was the only thing she had left.

Chapter #3 - 3

When Joyce announced that Buffy was still sleeping at nine o’clock that night, Spike stopped helping Giles pull up the damaged rug in the Summers’ living room, and went up to Buffy’s room. He didn’t bother knocking, and just stepped inside, flipping the light switch on. She was on her side, in the exact same position he'd laid her in when he had found her sleeping in her chair earlier that day. The pizza that Joyce had ordered for everyone sat on her table untouched, and Spike knew that her lunch had been left on the plate as well. He stalked over to the bed and shook her roughly. “Slayer, get up. You need to eat your dinner.” Buffy’s response was to snore loudly and tuck her hands under the cover. Spike sighed and shook her again. “Buffy! You’ve slept all day.” She moaned softly and her head lolled, but she didn't wake up. Her breathing deepened again and a light snore rumbled in the back of her throat as he let her go. The Slayer was obviously oblivious to his presence. Frowning, Spike scratched his head and then noticed the open bottle of pain pills beside her bed. She must have had another episode. He stared down at her for a few more seconds, put the lid back on her pills, and left the room. Buffy rolled over when she heard the door click and knew that he had gone. She had woken up when he shook her, but couldn’t bring herself to sit up and talk to him. Glancing at the clock, she realized that she had not yet gotten through what had been one of the worst days of her life. She exhaled loudly and fumbled for her pills again, taking two more and chasing it with the watered down cola that sat next to a plate of food. Rolling onto her back, she stared at her ceiling and waited for peaceful oblivion to claim her once more. “Are you sure you don’t mind me going out of town early?” Joyce asked Spike as she made her morning coffee. “If Giles had any doubts about this protection spell, I wouldn’t go, but I could really use the money.” “I don’t mind at all.” Spike drained the last few drops of blood from his cup and rinsed it in the sink. “This is a big chance for you. Take all the time you need.” “It’s just ... This is the first time that I’ve ever been invited to put anything on display. If I am able to sell some pieces then that would give me at least two months of being in the clear, and I could figure out my next move.” She nibbled on the edge of her toast. “But with so much happening here—“ “Joyce, you have to do what you have to do. Things will be just fine.” He glanced at the clock and then at her robe and messy hair. “Aren’t Giles and Xander meeting you in an hour to load crates?” “Mm!” Joyce almost choked on her coffee. “I completely forgot!” She grew thoughtful suddenly and looked at Spike. “Will you really be okay here?” “We’ll be fine.” “What are we going to do without you?” Joyce wondered as she made her way around the island. Before leaving the room, she glanced back at him. “You take good care of my baby.” “Count on it.” Buffy was in an earthquake. It had to be an earthquake. Her entire body was being shaken roughly and someone was shouting her name. She could hear it, but her eyes wouldn’t comply and open. The shaking continued and finally stopped as abruptly as it started. Her mind wandered briefly, then sleep claimed her again, opening its jaws and swallowing her whole. Spike stood next to her bed and stared down at her. Something had to be terribly wrong. She had slept through her mother’s goodbye and had not responded to him shaking her at all. She was breathing. He could see the steady rise and fall of her chest and she was no paler than usual. He took a step closer to the bed and felt something crunch under his shoe. Looking down, he saw a pill on the floor, powdered on one end from him stepping on it. Several more littered the table beside her bed, the overturned bottle precariously close to the edge. She wasn’t sick, she was over-medicating. Growling, he walked into the bathroom and turned the shower on cold. He strolled back across the room and lifted Buffy, letting her body dangle in front of his instead of cradling her. She babbled something about an earthquake and he growled again, stepping into the shower and shoving her back under the stream of cold water. “Ahhh!” Buffy screamed, her eyes popping open in fear and confusion. “Are you awake now?” Spike yelled, moving her further under the water so that it rinsed over her head. “Because I can toss your ass to the floor and get ice if you need that.” “Spike, stop it!” she cried, her teeth clanking together as she sputtered and coughed. He pulled her closer to him, letting the water pound against her back. “How many pills have you been taking?” “None of your business.” “How many?” Spike shook her, his eyes shifting to a deadly yellow. “I don’t know!” The chills were wracking through her body now, causing her to shake all over. “What do you care?” “Are you trying to kill yourself?” he shouted, angrier than he'd been in a long time. He wanted to shake her until her head flew off, and was amazed that he wasn't doubled over in agony for handling her so roughly. “Maybe I am!” she screamed at him, her eyes awake with fury. She slammed her fists against his upper body, twisting and turning as he held her firmly. “Maybe I should!” “Stop it! Don't you ever say that again!” He turned and put her down on the floor of the tub and pinned her wrists in one of his hands. The cold water slammed him on the back and he jerked around, quickly shutting the water off. She yanked a hand free and he grabbed it, gripping both her wrists. “Now, I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours, but it stops now! Do you hear me?” “You’re hurting me!” Buffy twisted her arms, trying to make him let go. “And what do you care anyway? You’re leaving. If I’m dead or alive, you’re still going!” Her words froze him, and Spike leaned his head back, stared up at the ceiling, damning Willow’s spell. That was the only way to explain Buffy’s actions and her need to keep him there. He turned his attention back to her, saw the tears streaking down her face, and knew he would have to give in. He would have to let her believe that he would stay with her for as long as she needed him, and he would have to tell Willow to undo the spell. He grabbed a washcloth from the towel rack and dried her face. “It’ll be okay, Slayer.” “It’s never going to be okay,” she sobbed, finally pulling her wrists free. “I am never going to be able to walk and you are never going to—“ “Don’t. You'll hurt yourself.” Spike gripped her hands, examining the bandages that were coming off. “Oh, Bloody Hell!" he sighed. "I’ll stay. I’ ll stay for as long as you need me.” “Y-you’ll stay?” She asked tremulously, her teeth still clanking together. “Really?” “Yeah.” He lifted her again, holding her the same way he had when he was wetting her. Buffy wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face against his chest. The ache in her own chest had diminished, and she clung to him, trying to find the words to express how happy she was. “Thank you,” she murmured, her hand stroking the sensitive skin at his nape. “Thank you so much, Spike.” Spike tightened his jaw, still cursing Willow, and let his hands move around her back. He hugged her lightly, then scooped her up in his arms so he could carry her more easily. “Your mum has gone to Atlanta early. She came in to tell you good-bye, but you slept through it.” “How long will she be gone?” Buffy wiped her face and shivered as he carried her through the cool hallway and into her room. “For about six days.” Thinking better of sitting her on the bed in her wet dress, he sat her on the vanity chair, and turned to go get a towel. “Six days!” she cried suddenly. “Spike!” “What?” He paused at the doorway and looked back at her. “Who will give me my baths?” With a shrug, he exited fast and went into the bathroom. This wasn’t good. This wasn't good at all. He hadn’t even considered that Buffy would still need to be bathed and have help getting dressed everyday. He supposed he could call Willow and get her to do it, or possibly even Xander --- no, hell would freeze before he’d let that bloke see her naked. Grabbing the towel, he turned to go, and bumped his groin against the sink. His very hard groin. “Son of a--” He leaned his forehead against the mirror and sighed. He had gotten a hard-on just thinking about the Slayer naked and wet in the tub. If he had to actually see it, he’d be stuck wanking himself in the basement all hours of the day and night. “Spike, I’m freezing!” Buffy called from her bedroom. He made sure that his shirt was long enough to cover what was bulging in his pants and made his way back to her room. Handing her the towel, he turned his back and said, “What are you going to wear?” “Look in my closet. I like wearing dresses because it makes it easier to—well, you know.” “Right.” Spike opened her closet and sifted through the garments. Each one seemed to be made of less material than the previous one, and that wouldn’t do at all. Finally, he found a lime green number with a high collar and long sleeves. He yanked it off the hanger and held it out toward her. “Here.” “Eww!” Buffy wrinkled her nose. “Spike, that is a bridesmaid dress.” “Sorry, didn’t know.” he grumbled. “Did the taffeta not give it away?” She smiled up at him, then glanced past him at her open closet. “Just hand me that blue one.” ~ The one with the thin little straps and neckline to the navel? ~ he thought, swallowing hard as he took it from the closet. “You’re cold, remember?” He waved the green one back and forth in front of her. There was no way he could find her remotely attractive in the green one. “Don’t you want to be colorful? Make a bold statement?” “You mean a blinding statement? I’ll wear the blue.” She grabbed the bottom of the dress she was wearing and started to pull it over her head. “Oops, I’ m sitting on it. Can you help me?” Wordlessly, he moved to help her and pulled the material out from under her. She raised her arms, indicating that he should pull it over her head, and he froze for a second. Buffy looked up at him. “What?” “Shouldn’t you dress yourself?” Shaking her head, she blushed slightly. “It throws me off balance and I’ll fall. Plus, it bunches around me if you don’t do it and then lift me and smooth it down the way it goes.” “Right.” He grasped her wet clothing again and gently tugged it over her head. He tried to focus on the posters on her wall, but he could see her bare breasts out of the corner of his eye and dared a peek. ~ Of course I have to look, I’m evil!~ Buffy put her arms through the underside of her dress and waited for him to tug it down. Her face was so hot she imagined that she looked sunburned. Shaking slightly, and not from the cold, she pointed toward the dresser in the corner of her room. “Uhm, I need underwear too. Top drawer.” He willed his feet in that direction and opened the drawer, frowning when he saw all the delicate laces and silks neatly folded inside. She apparently didn’t own anything cotton and practical. Gingerly, he lifted a lacy blue number, the thing closest to him, and slammed the drawer shut. Holding it out to her, he waited for her to take it. When she made no move, he put his hands on his hips. “What?” “Spike, when you were in a wheelchair, did you dress yourself?” “Drusilla helped me. Why?” "Did she help you with your underwear?" "I don't wear any." He shrugged, hiding the flirtatious smirk that wanted to accompany that statement. “Oh." She flushed at the image that suddenly flashed through her head and struggled to maintain her composure. "Well, I *do* and I need help. I can’t just stand up and peel them off and I really don’t want to roll around on the floor and get all wrinkled while I try to change them. It’s hard enough just to pull them down to use the bathroom.” She gave him a pointed look. “Oh,” was the only response he could muster and he kneeled in front of her. Careful not to touch too much of her thighs, he skimmed toward her waist until he felt the top band of her panties. She instinctively leaned over his shoulder, letting him lift her bottom easily. He carefully slid them down her legs, finally clearing her feet. He trailed his tongue out over his lips as he imagined the possibilities. ~It would be so easy,~ he thought to himself. ~To lift her up, put her on the bed, and bury my face between her legs. So easy. So fucking easy and good and---~ "Spike?" Buffy nudged him, wondering why he was staring at her knees. "What are you waiting for?" "What? Oh!" Grabbing the dry ones quickly, he slipped them upward, trying to think of anything other than what he had been. Buffy put her arms around him suddenly, and he half expected her to try to kiss him again; instead she looked annoyed. ~Oh god, she knows what I was thinking.~ "What?" “Here’s the part where you stand and I hold on and you pull them up.” “I was getting to that!” Spike lied and stood, dragging her up with him. His fingertips glided over her skin, and he closed his eyes as his body hardened in contrast to her softness. Slipping his hands behind her, he pulled her lacy panties into place and tried not to notice how firm her backside was, how easily her hips would fit into the palms of his hands as he thrust into her. He yanked his hands out from under her dress, disgusted with himself. He was supposed to be taking care of her, not taking advantage of her. “Okay, I’m done.” “Thanks.” Her stomach rumbled when he sat her back down and she glanced at the clock. “God, it’s noon already?” “You hungry?” he asked, anxious to have an excuse to put some distance between them. “Starving. Can I come down with you while you make lunch? I want to see what all that noise was about yesterday.” She grabbed her brush from the table and dragged it through her hair, then twisted it, clipping it at the nape of her neck. “Fine,” he replied, watching her movements. “Why do you pull your hair back like that?” “It’s drab and my roots are showing,” she said with a shrug. "Why leave it hanging for everyone to see?" “It looked beautiful when you had it down yesterday, all shiny like gold.” Spike admitted, as he lifted her. He had no doubt that it was going to be a very long six days. ~ Well, now you tell me, ~ she thought, but inside, her heart was singing. She had his promise that he wouldn’t leave her for as long as she needed him ... and six days alone with him to show him that she needed him for good. The afternoon passed uneventfully. Spike and Buffy kept conversation to a minimum, with the exception of idle chatter about the damage to the house, or what Spike should make for dinner, neither spoke. Spike made it a point to find a million things to do in the kitchen and Buffy sat on the sofa, staring blankly at the television. She was about to call for him and ask for a soda when an emergency flash went up on the screen. Spike heard the loud beeping from his perch on the kitchen counter and leaped off, hurrying into the living room. “What’s happening?” “Bad weather,” Buffy replied, shushing him with a wave of her hand. He moved around the couch and sat beside her as a meteorologist began to speak. “At four p.m., the tropical storm that was traveling a few miles off the coast changed its course and is now heading north, toward the town of Sunnydale and the neighboring communities. Residents of Sunnydale are advised to use extreme caution. This storm has been unpredictable and fierce. Flooding, strong winds, and lightning are expected, so please stay in your homes and seek appropriate shelter should the need arise.” Buffy studied the doppler map that the woman was pointing at. Sunnydale could be seen on the coast, and a large, red patch was circled a few inches away. Swallowing hard, she glanced at Spike. “You think Mom’s okay?” “She’s probably already in Atlanta, luv,” Spike said, leaning forward as he listened to the rest of the weather report. The patch on the doppler looked big enough to stretch from Sunnydale to Los Angeles and back again. “Damn, that’s a huge storm.” “We have lanterns and candles and stuff in the pantry.” Buffy nodded toward the double windows and bit her lower lip. “It’s already dark outside and it’ s only six.” "My kind of day." Spike stood and peeked through the blind. The broken window had been boarded up by Giles, who had predicted rain. Glancing toward the coastline, he sighed. “If it gets really bad, we’ll go the basement.” She nodded, chewing her thumbnail nervously. “I guess we’ll just wait. Right?” “Nothing else to do.” Spike narrowed his eyes when he noticed her shaking hands. “Scared?” “I don’t like storms.” Thunder rumbled in the distance, and she crossed her arms, hugging herself tightly. “I was in a boat once and-“ Trailing off, she closed her eyes. “And what?” “I don’t want to talk about it.” Shaking her head, Buffy pulled a throw from the back of the sofa and wrapped it around her shoulders. “The boat capsized and you fell in the water? Poor baby.” Spike chuckled and flopped back down beside her. “Did you flail around like you did in the shower this morning?” Pulling the cover tighter, she focused on the television, willing herself not to cry. “Still not wanting to talk about it.” Spike picked up the remote and flipped to the weather channel. It was showing hurricane footage from a few years back, complete with a pier that was crumbling and boats splashing back and forth in the water. “I hope it doesn’t get that bad here. High wind, stinging rain, flooding waters. We’ll be up the sh--” “Stop it!” Her nostrils flared as bile began to rise in her throat. "Just shut up." “Oh, lighten up,” he snapped, flipping back to the local news. He could not possibly know the blind panic that was coursing through her veins. Or maybe he did and didn’t care. He was, after all, nothing more than a demon. She felt the couch shift slightly and dared a glance at him, just in time to see him stand and walk toward the kitchen. She moved her hands and laid her head back, casting a weary eye at the window. The wind had begun to howl as it whipped around the house, and one of the shutters, a loose one near the dining room, slammed back and forth. Buffy turned the television up louder, hoping to drown out the sounds and the memories that she had repressed for so long of that fateful night in her grandfather’s boat. Why was she feeling the pain so vividly now? Was it because she was just as helpless now as she had been that night? Spike frowned as he stared across the table at Buffy. In the twenty minutes since he had prepared her dinner, and sat it in front of her, she had not eaten a bite. The sky lit up outside the window and Buffy jumped, almost knocking her glass of milk off the table. Spike grabbed it before it could do more than slosh and moved it to one side. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Buffy felt like she was suffocating. She could feel a thin bead of sweat on her forehead and dabbed at her face with her napkin. “I’m fine.” “Well you don’t look fine.” Spike leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, watching her closely as she eyed the windows. “I can’t imagine a Slayer being scared of a little rain. You do realize how pathetic that makes you, yes?” Slamming her fork down, she rolled back and started around the table. “Why can’t you just leave me alone? You don’t always have to hurt my feelings, you know.” Spike grabbed her wheel and stopped her. “Hurt your feelings?” “Yes, you hurt my feelings! You called my leg a chicken bone, you didn’t bother to acknowledge the fact that I kissed you, and you make fun of me for being terrified over something I can’t help.” She shoved his hand away. “Stay away from me.” She rolled out of the room and he leapt to his feet, following behind her. “Okay, first of all, I was just teasing you and second, how was I supposed to react to you kissing me?” Buffy kept her back to him, saying nothing. Spike stalked around her and gripped the arms of her chair, leaning down low. “Tell me. Tell me how to react. Tell me how you meant it. Tell me something.” “I don’t want to talk about it.” She swallowed hard and chewed her bottom lip. “You brought it up.” Spike saw her turn her gaze toward the television and he stood, putting his hands on his hips. “Fine. We won’t talk about it. We’ ll just go on pretending that it didn’t happen and you can sit there and have a nervous breakdown because of a little thunder. Which, I might add, is something else you brought up and don’t want to talk about.” Buffy heard him flop onto the couch behind her and she rolled slowly toward the other room, wishing more than anything that she could get up and run away. Away from him, away from the storm that was raging outside, and the one that was raging inside of her. She paused before she entered the dining room and half turned. “Spike?” “What?” “I was boating with my grandfather. We had heard the storm warnings, but I begged him to take me out anyway. Just for a little while, I said. The boat capsized and we fell in. I had on a lifejacket, but my grandfather didn’t. He got a cramp after about thirty minutes of treading water. One minute he was there, telling me that it was going to be okay, and the next minute he was gone.” She closed her eyes, recalling her Grandfather’s wrinkled face, and his big hands holding her in his lap as they had fished that day. “They never found him.” Spike rose slowly, dropping the remote on the couch. He rammed his hands into his pockets, searching himself for the right words. “Buffy, I’m sor—“ She held her hand up, silencing him. “I thought that I had worked through it all a long time ago. I mean, I went to therapy. But today, that storm warning and that wind outside – I feel the hurt again like it happened yesterday. I have never felt it so strongly. It feels like my heart is breaking.” She put a hand over her mouth to stifle the sob in the back of her throat. Spike narrowed his eyes, recalling Willow’s words about the spell. ‘Buffy will have the strength to confront her fears and admit the truth to herself. She can admit what’s in her heart, but we don’t know that it worked.’ He heard her sob again and moved around her, kneeling in front of her. Pulling her to his chest, he rubbed his hand up and down her back, and whispered softly in her ear, trying to soothe her. The spell had worked. She was admitting what was in her heart and confronting her fears. Admitting what was in her heart? Spike blinked several times as he tried to comprehend it all. Maybe, just maybe, there was a part of her that actually did want to kiss him. Maybe it wasn’t just the spell. ~Yeah right, Spike.~ The lights flickered several times and then the power went out. Buffy’s grip on him tightened and he lifted her, taking her to the sofa. His demon emerged, enabling him to see in the dark, and he sat down safely, straightening her legs out, and cradling her in his lap. He could hear her heart slamming in her chest, could hear her ragged breathing, and laid his head on top of hers. “We’ll be fine. I promise.” She took his hand and laced their fingers, moving her face into the hollow of his neck. Her lips skimmed the cool curve of his jaw line, then his cheek, finally fluttering briefly against his mouth. “I wanted you to react by kissing me back. I wanted you to hold me and not let go. I wanted—“ He felt her hand move toward the buttons of his shirt and he grabbed it. “Buffy, you shouldn’t—“ “I know what I want.” She trailed her fingers over his lips. “Do you know what you want?” Part Eight Spike pulled her free hand into his, effectively preventing her from roaming back to the buttons of his shirt. What he wanted was to shag her rotten. What he wanted was to take every advantage of her disability, get his rocks off, and then storm out of her life. That was the evil thing to do. That was the Spike thing to do. Silently, he cursed the day that he had blown back into Sunnydale for that blasted Gem. If he had never returned, he wouldn’t have been captured by commandos and he definitely wouldn’t be in the predicament he was in. He would also not be feeling grateful that at this very moment her crippled legs couldn't feel the erection pressing against them. He felt her blow hot air against his neck and spoke rapidly, hoping to distract her. “I want to stop fighting with you.” “Then let's not fight,” she replied softly, brushing her lips over his. There was so much she needed to tell him. She needed to tell him why she had been in the cemetery the day she was injured. She needed to tell him what she had planned on telling him as soon as she arrived at his crypt and he needed to know what was on her mind now. “Spike, I don’t know what it is that makes me want to--” There was a sudden loud knocking on the door and Spike could have danced in joy. Instead, he laid her on the sofa and made his way through the darkness. The sky was illuminated by lightning as he pulled the door open and saw Giles standing drenched on the front porch. Moving aside, he ushered the man inside, then leaned against the door, closing it against the wind from the storm. Giles pulled off the hat that was plastered to his head and stood in the foyer shaking water from his hair. “It’s quite dreadful outside. Several roads are already flooded and the radio said that La Bonita pier got washed away a short time ago. Where’s Buffy?” “I’m in here,” Buffy called from the living room. “Spike, could you get some candles and flashlights from the pantry? They’re on the second shelf from the top.” Giles listened as the vampire shuffled away and took a few tentative steps into the living room. “Buffy?” “Yes?” Peering over the back of the sofa, Buffy could just make out his shadow. “Just keep walking straight, Giles.” His thigh brushed against the recliner that sat next to the sofa and he fumbled his way into it, sighing with relief when he finally sat down. “That ’s better.” “What are you doing out in this weather, Giles?” she asked the darkness. “I wanted to stop in and make sure that you had all that you needed.” “You should have called. No one should be out in that kind of storm.” Giles pulled his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. He had been caught out in the storm; he had not ventured into it of his own free will. There was much going on and without the Slayer to maintain a balance, he was forced to do what he could to bridge the gaps. “I was visiting Willy.” “Willy?” Buffy’s forehead creased in momentary confusion. “Willy the snitch?” “Yes.” Giles put his glasses back on as light flickered from the kitchen. Spike had apparently found the candles. He waited until the vampire came around the corner with two candles before he spoke again. “Spike, you may want to listen to what I have to say.” Spike paused for the briefest moment, feeling a sense of dread beginning in the pit of his stomach, before he put the candles and their holders on the coffee table and sat beside Buffy. “What is it?” Taking a deep breath, Giles leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “I went to Willy to discuss those vampires that attacked you. I recognized one from a photograph in an old Watcher’s Journal and wanted to find out if Willy knew anything of importance.” “The suspense is killing me, Giles.” Buffy raised her eyebrows. “At the start of the nineteenth century, the Watcher’s Council began to collect notorious vampires. Most of the captures were unsuccessful and cost many a Slayer’s life, so the acquisitions eventually stopped. However, the vampires that they did keep were used to train Slayers, and proved to be a useful tool for Watchers, as well.” Buffy held up a hand. “And let’s not forget that whole ritual when a Slayer turns eighteen and gets to fight a demented vampire to the death with no weapons and no power.” “What?” Spike sat forward, staring at her intently. “What are you talking about?” “It's not relevant, Spike. Buffy can tell you all about that later.” Giles stood up and walked to the window, then refocused on the task at hand. “Buffy, telling you this is not easy so I’m just going to say it. The Council was here in town, right around the same time that the vampires attacked you. According to Willy, these vampires were supposed to kill you in return for their freedom. They were specifically chosen for the task because they have been trained and conditioned by the Council. When they failed, they had no choice but to run to avoid being recaptured.” “Why did this happen now?” Buffy had clenched her hands into fists, ignoring the jolts of pain that came from the cuts on her palms. “I mean, I quit the Council over a year ago.” “And in that year the Council underwent some changes. I wasn’t privy to that information because I had been excommunicated, but after I spoke with Willy, I called a friend in England.” Giles sat down again and stared at Buffy intently. “Because of the things that happened with Wesley and Faith and you and I, the head of the Council was removed and a new head was elected. His name is Darren Walsh and his daughter is Maggie Walsh.” “Professor Walsh?” Buffy’s eyes widened. “But I don’t—“ “Maggie Walsh is apparently the head of a special operation here in Sunnydale called the Initiative. She had been trained to be a Watcher and introduced all sorts of scientific data which, of course, was summarily ignored by those in power at the time. When her father took control of the Council, she found herself with millions in financial backing and she moved her organization, the Initiative, here, to the only active Hellmouth.” “And what exactly is the Initiative?” Spike asked. “They’re the reason you have that chip in your head. They pull young soldiers from their government training for special ops and basically brainwash them into fighting demons.” “But-“ Buffy swallowed hard, trying to digest the information. “The Council isn’t military.” “The government has known about the existence of demons for years, Buffy.” Giles’ tone was soft. “They choose to keep it from the public for safety reasons and by doing so, they’ve given the Initiative far too much power.” “I don’t understand why they would do this to me, though.” Buffy’s voice cracked and she struggled to maintain her composure. “Why do they want me dead?” Sighing, Giles stood again and moved to kneel beside the sofa. “Maggie Walsh knows who you are. She knew when she came here that you were the Slayer. I’m going to assume that she wanted you out of the way. I mean, you’re aware of the existence of her organization and she most likely saw that as a threat.” “So, what do we do?” Spike had subconsciously moved his hand to cover hers and wasn’t aware until he noticed Giles’ gaze resting there. He moved his hand away quickly, not making eye contact. “Are they going to try to kill her again?” “I don’t think so,” Giles stated, glancing from Buffy to Spike. Something was different between them. What was it? He pushed that thought aside and directed his attention to the matter at hand. “It’s been months since Buffy was injured. I think that if they were going to try anything else, they would have. You’re not much of a threat now, Buffy.” Buffy visibly flinched. “Right, I’m not much of anything.” “I didn’t mean that.” Giles reached his hand up, trying to take hers, but she pulled back. “Buffy—“ “I’m tired,” she stated flatly. “Spike, could you take me upstairs?” Spike nodded and pulled the blanket from her legs. She slipped her arms around his neck as he lifted her, then took the candle that Giles held out to them. Avoiding his gaze, Buffy laid her head on Spike’s shoulder. “Goodnight, Giles.” Giles followed them to the foot of the stairs, wringing his hat in his hands. “I apologize, Buffy. I should have kept these findings to myself. I had no right to--” Tightening her grip on Spike, she said, “Spike, stop.” When he paused, she looked over his shoulder at Giles. “It’s about me, Giles. I had a right to know. Just because I can’t do a damn thing about it doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be told. I am still the Slayer, dammit, and it’s still my life! Don’t you dare make my decisions for me.” “I only meant that—“ “Goodnight, Giles,” she snapped, and turned her attention back toward the stairs. “Spike, take me up.” When they cleared the top step, Buffy heard the front door click shut and squeezed her eyes closed. Spike took her into her bedroom and sat her on the bed, not bothering to pull the cover back. Buffy reached behind her and began to tug the comforter down, but Spike stopped her. “Tell me.” “Tell you what?” Buffy felt him tighten his grip on her hands and relaxed her instinct to lash out at him. “All of it. Tell me what happened with the Council to make you quit and what happened with this Initiative.” He moved to sit beside her, still holding her hand. “I’m tired and my back hurts,” she replied, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand. Spike stood up and eased her all the way on the bed, then rolled her onto her stomach. He rubbed his palm up her spine and began to knead the flesh above her shoulder blades. “Better?” “Mmm,” Buffy moaned. “What was that you were saying about being eighteen and having no power?” Rolling her eyes, she propped herself up and stared back at him. “You’re not going to give up, are you?” “Nope.” Spike smiled at her. “I like to know everything.” “Fine.” Buffy crossed her arms under her chin and relaxed again, staring at the way the candle sent dancing shadows flickering on the wall. “When a slayer turns eighteen, she gets stripped of her power with a special drug, and locked into a house with a crazy vampire that she has to defeat the vampire with just her wits. No weapons, nothing.” “You’re kidding me!” Spike stopped massaging her back and moved around the bed so he could see her face. “Are you kidding?” “Do I look like I’m kidding?” Her face was somber as she met his gaze. “They do that to their own Slayer? That’s barbaric. I mean, they strip away all of her ability to fend for herself, after she’s been reliant on it—“ “And they’ve done the same thing again.” She bit her bottom lip, working it back and forth between her teeth. “They’ve taken away my ability to fend for myself.” “Ah, but there’s a difference.” Spike brushed a lock of hair that had come loose from her clip away from her face. “Last time, you had to fight a vampire to win. This time you have a vampire willing to fend for you.” Tears welled up in her eyes and she smiled. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’ s said to me in a long time.” Spike cleared his throat, realizing he was on dangerous ground. "Yeah, well, don't read too much into it, Slayer. It's not like there's anyone else out there willing to put up with you." Buffy suppressed a smile as he moved beside her again and rubbed her neck. His half assed attempt at insulting her hadn't fooled her for a minute. He'd shown concern for her well being enough times now that it was getting easy to see through his tough-guy ruse. She relaxed into the massage, ignoring the chill that moved through her body. Spike felt her shiver slightly and realized that she was wearing a sundress with no shoes or socks. "You must be freezing." “I’m a little cold,” she admitted. He pulled her into a sitting position, pulled back the cover, and retrieved a gown from her bureau. He changed her quickly and soon had her beneath the cover. “I’ll just go downstairs and let you get some sleep.” “No,” Buffy caught his arm. “Stay with me?” “Buffy, I don’t think—“ “Just until I go to sleep?” She pointed at the window. “The storm is still so bad and I don’t want to be alone.” Grinning, she patted the bed. “I promise, I’ll keep my hands to myself.” He found himself grinning at her in return and slipped his shoes off, lying next to her on top of the cover. “So, you quit the Council because of that bloody test?” “Nah, they fired Giles because he interfered with the test. They said he loved me like a daughter and that's against the rules.” Her face softened, recalling the way Giles had treated her wounds that night. She would definitely have to call and apologize to him for the way she acted earlier. “They sent me a new watcher named Wesley and I pretty much hated him.” “Is that the reason? You didn’t like the new watcher?” Buffy rolled slightly, positioning herself in the crook of his arm. She didn ’t want to bring up Angel, didn’t want to relive the despair she felt when he had been poisoned and the Council had refused to help. “Yep, that’s it. They wouldn’t reinstate Giles, so I quit.” “They won’t get away with this,” Spike told her, rubbing his thumb over her arm. He leaned his face into her hair, letting it tickle his chin, and shook his head. “No, they’ll definitely pay for what they’ve done to you.” Buffy smiled. “We’re alike, aren’t we? Neither one of us are willing to admit our limitations and both of us got our limitations from the same place.” She was silent for a few seconds before she spoke again. “The only difference is that you’ll probably outlive that implant in your head and get to go back to what you were. I’ll always be this way.” “You don’t know that.” He tightened his grip. “Maybe one day you’ll wake up and be able to jump out of the bed and slay demons again. You won’t need me. Hell, you’ll probably stake me before I can get this chip out.” She stared into his eyes, suddenly serious. “If I got my legs back, Spike, I wouldn’t stake you.” He tried to ignore the way her statement made him feel. If she got her legs back ... He shook his head. “You wouldn’t catch me, luv. I’d run like hell.” Across town, Tara lit the final candle and glanced at Willow. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Willow took the flower from her dresser and nodded, peeling several of the petals off. “Spike definitely implied that something’s wrong with Buffy. We have to reverse it.” Tara glanced at her thoughtfully. “We don’t know if the first spell even worked.” “So we’ll do a universal removal spell to be sure.” Willow took a deep breath and began to mix ingredients. “That will remove any spell that’s been done to her, Willow. Protection spells, luck spells. Everything.” Willow poured powder into her bowl, sending up a plume of white smoke. “But the house will still be safe, right?” “Well, yeah. You’re just reversing the spell on her person, but still—“ “It’s fine.” Willow took the rose stem and began to mix her ingredients, her chanting drowned out by the storm that raged through the night. The thunder rumbled and rain splatted hard against the window pane, waking Buffy with a start. Spike had rolled toward her, both of his arms around her, and as she stirred, he pulled her closer, mumbling that it was okay. She let one of her hands rest on top of his hip and sighed in contentment. He made her feel safe, safer than she had felt since she had been injured. They had not spoken about the kisses she had given him or made any mention of the fact that she had been very willing to sleep with him. For whatever reasons he had, he'd stopped her, but wouldn’t broach the subject. It should have hurt, but a part of her was relieved that he had prevented her from going too far too fast. Whatever was happening between them right now felt like enough. The feel of his arms, his assurances that he wasn’t leaving her, and the similarities in their situations soothed her in a way that nothing else could. The rain seemed to get harder and Buffy squeezed her eyes closed, concentrating on anything but the storm. She pondered the myriad of emotions that she had been having since Spike came into her life. Since before she had ever been injured, there were things, just below the surface, that she had not even dared to entertain. There had always been a part of her that thought he was attractive, even during their worst battles. That was the only explanation for the fact that he wasn’t dead. She’d had a million chances to stake him. And no one had ever kissed her the way he had. When Willow had done the spell and they were ‘engaged’, it had been so powerful, so real, that she had lost herself in it all. Of course, she had been forced to pretend when it was over that she hated every minute, but she caught herself staring at his mouth far too often. And she had been ready to tell him all of that when she had headed to his place that night. Maybe if she had not been concentrating on what she needed to say, she would have been aware of the vampires and-- A loud clap of thunder forced her to jump again and she pulled herself into a tight ball, drawing her knees upward toward her chest. Spike rolled onto his back, taking away the arm that had shielded her from seeing the lightning. She watched for a second before she stretched out, rolling onto her back. Then it hit her. She had moved. She had drawn her legs up to her chest, then put them back. Her first instinct was to reach for Spike, to shake him awake and scream his name. She sat up, started to do just that, then stopped. ~If I got my legs back, Spike, I wouldn’t stake you.~ ~ You wouldn’t catch me, luv. I'd run like hell. ~ Spike sat up beside her, brushing her hair back. “Are you okay?” “Yeah.” Buffy jumped when she felt his hands on her. “I- I was- I had a nightmare.” The lie came easily. Her mind refused to admit, for even a split second, that she had moved at all. It was in that instant that she decided to wait and say nothing. She needed to make sure-- “Are you ready to get up?” Spike rubbed his eyes sleepily, getting to his feet beside the bed. It suddenly struck him, how natural it felt to wake up there. “I’m going to go get myself some breakfast. What do you want?” “Uhm, nothing right now. I think I’ll sleep a while longer,” she said as she forced herself to smile up at him. “I’ll call you when I wake up.” “Lazybones.” Spike grinned down at her as he pulled the cover back up. “I’ll check in on you in a bit.” “Okay.” Buffy waited impatiently as he slipped his shoes on and staggered across the floor. When she heard his feet on the stairs, she shoved her cover back and stared down at her feet. Leaning down, she squeezed her toes and gasped. She felt it just fine. Sitting back up, she wiggled her toes, then bent her legs at the knees. Holding her breath, Buffy turned and lowered her feet to the floor and stood up. Fully erect, with all of her weight on her feet for the first time in months, the Slayer began to cry. Taking several steps, she clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from calling out to Spike. She couldn’t tell him - not right now - no matter how great her need was to share the news. She would wait until he knew how she felt about him and then, assuming he felt the same way, she would stand up and walk to him. ‘No, I can’t do that,' she thought. ‘I can’t hide it. My mom will be so happy!’ But, she’s out of town. You have a few days to get it all worked out, another part of her pointed out. Sighing, Buffy slumped on her bed and held her legs out in front of her, rotating her feet and popping her ankles. Nothing had ever felt better in her life. It felt like every single inch of her body had been reborn: her limbs, her mind, her heart. She ran a hand through her hair and swallowed hard, trying to make sense of the situation. On the one hand, assuming her paralysis was permanently gone, she would be free to fight the vampires and remove the threat to Spike. But on the other hand, she would be setting him free by doing so. Buffy flopped back on the bed and buried herself in the cover. The only logical thing to do would be to bide her time and see what happened with Spike. She could let his actions dictate hers. Rolling onto her side, she watched daylight creep from the dark. A new day should have been dawning for her, but instead, a raw fear had taken hold of her gut and twisted it. In her mind’s eye, she saw herself rising from her chair and reaching for Spike, only to find the room empty. She couldn’t let that happen. Part Nine Buffy was lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling, when Spike tapped on the door and poked his head inside. Swallowing hard, she propped herself up on one elbow, holding her legs perfectly still beneath the cover. For the past hour and a half, she had alternated between throwing her legs off the edge of the bed and walking toward the door, then losing her courage and crawling back beneath the cover. It felt odd to be able to feel the warmth of the cover on her lower limbs. It felt even stranger to be able to roll onto her side and draw her legs up, cradling her pillow the way she used to. Before the vampires. Now there was a vampire smiling at her and mumbling something about hair color. She watched as he made his way toward her, holding two boxes in his hands. Taking one, she glanced at it. "Hair dye. Where did you get this?" "Your mum had it. You mentioned that you didn't like your hair much these days, right? So, let's get you up and get your lunch and then I'll bleach it out again and help you into the tub." Grinning triumphantly, Spike sat the boxes on the table beside her bed and rolled her wheelchair closer. Buffy said nothing as he peeled the cover back and scooped her up. The feel of his muscular arms behind her knees silenced her, and she concentrated only on the sensations that coursed through her body from feeling his platonic touch. She could only imagine what it would be like to feel him touch her with more on his mind. Once she was settled in her seat, Spike stepped back out into the hallway and brought in a brightly wrapped package, which he put on the foot of the bed. He watched as Buffy eyed it curiously, then wagged his finger at her. "No touching until you have your lunch and we do your hair, okay?" "Where did you get that?" Buffy looked up at him, marveling at the many surprises he always had up his sleeve. Not only had he saved her life and taken care of her, he was proving himself to be quite a bit more thoughtful than she had given him credit for. "You remember that night that Giles took me shopping?" He waited for her to nod. "This is the package that was left in his car. I just found it in the downstairs closet." "Thank you," she said, casting her eyes downward. Guilt washed over her in a chilling tide, causing her to shiver. She stared at her legs for several long seconds, wondering if she should just move her foot off the metal resting pad and stand up. "You okay?" Spike unlocked the wheels of her chair and knelt in front of her, trying to gauge the emotions that were playing across her features. She was quiet in a way that he hadn't seen in a long while. "I guess I'm just tired," she replied, rolling her chair back so she could avoid his concerned gaze. "The thunder kept me awake all night." "You sure that's it?" He looked at her steadily, squatting near her chair so he could see her face better. "Yes! God!" Buffy pushed her left wheel, turning herself in a circle so she could move past him. "You sleep in my bed and suddenly you have to give me the third degree?" Spike stood, watching her bump the wall as she tried to go through the door. Grabbing the handles of the chair, he guided her safely through, frowning when she snapped that she could do it herself. Once she was safely in the bathroom after slamming the door behind her, he sighed and scratched the side of his head. Sudden mood swings. Sullen behavior. Had to be PMS. Leaving her to do her business, he walked down the stairs to make her a sandwich. Buffy stood in front of the full length mirror, eyeing herself critically. Her hair was long, coming almost to her waist, but any luster that it had once had was gone, replaced by stringy strands of half-blonde and half-dark brown. Turning to the side, she pulled her gown tight around her and wondered where her figure had gone. The curves that she once had had disappeared, and her once ample bosom was practically non-existent. With a sigh, she turned and bent over the sink, splashing water in her face. She avoided looking at herself again, unable to stare at the girl she had become -- the thin, lying, deceitful girl with hollow eyes and pale skin. Gripping the edge of the sink, she squeezed her eyes closed tightly. Would she ever be a Slayer again? Did she even want to? For as much as she kept telling herself that she was keeping her recovery a secret because of Spike, she knew that deep down there was a part of her that feared her old life. The life that had caused her to be injured to begin with. If she walked back into that life, she could lose more than just Spike ... she could die. No, she would die. Those were the rules. The time that she had spent out of the darkness, although tinged with shame and regret on her part, had been safe and she had been able to be a semi-normal girl with a lifeline that didn't splinter and break. In the chair, she had a future. Out of it, she had -- what exactly? She was just sitting in her chair again when Spike knocked. "Just a second," she called. "Your lunch is ready. I hope you don't mind tuna again." "Anything's fine," she replied, gripping the wheels of her chair. This was it. She had to decide whether to walk out of the bathroom or roll out. Gnawing her bottom lip furiously, she stared at the door. Spike walked into her room and put her tray down, then glanced back into the hallway. "Are you coming out or what?" Standing up, she reached for the knob and turned it, opening the door just a crack. As soon as she could see the hallway, she slammed it shut and sat back in her chair, wringing her hands in her lap. Spike dropped the stuffed animal he had been looking at and walked across the hall, poking his head into the bathroom. "Why'd you slam the door?" Buffy shrugged and pointed at her chair. "My chair hit it. I don't usually bring it all the way in. This room's too small." Thirty minutes later, Buffy was sitting at the vanity table, watching in the mirror as the bottle of bleach floated magically through the air. Spike's lack of a reflection made for some interesting viewing as he separated and massaged the dye into different sections of her hair. Trying hard to forget the lie that she was literally sitting on, Buffy pointed at the mirror. "You know, I can see why vampires would make bad hair stylists. You would scare the hell out of patrons with the no reflection thing." Spike glanced up from what he was doing and stared at the mirror. Grinning a little, he lifted a lock of her hair straight up, making it stand on end. "With hair like this, that fear could go both ways. Even I know how to keep my roots in check." "Hey!" Buffy frowned and reached upward, trying to pat her hair down, but Spike stopped her. "That's not funny." "Don't touch it with your bare skin! It will burn!" He nudged her hand away and continued working. "Spike, I hate to point out the obvious, but it's already touching my bare skin." "Smart ass," he replied, massaging his fingertips over her scalp. Buffy closed her eyes, enjoying the way his hands felt. Suddenly, it dawned on her that she would have to rinse her hair somehow and her eyes flew open. "Oh my god! How am I gonna rinse my hair?" "I'm a step ahead of you, luv." Spike glanced at the clock on her table and began timing the coloring. "As soon as this is almost finished, I'll go and get the shower ready." "Shower? How am I supposed to stand in the shower?" "Your mum had a shower massager installed. The hose is really long. You'll sit in the tub and use that to rinse, then we'll run you some bathwater." Relaxing a little, Buffy nodded. "Yeah, that sounds okay." Spike was glad that she couldn't see his reflection. He was anything but okay with the situation. It was going to be hell on him to see her naked again. Naked and wet and sitting in the tub like some kind of delicate mermaid. Glancing at the clock, he willed himself not to react to it. He had been trained to take care of people and see to their needs. He had been a good doctor and this was no different than any of the patients he had seen before he had been sired by Angelus. Sure, it had been over one hundred years ago, but he still retained the memory of his schooling and training. And he only had fifteen more minutes to get himself mentally prepared for it. Buffy sat in the hallway, watching Spike adjust the temperatures inside the shower. He turned after a few minutes and moved toward her, reaching for the hem of her gown. Turning a bright red, Buffy caught his hand as he brushed across the fabric. "I want to wear my gown." "I've already seen you naked, Slayer," Spike replied, gathering a handful of the fabric. "Besides, this is a nice gown and you'll just ruin it if the bleach gets all over it. It will stain." It suddenly struck him that he sounded exactly as he had when dealing with Dru. He'd never been able to walk away from a beautiful woman in need, and here he was again, playing nanny to the Slayer. "I don't care," she stated, moving his hand again and smoothing out the material he had wrinkled. "I want to wear it." Spike stood up, assessing the situation. Whatever it was that was bothering her had begun to bother him too, and he could feel his patience being stretched to the limit. "You can't always wear a gown in the tub, Buffy. If you want me to stay and take care of you then you have to learn to let me. You can't be modest and you can't be stubborn and headstrong. You're paralyzed, Buffy, and that gown could tangle up and drown you within minutes." "That would never happen," she said, shaking her head. "I can pull myself up." Narrowing his eyes at her, he lifted her roughly and let her slip to the floor. Moving quickly, he stuffed her gown around her and pulled it tight, stepping on the bulk of the fabric. "Pull yourself up," he growled. Buffy had to force herself to use just her arms. She struggled for several seconds and then sighed in defeat. "I can't." Gripping her under the armpits, he pulled her upright and quickly pulled her gown over her head. Letting her fall back on her elbows, he slipped her panties over her hips and legs, then tossed them on top of her gown. She kept her head lowered, half attempting to cover herself, and he took the opportunity to stare down at her, drinking in her petite curves and small breasts. She glanced up at him suddenly, questioning what he was doing with her eyes, and he snapped out of it. Keeping his gaze anywhere except her body, he lifted her and took her into the bathroom, where he deposited her in the tub. Buffy felt a blush spread over her face and neck and quickly grabbed the shower head, turning it to the highest pressure. She turned the spray toward her head, using her free hand to work the dye through. The chemicals seeped into her still healing cuts on her palm and she yelped. "What did I just tell you?" Spike grabbed the massage and rinsed her hand. "Let me do it." "I'm not helpless," she mumbled, crossing her arms over her chest, the truth in her statement making her cringe. She closed her eyes as he rinsed her hair and soon he was satisfied that the water was clear. She felt him rinse the tub around her and watched as he turned the shower off and stopped up the tub, letting it fill around her. "I can bathe myself." "No, you can't," Spike said evenly, squatting next to the tub. "What happened? Buffy, why are you being like this?" "I- I just- I hate this." Buffy noticed a bottle of bubble bath on the ledge of the tub, and dumped half of it under the running water, needing to hide herself. Nude in front of him, with her body coming to life in ways she never imagined, she felt as though he could see right through her ruse. Spike watched the bubbles foam up and come around her, swatting a few away before he turned the water off. "Is it because I stayed in your bed all night?" She gasped and jerked her head up, meeting his eyes fully for the first real time that day. "Oh, god, no. Spike, don't think that. I asked you to stay. I guess I just woke up cranky." Silently, she added, 'and able to move my legs and terrified that you'll leave. Because I can walk, because I am lying to you, because it changes everything. Because with me crippled, I'm a normal girl, but the second I walk again I'm the Slayer and your kind is my prey.' "Well, why don't we turn the crank the other way?" Spike lifted a washcloth and lathered it with soap. With one hand, he pushed her hair over her shoulder and began to soap her back. "You don't have to be embarrassed to let me do this, okay?" She reddened again, despite the conviction in his tone. "I can't help it." Spike dipped the cloth in the water and soaped it again, then handed it to her. "Wash your face." He waited until she took it and began to scrub her face before he spoke again. "Slayer, I'm going to tell you something, and you'd bloody well better not laugh." Wringing the rag out, she splashed her face and glanced at him. "Okay." "Do you remember the other day, when you mentioned your back pain and I told you some medical things and you asked me when I got my medical degree?" "Yeah." "I didn't lie to you. I went to medical school and worked in a hospital for three years." Buffy's eyes widened and she sat up straighter. "You're serious?" "Yes." Spike took the washcloth again and pulled her leg out of the water. Biting her lip, to keep from cackling as he soaped between her toes, Buffy spoke quickly. "Were you happy?" Nodding, Spike soaped her calf and knee, working upward toward her center. Part of him wanted to toss her the rag and tell her he'd be right outside the door. Her skin was so soft, so smooth under his touch and it was driving him crazy. She was driving him crazy. He paused at the apex of her thighs and reached for her other foot, soaping it the same as he had the other. Moving to her chest, he worked the washcloth in a circular pattern as he spoke again. "I was very happy at the hospital, but I was transferred to an asylum at the end of my third year. It was impossible to be happy there." Buffy tried with all of her might to pay attention to the story he was telling her, but as he kneaded her breasts, she found her lower half responding, a throbbing ache beginning to surge in her womb. She wanted more than anything to squeeze her legs together and apply some kind of pressure to the part of her that had been dormant for so long, but instead, she found herself pulled back into his story at the mention of Drusilla. "Anyway, Dru had apparently been picked up and she was all disoriented. I found out later that she had forgotten to eat for a few days. Vampires get a nasty case of dementia when they don't eat." "So all this time, she's been starving?" "Very funny." Spike paused and let the washcloth dangle between his fingertips, debating whether or not to attempt to completely bathe her. He had no idea how far Joyce went or how capable Buffy was. When she made no move to take the rag from him, he figured that he should continue and soaped it again as he continued his tale. "She fed on a couple of orderlies and then came at me. It was right around that time that Angelus figured out where she was and all kinds of hell broke loose when he brought a few minions in to get her back. I did the gallant thing and tried to protect her from the deformed men, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up a vampire and she was cooing over the pretty new pet that her daddy had given her." "So, Angel sired you for Dru?" Buffy watched as his strong hands soaped the rag. She knew exactly where he was about to go with it and there was no way she could handle the feel of his hand *there*. She was capable of doing it herself. She could have shooed him out the door, should have, but instead she bit her lip and waited patiently to feel his hands move lower on her. She should have felt guilty, but all she felt was a breathless anticipation as he laid the soap down. Spike nodded and reached under the water again, sliding his hand down her stomach until his thumb brushed against her dark nest of curls. Swallowing hard, he concentrated on the wall behind her head and hoped that she had no idea what she was doing to him. Turning his hand palm down, he slid along her inner folds, careful with the pressure he was applying, although he was almost positive she couldn't feel it. No one had told him how severe her paralysis was. His cock was at full attention, stabbing into the edge of the tub, and he continued his story, hoping to take his mind off what he was doing. Clearing his throat, he said, "He figured that she needed a doctor around all the time to tend to her needs and prevent her from winding up in the hospital again. I became everything for her. Her surrogate father, her caregiver, her lover, her life -- and I never looked back." Buffy felt a line of sweat forming on her forehead as his hand ran all over her inner thighs. His face was expressionless, as if he was unaware of what he was doing, but Buffy knew that the way he touched her had nothing to do with washing. His thumb brushed over her clit, then lower, his fingers dragging the rag along. She felt him trace the length of her and barely dip into her ... once, then twice. Every muscle of her body tried to betray her by arching against him, and she struggled with her breathing, trying to keep it semi-normal instead of ragged. As he brushed against her swollen clit, she cleared her throat and slipped her hands beneath the water, pinching her legs to pull the attention away from what he was doing. "Until now." Spike yanked his hand away, dipping the cloth several times in the tub. Oh, he had been so caught up in what he was doing ... in the feel of her, in how she had clamped around the tip of his thumb, that he had forgotten what he was saying. "Until now. It's only fair that I tell you about me. You told me about your grandfather." Satisfied that he couldn't stand much more, no matter how much they talked about his past, he rolled her slightly and washed her backside, then hit the drain before he turned the shower on again to rinse the bubbles away. Her arousal began to slowly recede, replaced by humiliation from the fact that he had washed her -all over- and she had felt every brush of his hand. Rinsing was simple and soon enough, Spike was spreading a towel on her chair and lowering her onto it. He grabbed another and quickly scrubbed her body down, needing to see her dry and dressed as fast as possible. She covered herself with her mother's terry cloth robe and sat silently as Spike wheeled her back to her room. He told her a few more things about his past, mostly about his early kills and what Angelus had been like, as he brushed through her hair and used the dryer on it. And she could feel his hatred for Angel coming through in every word he uttered. When he was finished, Spike stood back and admired his handiwork. Her hair was shiny now, curling delicately around her breasts and parted deeply on one side. It was a little lighter than it used to be, and it was beautiful. "You look lovely," he told her in a quiet voice. Buffy patted her hair and started to roll toward her vanity, only to find the path blocked by Spike. "Don't I get to see?" Nodding, Spike handed her the package at the foot of her bed. "Open it." Smiling broadly, she tore the paper from the box and lifted the lid. Inside there was a silver handled mirror, ornately designed with rose patterns and vines around the handle. Buffy gasped and turned it over, running her fingers over the back. "It's beautiful." Taking it from her, Spike turned it so she could see her reflection. "No, *that* is beautiful." Buffy stared at her reflection, shocked at her own image. Gone was the helpless girl who had felt sorry for herself and felt comfortable seducing Spike. The Slayer had re-emerged, pushing away the victim and trying to reclaim her life. A life that both scared and hurt her. Forcing herself to smile, she whispered. "Thank you, Spike, for everything." Buffy glanced at him over the mirror, but looked away just as quickly. A pit formed in the middle of her stomach as guilt weighed heavily upon her. "I- I don't feel very well. I think I should lie down again." Spike frowned and took the mirror from her, helping her into the bed. "Do you want me to call Giles?" "No. I'll be okay." She made a great show of tugging her legs so she could roll onto her side. "I just need sleep." After Spike left the room, she sobbed silently, her tears dampening her pillow and causing her body to shake uncontrollably. What was she supposed to do? Just go back to being a Slayer? Spike loathed Slayers. He hated everything about her sacred duty. If she told him she could walk, he would leave her because she didn't need him anymore, and if she kept pretending and he found out, he would hate her for lying to him. She was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Quite literally.

Chapter #4 - 4

Maggie Walsh was the picture of arrogance and calm as she stalked through the dank sewer. On either side, she was flanked by a heavily armed commando and as she neared her destination, she drew a cross from her waistband and gripped it firmly in her palm. Nodding at the young man on her right, she watched as he kicked in the doorway that housed a maintenance room. The commando on her left flipped the switch on a large light he had carried with them and Maggie smiled as the vampires that had been sleeping soundly sprang upward in confusion, game faces raging. "Rise and shine," she barked, before stepping inside the room. "What do you want?" asked the leader, the same burly vampire who had tossed a flaming bottle into the Slayer's house. Maggie held the cross up and the commandos stepped forward, protecting their boss with laser guns that hummed noisily when they were activated. As the vampires hissed and drew back, she smirked and surveyed the demons. "There were more of you, weren't there?" "The Slayer and her friends took out several," the large vampire said, trying not to look at the crucifix. "I see." Walsh stared around the room. "Which one of you would like to tell me how a crippled Slayer and a handful of misfits were able to 'take out' what was once the Council's elite?" One of the vampires, another large and hulking man, cleared his throat and stepped out of the shadows. "We attacked her again at her place, but her Watcher came in from behind and he had all kinds of weapons. Water guns-" "Water guns?" Maggie shook her head and glanced upward, chuckling softly. "Tell me ... what exactly were you going to do to the Slayer this time? Kill her? You tried and failed." "We was sidetracked that first time. After everything you told us, I figured you wouldn't care that we didn't kill her," the leader announced, his voice tinged with a heavy southern drawl. "She's got a vampire stayin' with her now. Spike - William the Bloody - and for some reason, he stopped us from killin' her the first time. We figured he was just wantin' to do her in by his lonesome, but he saved her life and now he's living there. We went back to kill him for being a turncoat to his own kind." "Hmm, interesting," Maggie replied. "The Slayer, however, is of no concern to us. I've seen to it that she won't heal and we have more pressing matters at hand. A few months ago, before the Slayer was injured, we captured and implanted a Hostile. He escaped. Inside his head is a one of a kind implant that we have been unable to reproduce. He was our first and only test subject and he has the only implant. I want you to find him." "We don't owe you nothin'," the southern vampire replied. "You sure do seem forgetful. Our debt to you was paid when we done the Slayer in. She's out of commission, just like you was wantin' and there ain't no other one being called to come to the Hellmouth. You're free and clear to run this place yourself." He pointed at the two commandos. "And you've got all them boys running around with fancy gear. You don't need us. Let us be." Maggie stared at him for several long minutes, until he began to fidget under her scrutiny. When he broke eye contact and looked at the floor, she took a deep breath. "Our deal? Our deal means I own you. I can put in a telephone call to my father right now and let him know that I've found his runaways." A female vampire stepped into the light and gazed at Maggie. "If your father knew what you had done to that Slayer he'd-" Clearly startled, Maggie moved quickly to one side and backhanded the woman across the face with the crucifix. "You don't speak to me. The only reason you are still alive is because I know how much you loathe the thing that you've become." The female pulled her lips back, exposing her white fangs, and smiled. "No, Maggie, I do not loathe the thing I have become. I loathe the only thing I created when I had mortality. You, my daughter." Maggie turned on her heel and grabbed a briefcase from one of the commandos. Opening it quickly, she yanked out a photograph of the missing Hostile and held it up. "This is Hostile Seventeen. You have three days to locate him and bring him to me. Don't dust him. I want him whole and with as little damage as possible." Thrusting the photo toward the leader, she glanced at her mother once more. "And you, don't tempt me. Having you killed once was easy enough. If you contact my father, he'll be joining you." The leader watched as Maggie turned on her heel and stormed out of the small room. The two soldiers followed, taking their source of light, and the vampire asked for a candle to be lit. As soon as he was able to see the photo clearly, he smiled. "Well, well. Paybacks are a bitch." "That's Spike!" one of the vampires shouted, pointing at the photo. "I'll be damed!" "You already are." Licking his lips in anticipation, the vampire in charge folded the picture and turned to the others. "Walsh has threatened us for the last time. Now we know where Spike is and we know that Walsh don't want that Slayer dead because another one will be called and sent here. After we kill Spike, we're gonna take that Slayer, take off whatever mojo Walsh put on her, and make her one of us. Then we're gonna tell her the whole story about what Maggie done to her and then let her loose." "Ain't gonna be nothing worse than a vamped out Slayer," one of the vampires replied with a chuckle. "No. There is something a lot worse than a vamped out Slayer." The female, who had once been very much alive and very proud of her daughter, shook her head. "A Watcher with vast knowledge and a heart as black as night. A Watcher who had it in her head that she should be the Slayer and went about corrupting everything in her path when it wasn't to be so. And she was just here." Giles read the text in front of him for the third time, and for the third time, he found his mind wandering back to Buffy's face as he had told her the truth about the Council. Certainly, when he had first joined the ranks as a bonafide Watcher, he had questioned the techniques and practices used, but he had accepted it. He had accepted the demons that were paraded back and forth on display, accepted the myriad of young girls who were constantly conditioned on the off chance that their calling came next, and he had accepted that the ways were archaic, but necessary. When the Slayer before Buffy had perished in a battle with a Draloc demon, there was an eerie hush in the Council headquarters and all of the active Watchers had been called in. They had flown from all over the country, many of them bringing their female charges, and many hoping to be assigned a charge. However, none of the girls was the one. The Chosen One. Merrick, an older man with the ability to read signs, had been called in to locate the girl. He had pinpointed her location to Los Angeles, and for unknown reasons, she had not been made aware of her lineage. Naturally, the Council had been up in arms. Could it be possible that a girl who had never been trained and never been exposed to demons survive in their world? Merrick seemed to think she could and had set out to find her. Word came back within weeks that his charge had accepted her fate and had slain upward of thirty vampires in just three weeks. In three months, Merrick was dead. The Council blamed the Slayer, blamed her carelessness and her lack of experience. Discussions were called again, this time to decide if the girl should be killed so that the next in line, someone conditioned, could take her place. Giles had listened intently, hearing nothing but reasons for her to be taken out of commission, and finally, he had raised his hand and spoken clearly. "There seem to be hundreds of reasons that this girl, this child, is a liability, but shouldn't the Council take responsibility for her lack of training? Before you make any rash decisions and end a precious life, please consider what Merrick said to us about her. Her potential, her raw ability, is like nothing he had seen. Surely there is a Watcher who can harness that ability. Think of the possibilities, if she truly is as exceptional as Merrick claimed." They had put him on the next plane to Sunnydale, California, after a Seer had told them that was where she would be. He was not a fool. He knew exactly why he was sent. Not because of his own track record, but because the Council felt that an untried Watcher and untrained Slayer would surely fail and perish, quite neatly solving the problem without anyone getting their hands dirtied. It had been a struggle from the first moment he clapped eyes on her, the dainty little blonde who seemed to live in a bubble. She was stubborn, willful, and uncooperative, but Giles had continued forward, unwilling to admit that he could see glimpses of himself in her. It wasn't until Angel had given him the Pergamum Codex, and the prophecy it contained, that he'd been forced to confront his feelings. The prophecy foretold Buffy's death and had hit him like a hammer blow, making him realize just how much his Slayer had touched his heart. Other watchers buried their Slayers and moved on, but the thought of losing Buffy was practically unbearable. The fates must have heard his silent cries, because she followed through with her destiny and died, but through some miracle, she had been resuscitated and had come back to him. If it was at all possible, she came back stronger, even more powerful and the Council had seem pleased when she defeated the Master. Her death, however, had brought about another Slayer, forever altering the balance of things within the Council, and from that moment on, things inside the organization began to spiral out of control. His colleagues on the inside had alerted him early on that there were rumblings about the way he had handled his responsibilities. He allowed her to have friends, allowed her to see a vampire socially, and ultimately had done nothing to stop her from taking that vampire as a lover. His superiors had been less than pleased with that shocking turn of events. Giles pulled off his glasses as he recalled Kendra's death, Faith's appearance in town, and the eventual testing on Buffy's eighteenth birthday. When it had ended, when he had been fired and she sat at the research table, shaking and covered in her own blood, he had gone to her, not as her Watcher any longer, but as her friend. He had bathed her wounds, hoping that she knew the truth in what Quentin had told him. He did have a father's love for her, and he made no apologies for it. Now, alone in his apartment, Giles slammed his books shut and stood, pacing the length of his living room. Maggie Walsh had been a thorn in his side for much of his training as a Watcher. He had only seen her a handful of times when they were both very young, and never would have connected the dots between Buffy's psychology professor and his old nemesis. If anything, he'd made certain that Walsh was far removed from his thoughts. She was crazy. And if he recalled correctly, she had been determined to be a Slayer. Even after she was far too old to ever be considered, she had worked with her father, her 'Watcher', and he had placated her by giving her false hope. When it became apparent that the Council would only offer her a job as a Watcher, she had trained alongside Giles, learning the finer points of the quarterstaff. From the moment that Giles had bested her in a meet, she focused on him, going out of her way to trip him up or put him into situations that were not only deadly, but earned him the ridicule of the others. It wasn't until her mother vanished that Maggie grew solemn and concentrated all of her attention on her father and her schooling. By the time Giles had completed his training, he only saw her in passing, and she seemed to be oblivious to all that was around her. But now she was in Sunnydale. She could have targeted Buffy in order to get back at him, or, given her mentality, she could have had Buffy attacked because Buffy was everything she never got to be. And since her father was in charge of the Council, he could brush her activities under the rug. Darren Walsh had always been far too doting on Maggie, never allowing her to take responsibility for her own actions. Moving back across his living room, Giles took a seat at his desk and tried to read the passage in his book for the fourth time. He was about to give up entirely when the phone rang, startling him. "Yes? Hello? "Giles, it's Angel." "Oh, Angel, hello." Giles closed his book and sat back in his chair. "Is everything all right in Los Angeles?" Angel glanced at Wesley, who was holding a cloth to Cordelia's head. The girl was sniffling quietly, hugging herself. "Yes, things are fine here. How are things there?" Giles shifted uncomfortably. At Willow's insistence, he had never mentioned Buffy's injury to Angel during their many phone calls. Willow felt that a visit from Angel would only serve to upset Buffy, and he had been forced to agree that he felt the same way. However now, with all of the new information and the looming threat of the Council, he took a deep breath and prepared himself for a long story. "I'm afraid not, Angel. It seems that-" "Is Buffy okay?" "No, she's not. Not at all. I haven't been forthright with you in our conversations for quite some time." "I see." Angel turned away from his friends, not willing to let them see the panic on his face. "Why don't you start at the beginning?" Taking a deep breath, Giles relayed everything that had happened to Buffy, leaving out the details about the Council. He allowed Angel to shout at him and did not argue when Angel said that he would be coming to Sunnydale that night. When he hung up the phone, he stood again, unsure of what to do with himself until nightfall. Moving to his couch, he sat down roughly and leaned his head against the back. His temples throbbed, the tension, worry and exhaustion taking its toll. Shutting his eyes, he told himself he would only doze for a second. He was asleep before it ever dawned on him that he should alert Buffy that Angel was coming. Part Eleven Spike pulled the popcorn from the microwave and dumped it into a large bowl. Grabbing a can of soda and his glass full of blood, he walked into the living room and sat down beside Buffy. He still wasn't sure what had happened with her that afternoon, or why she had been so distant, but he was hell bent on helping her put it out of her mind. And his. "So, you've never seen this movie, huh?" Buffy shook her head and took the bowl of popcorn, popping several pieces into her mouth. After a short nap and a couple of hours alone, she had decided that she would keep pretending, just until she could pull herself together. "I'm the Slayer. Or, I was. That kinda kept me busy when it was movie time." "Well, thank Xander for his impeccable movie collection." Pressing play on the remote control, he winked at her. "You're in for a treat." "Does it matter that I've never seen any of the other Star Wars movies?" "And you call yourself an American?" Spike shook his head and pointed at the stack of movies on top of the television. "We've got them all." Buffy relaxed a little, enjoying the feel of his thigh pressing against hers as they shared the popcorn. All the lights were off, with just the television flickering from one corner of the room. Several times, her hand brushed his inside the bowl and she tingled with every encounter, forcing herself to concentrate on the movie. Soon, she was transported to a galaxy far, far away, and by the time the credits rolled, she was thoroughly enraptured. "Ooh, I can't believe I've never seen that!" "Ready for The Empire Strikes Back?" Spike stood and stretched, rubbing the back of his head. "I need a bathroom break and then we're set," she replied and motioned for her chair. "I'll just carry you." Spike swooped her up in his arms with a flourish, like Luke Skywalker about to swing through the air with Princess Leia. As he carried her toward the bathroom, Buffy decided that he was much closer to Han Solo than Luke. "How gallant of you," she teased. "I'm not gallant, I'm just in a hurry to see the next film. And, no offense, Slayer, but you aren't exactly hell on wheel." "Hey!" Buffy giggled and punched his shoulder. "If you're gonna treat me like I'm helpless, I'll act it," she moaned lightly, pretending to faint as she let her body go limp, her head rolling back on his arm. "Good thing you're not an actress," Spike replied with a chuckle, keeping a firm grip on her. Angel stepped onto the porch of the Summers' home and drew his hand back to knock. A motion inside caught his attention and he peered through the small windows, stunned to see Spike carrying a very limp Buffy in his arms. Drawing back, he charged, kicking the door in and gripping the blonde vampire's shoulder. "Buffy!?" Spike spun, almost dropping the Slayer and she screeched, wrapping her arms around his neck. Instinctively, to protect them both, Spike lashed out with his foot, kicking their attacker in the midsection. Buffy recognized Angel immediately, and laid her hand on Spike's arm. "It's Angel. Spike, stop!" "I see who it is and he should know better than to sneak up on people," Spike growled, his eyes fiery gold and blazing. "You almost made me drop her, you ponce." Angel stared from one to the other. "What are you doing with her? Buffy, are you okay?" "I'm fine," Buffy said, then turned to look at Spike. "Bathroom break?" Spike nodded, keeping his gaze locked on his sire's. "Excuse us." Angel shifted uncomfortably as Spike took Buffy around the corner. A second later, Spike came back into the room and breezed past him, walking into the living room to retrieve Buffy's chair. Angel followed him, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "What the hell are you doing here?" "Looking after the Slayer while her mum's away." Spike spread a small throw into the seat of the chair, leaving room on either side to pull over her legs. "What the hell are you doing here?" "Giles told me what happened. I called because Cordelia thinks Buffy is in danger." Spike smiled bitterly. "Where was Cordelia several months ago? That's when Buffy was almost dead and so miserable that she wanted to be. Where were you then?" "I asked you what you are doing here," Angel said evenly, not betraying his emotions. Seeing Spike with her was like a knife in his gut. The last time he had seen his childe, Spike had been torturing him nearly to death for the Gem of Amarrah. "Things have changed in this town, Angel." Spike leaned close, menacingly close. "You've been replaced." Angel's fist flew. connecting with Spike's jaw, and he ducked in time to avoid the same from Spike. "You better not be taking advantage of her situation, Spike. I swear to god, I'll kill you." Buffy had relieved herself and quickly pulled her underwear up when she heard the commotion in the other room. She yanked the door open and shouted for Spike. When he didn't appear, she dropped onto the floor and pulled herself along, using only her arms. Her rational mind was telling her that it would be a perfect time to just walk into the room, but she ignored it and pulled herself along, trying to shut out the sound of her legs dragging behind her. Once she was in the foyer, she saw her toppled over chair and the two vampires swinging at one another furiously. Gripping a large glass vase from the corner of the room, she tossed it, striking the wall near their heads. "Stop it!" Angel turned toward her, exposing his jaw for a perfectly placed right hook from Spike. The blonde watched in satisfaction as his sire half spun, then he turned toward Buffy, righting her chair as he crossed the small space. Holding his arms toward her, he was stunned when she pushed him away and glanced past him. He watched her gaze at Angel for a few seconds, then growled in anger, gripping her under the arms and depositing her in her chair. "Angel, are you okay?" She stared at the blood on the dark haired vampire's lip, then turned to look up at Spike. "Have you lost your mind?" "What the hell is that supposed to mean? He threw the first punch!" Spike pointed his finger toward Angel. "He blew in here looking for a fight." "And you just had to give it to him, didn't you?" Buffy shook her head and rolled toward Angel. "What are you doing here?" Angel fought the lump in his throat at the sight of her in the wheelchair. Of course she was unmarred physically, and she was still the most beautiful woman he had laid eyes on, but a=seeing her vulnerable like this was a shock. "I heard what happened to you, Buffy. I- I needed to see-" "You saw." Buffy rolled her chair back and spread her arms wide. "Get a good look." Angel's face clouded, confusion and hurt rolling across his features. "I just meant that I - I was worried, Buffy." Spike laid a protective hand on her shoulder. "He says Cordelia had a vision about you." "Is that right?" Buffy kept her gaze on Angel, her eyes never leaving his. Angel shifted and stared at Spike's possessively placed hand. "She saw you alone and breathless in a dark alley. Your clothes were torn, your face was bloody and you were in agony, Buffy. She said that your heart was breaking. I've never seen her react to a vision the way she did with this one. Something's going to happen here. Soon." "Did she see anything else?" She gripped the wheels of her chair, her fingers curling tightly around the rubber. Angel nodded and met her eyes again. "She saw Giles fighting with some woman and several men in suits fighting with demons inside some kind of lab." "The Council." Spike knelt down next to Buffy. "It's the Council, isn't it?" "What does the Council have to do with anything? What's going on?" Angel narrowed his eyes when he saw Spike push a lock of Buffy's hair out of her face. "The Council has everything to do with it," Giles spoke up suddenly, stepping through the open doorway. "Giles, what are you doing here so late?" Buffy asked, worrying at the look on his face. "I came to tell you that Angel was on his way," he said as he surveyed the broken glass and splintered door. "It appears that I'm a little late." Lifting the door, he fitted it back into the frame and shook his head when it fell straight through and landed on the porch. "This won't do at all. It's not safe." "Vampires can't come in unless they're invited, Giles. We'll call someone to replace the door in the morning," Buffy said. Giles ran a hand through his hair and exhaled loudly. "Vampires aren't the only thing you need to be worrying about. Have you forgotten this quickly that the Council could very well be behind this entire attack?" "Whoa, back up." Angel gestured toward Buffy. "The Council did this to her?" "It's possible," Giles nodded. "It's not your concern, Angel," Spike snapped. "We've got it under control." "No, it *is* my concern." Angel paced a few feet, putting his hands on his hips. "Buffy, they wouldn't be trying to kill you if you hadn't quit. This is all my fault." "Oh, hell!" Spike groaned. "How in the *hell* do you get that? Everything is not always about you, you, you -- you bloody poof!" "She quit because of me, Spike. That's how in the *hell* I got that," Angel told him, mimicking his tone. Spike's eyes widened and he glanced up at Buffy from where he was still kneeling beside her. "You quit because they fired Giles, right? That's what you told me." "Well, I- I . When they fired him I-" Buffy closed her eyes, rubbing her forehead. "It's a long story." "Faith poisoned me and when the Council refused to help save my life, Buffy quit." Angel smirked slightly, enjoying his childe's obvious annoyance. "She quit for me. It was *about* me." "I quit for me too," Buffy quickly corrected. "I quit for Giles, for you, for every Slayer behind me, but most of all, for me." Giles noticed how thick the tension had gotten, watching closely as Spike stood up and glared at Buffy, crossing his arms over his chest. He cleared his throat. "Buffy, would you like to come to my house tonight? With the door being-" "No." Buffy shook her head. "I'm not going to run." "I can take down another door, use the hinges, and nail this one shut," Angel told Giles. "I do hope you don't plan on staying here," Spike replied. "Spike-" Buffy began, but closed her mouth when he turned his gaze back on her. She swallowed hard, and looked away, unable to see him looking at her with such contempt. Giles cleared his throat again. "Actually, Angel, I was hoping you would accompany me to Willy's Alibi Room tonight. We need to find out everything we can and Willy always has been intimidated by you." "Willy is intimidated by everyone." Spike turned on his heel and left the room, heading toward the basement to get the toolbox he had seen resting on a shelf. "Excuse me," Buffy said, rolling herself backwards. She rounded the corner into the kitchen just in time to see Spike opening the door that led to the basement. "Spike, what are you doing?" Spike spun on his heel. "I'm getting the hammer and some nails, and when I'm finished and they are gone, you and I are going to discuss that lie you told me." "I can explain." "Oh, you damn well better." Angel parked his car behind Giles' and followed him into Willy's Alibi Room. Glancing around the small bar, he was pleased to note that it was mostly deserted. There were three vampires playing pool in one corner, and two squid-like demons with tentacles sitting in one of the booths. Angel and Giles sat at the bar and waited for Willy to come and take their order. The short bartender stopped short when he saw who had entered his club. "Angel, man. What are you doing back in town?" Willy sat the glass he'd been polishing in front of the vampire, then put another one in front of Giles. He reached for a bottle of scotch and then turned back to face them. Angel took the bottle from Willy and filled his glass. "I'll give you two guesses." "The Slayer, right?" Willy filled Giles' glass with cognac and put the bottle beside the man. "I don't know much of anything." Angel downed the barely passable liquor and filled his glass again. "Why don't you tell me what you do know." "I already told Giles." Willy lifted his towel and dabbed at the bar nervously. "You're fidgeting. I can always tell when you're hiding something because you fidget." Angel moved with lightning speed, gripping the man by his collar and yanking him halfway across the bar. "And you didn't even tell me it was good to see me. You already started off on the wrong foot so I suggest you toe the line." "Okay, Okay!" Willy held his hands up, surrendering to the vampire. "I'll tell ya, but if word gets out ..." Angel growled menacingly and Willy continued, "Three limousines rolled into town today carrying about eighteen men." Pointing toward Giles, he added, "They all sounded like you do." "You spoke to them?" Angel loosened his grip and glanced at Giles. "And what did they say?" "They asked a lotta questions about the Hellmouth. It scared the hell out of me that they all knew so much about me. That sorta thing ain't good for the clientele, you know." Lowering his voice, he leaned forward again. "They asked me if I had heard of something called the Initiative, too. I'm thinking that has something to do with all those soldiers that are running around having open season on the demon varieties in this town, but I didn't say nothing." "Anything else?" Giles prodded. "They kept referring to someone as 'her'. I don't think they were talking about the Slayer. They said that the lack of demonic activity at the Hellmouth was because of 'her' and that she was doing more harm than good because of it. Something about prophecies not being fulfilled because of her interference. They didn't sound too pleased." Willy began to wipe down the bar again, indicating that he was finished sharing information with the two men. "Did they mention Buffy at all?" asked Angel. "Not to me, but I heard one of them say that they'd give anything for the Slayer's help with something." Willy put the bottle down and looked at the vampires that were playing pool. "Hey,[" he called out. "we're closing in ten minutes. Pay up." Angel watched the vampires for a couple of seconds, trying to collect his thoughts. "Have you seen the vampires who attacked Buffy around lately?" "Not for a few days, no." Angel pulled a business card from the pocket of his duster and held it between two fingers. "You call my cell phone if you do. You call me if you find out anything. And if anyone comes in here asking anymore questions, you give them my name and tell them I've got their answers. You understand that?" "You got it, man." Willy poked the card in the breast pocket of his plaid shirt and patted it. "Call you." Giles dropped a ten on the counter and followed Angel out of the bar. In the parking lot, he leaned against the hood of his car and crossed his arms. "It's the Council, but--" "And they fit into Cordelia's vision. Men fighting demons." Angel leaned against his own car, a perfect replication of Giles' position. "But what?" "I have reason to believe that they aren't here officially." "Why's that?" "In all my time at the Council, I never knew of them spending money for capricious luxuries such as limousines." "They wouldn't even spring for airfare for Wesley," Angel supplied. "What are you thinking?" "I'm thinking that there are those within the system who aren't at all pleased with Darren Walsh and his leadership. I think that there are elders who have remained loyal to what being Chosen represents and they view what Maggie Walsh is doing as blasphemous." Giles paused. "And I think we may have an unlikely ally in them." "Maggie Walsh?" Giles sighed and let his keys dangle from his fingertips as he pointed toward the twenty-four hour diner across the street. "I can see that I will have to start at the beginning. Interested in some coffee?" "Only if coffee can provide some answers." "It's a good place to start." Part Twelve This part was co-written by Lynx Buffy sat a few feet away from Spike as he worked, but as far as the vampire was concerned, it might as well have been miles. He worked meticulously, not even bothering to acknowledge her as she cleared her throat several times. To the casual observer, he would have appeared to be engrossed in the job at hand, but Buffy could see the telltale signs of his fury - the glittering eyes, the gritted teeth...the muscle that twitched in his cheek every couple of minutes. She could feel his anger slamming against her like a battering ram, and at the moment, she was grateful for the chip that prevented him from attacking her. Spike was aware of the Slayer's gaze as he finished repairing the door and it only served to fuel his rapidly increasing rage. She had lied to him, and about Angel, no less. She couldn't have picked a better way to piss him off. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised, really. Every single time his unlife went bollocks up, it ultimately had to do with his sire. It always came back to fucking Angel ... He slammed the tools down and stalked into the kitchen, trying to delay the inevitable confrontation with the Slayer. Retrieving a fresh packet of blood from the fridge, he tore into it cold, yellow eyes rolling as he threw back his head and quickly drained it dry. He heard the sound of her wheels behind him as he finished. Unsatisfied and left with nothing else to do but face her, he stalled for time, clenching the bag in his fist. His temper flared again as he recalled the smug look on Angel's face and, snarling, he threw the blood bag at the trash bin as hard as he could. Buffy caught the empty packet as it came very close to striking her in the face. Saying nothing, she tossed it into the trash, then looked up at him. "Are you going to talk to me?" "So you can lie to me some more?" he countered, nostrils flaring as he struggled to control himself. "I didn't lie to you," Buffy tried to protest. "Not really. I just ... didn't ... tell you ... everything," she finished lamely. "That's rich, Slayer," he snorted. "You have a bloody excuse for everything. Ever heard about the sin of omission?" He tried to move past her, shaking his head in disgust. Buffy grabbed his arm. "It was a long time ago, Spike. It doesn't even matter anymore." Spike jerked away from her. "It matters, Slayer. It matters a hell of a lot. I've done everything in my power to help you, and you couldn't even be honest with me. If it wasn't for me, you'd probably be in a nursing home right now, sitting in your own piss and riddled with bed sores." Buffy was stunned by his gall. If it wasn't for him? Who did he think he was? Okay, so he'd helped her, big deal. That didn't give him the right to assume responsibility for her entire life. "Hold on just one minute!" she yelled, pointing a finger at him. "Don't act like you're here out of the goodness of your little demon heart. *You* needed a place to hide! You didn't care about me. The only thing you cared about was your own ass!" "Right," he fumed. "I only cared about my own ass. Get off it! I could have left town and those vampires never would have found me. More to the point, I could have left you to them in the first place!" She blinked, remembering that awful night. The night he'd saved her life. Some of the fight went out of her and she tried to apologize. "You're right, I'm sorry. And I'm sorry for not telling you the whole truth. It's just that I know how much you hate Angel and I didn't think you'd -" "Didn't think I'd what? Didn't think I'd be mature enough to handle the truth? Didn't think I'd enjoy hearing about how much Angel means to you?" "It's in the past!" she screamed. "Whatever Angel and I had is over, it's done with!" "It'll never be done with. That wasn't the past that came crashing through the door ready to rip my head off. He's your future, he's what you dream about at night. He fucking owns you!" Buffy stiffened. "Nobody owns me," she said with deadly intensity. "Angel does. His mark is all over you - I can smell it." He shook his head at the irony. "Why did I think you'd be any different than Drusilla? It's the same thing all over again - he quirks his little finger and the two of you come running." He threw his hands in the air and turned away. "It's always going to be Angel," he said quietly. "No matter what I do. You're bonded to him just as surely as if he sired you. Just like Dru." Buffy's hand automatically went to her throat. "But the scar isn't even there anymore," she murmured. Spike's head whipped around to face her. "What?" He fed off you? You actually let him..." He closed his eyes against the image of Angel drinking from Buffy... sinking his fangs into her soft flesh, tasting her... "When? Was it when you slept with him? No," he continued, murmuring to himself, "Angelus would have bragged about that little incident, no question." Spike turned to look at her. "It had to be when he was all soul-having. I can't believe the ponce actually bit you." He stared at her in disbelief. "And I can't believe you allowed it." "I didn't have a choice, Spike. He would have died, it was the only way to cure him of the poison." "Oh, of course. I should have known. The brave little Slayer sacrificed herself for her vampire lover. How poetic," he sneered. "Tell me, Buffy, did it make you come? Did all that biting and sucking get you off?" Buffy's face grew red as she remembered just how erotic the experience had been. "Shut up! You don't know anything about it and I won't let you try to turn it into something sleazy. And furthermore, don't you ever compare me to Drusilla! I'm nothing like that crazy bitch -" "Shut your mouth, Slayer!" He pointed a finger in her face. "You don't get to say anything about her." "You brought her up! And while we're talking about sacrifice... Exactly how many times did you practically emasculate yourself for your precious Dru?" "Piss off," he snarled. "Did I strike a nerve? What's the matter, didn't Drusilla appreciate your efforts?" "Probably about as much as Angel appreciated yours. Seems to me he didn't stick around too long afterward, did he? Funny, I never figured him for the 'wham bam, thank you, ma'am' type. I guess it depends on the girl, huh?" "You're a pig, Spike. I can't believe I ever wanted you to kiss me." "You don't know what you want," he growled, bracing himself on the handles of her chair. "This is me, *this* is who I am. I'm not some romantic hero, I'm not the kind of guy you bring home to mama, and I'm not ever going to love you." His voice turned low and menacing. "I. Am. *Not*. Bloody. Angel." "No," she whispered, stung by his words, looking up at him with glistening eyes. "You're not. And I don't want Angel. I want you." "Do you? Do you really think you could be happy with me? With this?" Before she could even blink, he grabbed her upper arms and morphed. As she gasped in surprise, his open mouth came down on hers in a blinding attack of teeth and fury. Buffy tried to struggle. She needed to, just on principle alone. He was rough, angry, and her lips were bleeding from where his fangs had cut into them. But she wanted it. God, how she wanted it. It was all she could do to keep her lower half immobile as the inevitable heat move through her body. Within seconds, she melted under his onslaught, returning the kiss with equal fervor. The moment Spike had grabbed her an agonizing pain had pierced his skull. He called upon every ounce of vampiric strength he had and fought against it, torn between wanting to teach the Slayer a lesson and wanting to drown in her indescribable sweetness. The pain started to ease as - incredibly - she began kissing him back. Despite everything he'd said and done, she was still responding and thrusting her tongue against his. And he wanted to kill her for it, for making him want her like this. For making him want Angel's leftovers. Again. His hate for Angel at that moment was nearly overwhelming, a hatred that had festered and grown to mammoth proportions over the years. Angel had always gotten there first - with Dru, with Buffy - in every way possible he'd branded and then ruined them for anyone who came along after he'd cast them aside. Snarling, Spike pushed away from Buffy, shoving her back against the chair. "*That's* what it's like to kiss a real vampire." Breathing heavily, she stared up at him dazedly, her mouth swollen and bruised, smeared with blood from a dozen tiny cuts. She looked vulnerable, aroused, and so beautiful that it made him want to run away and never look back. He licked the traces of her blood from his lips, wondering as he did why he bothered to torture himself. She was too delicious, and in her present state of weakness, the very thing that had always attracted him. Forbidden fruit ... Buffy watched the tip of his tongue taste her blood and felt the moisture pool between her legs. She fought against squirming, and forced herself not to pull him down and finish what he'd started. His face transformed back into its human guise, but his expression was still angry. His nostrils flared, his jaw tightened, and his eyes glittered with so much repressed rage that she could almost feel their heat scorch her flesh. As she watched, an evil look came over his face and she shrank back instinctively, gripping the wheels of her chair. Spike leaned forward until they were practically nose to nose. As her mouth moved closer, inviting him to kiss her again, he shook his head, smiling slightly. "You just don't get it, do you? I don't want you. I mean, let's face it, if you weren't woman enough for Angelus, what makes you think you'd be able to keep me interested? Sloppy seconds just don't do it for me anymore." His head slammed back from the force of the roundhouse punch and it took him a minute to get his bearings. When he opened his eyes, Buffy was glaring up at him, green flames shooting from her eyes. "I won't be toyed with, Spike," she said fiercely. "The truth hurts, doesn't it, baby? Maybe you should stick to lying." "And maybe you should leave!" she yelled. "Maybe I should," he answered quietly. Part of Buffy went cold at the thought, but her anger wouldn't let her beg him to stay. Why should she have to put up with his insecurities regarding Angel? He was impossible to live with, and despite the chip in his head, he was still just as evil and just as dangerous as he was before the implant. At least, that's what she tried to tell herself. He was dangerous all right, but not because he was William the Bloody. The danger didn't come from him biting or attacking her. It came from her falling in love with him. No, no way, not possible, she thought. There is no way in hell that I'm falling in love with another vampire. Lust, maybe, but never love. Especially not with Spike. He all but despised her at the moment, and his reaction to Angel? Totally over the top. But why should he care so much about something that happened months ago? Not to mention the despicable things he'd said. He was lying about not wanting her. She'd felt his desire several times, and the kindness he'd shown her up until now had meant that he cared about her. Was this all an act to make her stop wanting him? Or was it the demon inside him coming out to play? Whatever it was, she didn't feel like dealing with it anymore, but perversely, she still wanted to know. "What is it about Angel that makes you so crazy?" she asked softly. "Do you really hate him that much?" "I hate him with everything I am, Slayer. And you will never, ever understand where I'm coming from." "No, I don't think I ever will." She was suddenly very tired. Trying to understand the inner workings of a dysfunctional vampire family wasn't really top on her list of things to do. She doubted that it ever would be. "I can't do this anymore, Spike. Just get out...go." She ran her hands through her hair, closing her eyes so she wouldn't have to look at him. "You've more than made your point." "Fine. You don't have to tell me twice," he retorted. Grabbing his duster from one of the chairs, he stormed out the kitchen door, slamming it behind him. Buffy jumped at the sound. She started rolling forward, intent on calling him back, but stopped after only a few inches. She couldn't - wouldn't - go after him. Not after the things he'd said. She still had *some* pride left. Yeah, right, she thought sarcastically. Lying to people you care about, there's something to be proud of. No matter how she tried to rationalize it, she knew that pretending to still be crippled was wrong. But every time she thought about just getting up and revealing the truth, the fear would paralyze her. Fear of being alone, fear of having to be the Slayer again. Fear of losing Spike. The moment he walked out the door, she could feel his absence so acutely that the pain was almost unbearable. She depended on him too much. She needed him too much. And she couldn't help but do everything possible to keep him with her. No matter how dirty it made her feel. With a heavy sigh, she braced herself and headed for the door. Her pride was at a minimum, and anyway, what else did she have to lose? All that really mattered was getting Spike back, provided he wasn't already gunning for the city limits in his eagerness to get away from her. Praying that he hadn't gone far, she reached for the doorknob and prepared to grovel, shaking her head at the concept. Groveling to Spike. If she didn't know better, she'd swear that the Hellmouth had opened, and the world as she knew it was coming to an end. Spike stalked across the yard, pausing only long enough to light a cigarette. His head throbbed and he was shaking with anger and unresolved lust. Puffing furiously, he hit the street and kept going until he reached the corner, then turned around stared helplessly in frustration at the Summers house. "FUCK!" he screamed, gripping his head in his hands. What had he been thinking, playing nursemaid all these months? Letting the Slayer get close, letting himself actually feel something for her? It was bloody insanity, the lot of it! When had he become such a masochist? Who am I kidding? he snorted to himself. Since when *haven't* I been on the receiving end? And now, this mess with the Slayer? What made me think I could ever get away with touching her? Touching the Slayer meant touching Angelus, exposing himself once again to all the pain, hatred, and fury his sire always managed to invoke with his presence. But she felt so fucking good, the voice in his head whined. Soft and strong, stubborn, willful - she could kill him in a heartbeat, and nothing had ever gotten him off more than the thrill of danger. Not to mention the fact that he hadn't had a woman in months, and certainly no one as tempting as Buffy. Harm had been little more than a convenient wet hole - okay, several holes - but the rest of the annoying package hardly made it worth his effort. He didn't miss having her around, that was for sure. The Slayer, though ... He didn't seem be able to stay away from her. How many times had he come back to this stinking pit of a town, anyway? It certainly wasn't the atmosphere that led him back time and time again. No, it was the lure of someone small and blonde, with a delicious scent and a killer right hook. Someone who made him hard just by being in the same room with her. Someone whose absence he was already feeling, even though he'd only left her a few moments ago. "Bloody fucking hell!" What was he supposed to do, just turn around and go back with his tail between his legs? Go back and face her after all the things he'd said? After he'd kissed her so brutally he'd drawn blood? "Well, mate," he murmured softly, "you can be sure the implant hasn't affected your ability to act like a total prick. You should be very proud." The kicker of it was, he did feel proud. To a point, anyway. He'd been afraid he'd gone soft over the last few months, and now his demon could rejoice in the hurt he'd caused the Slayer. The poor sod had to get his jollies where he could, and who was he to deny his evil side? Still, he didn't relish the thought of facing Buffy after all this. Maybe he could just wander the streets for a bit, until she fell asleep. Yeah, right. And get his ass buggered by commandos, or dusted by those renegade vamps. No thanks, he thought, weighing the choices. Hurt and angry Slayer on one hand, lab guinea pig and annihilation by his own people on the other. It was a close call. He sighed and scuffed his boot across the pavement. Either way, he was fucked. But Buffy needed him and that made all the difference. Who'd have thought, eh? he wondered. A vampire with a Florence Nightingale complex? Welcome to my ridiculous unlife. I should have my own bloody sitcom. Calling himself every kind of loser in the book, he turned around and headed back to Buffy's house, walking as slowly as possible. At the edge of the yard, he stopped, staring at the back door. Almost as if she sensed him, the door opened and the Slayer was there, the light from the kitchen turning her hair into a golden halo. Bugger it, why did she have to be so goddamn beautiful? he fumed. Why couldn't he just walk away and never come back? "Spike?" she called. "Are you coming back in?" "Do you really want me to?" he countered, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Yes," she answered softly. "I do." Her fingernails were digging into her palms as she waited expectantly for him to come to her. "Why?" he asked, not moving. "What?" she blurted, the air leaving her body in a rush. "Why do you want me to come back?" "Why do I want you to come back?" she replied dumbly. What was his problem? Her temper flared again. "So I can kick your bleached blond ass for being such a prick!" she screamed at him. He smirked. She really did have him pegged. And at least she didn't try to manipulate him, the way Dru always had. "It's what I do best, luv, remember? I thought you would have figured that out by now." "Stop playing games and get back in here, Spike. You're outside the protective circle." "Don't tell me you actually care, Slayer," he said as he took a step. "You'll make me all weepy if you -" The lasso came out of nowhere and landed around his shoulders, yanking him roughly backward. Buffy watched in shock as his feet shot out from under him and he landed on his back, his head striking the concrete with a loud pop. Someone shouted, "Yeehaw!" and she turned toward the sound, watching as the vampires that attacked her began to rope Spike in. Looking to her left, she saw two long pieces of wood, and leapt from her chair, snatching them up. Jumping over the edge of the porch, she ran as fast as she could toward the road, where the vampires had successfully pulled Spike, taking him farther away from the shield that had been placed around the house. Her body came alive, each step drawing her closer and closer toward saving him. One of the vampires charged at her and she ducked, using his momentum to push him away and plunge her makeshift stake into his back. By her estimation, there were five: four large men and one woman. The woman took one look at her and held her hands up, backing away. Buffy focused on the man in the cowboy hat, who almost had Spike hogtied. "Hey, cowboy!" she shouted. The vampire turned just in time to see a piece of wood flying end over end in his direction. He held up his arm too late and the wood pierced his heart. "Well, son of a bitch!" he managed to exclaim before he plumed into dust. Spike's head was swimming, aching from where he had struck it on the sidewalk, but as soon as he smelled the blood scented ashes falling around him, he snapped out of it and struggled out of the rope. His first thought was of Buffy, hoping she'd stayed on the porch and out of harm's way. Scrambling to his feet, he staggered for a second and tried to focus. He blinked several times, only to be rewarded by more dust flying into his face. Growling, his demon emerged, allowing him to see clearly. And he saw her. The Slayer was on her feet, fighting with the two remaining vampires. She swung efficiently, carefully ducking and leaping over kicks and blows. Her face was red, her hair whipping in the air and her bare feet flying as she landed kick after kick on her opponents. He watched her nostrils flare slightly as the vampires backed off, then charged her simultaneously, coming from either side. She waited, half slumped as if she were trying to catch her breath, then stood, holding the long piece of wood out flat in front of her. The vampires were impaled on either side and vanished, just as the moon began to sink behind storm clouds. Even in the dim glow of the streetlights, Spike saw her clearly. He saw her standing strong, feet firmly braced at shoulder width, as sure-footed as he had ever seen her, and he saw the weapon she still held in her hands. Swallowing hard, he waited for her to face him. Buffy was painfully aware of his eyes on her back. Turning slowly, she dropped the wood in her hand as if to show him that she would never dream of hurting him. The silence stretched on as he stood there, not moving or saying a word. In the distance, the town clock began chiming the hour, shattering the stillness. Buffy held her breath, wondering what was going through Spike's head, but as her eyes met his, the stunned look of betrayal on his face told her everything she needed to know. He would never forgive her. "Spike?" she whispered, as the clock continued its relentless bonging. Six, seven, eight... Glacial eyes bored into hers, chilling her to the bone. When he spoke, his voice dripped with icicles, every syllable filled with contempt. "So, *you* won't be toyed with, huh, Slayer?" Spike's mind struggled with what he'd just seen - with the fact that she could walk - and everything Angelus had ever done to him suddenly seemed like child's play. When it came to fucking with people's heads, the Slayer was a real pro. And Spike had finally decided that he was through being played. "I guess that makes two of us." He stared at her a moment longer, not really registering anything except the clock's distant tones. The sound seemed to come from his chest, substituting itself for the long absent beat of his heart. Nine, ten, eleven... Buffy shook her head slowly, fear seeping into every pore of her body. She could see his body poised for flight, see his gaze sweep over her hatefully one last time... And as the clock struck twelve - the midnight hour - and the Slayer stood there with tears running down her cheeks, Spike did what he'd promised to do if she ever got her legs back. He turned and ran.

Chapter #5 - 5

Part Thirteen Giles drained the last of his third cup of coffee and motioned for a refill. The waitress arrived with a silver pot and filled his cup, then moved toward Angel’s, but the vampire shook his head, mumbling that he’d had enough. When the young woman moved away, Angel clasped his fingers and stared at Giles. "Why didn’t you tell me all of this a long time ago, Giles?" he finally asked, his glare hardening as Giles added sugar to his cup and took several small sips, purposely avoiding his gaze. "I could have come back. I could have taken care of her. I could-" "You could have hurt her again. Unwittingly. Unintentionally. But hurt her just the same." The caffeine was making him restless, fidgety. Giles exhaled loudly and put his cup down, then lifted it again. "And to be quite frank, Angel, I don’t feel that I was obligated to tell you anything at all. If you were that interested in her life you should have called her and not me." There was a long beat where neither man blinked, then Angel looked away and mumbled, "You know why I didn’t call her." "And you know why I didn’t tell you," Giles replied. "For the very same reason that you haven’t contacted her." Angel glanced down at the table, slowly tracing a scratch in the worn wood with his thumbnail. He had listened with disbelief to most of what Giles had told him: the commandos, Spike being implanted with some form of behavior modifier, Buffy almost being killed, and finally Spike’s aid in caring for her. Spike, of all people, had been doing what he himself should have done. "I would have been a better choice than Spike." Giles glanced at him over the rim of his cup, then sat it down again slowly. "Would you? You don’t know what this did to her, Angel. She hated all of us. For weeks, she refused to eat at the hospital, lived off of tubes, and when she finally was allowed to come home, she was insufferable. Spike was the only person who could be harsh enough with her to get through to her and our hands were tied." "But I--" Giles held up a hand. "Just stop. I’ve given you all the explanation I plan on giving. I was here and you weren’t." "I could have been. In a matter of hours, I could have been." "We can’t erase time, Angel. We can’t go back and do it again. It’s done." Giles motioned for their waitress and requested the check. "I appreciate your concern for Buffy, but I feel that there are more important things for us to concentrate on at the moment." Angel was about to protest, about to tell the Watcher all about the last Slayer that Spike had killed, when the door chimed and he froze. Several men in dark suits entered the diner and scanned the room, then headed toward the long, empty bar. "I think you’re right," he said, nodding toward the small crowd. "Do they look familiar to you?" Giles turned, staring at the men at the bar. "I’ll be damned." There were six men, each of them dressed almost alike, and all of them wearing a pinky ring just like the one Giles was wearing. He instinctively gripped his own ring, twirling it around his finger, and then he stood. "I’ ll be right back," he told Angel. Angel watched, bracing himself for trouble. To his surprise, one of the men saw Giles coming and jumped up, embracing the Englishman tightly. The other five followed suit and Giles pointed toward Angel. Six pairs of eyes bore holes in him, and he looked away, painfully aware of their disdain, for he was the very thing that they hated. He was so caught up in not being obvious, that he didn’t realize that Giles had made his way back toward him until he cleared his throat beside him. "Angel? Would you like to join us in the back of the bar and discuss plans?" Angel glanced passed him, eyeing the men critically. "Are you sure they can be trusted?" Giles nodded. "I’m sure of it. Each of them have, at one time or another, spoken up for me or Buffy to the ruling elite. Most of these men served when my own grandmother was a Watcher. They know what's been happening with Maggie Walsh." "I see." Angel nodded, tossed a handful of ones on the table, and followed Giles toward the back of the room. Of the six men, only two stood up and said hello to him when he paused beside the long table they had arranged themselves at. Angel greeted them, Giles made the introductions, and then they all sat down again. One of the men leaned forward, studying Angel closely, his wrinkled face only a few inches from Angel's own. "The one with the angelic face. The books do not lie. They called you the 'scourge of Europe' if I recall. You murdered without a second thought, raping, pillaging your way all over the place. Does that haunt you as much as we've heard?" Angel said nothing, but he held the Malachai’s gaze, not blinking. With a smile, the elder Watcher shook his head. "I see that the books also did not lie when they spoke of your stoicism. We have heard of your entanglements with the Slayer, and with Wesley Wyndham-Price. It would appear, for all intents and purposes, that the only thing that makes you a vampire anymore is your lack of a heartbeat." Angel’s face showed no emotion, but he nodded his head slightly. "And it would also appear that the only thing that makes you a Watcher anymore is the fact that you’re still alive. You certainly haven’t been doing your job, have you?" "Angel-" Giles rolled his eyes and glanced at the Elder apologetically. "I am sorry, Malachai. Angel is overwrought with emotion because of Buffy's-" "Make no apologies for him." Malachai interrupted, still gazing at Angel. "He should not be faulted for speaking the truth. We have failed. We allowed our system to crumble, allowed Quentin to convince us that your place in our ranks had been compromised, and worst of all, allowed Maggie Walsh to execute her poorly planned operation at the Hellmouth of all places." Glancing at Giles, Malachai shook his head. "And your Slayer’s weaknesses can also be traced back to Maggie Walsh." That comment piqued Giles curiosity and he narrowed his eyes. "How so?" Malachai motioned at the waitress, requested a bottle of the finest Scotch, and cleared his throat, waiting for her to leave. When she did, he glanced at the man to the left of Angel, who nodded at him. "Two days before your Slayer was attacked, Maggie sent a formal request to the Elders for a Shaman, a healer who practices sorcery and can control natural events. Our last contact with him was the day after the Slayer’s attack. We have three eyewitnesses who placed him at the hospital and in your Slayer’s room. With Maggie Walsh." Giles was too stunned to speak for several seconds, then his eyes widened. "Are you telling me that Maggie put some sort of spell on Buffy to prevent her from healing?" "I am," Malachai replied with a nod. "We were able to obtain documents that Maggie had accessed from our database and each of those documents entailed different ways to alter someone’s healing ability. The Shaman was the link she needed to complete the ritual." "So, Buffy can walk?" Angel asked, his mind struggling to comprehend everything at once. Malachai shrugged his shoulders slightly. "There would be no way of knowing unless the spell was lifted. There is a real possibility that the Slayer was physically damaged to the point of being crippled," he paused, "but in my experience, Slayers are either active or they’re dead. There’s never an exception because as long as her body is alive, it’s constantly rejuvenating itself. She won’t bruise, if she does, it’s gone within hours. When she’s cut, it heals faster ... it’s the way of the Chosen. And Buffy Summers has certainly gone above and beyond when it comes to her victories." "I should have known ... I should have thought of that." Giles rubbed his fingertips over his forehead in frustration. "I mean, all this time I've just sat by and watched her withdraw and I never even considered that there could be something supernatural involved. I should have--" Rueben, the man to his left, laid a hand on his arm. "There will be time for should haves later. We’ve come to make this right. We were able to secure the location of Maggie’s lab and we have a disk that will shut down her operations for three hours. That’ll give us enough time to infiltrate, take her into custody, and put an end to this madness. Demonic forces can not be trifled with as she is doing." "And what about her father?" Giles eyed the Councilmen wearily, recalling Maggie's father when he had been an instructor at the academy. "Is Darren Walsh aware of your intentions?" Malachai took a deep breath and shook his head. "I'm afraid that we had to deal with Darren Walsh in very extreme measures." "You killed one of your own people?" Angel asked, raising his eyebrows in shock. "Would that shock you, Angel?" Malachai leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Pretty much nothing shocks me," Angel said. "But if you did kill one of your own people, I'd say that puts us on a level playing field and you have no right to look down your nose at me." Malachai chuckled and glanced at the man beside him. "He's a spirited old chap, isn't he? I like him." Stretching his arms back, the elder Watcher grinned at Angel. "We didn't kill Darren, we simply relieved him of his duties and left him to his own devices. He got himself killed." "Pity, that." Giles crossed his arms over his chest, unable to even pretend to be saddened for the loss. "So, you're going to handle this situation yourselves? Would you happen to have space for one more ally?" "Two," Angel added. He looked toward Malachai. "The fact that my heart doesn ’t beat isn’t the only thing that makes me a vampire. My strength could be an asset in all of this." "Very well." Malachai nodded his head and paused, taking the Scotch from the waitresses tray when she returned. He passed out the glasses and filled each. "Then what do you say we toast--" he held up his glass and tapped it against Angel's. "to unholy alliances." "To unholy alliances," Angel replied, drained his glass, and sat it back on the table. "Where do we start?" "We start by bringing Maggie Walsh to her knees." Giles smiled over the rim of his glass as he swallowed the strong liquor down in one gulp. He half listened as Malachai began to outline the plan. By the time he reached his third shot, he had hatched a plan of his own. Maggie Walsh had once told him that he was too much of a loose cannon to ever be taken seriously as a Watcher. And she was right-- he was a loose cannon-- And he was about to go off. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Part Fourteen This part was co-authored by Lynx Spike dashed through the streets of Sunnydale, his boots connecting with the pavement so hard that it shook him to the core, rattling his teeth. The Slayer's pleas echoed in the distance as his legs carried him farther and farther away from Revello Drive. He made it to the outskirts of town before he slowed, jogging past several abandoned buildings on his way to the cemetery. He would collect his belongings, assuming there were any left, and then he'd put as many miles as possible between himself and Buffy before sunrise. Spotting an alley, he slowed to a walk and turned in, attracted to the darkness that matched his even blacker mood. It wasn't until he paused to pull a cigarette out of his pocket that he heard the sounds of bare feet slapping the pavement, and Buffy's ragged breathing. He stood in the shadows and watched as she appeared at the mouth of the alley, silhouetted against the streetlights only momentarily before she jogged into the darkness. Damn her. Damn her for chasing after him with no weapons, no shoes on her feet, and a strappy, flowing dress that fell just below her knees. What the hell was she thinking? When she was even with him, his arm snaked out of the shadows and he gripped her, spinning her to face him. "What the fuck are you doing?" Buffy gasped, startled at the fact that she hadn't felt him there. She blinked several times, willing her eyes to focus in the darkness. "Spike, I - I want to talk to you." "I don't want to talk to you," he growled, roughly shoving her away when her hands came down to rest on his arms. She stumbled into the thin veil of light, almost losing her footing, and he had to force himself to keep from going to her again. "I don't want to talk to you and I don't want to look at you. You make me sick." Buffy leaned against the brick wall, still unable to see him clearly. Her head swam for several seconds, and now that she had stopped running, she could feel how raw the bottoms of her feet were from the asphalt. Taking a deep breath, she whispered, "Please, Spike, tell me how to make this right." Spike laughed loudly, hatefully, and stepped closer to her. "Make it right? How can you make it right when there wasn't anything there to begin with?" She stood up straight and stared up at his face, shocked at how cruel his gaze had become. "There was something, you know there was." "All I know is that I don't know you at all. I don't want to know you." Spike shook his head. "And anything you thought was happening between us was all in your imagination." "Stop it!" she screamed. "I didn't imagine how good it felt when you kissed me, or...when you touched me." "You think that was real? I'll let you in on a little secret..." Spike moved closer to her, his eyes blazing, fingers gripping her upper arms so she would be forced to hear him out. "Everything you felt was caused by Willow. Her and her little friend cast some sort of spell - that's all it was." Spike felt vindicated as soon as the words were out of his mouth and her face fell. "A spell? What do you mean?" Buffy made no move to throw his hands off of her, despite the fact that he was holding her so tightly that it almost hurt. "She was mucking about again, sticking her nose where it doesn't belong! She cast a spell and it backfired, big surprise!" He loosened his grip on her, then pushed her away from him when her eyes filled with tears. "Don't bother crying, your playacting won't work this time." "How do you know she did a spell?" Buffy asked him, hoping that what he said wasn't true. She sniffed loudly, dragging her fingers under her eyes to catch her tears. "How? Tell me!" "She told me," he replied with a shrug, then turned on his heel to walk away from her. "When, Spike?" Buffy chased after him again, catching his sleeve and turning him to face her. There was a little more light peeking over the building and she stared into his eyes, intent on hearing the truth. "When did she cast the spell?" He shook her hand off his arm as if she were a pesky mosquito. "I don't know, sometime after you came home from the hospital! When you were sitting in your wheelchair all day, pissed off at the world," he growled. "And to be honest, I liked you better then. At least you weren't a sniveling liar like you are now." She ignored his final statement as her mind raced to find the words to make him believe the truth that she'd kept to herself for far too long. "But, Spike...that day that I was attacked...I was coming to see you, to tell you..." She trailed off, losing her nerve. Chewing her lip, she started to turn away. "Tell me what?" he snarled, and this time, he grabbed her, making her face him. "I was coming to tell you...that I was falling for you." She gazed up at him, silently pleading with him to react the way she had longed for. "I couldn't stop seem to stop thinking about you, and I wanted you to know how I felt...that I wanted you..." "Yeah, right," he snorted. He wanted to push her away again, but hesitated, still clinging to her upper arms. "Is there no end to your lying? Don't you have any pride?" Infuriated, Buffy shoved him away. "Obviously not, since I'm standing here with you!" "Well, I didn't ask you to follow me, so fucking leave already!" he shouted, pointing back the way she had come. "I'll leave when I'm good and ready!" she yelled back at him, not budging an inch. "Fine," he said, shrugging indifferently. "You stay here, and I'll leave." "Oh no you don't." Buffy ran around him, blocking his way. "I didn't just save your ass back there just so you could walk out on me." "I saved your ass, you saved mine. We're even. Now get out of my way." Spike's voice was deadly, sounding much more like it had before his encounter with the commandos. Thanks to his burning rage, he felt strong again, strong enough to push the limits of his chip if she stood there taunting him much longer. "No, you're going to stand right there and listen to what I have to say." She took a deep breath, trying to collect her thoughts, then narrowed her eyes at him when he growled and his face changed. "You can't do anything to hurt me, so just shut up and let me finish." "I can't do anything to hurt you?" Spike grabbed her, spinning her until her back was against the wall, then trapped her there with his body. "I can hurt you a million ways you've never even thought of," he purred in her ear. His hand came up, cupping her breast, and he was momentarily stunned to find her nipple hard beneath his touch. He recovered quickly and touched her with more force as he continued, "...without even breaking a sweat." "Spike, stop..." Buffy pleaded, feeling a tremor of fear. He was so angry, his mouth at her neck, and while the chip in his head should have offered assurance that she was safe, it didn't seem to be having any affect on him. He was grinding his hips between her thighs, letting her feel the hardness beneath his jeans as he cupped her breasts and dragged his thumbs across her sensitive nipples. It shouldn't have turned her on...but it did. In spite of his anger, in spite of her surroundings, she could feel the inevitable arousal start to course through her veins. Buffy moaned softly, and Spike smirked at how easy she was. "You don't want me to stop, do you?" He pushed the thin strap of her dress aside and suckled at her flesh, delighting in the salty taste of her skin. "You've been begging for this for a long time." She blushed in the dark, but didn't try to stop him as he pushed her dress down further, exposing both of her breasts to his gaze. She held her breath when he lowered his head, laving first one nipple, then the other, surprising her with the gentleness of it. Softly, he ran his tongue in circles until she arched her back and whimpered. The whimper turned into a sharp cry when he suddenly nipped her flesh hard enough to cause pain. Before she could push him away, Spike moved his hand lower, yanking up her dress angrily and grabbing the waist of her panties. She struggled against him, trying to grab his hand. "Spike, no! Not like this..." "Not like this?" he growled, his face still ridged and his fangs glistening in the moonlight. "This is what you wanted, remember? You wanted to fuck a demon, Buffy!" "I - no - I wanted -" "Wanted what? Wanted romance? I told you, that's not what I'm about." Instead of struggling to get his hand in her panties, he grabbed hold of the waistband and ripped them from her body. Taken by surprise, she let go of his wrist. Taking advantage of his sudden freedom, he moved his hand between her legs. He slid two fingers inside of her warmth and smiled evilly when she gasped and arched to meet him. "You're already wet, Slayer," he murmured softly, slowly pumping his fingers for a minute before removing them. A tiny sound came from Buffy's throat as he held his hand in front of her face. "Look," he told her, his fingers glistening in the dim light. "This is how much you want me." He let his hand brush across her lips, then put his fingers in his mouth, tasting her juices. Buffy stared at him with wide eyes. She unconsciously licked her lips and saw his eyes glitter in the darkness as she tasted herself. She was frozen in place, unsure of anything except the pulsing between her thighs. No one had ever treated her like this before. She'd never had her own arousal flaunted in front of her face, never had a guy just take what he wanted instead of asking. It should have made her angry enough to stake him where he stood, not make her whole body throb with need. At that moment, she hated him more than she'd ever thought possible...and wanted him with an equal amount of fervor. Spike grinned knowingly in the dark, almost as if he could read her mind. He eased his fingers back inside her and began fucking her with them, using his thumb to manipulate her clitoris. As Buffy moaned and clutched at his arms, he whispered a torrent of obscenities in her ear, urging her along, coaxing her, his tongue flicking over her skin as if to punctuate every shocking word. "Oh God, Spike, please..." Buffy almost sobbed, her head thrashing against the brick wall behind her. For so many weeks she'd been unable to feel anything below the waist, and now there was so much going on down there, she felt like screaming. The sensation of his fingers sliding in and out, his voice in her ear - "That's it, baby, fuck my hand, cream all over me..." - it was all too much. If she didn't come soon, she'd go insane. Spike knew exactly how to bring her right to the edge, and when he felt the slight tremors of her approaching climax, he stopped what he was doing, ignoring her cry of protest as he pulled away. After a moment of shock at being left hanging, the Slayer glared at him angrily. "Bastard!" she hissed. "I hate you!" "No, you don't," Spike replied coldly. He stared at her flushed face as he slowly and deliberately unfastened his jeans. "You want me, Slayer. You're practically begging me to fuck you right here in this alley." "No." She shook her head, trying to ignore the heat between her legs. "You can't do this, Spike. You can't treat me this way, like a - " "Like a whore?" he smirked. Her hand came up to slap him and he caught it, holding it above her head as he pressed the length of his body against hers. She moaned involuntarily as his other hand cupped and squeezed her breast, while his mouth played over the sensitive skin at her throat. "It doesn't matter how I treat you," he murmured against her neck. "You still want me to fuck you." "Nooo..." Her protest was little more than a sigh as her body was engulfed in flames again. "You're so close, aren't you? Right there on the edge, baby, so close to coming I can feel it under your skin. Wanna get off, Buffy? Just say the word..." "God, I hate you," she whispered tearfully. "I hate you so much." And then his mouth was on hers, silencing any further protest she might have had. He hadn't intended to kiss her, only manipulate her body until she begged him to pound her into the wall. He wanted to remain cold, untouched... He bloody well should have known better. The first touch of her hot quim had nearly brought him to his knees - literally. It was only his anger that saved him at the last second from dropping to the ground and tonguing her for all he was worth. He wasn't about to give up control of the situation, and using his hand had allowed him to maintain his distance. Of course, that meant fuck-all now that his mouth had disobeyed him and plunged right in. His tongue tasted everything she was feeling - anger, fear, desperation, hunger - and it was better than virgin blood, better than a fresh kill on a moonlit night. In an instant, he was lost in a sea of human emotion and demon lust, in danger of disappearing altogether. Buffy had finally stopped struggling and was clinging to him with a hunger she hadn't felt in months. The need that he'd sparked a few moments ago now threatened to become a bonfire as he ground his hardness between her legs, their mouths hot and wet and open against each other in a frenzied clash of teeth and tongues. There was nothing tender or loving in Spike's touch, but at that very minute, all that mattered was feeling him against her skin. Spike felt himself getting ready to come in his pants and somehow managed to pull back, breaking the kiss and pushing away from the wall and the soft body in front of it. He held her gaze, his voice tight with tension as he lowered his zipper. "Tell me to stop if you don't want this. Tell me to walk away right now..." And while she watched with eyes that were glazed over with desire, he pushed his jeans down over his hips, releasing his engorged cock. Free from the confines of his jeans, it sprang up, straining toward her, looking like a column of sculpted marble in the blackness. "All you have to do is say no," he whispered hoarsely, his hand stroking the length of his shaft as he waited for her answer. Buffy slowly tore her gaze from his proudly jutting erection and found herself paralyzed by the heat in his previously cold eyes. She wondered if this was what hell felt like, this burning, clawing need that seemed to magnify with each passing moment. Could that column of cool flesh put out the flames inside her, or would it only help them consume her entirely? Nothing mattered anymore; she was damned either way. And there was really only one thing she wanted. "I...I can't," she finally answered in a ragged voice. "I can't say no." Her hands clenched into fists as the admission was forced from her by her own traitorous body. "I don't want to stop, Spike. I want..." She took a deep breath, knowing that there was no going back now. "I want you to fuck me." Spike felt his cock jump in response. Before she could change her mind, he grabbed her, sliding his hands around to her backside. He lifted her easily, entering her with one thrust...and found himself slipping into flesh that was hotter and tighter and softer than anything he'd ever felt before. Knowing that the slightest move would have him coming in an instant, he kept perfectly still, his body straining from the effort. Buffy's eyes flew open as Spike sheathed himself to the hilt and then stopped moving except for the slight trembling of his body. She wrapped her legs around his slim hips and clung to him as his head fell to her shoulder and he pushed her up against the wall. She could feel him taking deep, unnecessary breaths and brought her hand up to stroke the back of his neck. "Spike?" she whispered shakily. Her voice broke through his concentration and he raised his head, staring at her with burning eyes. The intensity in them took Buffy's breath away for a second, her surroundings falling away as she tumbled into their bottomless depths. The only things she remained aware of were his hard flesh stretching and filling her, and the burning need thrumming through her veins at a breakneck pace. A tiny sound escaped the Slayer as she unconsciously started writhing against him in an effort to ease the throbbing at her core. With a snarl, Spike still her hips. He bent his head and deliberately licked a path from the hollow of Buffy's throat to her ear, skimming lightly over her jugular, causing a deep shudder to run through them both. "Please," she mewled, beyond anything except the desperation to feel his cock moving inside her. "I thought you weren't the begging kind," he murmured, letting a fang graze her earlobe. When she angrily choked off a sob, he smiled to himself, then began thrusting in a slow and torturous motion, keeping her pinned to the wall. Spike knew all too well that the illusion of control always worked to his advantage. Unfortunately, like many things in life, it was fragile, tenuous...unpredictable. After only a few strokes, the sensation of what felt like molten lava gripping and caressing his cock nearly had that shred of control snapping like a dry twig. Nothing in his unlife had ever felt this good, and he suspected that nothing ever would again. He wanted it to last an eternity, just go on twisting and pumping until they both withered and died, but in this particular instance, that eternity was about to end all too soon. As if to hammer the point home, his hips began moving faster and faster, until he was pounding the Slayer violently against the wall. Buffy twisted and writhed in Spike's embrace, clinging to him fiercely as the fever built to an almost unbearable pitch. Her hands tore at his hair, clawed at his back, pulled him closer as if she wanted to climb under his skin. His cock felt huge and throbbing as it churned inside her, his mouth wet and delicious against her lips, her throat, her breasts...anywhere and everywhere he could possibly reach. She could feel the rough wall behind her scraping her back raw, but didn't care. The alley had ceased to exist as the two of them raged and fought and slammed together in the hot night air - straining, heaving, clutching, and moaning in a tangle of sweat and anger, oblivious to anything except their own lust and impending climax. Control long gone, Spike held onto the slippery body molded to his and angled Buffy's hips slightly so that he was grinding against her swollen clit. "I'm going to make you come so hard, Slayer," he rasped in her ear. "So fucking hard, and so deep, and I'm going to fill you until you can't take anymore..." His voice was all the trigger she needed. Entire body tensing, Buffy let out a shriek as the orgasm ripped through her. Harder and faster, Spike rammed into her quaking pussy, driving her over the edge and beyond, letting her contractions bring him into the abyss with her. He felt his hardness swell to gigantic proportions, and then howled as a torrent seemed to burst from his loins. Over and over, he pulsed and throbbed and pumped, filling her again and again, until there was nothing left of him but an empty shell. Completely drained, stunned by the intensity of his orgasm, Spike buried his face in her neck and tried to remind his body that it didn't need to breathe. Wet. Wet and sticky and limp and nearly unconscious just about summed up Buffy's state of being at the moment. She couldn't have moved even if she wanted to, and disengaging from Spike was the furthest thing from her mind. She had never felt so satisfied, so spent... So blissful. "I love you, Spike," she sighed, tangling her hand in his hair. The words fell from her lips of their own volition, seeming to hover in the air above them. Things would be better now, Buffy was sure. There was no way he could still be angry after what had just happened. Even as she thought the words, she felt the arms holding her stiffen, the muscles beneath her hands become tight. *I love you, Spike.* As the Slayer's soft statement broke the silence of the alley, Spike felt his jaw clench. How many times had he heard those words? How many times had Drusilla whispered them in his ear and then run off with Angel, leaving him behind? Over the course of his unlife, no other three words had ever had the power to make him feel this way, make him feel so betrayed. Just the sound of them filled him with an uncontrollable feeling of helplessness and rage. He straightened up and pulled back to look at Buffy's face. Her eyes were soft and unfocused with spent passion, a small smile playing about her lips. She looked so happy, so at peace. He hated her for it. And the only thing he wanted to do was hit her until she bled. Buffy noticed the look in his eyes and felt the fear creep along her spine. She trembled, the air around her suddenly cold. As cold as Spike's stare. No, she thought desperately, this wasn't happening. Not now, not after... Surely he felt something for her? What had happened had been more than fucking, more than just sex. Hadn't it? "Spike?" she whispered fearfully as he continued to stare. "Say something, you're scaring me." "I was just thinking, pet..." he said, reaching behind him to unwrap her legs from around his waist and set her back on her feet, "that perhaps you've missed your true calling." Her hands slid from around his neck to fall at her sides in confusion. His lip curled derisively as he watched her. "That was *almost* as good as the time I fucked Mata Hari behind enemy lines. Now *there* was a bird who knew what she was about. Don't worry, though. I'm sure that at the rate you're going, you'll be as skilled as she was in no time." Buffy looked at him, hurt etched across her face. This was Angel all over again, that awful morning at his apartment -"You were great. Really. I thought you were a pro." She slowly shook her head, unwilling to believe that this was happening again. How could he do this to her, how could he treat her this way? Why did the men in her life feel this constant urge to rend and tear at her heart until there wasn't anything left? "Why are you doing this? she asked hoarsely. Spike saw her face start to crumble, saw the tears gathering in her eyes, and waited for the feeling of satisfaction to overwhelm him. It never came. The fact that he cared about hurting her made him even angrier, and the urge to lash out was stronger than before. Maybe if he left her entirely broken, the raging torment inside him would subside. It was worth a try, right? And just like that, he knew exactly what to say to bring her to her knees. "Why the tears, Slayer?" he said with mock concern. "Don't tell me you thought that this meant anything. I would have thought that after that Parker chap you'd be able to tell the difference between getting fucked and having a relationship. Shouldn't you be used to this by now?" Bingo, he thought, watching her face go deadly white in the darkness. Buffy couldn't breathe. The pain that knifed through her at his words was sharp and intense, bringing back all the hurt her past relationships had heaped upon her. It was as if all of her ex-boyfriends had ganged up at once - just one big Buffy bashing free for all. She had never imagined that she could make Spike hate her this much. What a fool she'd been. "Get...away...from...me..." she choked out, her body shaking uncontrollably. Spike snorted. "Gladly, Slayer. I got what I wanted anyway." He leaned closer for a second, dropping his voice a couple of octaves. "How do *you* like feeling used? Fun, isn't it?" He straightened, turned on his heel and began walking away, stopping after a few steps. "Oh, by the way," he said, turning and snapping his fingers as if he'd forgotten something. "I'll be sure to let Angel know that 'Slutty the Vampire Slayer' is back in business. I do so love keeping him informed." He gave a short, mocking chuckle, then strolled out of the alley, calling out, "Later!" over his shoulder. In the ensuing silence, loud, choking sobs filled the air as Buffy's legs gave out beneath her. She crumpled to the ground and rolled into a ball, rocking back and forth as the tremors wracked her body. Ice cold, gasping for air, she lay there amid the scraps of paper and cardboard that littered the alley, only aware of one thing. Everything she'd ever wanted was gone, and nothing would ever be the same again. Part Fifteen This part was co-authored by Lynx Angel had been given a small mission. The Council had decided that he should be the one to question Willy again as to the whereabouts of the vampires that had attacked Buffy. He had a wad of cash in his pocket to help sweeten the deal, courtesy of the Council, and a very large chip on his shoulder that guaranteed that when he found the vampires, they wouldn't have to worry about what the Council had in store for them. He felt restless and out of sorts as he walked the streets of Sunnydale. Something was wrong - he could feel it pulling at him, vague and unidentifiable - but there, nonetheless. At first, he'd just chalked it up to finding Buffy and Spike together, and the feelings that his errant childe always managed to stir up. He'd decided to walk to Willy's to clear his head, but the feeling grew stronger with every step, leading him down streets that weren't even on the way. It was only when he reached the mouth of the alley that everything became crystal clear. Cordelia's vision. Small cries that reminded him of a wounded animal reached his ears, filling him with dread as he entered the alley. It was dark, but it didn't take him long to locate the figure lying in a heap against the far wall. "Buffy?" He ran, dropping to his knees when he reached her. "Oh my God, Buffy, what happened?" He gently tried to pull her into his arms, but her body remained rigid, locked in a fetal position. How had she gotten here? Everything was exactly as Cordelia had described it: Buffy's dress was torn, the paper thin fabric barely clinging to one breast, she was nearly catatonic, and the scent of blood was unmistakable. And underneath the blood, something Cordelia hadn't mentioned. Semen. Fighting the rush of fury that threatened to consume him, Angel took off his coat and slipped it around Buffy's shoulders. She continued to whimper and sob, rocking slightly with her arms locked around her legs. Helplessly, he wondered if she was even aware of his presence. "Buffy, c'mon, baby, talk to me..." he murmured, stroking her hair. "Who did this to you?" She froze, as if suddenly realizing that someone was with her. "Angel?" she sniffled, making his heart break at the way her voice familiarly caught on the first syllable of his name. Her eyes met his and she shrank back from him, seeking the comfort of the wall behind her. "No...go away..." She struggled to get her legs beneath her, clawing at the wall as she surged to her feet. "Don't look at me..." "Buffy!" Angel lunged forward to catch her as her legs buckled. She pushed him away and leaned against the wall, wrapping her arms around herself protectively. "Don't touch me. Just leave me alone." She couldn't stop shaking, remembering the contempt in Spike's eyes as he left her. She couldn't bear to see that same look in Angel's eyes. Not now. He stared at her in shock. "You can walk." He took a step forward and stopped when she recoiled. "How - when? Buffy, what happened here tonight?" A single tear rolled down her cheek as she whispered, "Spike." She could feel a twin trail of wetness trickling down her thigh, a reminder of her lust and ultimate humiliation. "Spike happened." Angel's reaction was violent and instantaneous. "I'll rip his fucking head off!" Startled at his outburst, Buffy looked up, her eyes encountering the familiar fangs and ridges. She was at once touched and frightened by the fury she saw reflected in his burning yellow gaze. She shook her head. "It's not necessary, Angel." "Not necessary?" he snarled. "That piece of filth raped you, and now I'm going to do what I should have done years ago, and wipe him from the face of this earth." She blinked at him, fighting an inappropriate urge to laugh. Of course, Angel would assume that she'd been forced. How could he sweep into her life and rescue her otherwise? Only he didn't have that right anymore. He'd thrown it away the moment he decided to leave her. But now here he was, back in her life, and he looked upon her as someone who needed saving, as someone too pure and good to feel simple lust. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the absurdity. How quickly he'd forgotten. Less than a year ago, she'd barely been able to keep her hands off of him. How many times had he had to restrain her from sliding her hands down his pants, from wriggling against him in desperation? How many times had he pulled away from her hungry mouth as it sought to taste his skin? Buffy stood there trembling as anger threatened to engulf her. How dare he assume anything where she was concerned? A helpless victim? Unwilling? If only he knew just how willing a participant she'd been in what had transpired here tonight. Suddenly, she was stricken by the perverse desire to enlighten him. "Rape? Spike didn't need to rape me, Angel," she told him bitterly, pushing away from the wall. She slowly stalked toward him, not bothering to sugarcoat her words. "I wanted it, all of it. I *begged* him to fuck me," she felt a twinge of satisfaction when he visibly flinched, "up against the wall like some slut. And he did." Angel shook his head, unable to believe what she told him. This wasn't *his* Buffy. She was pure - innocent - and she would never, ever, want Spike to touch her in that way. She was obviously in shock, which was the only possible explanation for her behavior. He spoke to her in a low, calm voice, the kind used to reason with ledge-jumpers. "No, you don't know what you're saying. You're a mess, Buffy - you're bruised, you're bleeding - this doesn't look the least bit consensual to me." "Don't patronize me!" she hissed. "I know exactly what happened here tonight. Spike didn't make love to me, he fucked me, and what's more, I liked it." Her voice rose. "Is that what you wanted to hear? Do you want details? Do you really want to know how easily he made me come all over his big hard c-" "Stop it, Buffy!" Angel yelled as he grabbed her upper arms and shook her. Her eyes were wild as she stared up at him, and he wondered briefly if this was really the same girl that he had fallen in love with. "If this was what you wanted, if it was so fucking wonderful, then why were you lying here by yourself in this condition?" "Why?" She wrenched herself out of his grasp. "I'll tell you why...because as usual, no man can stand to be around me for very long. They all walk away - my father, *you*, Parker - why should Spike be any different? At least he didn't have the gall to tell me he loved me before he left." Angel's jaw tightened. "You know perfectly well why I left - why I *had* to leave." "God!" she yelled. "I am *so* sick of hearing that! You left so I could have a life, blah, blah, blah. Well, guess what? I don't have a life. I don't have anything." "That's bullshit! You have a calling, a higher purpose than most people ever dream of - friends and family who love you -" "Love? How dare you talk to me about love? I loved you with everything I had and you still left me, I still wasn't enough for you!" she spat out. "You spoiled little brat!" Angel snapped, grabbing her again. "Don't you know what that cost me? Don't you have any idea how much I loved you, how much I *still* love you?" Tears filled her eyes. "Then why, Angel? If you love me so much, then how can you stand to be away from me?" Deep brown eyes stared down at her, filled with more sorrow than Buffy thought she could stand. "I can't," he said hoarsely, dropping her arms. He turned away and ran a hand through his hair. ""I thought leaving you was the hardest thing I've ever done..." Pain etched his features as he glanced back at her. "...until Giles asked me to come back." Buffy couldn't breathe as the weight of his admission settled over her. All this time, all of these months of wallowing in self-pity, and she'd never even stopped to consider how hard it had all been on him. She'd been too consumed by her own pain to think about his side of it, and besides, it had been *his* decision to go. She hadn't thought of it as a sacrifice on his part, only as a punishment for her, the usual 'Buffy doesn't get to be happy' theme song of her life. Part of her had actually hated him for the misery he'd put her through. And now he probably hated her right back for what she'd done tonight. "Angel..." She reached out to him and stopped when he flinched almost imperceptibly. Her hand hovered in the air for a moment before dropping back down to her side. She was right, he hated her. Or at the very least, was totally repulsed by her. Her gaze drifted over her surroundings and down at her torn dress. The very fact that Angel was seeing her like this, was standing here completely aware of everything that had happened between her and Spike... Could she really blame him for recoiling? Her humiliation was complete. Not only that, but her sense of self-loathing had reached new pinnacles. She blanched as she recalled the hateful things she'd said to him, how she'd thrown her actions with Spike right in his face. What was happening to her? What kind of person was she becoming? And more importantly, how could two people who claimed to be in love keep hurting each other like this? And she did love Angel, that was a given. It wasn't something she could turn off, no mattter how much Spike had come to mean to her. "God, how you must hate me," she whispered. "I could never hate you," Angel answered dully, without inflection. "But you are disgusted with me." When he offered no denial, tears filled her eyes again. "I'm so sorry, Angel. I don't know what's happened to me, I keep doing...things. Things that I'm not very proud of." She took a deep breath. "Do you want to know why Spike left me?" Angel turned to face her once again. "I lied to him. About why I quit the Council...and about being able to walk." His eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, you lied about being able to walk?" "I got the feeling back in my legs the other night. I - I didn't say anything, I just kept pretending to be paralyzed." She watched his expression darken, a chill creeping along her spine. "I wanted to tell him, but Spike was taking care of me, and things were going so well, and I was afraid...I was afraid he'd leave me if he knew I could walk." The muscle in Angel's jaw twitched as he ground his molars together. "Do you mean to tell me that earlier, at your house, you could walk?" She nodded almost fearfully. "When you dragged yourself out of the bathroom while Spike and I were fighting - that was all an act?" "Yes." He blew out a breath of air and turned away from her, hands clenching and unclenching in the pockets of his duster. "I can't believe you'd do something like that. That you'd deliberately deceive your mother and Giles...and me." "I'm sorry, Angel-" "Don't!" He held up a hand. "Just...don't, all right?" He looked at her with tormented eyes. "I feel like I don't know who you are anymore." "That makes two of us, then," she sighed. "Look, I didn't plan it, it just happened! I got scared -" "Come off it, Buffy! This is Spike we're talking about. He doesn't do anything without getting something in return. He stayed with you because it was safe, not because he cared about you." "You weren't there, you didn't see the things he did for me. He made me stop feeling sorry for myself. He told me I was beautiful...he didn't treat me like a damn cripple. He understood what it was like to be in that wheelchair." "Saint Spike," Angel sneered. "I needed him, Angel. I depended on him, and the thought of losing him terrified me. He's the one who saved me from the vampires who attacked me. I'd be dead if it weren't for him." "If he saved your life, then I'm indebted to him. I'll be sure to say thank you before I shove a stake through his heart." "Angel, stop-" She reached out, only to have him pull away again. "I left so that you could have a *normal* life!" he shouted. "That didn't include fucking vampires, and it certainly didn't include you falling for Spike, of all people! For Christ's sake, Buffy, he's not even human!" "And neither are you," she answered softly. "All of this, it just happened. You weren't here, you were gone...and he was the person I spent the most time with." Her voice broke. "I'll always love you, Angel. I can't stop loving you, no matter how hard I try. But I had to move on, and I do have feelings for Spike - strong feelings. I know it's not what you want to hear, but it's the truth." She looked up at him, willing him to meet her eyes. He tried to look away, but she reached up and turned his face toward her. "I'd give anything not to have hurt you, you must know that. But you hurt me first. You left me here, and for a long time, I thought I'd die without you. I don't want to feel that way ever again." Angel compressed his lips together, hurt and anger vibrating through every part of him. "Things are different now," she continued. "*I'm* different, and so are you. I have a lot to deal with - namely, trying to stay alive and figure out just who my enemies are. And right now, you can't be what I need you to be. Spike can be here for me in ways that you can't. I'm going to need his help when I go up against the Council. If he'll ever speak to me again, that is." "Spike doesn't forgive easily." "I know that. I have to try though, I have to make him see -" Her voice grew panicky. "I need him, Angel." "You don't need him, you have the rest of us to help you-" "Don't you get it?" she yelled. "I'm *scared*! I'm terrified that I can't be the Slayer anymore. I think...I think that I've lost my nerve...and Spike might just be the only person who can help me get it back. He won't put up with any bullshit, he'll *make* me face up to things. He won't let me run away." "And I would?" "I don't know. But Spike doesn't have a soul, and he doesn't love me - he's made that clear. There won't be any soft feelings getting in the way, do you understand that?" Tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks as she reached for his hand. "Please, Angel...try to understand." Angel closed his eyes, trying to escape the vision of her with Spike, trying to separate how he felt from what Buffy needed. He could feel the warmth of her hand in his, and it only served to remind him of what he could never have. Of what Spike would be free to enjoy, if he chose to come back. And all it did was fuel his overwhelming need to get as far away from Buffy and Sunnydale as possible, and never look back. But it was a need he had to ignore for the moment. There was no way he could abandon Buffy with everything she was going through. As much as it pained him, he'd have to stick around long enough to see that she was safe. He cleared his throat. "I'll help as much as I can, whatever Giles needs me to do. But I can't accept this, Buffy. I can't stay here and watch you be with *him*." Buffy closed her eyes. "I understand." She opened them again and stared up at him sadly. "Thank you, Angel." He nodded, and she took a deep shaky breath, relieved that the worst was over. Suddenly, her knees buckled, her legs unused to carrying her for such a long period of time. Angel caught her as she fell, and muttering a curse, swung her up into his arms. "It's almost dawn, I'd better get you home," he murmured, striding out of the alley. "I'll be okay in a minute," she whispered drowsily. "I'm just so tired." Feeling her nestled in his arms, just like old times, Angel couldn't stop the pang of longing that ran through him. He held her tighter, letting her scent wash over him like a narcotic, the way it always had in the past. For that brief moment, nothing else mattered. The Hellmouth could open up beneath them and he'd willingly jump in, as long as he could stay like this. And that was exactly why he had to leave town as quickly as the situation would allow. Buffy sighed and snuggled against him. "You always make me feel so safe. I've missed feeling like this." Angel stayed silent. "I wish...I wish..." her voice trailed off, leaving the obvious unsaid. In seconds, she was asleep. Angel bent his head until it touched hers. "Me, too, Buffy," he whispered. "Me, too." He walked on toward Revello Drive, unaware of the pair of eyes that watched from the shadows.

Chapter #6 - 6

A blond figure separated itself from the shadows and stepped out into the lamplight. Spike's eyes were the color of flint as he watched Angel disappear around the next corner, still carrying his precious burden. His hands clenched tightly into fists as he tried to ignore the jealousy that ripped through him at the sight of the tiny Slayer cradled in his sire's arms. "That's right, take her home," he muttered unconvincingly. "I'm through with her anyway." Kicking a rock that lay near the edge of the road, Spike felt his anger explode and clenched his fist, driving it into the nearest telephone pole, splintering the wood and the skin of his knuckle. The pain didn't register, though; the only thing he felt with one hundred percent clarity was rage. It drove him onward, past the park, past the ruins of the school, and finally into the crypt that had been his home. As he had predicted, his belongings, what few there were, had been strewn about and destroyed. There was nothing there he could salvage, except the mason jar that he had hidden behind some loose rocks. He clawed at the stones in the wall, loosening them, then grabbed the jar. His money was still there. It would be enough to buy a car from the sleazy little demon on the outskirts of town and leave it all behind. He couldn't get away fast enough. Stuffing the money in his pocket, he turned and bumped into a woman. She stood watching him impassively, even as he morphed and growled at her. "Who are you?" he demanded. "It's what I can do for you that you should be interested in," the woman smiled, walking toward the marble bench in one corner of the dark and dank room. "Call me a kindred spirit - someone who knows what it is like to walk this world as a demon, but lack the ability to give in to the impulses that drive us." He eyed her, seeing something vaguely familiar in her face, in her reddish brown hair. "You're a vampire." "I am. Sometimes." Her face slid into that of her demon and she traced her fingers over the ridges in her forehead. "I, too, have been rendered helpless by the Initiative. Tell me, hostile, what is it that you feel when you feed?" "I can't feed at all," Spike growled. "All I have to do is try and it feels like my fucking head is being sliced open." The woman frowned and crossed her arms. "I think that I envy you." "You envy me?" Spike chuckled sarcastically, low in his throat. "What is there to envy in being stripped of what you are?" "You feel physical pain when you feed. I would gladly endure that to avoid the emotional pain, the guilt that accompanies me when I feed." Spike stiffened and put his hands on his hips. "Oh, bloody great. You have a soul? What is it with damn vampires and their souls? And why do they always seem to find me?" "I have no soul. I have an earlier model chip than the one you have. It releases a chemical into my brain when I feed on humans and it makes me feel the most agonizing guilt that you could ever imagine." His mind flashed to Buffy's face, the tears streaking down her cheeks, her dress pushed up around her waist. Oh, he could imagine. Quickly shaking the image away, determined not to care, he looked at the woman. "No offense, but I like the newer version better." "I'm sure that's true," the woman replied, standing again. "I can help you, but you must help me in return." "You can help me what?" he asked, eyeing her up and down. "I can deactivate that chip in your head for a price." She took several steps toward him, pausing when she was only a few feet away. "Not a monetary price, but a small kindness on your part." "And what did you have in mind?" he inquired, eyebrows raised. "I want to kill her. I want to kill Maggie Walsh, my daughter, my own flesh and blood, and the second I do, when the kill is a victory and before I feel the guilt, I want you to kill me." Spike narrowed his eyes at her. "Your daughter? Your daughter is the bitch who did this to me?" "And to me." She held out a slim hand. "I'm Isobel Walsh." Spike stared at her outstretched hand and she sighed, dropping it back to her side. "My own daughter turned me into a monster, and then implanted me. You have no idea just how devious she is, hostile." "Call me Spike." He folded his arms across his chest. "And tell me exactly how you can deactivate the chip in my head, but not the one in yours." "I can get you on the inside. I can show you how to do it. The reason I haven't done the same for myself is because I don't want to be what you once were. I don't judge you for wanting that again, but I *will* keep my word." Isobel smiled up at him, holding out her hand once again. "Would you like to hear my plan?" "I'm all ears," he told her, firmly grasping her hand in his. "But I'm also one cautious bastard. You play me, you'll get played." Isobel only nodded, and then reclaimed her seat on the marble bench. As she spoke, telling him how they would infiltrate the Initiative, she watched a genuine smile begin to spread over his handsome features. When she finished laying out her plan, the blond vampire was practically bouncing, and she had no doubt that when he was able to resume his former lifestyle, people would quake in fear before him. And her own demon rejoiced his good fortune. She would keep her word. *********** Giles rushed up the sidewalk to the Summers' front door. He had just gotten home when Angel called and told him to come right away. Not bothering to knock, he entered the house and immediately shouted for Buffy. "She's in the shower," Angel called from the kitchen. Giles hurried through the house and stopped in the doorway. "Is Spike assisting her?" Angel set the box of hot cocoa he had found on the counter and moved toward the sink to fill the teakettle with water. "She can walk." "What?" Giles sounded stunned as he tried to process the three simple words that Angel had said. "She can walk? How- when- ?" "I don't know." The vampire put the water on to boil and opened another cabinet, pulling out a cup. "She said she got the feeling back in her legs the other night, but she didn't elaborate." "The other night? But I saw her, she was still in the wheelchair..." "She didn't tell anyone. Said she was afraid that Spike would leave if he knew," Angel told him flatly. Giles could see the tension in the vampire's jaw and knew that his anger was barely held in check. "Angel, what happened tonight? Where is Spike?" "Spike is gone. He and Buffy had a...a fight." Angel hesitated, running his fingers through his hair. He looked up at the other man, his eyes full of pain. "I found her in an alley, Giles, just like Cordelia's vision. At first she was too upset to talk. Her clothes were torn, and I thought...I thought that she'd been raped." A startled look of alarm crossed Giles' face. "Good lord-" "She hadn't been," Angel assured him. He wasn't sure how much to tell the Watcher, but didn't know if he could trust Buffy at this point to tell Giles the truth. He decided to forge ahead and avoid going into detail. "She told me..." His eyes closed for a second and he had to force the words past his lips. "She told me that she has feelings for Spike. *Strong* feelings. That they'd had - that they'd been..." Unconsciously, Angel squeezed the cup he'd been holding and it shattered in his hand. Giles just stared at the vampire, unsure of how to process this new information. His slayer involved with another vampire? With Spike? It was almost inconceivable. "Angel...I -I'm terribly sorry. I never imagined..." "I need to get out of here, Giles," Angel interrupted. "I can't be near her right now. I'll finish up that business with Willy, and then I'm heading for the mansion. You can contact me there." He didn't look at the Watcher as he spoke, his gaze fixed on the crumbled pieces of mug on the floor. Giles shifted uncomfortably, at a loss for words. "I understand. Thank you for your help, Angel." Angel nodded, then walked toward the door. Giles' voice stopped him. "You won't do anything...rash, will you?" "No," he answered without turning. "I won't do anything rash." His hand on the doorknob, he paused before opening it. "I never should have come back here," he whispered, disappearing before Giles could say another word. In the ensuing silence, Giles raised his eyes to the ceiling, wondering what could possibly happen next. "Bloody hell," he murmured, and headed upstairs to find out exactly what was going on with his Slayer. ************** When Giles reached the bedroom door, Buffy was standing in front of her mirror dressed in baggy sweats, staring blankly as she combed through wet, tangled hair. Even though Angel had told him about her being able to walk, it was still a shock to see her on her feet in front of him after months of being in the wheelchair. "Buffy?" he called out quietly as he entered the room. "Are you all right?" Her head shook slightly and her hands dropped to her sides. "No, Giles," she whispered brokenly. "I'm not all right." He crossed the room and took her hands in his, alarmed by how icy they were. "Come, sit down," he murmured, leading her to the bed. "Tell me what happened, tell me everything." He sat her doown and joined her on the bed, hesitantly putting his arm around her shoulders. Buffy leaned into him, breathing in his familiar aftershave. His strong arms and soothing voice broached her meager defenses, and she crumbled for the second time that night. "Oh, Giles," she sobbed into his shoulder. "I'm so stupid! I should have called you as soon as I got the feeling back in my legs, instead of lying and making a mess of everything. F-First Spike, and-and then Angel," her breath came in gasps, "I-I suppose you... hate me now...too." "Of course I don't hate you," he sighed. "Although...I do question your judgment at times." She shook her head. "You don't know, you don't know the things I did..." "I've spoken to Angel, and I've got eyes, Buffy," he murmured against her hair. "I think that I can surmise most of it." There was a long silence as Buffy's face flamed with mortification. Giles cleared his throat. "Angel mentioned that you told him you feel...something...for Spike. Are you sure it isn't just...gratitude, because he took care of you?" "I'm sure," she sniffled. "I started liking him before I was attacked. All that time we spent together afterward only made it grow stronger. And now I … I think I'm in love with him, Giles, and it doesn't even matter, because he can't stand the sight of me." "Oh, Buffy, I'm so sorry." His arms tightened around her and he murmured more words of comfort as she clung to him and cried. When the flood had slowed to a trickle, Buffy pulled away and wiped at her face with the back of her hand. She avoided looking at Giles for a moment, then sighed and glanced up at him. "Angel left?" When he nodded, she asked, "How was he? When you got here?" "He was...upset." "Wow, Giles, understatement, much?" She shook her head. "I know how much I hurt him tonight. Seems to be my specialty lately." "Buffy, I'm not sure what occurred with Spike, but as far as Angel is concerned...perhaps there were some things that needed to be said? A sort of...closure, as it were. You weren't allowed any when he left." "No, I wasn't, but that doesn't excuse my behavior. I can't believe he brought me home after -" "He loves you, Buffy. Whatever else has happened, I can't imagine that either one of you could abandon the other. No matter what the circumstances." His words served as a painful reminder of just how different things were with Spike. The blond vampire had no problem walking away from her, as evidenced by his post-coital behavior. Buffy felt a fresh stab of pain as she recalled his hateful remarks. Devastated didn't even begin to cover how she felt. Flushing, she stood up and walked over to the mirror, avoiding Giles' eyes. Picking up her brush, she began working through the tangles in her hair again. "Angel said that you and Spike had a fight. Are you sure you're all right - physically, I mean?" "Physically, I'm fine. Legs work and everything." Giles took a deep breath. "Yes, about that...what happened, exactly? How were you able to walk again?" Briefly, she told him about suddenly waking up with feeling in her legs. She kept brushing her hair as she did so, trying to avoid thinking about Spike and what had happened between them. Giles listened intently as she related her reluuctance to tell Spike the good news. He frowned. "I wish you had called me. You know how imperative it is that you keep me informed." "I'm sorry, Giles, I didn't think about it. I just...wanted Spike to stay with me." "Well, now is the time to think about it. The Council is in town to deal with Maggie Walsh. I've spoken to them about formulating a plan, and with you able to walk, we'll have the element of surprise on our side when we move to strike." "We?" She narrowed her eyes at him. "What? You rejoined the damn Council?" Giles paused, clearly taken aback, then nodded his head. "I've formed an alliance with them, yes. As for rejoining them, they've yet to ask me, but -" "But you would? After what they did to us both?" She tossed the brush down on the dresser and turned to confront him. "How dare you?" "How dare I?" he questioned, surprised by her anger. "Pardon me for stating the obvious here, Buffy, but how dare you keep something like this from me? How long were you planning to keep up the charade? And how do I know that you weren't able to walk days ago? Weeks? You certainly seem steady on your feet." "Don't you accuse me of that!" she shouted, pointing a finger at him. "I told you that I just started walking this morning. And you couldn't possibly hope to understand my motivation for not calling you right off the bat." "Well, then enlighten me," Giles crossed his arms, regarding her with a serious expression. "I didn't call because I knew what your response would be. Fall off the horse, get back on. Scared of the water, jump in and don't test it." "I don't understand." "You expect me to just start slaying again, don't you? You expect me to grab the bull by the horns and-" "Could you please refrain from using metaphors?" "Fine," Buffy snapped. "Here's a non-metaphor for you. I don't want to be the Slayer. I would rather be some dried up cripple in some filthy hospital, then go back out there," she pointed toward the window, "and let them finish me off." "You don't mean that." "Yes, I do!" She stalked toward her closet, yanking her ornate trunk from under a pile of clothing. Moving swiftly, she unlatched the clasps and pulled the top up, then lifted a tray, exposing an arsenal of weapons. "Look, Giles, I've got stakes," she threw one as hard as she could, flipping it end over end, and it embedded in the wall, the handle sticking out only a few inches. "I've got crossbows," she fired it off as well, the bolt slicing through her lampshade and shattering the bulb. "I've got Holy Water," toss, "more stakes," toss, "and would you look at this? A mace!" wind, throw, "and none of it did a damn bit of good, did it? They almost killed me. AGAIN!" "Buffy, stop it!" He crossed the room and grabbed her arm, halting the rain of weaponry. When she turned on him, he gripped her upper arms and held on, fully aware that she could toss him across the room just as easily as she had tossed her stakes. "Listen to me," he ordered gruffly. "I know how frightened you are." "No, you don't!" Buffy half shouted. "Giles, you have no idea!" "Do you think I don't feel terror at the danger you face every day? What happens to you, happens to me. When you are hurt, I hurt. When you bleed, my soul bleeds along with you because it's my duty to see to it that you are safe." He reached for her hand and took it in his. "I felt the same relief you must have felt every night for the past few months, knowing that you were safe and sound at home and not out there fighting demons. We didn't choose this life, Buffy. We were chosen and though it can be quite a burden at times, it's ours to bear." "I can't bear it! People always leave me because of who I am! My dad, and Angel," her breath began hitching and new sobs suddenly burst forth, "and Spike- Spike - God, it hurts so much!" "Buffy," Giles said softly. "I'm still here. I'll *always* be here. We'll get through this, the same way we get through anything. Together." His voice gentled her for a second, letting her regain control. She drew a deep breath and looked him in the eye. "I won't work with the Council, Giles. I *can't*." "I see," he answered flatly, releasing her. "Please understand -" "I'm sorry, but I don't understand. This is your calling, your sacred duty, Buffy-" "Giles, please!" Her voice grew strident. "I can't do it, all right? I can't trust the Council, and I can't help you. I'm sorry." "Very well, then. Angel and I will take things from here. I'm sure that between the two of us, and the men from the Council, we can put an end to Maggie Walsh's reign of terror. If you change your mind..." "I won't," she assured him. "And I'm not sure I'd be much help anyway at this point." She looked up at him beseechingly. "Giles? Are we...okay?" Giles didn't respond for a few slow, agonizing seconds. Finally, he nodded, a sad smile parting his lips. "Yes, we're 'okay'. Perhaps you should get some rest. The sun is up already and you didn't get any sleep last night. I could bring up some hot chocolate, if you like, before I go." "That would be nice, thanks." He walked toward the door, pausing before he left. "I'm sorry about Spike, Buffy. About...everything that's happened. I-I'll let you know if he turns up." "I'm not sure he will. Not after..." She turned away, blinking back tears. "After what?" Giles asked before he could help himself. "What happened between you two?" "I don't want to talk about it. Please, Giles, I just want to sleep, okay?" "All right, Buffy," he sighed. "I'll get your drink, and check in with you later, then." When she didn't answer, he turned and left the room, and finally, she was alone. Buffy let herself collapse onto the bed as every muscle in her body screamed with fatigue. She felt stiff and sore, and her legs were trembling from overuse after so many months of inactivity. Weakly, she dragged the covers over her and huddled beneath them, shaking. It felt as if she'd never be warm again, never feel strong again. Never be free from the heartwrenching pain in the middle of her chest. "Spike..." she whimpered softly, curling into a ball. The tears came again and she didn't even try to stop them. How had things gone so completely wrong in so short a time? She and Spike had grown closer in the last few weeks, on their way to becoming more than just friends. And just like that, her lies had destroyed it all. Because of her stupidity, another man she loved had walked away from her. Telling him how she felt hadn't made a bit of difference; he was still gone. And she wanted him back, more desperately than she'd ever wanted anything in her life. She needed his strength, needed him to help her get past this fear that was eating her up inside. The fear was controlling her, keeping her from being the Slayer, and if she couldn't be the Slayer anymore, then what would she be? Nothing, she'd be nothing. And she'd still be alone. A few minutes later when Giles returned, he found her asleep, her tear-stained face tense in slumber, fists tightly clenching the blankets under her chin. Part Seventeen Buffy had slept fitfully, waking several times with the covers tangled around her limbs and cold tears drying on her face. She finally gave up any hope of real sleep and rolled to her side, watching as the minutes turned to hours on her bedside clock. Her body ached from all the times she'd cried, but now her eyes were dry. And all she could do was think. Think about the giant hole that Angel left in her life when he walked away from her, and how she'd thought she would never recover from it. Think about how she'd nearly gotten her life back on track when her legs were taken away, making her doubt everything and everyone. Making her afraid to be what she was meant to be. Think about Giles wanting to accept help from the very people who had betrayed them. The people who had turned their backs on them when it had mattered most. And lastly, think about Spike leaving her in that alley without a backward glance after making her scream in ecstasy. The hatefulness with which he'd treated her, the utter lack of concern for her pain. Bastard. Okay, so she'd lied. She could accept responsibility for that, and she'd do anything to take it back. She hadn't meant to hurt Spike, only keep him by her side until she knew what his true feelings were. Was that so terribly wrong? She was human, dammit! She'd made a mistake - did that mean she had to pay for it in blood? Did she have to be humiliated time and time again, her heart and pride torn to shreds? And was she expected to wallow in self-pity like a mewling, whining child? No. She wasn't going to live like this any longer, and she wasn't going to be anyone's punching bag again. Her anger built until she flung herself out of the bed and began pacing around the room like a caged animal, images of the men in her life flashing in front of her in a red haze. Angel always thought she needed saving, did he? Her arm swept across her vanity, sending perfume bottles crashing to the floor. And Giles! Her journal flew into the closet, several pages tearing loose in the process. Giles thought she should just forgive and forget, and when she couldn't, well that just meant she was still and immature little girl, didn't it? Breathing heavily, she turned in a circle, searching for something else to throw as her anger focused on Spike. How dare he throw her love back in her face? How dare he walk away after fucking her with so much intensity and passion that she'd almost lost consciousness? How dare he... Her feverish gaze landed on the silver mirror and she snatched it up victoriously, intent on smashing it to bits. She cocked her arm, ready to hurl it into the wall . and then she stopped as she heard Spike's voice inside her head. 'No, -that- is beautiful.' With a sigh, she lowered her arm and sat down on the bed as her knees gave out. Damn him, she though miserably, tracing her image in the glass with a finger. Damn him for making her trust again, for making her feel beautiful and strong again, only to destroy it in a burst of self-righteous anger. And destroy it he had, knowing exactly what to say to bring her to her knees. He'd always seen right thought her, from the very moment they'd first laid eyes on each other. When they were enemies, she'd been able to shrug it off, no matter how pissed off she got. But now that she'd let him into her heart . now it felt as if his words were slicing a jagged path right through that same heart. As if he needed to claw his way out from the inside. And she didn't know how much longer she could take the pain. She let the mirror slip from her fingers onto the bed and stood up, determined to get a grip on what little strength she had left. She didn't -have- to feel this way. She'd dealt with all of this before - with Angel, and to a lesser extent, with Parker. She'd survived each time, a little worse for wear, but still standing, still fighting. And now, she had the mother of all fights just waiting for her participation. All she had to do was get angry and stay that way. And at the moment, that didn't appear to be a problem. She was the Slayer. It was time she acted like one. She scanned the room, taking in the evidence of her tantrum. Such a small display for such a supposedly powerful young woman, she thought derisively. Surely she could do better than that. Her gaze fell upon the weapons trunk on the floor next to her closet. Giles had apparently repacked all of her weapons for her. She studied it for a few minutes, recalling the way she used to have to hide it all. Pack away her weapons and conceal her bloody clothes and injuries. She didn't have to hide anything anymore. Buffy reached into the trunk and pulled out Mr. Pointy. She'd had the stake that belonged to Kendra bronzed, which earned quite a few odd looks from the men at the mall where she had taken it to have it done. Cradling it in her hand, she got to her feet and held it up in front of her. Striking fast and hard at an invisible foe, she listened to her arm whip through the air, slicing the wind with a low whistle. She was still fast, very fast. The paralysis hadn't taken that away from her. The phone cut through her concentration and she grabbed it, biting back the urge to say Spike's name into it. "Hello?" "Buffy, it's Giles," the Englishman said. "I hope I didn't wake you." "No, I'm up." She sat on her bed, still running her hand over the bronzed piece of wood. "What is it? Did something else happen?" "No, nothing has changed." Unless you took into consideration the fact that he had gone all over town looking for Spike and hadn't slept a wink, nothing had changed. "I was just calling to see if you've changed your mind about working with the Council. Angel and I will be meeting with them tonight and I'd very much like it if you'd accompany us." "No," she stated flatly. "I told you before, I won't work with them. And what exactly is your plan? You never told me." "I suppose I didn't," Giles sighed. "Malachai, one of the elder councilmen informed me last night that Maggie Walsh was seen in your hospital room hours after your accident. She had a shaman in tow; a mystical man who can alter the state of being. We've every reason to believe that perhaps she is responsible for your paralysis." Buffy's hand tightened around the stake. "We already know she's responsible for it. She had her pet vampires ambush me." "No, Buffy. We believe that she put some sort of spell on you to prevent your Slayer strength from healing you." "A spell?" she asked quietly. "You mean magic kept me crippled?" "It's quite possible. If there were mystical forces at work it could explain why you've had such a speedy recovery and why it happened so abruptly." He cleared his throat. "At any rate, we've located where the Initiative is operating." "Where?" "Underneath the Lowell Fraternity house at the campus," he replied, then added, "If you would just accompany us-" "No," Buffy repeated more firmly. "Look, I have to go. I'm hungry and I need to get some fresh air." "Er, Buffy, any word from Spike?" Giles asked casually. "I was wondering because-" "Giles," she sighed softly. "Look, I can't talk about this, okay? I have to go." She hung up before he could say anything else and stood, pacing across her room. It had been magic all along? Not her own weaknesses and faults? They had resorted to taking her out of the equation with a spell? That certainly put a new spin on things. If they had been forced to fight dirty, maybe they were scared of a fight. If that was the case, she'd give Maggie Walsh the fight of her life. If that bitch hadn't put the chip in Spike's head to begin with, none of this ever would have happened. She had started a chain of events, meddled where no human should meddle, and tampered with the fates. Maggie only thought she knew how to take the Slayer out of her element. It was obvious that for all of her training, Maggie hadn't the first clue as to what a Slayer actually was. A Slayer's element was what she made it. Buffy picked up the mirror that Spike had given her and studied her reflection once more. The face that stared back at her was hardened with resolve, all traces of self-pity gone. All that remained was intent. A deadly intent to slay anything that got between her and Maggie Walsh. Giles arrived at the bar first, just after sunset, and secured a large table in the back, away from the other booths. Even as he ordered a beer, his mind stayed on Buffy. She had admitted that she feared being the Slayer again. She had looked him in the eye, her own eyes hollow and red rimmed, and admitted how much her duty terrified her. He hated himself for what he represented in her life; the man who oversaw her 'Sacred Duty'. Yet, there was nothing sacred about being scared and alone. His thoughts turned to Angel then, the vampire who loved his Slayer as much as he did, only in a very different way. He knew that both of them would die for her, but Angel couldn't even have the satisfaction of being near her. Couldn't even think of being a part of her life. Checking his watch, he scowled and headed toward the payphone to try Angel's number again. He paused when the door opened and the vampire stepped in, looking as if he'd gone about five rounds with ten Slayers. His face was scratched, bloody in places, and his lip was swollen. Giles met him halfway. "I thought you said you wouldn't do anything rash," he said in a low voice. "I didn't do anything rash," Angel told him, holding up his hands and showing his bloody knuckles. "I did something violent to avoid rash." "So, I take it that Spike didn't survive the night?" Giles watched him, wondering how he'd break the news to Buffy. And wondering why he felt so annoyed that he didn't have a chance at Spike first. Angel frowned at the mention of his childe's name. "I didn't find him. But if I had, anything Angelus dished out would have seemed like a love tap compared to what I would have done to him." Giles couldn't control the smirk that crossed his face. "I won't say I'm sorry. I have quite a few things to say to him before he meets his demise." Angel chuckled and followed the man further into the bar, where he sat at the table. "How's Buffy?" "She told me what happened," Giles said casually, not offering details. "And she told me that she won't take part in bringing down the Initiative." The vampire looked shocked. "Did you tell her that Maggie Walsh was responsible?" Giles nodded. "She refuses to work with the Council again. Even if it is for a common goal. To be quite honest, she was furious that I was even considering it." "To be fair to her, she does have a valid reason to be leery of them." Angel motioned for the waitress and ordered a shot of liquor. When the woman walked away, he added, "I mean, they chose her, then tried to kill her. I think that might put a damper on any working relationship." "Oh, you're absolutely right," Giles replied. "I don't agree with all their methods myself, but I do believe that in this scenario - they are our best hope." Angel nodded his head at the door and stood. The Watchers filed in, each one wearing a suit and a somber face. Giles stood as well, extending a hand to Malachai when he was close enough. The elder man shook it and smiled. "Mr. Giles. Angel. I'm glad you both decided to show." "We gave you our word," Angel told him as he cast a worried gaze at the other men. No matter how many times he told himself to trust them, he couldn't help having reservations about it. "We've heard rumors that the Slayer was seen in action last night," Malachai reported as he sat down across from Giles. "Is there any truth in that?" Giles glanced at Angel. If he told them the truth, would they insist on her aid or would they allow her time to recuperate? Taking a deep breath, he spoke firmly. "Buffy has regained use of her legs, however, it is my opinion that it is too soon for her to be back in her full capacity. The injury that she obtained initially was very grave and-" "Relax, Mr. Giles," Malachai waved a hand, motioning for Giles to sit down. "We won't need her help. We'll be able to do this ourselves." "Right," Giles gave him a weak smile. "I do thank you. Buffy's well being-" "Is still the most important thing to you," Malachai finished for him. "It's admirable, the way you love that child, however, it still works against you." "Quite the contrary, sir." Giles stared him in the eye. "It works *for* me. Buffy's record could speak on its own and we all know that. I think my methods, including my devotion to her, is tantamount to her success thus far." Malachai regarded Giles for several seconds, then glanced at Angel. "A Slayer who somehow forced a Watcher *and* a vampire to love her. I hope I will meet her before we leave and see for myself what she possesses that could make grown men go against their true natures." "You just might," Angel told him with a knowing grin. "And won't that be fun?" Giles shot him a look, then leaned forward, getting down to business. "So, the hour approaches - shall we finalize the plan?" "It's going to be a long night," Malachai sighed, and motioned for a set of blueprints from another Watcher. Spreading them out on the table, he motioned at one corner. "We'll go in here." He glanced around the table, pausing at each face. "We're stepping into Hell here, gentlemen. Hell on earth." He fixed his gaze on Angel. "And won't **that** be fun?" Buffy dressed black leather boots, tight leather pants, and a clinging halter-top. She stood in front of the mirror gazing at her reflection. She had lost weight since her accident, but she was satisfied with her appearance. Her hair was pinned back tightly away from her face so no one could grab it and it made her look older, wiser. When she faced Maggie Walsh, she wanted her to see firsthand that she had not bested the Slayer. No one would ever best her again. She was furious. She was strong. And she was hell bent on getting revenge. Making her way back to her bedroom, she surveyed her weapons trunk and selected a few stakes and a long knife. She dropped the stakes into her bag, then lifted the knife, trailing her fingertips over the sharp edge of the blade. It drew blood instantly, staining the blade with a crimson smudge. The wound closed almost as instantly and she smiled. It was going to be a fine night. Climbing out her window, both for exercise and for old time's sake, she dropped down onto her lawn and headed toward the UC-Sunnydale Campus. She moved swiftly, with purpose, her anger quickening her pace. Halfway across town, she spotted two vampires and she paused, silently pulling a stake from her bag. They never saw her coming. Her speed surprised even her, and left the vampires with a scream that died on their lips when they dusted. Blood surged in her veins and she gripped the stake tighter. It was nice to be back. They'd never stop her again. Lowell House loomed directly in front of her. Buffy stood on the sidewalk, staring up at the massive structure. She hadn't planned very far ahead, hadn't exactly decided how she would enter thee house or find her way to the underground. A car pulled up and she made a show of bending to tie an imaginary shoelace. Three large boys piled out, casting a withering glance in her direction, then they moved to the trunk, where they retrieved a bundle. A bundle that was clearly a person. Or a demon. It was wrapped in a woolen blanket and squirmed madly when one of the boys tossed it over his shoulder. To the casual observer, it looked like a harmless prank against a fraternity brother. To the Slayer, it looked like a godsend. She made her way down the sidewalk, then hid behind a copse of trees as the boys went into the house. Standing on tiptoe, she watched through a window as the men dropped the bundle on the floor and yanked the blanket off. Bingo! The vampire lunged at the men, talons raking the air, fangs gnashing at nothing and everything at once. She watched as the men taunted and kicked the vampire and narrowed her eyes. These were the same people who had neutered Spike. Suddenly, the wall opened up behind the boys and Maggie Walsh stepped out. Out of an elevator? Buffy looked more closely. Yes, it was an elevator. She watched as the men shoved the vampire into the elevator, stunning it with a hand held device, and backed away. She was the Slayer. She wasn't exactly equipped to handle stun guns and army men. A flash of light from a low basement window caught her eye and she knelt down, squinting. The elevator was passing down; she could see the light through the crudely constructed shaft. Prying the window open, she silently prayed for no security alarms, and when nothing blared, she slipped inside. It looked like a regular frat house basement. Not that she had seen many or even any at all, but it looked like a place where a bunch of boys haphazardly tossed their laundry. There were four washers, four dryers and each were buried under a mountain of clothes. There were also cases of beers stacked neatly against one wall. She shook her head at the irony of that. Take care of your beer, but let your colors bleed onto your whites. Men! Buffy moved quickly to the elevator shaft. It stood in the middle of the room, boxed off with wood and metal. It was a total eyesore, so completely out of place that anyone who saw it would question what it was. Wasting no time, Buffy pulled off one of the wooden beams and separated the metal, peering down into the brightly lighted shaft. It seemed to go on for miles, deep into the belly of the earth. The elevator was at the bottom, apparently stopped. Casting a glance behind her, Buffy slipped through the crack she had made, clung to the cables, and pulled the metal back in place. It wasn't perfectly smooth, but she had chosen to enter in a nondescript place. Hopefully no one would see the small gap. Hand over hand she made her way down, quietly lowering herself further and further. The muscles in her arms began to ache and she cursed herself quietly. All the time she was in her chair, she should have been exercising her upper body more. A lot more than just lifting the remote control or wheeling herself back and forth to the bathroom. The thought of her wheelchair pushed the ache out of her mind and she felt a renewed burst of energy. Moving even faster, she hooked one leg around the cable and let herself slide. She went past the air conditioner vent so quickly that she never saw the two vampires, one very familiar and the other bearing a striking resemblance to Maggie Walsh, crawling in the opposite direction. Spike heard something whiz past the air duct and glanced behind him. He was on his hands and knees, having entered the air conditioning unit almost an hour before from a tool shed behind Lowell Fraternity. Isobel had been meticulous, carefully rewiring the security system to prevent it from locating their movement. "What was that?" Isobel, who was just ahead, on her hands and knees as well, continued moving. "It was probably a bat." Spike scowled, but followed her without question. They had been right next to the vent when the elevator screamed past moments before. He had questioned why they didn't just scale down using the cables, but Isobel had pointed out that the elevators were so fast, it could cut a person in two. He could feel the small passage begin to slope downward and had to struggle to maintain his balance as they moved deeper and deeper into the structure. Isobel had informed him that the facility was about five stories below the surface of the earth. Ahead of him, Isobel paused and opened the bag she had secured on her back when they began. Spike watched her pull out ropes and harnesses and shook his head. "You really know what you're doing, huh?" "I do it all the time." She held out a harness to him. "Slide this over your legs and buckle it at the waist. Have you ever rock climbed?" "I can't say that I have." Spike did as she instructed, then watched her hook a knotted rope through the clip on his harness. "From here, it's a straight drop of roughly fifty feet. We have to be quiet. We can't just jump because we could go through and land right on top of them. We're going to hook this rope around that beam," She pointed above her head at an exposed metal rod. "and lower you first. When you get to the bottom, you be careful to put your hands and knees on the outside edges of the air ducts. It's exposed down there and they'll hear you if you aren't careful." "Right," Spike said, tugging on the rope to make sure it was secured. This was his big chance and he wasn't going to blow it. He'd get that chip out and then Buffy- Well, he'd get his chip out. He couldn't let himself think of her. She would tell him to keep the chip, wouldn't she? She'd tell him that it gave him a reason to fight on the side of good. But look at what that had gotten him. The side of good had lied to him, betrayed him, and worst of all, touched a long dormant part of him that was better left alone. His heart. "Spike?" Isobel repeated the vampire's name for the third time. "Are you ready?" "What?" He looked at her. "Oh, yeah, lower me." Part Eighteen Buffy had almost reached a small utility door inside the shaft when she heard voices in the elevator below her. She made a lunge for the door as the elevator sprang to life. Swearing under her breath, she let go of the cable just in time to softly step on top of the elevator and crouched down low as it began an upward ascent, taking her back over ground she had already covered. Looking upward, she realized that she would be flattened if she wasn't careful, and quickly lay on her back, pressing her palms flat. With no time to spare, she watched the roof quickly approaching and closed her eyes. She was about to be crushed. In the few seconds it took for her to realize it, various images flashed through her head. Spike, Angel, Giles, her mother, the gang. Her funeral. She held her breath, thinking what a shame it was to die this way instead of in battle, then wondered if anyone would ever know what she had intended to do. If Spike would know. Would he miss her? Would he realize that she had been crushed trying to exact revenge for what Maggie Walsh had caused both of them? The elevator stopped with a jerk, and Buffy, with her nose pressed to the ceiling, opened her eyes. She was alive! But she was also in quite a predicament. The narrow amount of space prevented her from moving at all, and the ceiling was literally pressing against her breasts, toes, and nose. It was like being buried alive, only worse. There was nothing she could do except wait for someone to take an elevator ride down again. And who knew when that would happen? She could hear the men inside the elevator exiting, and heard several other people laughing and making fun of the vampire they had captured. It didn't take her long to realize that the air was thin inside the dusty shaft and she was having trouble getting enough of it. Her lungs felt like they were full of dust, her face grew sticky and she could feel sweat gathering on her back. Unable to be sure of how much time had passed, she squeezed her eyes closed again and tried not to think about how easily she could die. Her chest was leaden, it rose and fell with effort and she had to struggle not to cough. If she could hear the Initiative boys, then they would hear her. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear a radio playing. Popular top forty music reverberated through the metal tomb and she attempted to concentrate on that. She failed miserably. With effort, she turned her palms up and pressed against the ceiling, hoping it would open, or at the very least, crack just enough to let in some fresh air. However, it was sealed tight and the only reward for her efforts was a cramp in her elbow. Breathing became more difficult after that, since her movements had kicked up even more dust. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks, and her mouth was so dry she found herself wishing they were rolling over her lips instead of down into her ears. She was close to screaming for help, to putting herself at the mercy of Maggie and her men, when she finally heard the doors open and the elevator shook as it began its descent. Almost sobbing in relief, Buffy sat up and stretched her arms over her head, trying to work out the cramp in her elbow. Looking at her watch, she realized that she had been trapped for almost forty minutes. If she didn't act fast, the Watcher's Council could thwart her plans and everything she had just endured would have been for nothing. A cool breeze blew against her face and she savored it, standing on shaking legs to latch onto the cable again when the utility door came into view. She hooked her leg around it and hoisted herself up, turning the handle on the door. It was locked. "Son of a bitch!" she whispered as she pulled even harder. It was no use. The door was locked from the inside and looked as thick as a bank vault door. She was in the process of weighing her options when the elevator began to climb upward again. "Oh no!" Yanking her bag around so she could dig through it, she pulled out an ax and used the blade to pry open the small trapdoor in the top of the elevator. She was amazed to see that the compartment was empty, quickly counted her blessings, and dropped down into it just in time. When the door opened to reveal two men in uniform waiting, she quickly grabbed the one closest to her, put the blade to his throat, and looked at the other one. "Get in." The man made a move for his gun, but Buffy pressed the knife against her captive's neck even harder. "Get in before things get really bloody and your friend's neck is gone." "Do it!" gasped the man in her arms. The other man stepped into the elevator, sizing Buffy up. She gave him a small smile. "Yeah, I'm small. But don't be stupid enough to think that matters. Press the button that'll take us straight to Maggie Walsh." The man pressed one of several buttons. Buffy nodded. "Now, slowly put your gun on the ground." As the man pulled his gun free, gingerly holding it between his thumb and finger, Buffy flipped the ax and brought the blunt end down on the back of his head. He collapsed forward as the man who had been her hostage tried to spin around and face her. She punched him in the ribs before he got halfway, and he dropped to his knees, gasping for air. Gripping his head, she brought his face down onto her knee and he too collapsed. Buffy gathered up their guns, stored one in her bag and held the other in her hand, then waited patiently for the elevator to open. When it did, she cautiously glanced around, then ripped open the control panel and buried her ax in all the cords, chopping several in the process. She wrenched it free, yanking out several more cords and wires, and stepped out. She was inside a small office. Moving slowly, she stepped onto the plush carpet and walked toward the desk. A small placard that said 'Maggie A. Walsh' sat facing outward. Buffy smiled. She was in the Dragon's lair. A weapon's cabinet stood in one corner and Buffy twisted the lock off, helping herself to a 'Rambo' style bandolier full of tranquilizer darts. She hefted the gun that they fit into and then proceeded to put a stun gun into her waistband. These weren't demons she was dealing with, they were people, and as far as she was concerned, the only person on her hit list was Maggie Walsh. And the pistol would take care of her. The rest would just sleep for a while. Almost as an afterthought, she decided to shoot both men in the elevator with the tranquilizer gun to ensure they wouldn't wake up and alert anyone up top to their intruder. She studied the firing mechanism, noted the fact that each cartridge held 14 darts, and shot each man once. The gun was silent as it fired and she smiled again. She could get used to weapons like that. As soon as she was finished, she made her way to the door, cracked it an inch, and peered out into the compound. She saw three men making small talk next to a jeep. Hmm, she thought, so there are other entryways into this place. That's not good. She watched for several minutes, but no one else passed. Gathering her bearings, she took a deep breath, yanked the door open and fired one shot at each man. The darts struck their marks, and whatever was inside was so fast, that none of the men had a chance to pull the needles from their skin before they fell straight forward and lay still. She stayed close to the walls, crouching low and peeking over boxes and around filing cabinets. Finally, something clattered in the distance and she slowly crabwalked, keeping her eyes open, across a small catwalk that looked down into a pit. Ensconced in a padded area that looked like wall to wall aluminum foil with dentist chairs, were Maggie and four men. They were strapping the vampire that had been captured to one of the chairs. She could hear the growls and protests of the demon, but couldn't make out what the men were saying. She glanced behind her, making sure the coast was still clear, and lifted the gun, resting it on the railing as she pointed at her first target. On the other side of the compound, Spike and Isobel had made it through the air conditioning unit undetected. Isobel led the way to a small room, where she twisted the door handle off, flicked a lightswitch, and motioned him into a chair. Spike had no choice but to comply, as he was out of his element and basically at her mercy. He took the proffered seat and watched the female vampire type in several codes on a computer screen. Different windows popped up, then vanished as she went through the various motions. Spike's gut felt like it was in knots as he watched her. This was it. The chip would be coming out. "Hostile Seventeen, right?" Isobel asked quietly. "Yes, I suppose." Spike nodded and glanced around the room. He remembered all too clearly what it had been like to wake up inside one of the observation rooms in this hell hole. "I can't take the chip out," Isobel announced suddenly. "It's embedded into a part of your brain that would render you immobile if it was removed." She saw the look on his face and quickly added, "But I can deactivate it right now." "Deactivate? It wouldn't shock me anymore?" Spike leaned forward, looking at the computer screen. There was an illustration of something that he imagined was the make and model of his chip. "Do what you have to do. I want it stopped." Isobel nodded, typed in a few more numbers, and opened one of the desk drawers. She pulled out what looked like a hand held metal detector, save for long tubes running the length of it, and ran it around Spike's head. It began to beep near his right ear. She pressed several numbers on the side of the device and moved it back over his head, carefully inserting one of the tubes inside his ear. Spike could feel intense heat radiating from the gadget, or possibly from his head, and he gripped the arms of his chair. "Ow!" "We have to burn it up," Isobel said. "Your specific chip will malfunction if the heat rises beyond a certain degree." "I'll bloody well malfunction if I rise beyond a certain degree too! And it fucking hurts!" he growled. "Do you want five minutes of pain or an eternity of pain every time you try to act on impulse?" Isobel pressed a few more buttons, watching on the screen as the diagram of Spike's chip began to turn red. They were halfway there. "You're going to burn me bald!" Spike shouted, trying to push her hand away. "Stop it!" "Two more minutes," Isobel blocked him. "Two minutes until you're free." "God, when I get this chip out of my brain, I'm going to kill everything with a heartbeat." "That spares my daughter. She has nothing where she should have had a heart." "How did that old bag get so evil, anyway?" Spike asked her, trying not to notice the smell of burning hair. "You don't seem the abusive type." "My daughter was spoiled by her father, and never taught right from wrong. Everything I tried to do with her was thwarted, and so she became a willful child and even worse adult." Isobel kept her eyes on the screen. "She was always determined to be a Slayer and when she failed, she decided to use science and technology to undermine all that the Council had worked toward." The Slayer. Spike's mind wondered to Buffy and he went numb all over. Would he be able to kill her? Did he want to? How would she react to the old Spike? Isobel moved away, announcing that the chip had been 'burned' completely, and Spike gingerly touched the side of his head. He didn't feel any different. And he didn't feel any better. When the last soldier hit the floor, Buffy stood up and made her presence known to Maggie Walsh, dropping the tranquilizer gun and raising the pistol. The Slayer locked eyes on her foe, and to her credit, Maggie didn't falter. As a matter of fact, she smiled. "Well, well, well," the woman said, eyeing the gun in the Slayer's hands. "I'm guessing you aren't going to use that on me or I'd be a dead woman right now." "You got the dead part right. You could never be called a woman." Buffy returned the smile and lowered the gun. "I've had an awful long time to just sit and think about payback. It occurred to me that a good old fashioned ass whipping might be just what you need." The Slayer leaped down into the pit and stood a few inches away from Maggie. "Then I'm going to kill you." Walsh had a long metal rod, which she swung at Buffy's head, but the younger woman had anticipated the move and ducked. As the momentum swung Maggie around, Buffy tackled her, causing the rod to clatter out of the way. Neither noticed the vampire free himself from the chair and run. Giles, Angel, and the Councilmen gained access through the cargo bays in the Initiative. There were several army jeeps, several holding pens and one guard, whom they drugged with a hypodermic needle. Jones, one of the security experts from the Council, had tinkered with the alarm system, then announced that it had already been shut down. The men, around fifteen in all, couldn't be bothered with determining the cause. Instead, they sprang into action, each one performing the task they had been assigned before they entered the compound. Angel stood ready at the doorway, a long metal pole in his hand, waiting patiently for Jones to swipe his fake clearance down the security box. When he did, and the door opened, Angel wasn't prepared for the vampire who flew into him, fangs bared, nails scraping wildly. He watched as one of the Councilmen produced a stake and tossed the vampire off of him, toward the man. "Wait!" the vampire shouted. "Angelus, right? You don't want to go down there, man. The Slayer's down there and she's pissed." Giles' eyes locked on Angel's and both men stepped toward the vampire. Angel spoke first. "Are you sure?" "Yeah, man. Cute, blond, tiny and toting an arsenal of weapons. She's attacking some human woman and I bailed. I didn't want to-" The stake was plunged into his back courtesy of Malachai. Wasting no time, Angel and Giles turned as one and headed through the open doorway. The stakes had just been upped. Literally. Maggie was stronger than Buffy had anticipated. Blood pooled from a gash in her forehead and as Maggie charged at her, she was momentarily blinded by the sticky liquid. She raised a hand to wipe it away and the other woman slammed into her, knocking her onto her back. Her head connected with the metal base of one of the chairs and stars exploded behind her eyelids. Nevertheless, she gripped the chair and tugged herself upright. Maggie chuckled as she watched the girl crawl to her feet. "And they said you were the best." "I'm just letting you get in a few good licks so your death won't be so depressing for you," Buffy said with a shrug. The smile on Maggie's face faltered and she balled up her fist, swinging wide at Buffy's jaw. The Slayer caught her arm and backhanded her, sending Walsh staggering backwards. Maggie ran her hand under her nose, saw the blood on her fingertips, and charged again. Ducking low, Buffy caught the woman around the knees and then stood, sending her flying over her head and into the wall of the pit. Even the Slayer cringed at the bone crunching smack that sounded as she impacted. Wasting no time, Buffy stepped forward and gripped her head and chin. "Breaking your neck is going to be the most satisfying thing I've ever done." She was about to twist when someone shouted behind her. "Buffy, no!" Turning her head, she saw Angel leap down into the pit and start toward her. In her shock at seeing Angel there, she let Maggie go, and the woman staggered to her feet, raising a knife that had been in her boot over her head. "Look out!" Angel cried. Buffy turned in time to see the blade come streaking toward her, but another person leaped into the pit, tackling Maggie. "Giles!" Buffy cried, realizing who had saved her. She made a move to help the ex-Watcher, but suddenly, commandos were dropping into the pit left and right. She pivoted, seeing for herself that Angel was occupied with two soldiers, and several men in suits were fighting hand to hand with even more. Turning on her heel, she made a move for her weapon bag, only to have it kicked out of her reach. Looking up, she vaguely recognized the young commando who stood facing her. "Riley?" "Buffy?" the young man asked. "Buffy Summers? From psych class? What- what are you?" "Don't take this the wrong way," Buffy told him sweetly, as she punched him as hard as she could. "But what I am is none of your business. And you gave me a C when I should have had an A." He landed in a heap on the ground and she stared down at him. "I hold a grudge." "Mmph," he replied, then went out like a light. Giles wrestled the knife away from Maggie and tossed it in Buffy's direction. It clattered to the ground behind her and Angel intercepted it. Buffy had given her attention to two commandos who were coming her way. Giles looked at Maggie and smiled. "You always did have trouble holding onto your weapons. I guess that's why you never made it as a Slayer." Maggie's nostrils flared. "Ripper Giles! How pleasant to see you again." "You won't feel that way for very long," Giles slowly removed his jacket and let it fall to the floor behind him. "Let's have a go, for old times sake, shall we?" Her acceptance of the challenge came in the form of a well aimed kick as his head, which he ducked under. Maggie's leg fell to the ground like lead and Giles aimed a blow to her ribs. She coughed and sputtered, doubling over in pain. Giles was gripped from behind by one of the errant commandos, who held him in place as Maggie righted herself and lifted the metal pole she had tried to hit the Slayer with. "Let's see how I hold onto this." She drew it back, took aim, and then was tackled from behind by something strong. Something stronger than a human. At first, she thought it was the Slayer again, but the hands around her throat were cold. She gripped them, prying them away and turning her head to look. She met a pair of eyes that were almost identical to her own. Isobel Walsh lifted her daughter to her feet and growled, "Call them off." Maggie thrashed wildly, trying to ram her elbow into the vampire's chest, but it was no use. She looked around, searching for anyone to help her, but the commandos, the few who were still standing, were engaged in combat with the Council. She watched in horror as the Slayer knocked two of their heads together, bringing them to their knees, and then the remaining few were targeted and downed. "Isobel. " Malachai stepped forward, gazing at the vampiric visage that was hiding the woman he had known for years. "My god, Isobel, we thought you were simply ill." "I am ill," Isobel said in a near whisper. "Why don't we let Maggie explain to you why that is." Malachai glanced at Maggie and shook his head. "No. Maggie, no! Tell me you didn't do this." Maggie wriggled, trying to slip out of her mother's grip. "What are you people doing!? You've ruined my research facility, you attacked my men, and you- you talk to this vampire as if you feel sorry for her! She's an animal! A monster!" "Silence!" Malachai held up a hand and reached into his breast pocket, pulling out a document. "Maggie Walsh, you are hereby stripped of your title as a Council Operative. You are ordered to return to England as our prisoner, where you will be properly punished." Maggie started to speak, but Isobel tightened her grip, glaring at the Elder Watcher. "She won't be making that trip, Malachai. It ends tonight." There was a collective gasp as Isobel sank her fangs into Maggie's neck. As one, the Councilmen stepped forward, each bound to protect their own, but each torn between justice for Isobel and their duty. Suddenly, the female vampire wrenched her mouth free and howled in agony. Tears, crimson and thick, ran down her cheeks. "I can't do it! Do you see what she created!? Do you see what she's done?" "She can't do it, but I can," Spike spoke suddenly, leaping into the pit. With lightning speed, he gripped Maggie's head, twisting hard and then letting her drop when her neck snapped. Before Maggie hit the ground, he pulled a stake from his pocket, drove it into Isobel's chest, and turned to look at Buffy, who was staring, mouth agape. "Spike-" she whispered. He could tell by her face that she realized the truth, the chip was gone. And he was a fool. Armed with nothing but a stake, facing down several Councilmen, Giles **and** Angel who was slowly skulking toward him. Spike stared silently at her for a moment, his eyes dark and unreadable, then, as quickly as he had jumped into the pit, he leaped out of it and retreated, leaving Buffy too stunned to speak at all.

Chapter #7 - 7

Buffy couldn't breathe as she stared down at Maggie Walsh's body, now covered in the ashes of the woman's own mother. She had to struggle to keep from collapsing as the reality of their deaths came crashing down on her. It had been Spike's work. He'd killed again. Spike...no chip...Oh God... Maggie's eyes were staring, unforgiving, straight up her, and Buffy's stomach churned violently as the room began to spin. Strong arms embraced her before she could hit the ground and she knew instinctively that it was Angel. "Come on, Buffy. Climb the ladder." Numbly, she hooked her hands on the ladder and stepped up. Angel's hand was on her back, urging her silently, and when she paused to look back, he blocked her view. "Don't. Don't look back." "Angel-" "Just go. We can talk up there." Angel put a little pressure on her back and was relieved when she began to climb. He looked over his shoulder, made eye contact with Giles, who nodded, and then he followed Buffy up the ladder, guiding her away from the pit and the view it offered. There was a water cooler set up next to an office and Angel filled one of the cups, handing it to Buffy, who took it and downed it thirstily. When she had finished, she leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. "What's going to happen now?" "I'll take care of Spike," Angel replied softly. Buffy's eyes flew open and she stood up straight. "Stay away from him." "He's a killer again, Buffy. How long do you think it will be before he decides to make you his third Slayer?" "Spike is my business, not yours." Buffy tossed the empty paper cup in the wastebasket and gestured out over the Initiative's compound. "Besides, I meant what's going to happen here?" Angel's frowned, not wanting to ignore the issue of Spike, but replied, "Well, the original plan was for them to officially charge Maggie and take her back to England." "Well, now they can take the bitch home in a box. I hope they don't pay for a good one. They should crate her ass and-" Angel rebuked her angrily. "She's dead, Buffy. Her debt is paid so I think a little respect-" "Respect?" Buffy raised her voice as she met his accusing eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't know that was a job requirement. It's my job to slay the bad guys and she was a bad guy. I should be sending Spike a thank you card." Even as she said it, her mind flashed to the image of Maggie lying dead a few feet away. Her heart began to hammer furiously and she took a deep breath, trying to keep up her façade. "She deserved to die." "So what, you're judge, jury and executioner now? Maybe you have a lot more in common with Spike than I thought. A match made in hell." Angel shook his head in disbelief. "You're really not the person I thought you were." "Oh, I **so** don't need this from you." Buffy put her hands on her hips, eyes blazing. "You know, you've been judging me since you came back to Sunnydale and the last time I checked, you were not in a position to judge anyone. You've got a soul, so what? That doesn't make you the voice of reason, the moral conscience, or the Saint of Wisdom. It just makes you ballsy enough to think your opinion counts." "Oh, that's classic! Lash out at the person closest to you since the real culprit isn't here." Angel took a step toward her, trying to control his temper. "What you really want is for me to fight back, to give you a reason to let it all out, and I'm not going to. You hang onto it, Buffy, and you give it to the monster that deserves it." He saw her blanch, and continued. "That's right. Spike. You want a piece of wisdom from me? Do your fucking job and stake the bastard." Buffy gasped. "How dare you tell me what to do!" she seethed. "You have no idea what went on when Spike was taking care of me! You don't know what the circumstances were, or anything about what happened between us!" "I don't have to." Angel gripped her arm angrily. "I know Spike well enough to know that it was never the circumstances - it was the conquest that dictated his actions. How did he play you, Buffy? Did he pull his nursemaid act, tending to your every want and need? Or did he just play hard to get until you were so hot you dropped your pants for him?" Buffy yanked her arm free and shoved him back. "You're about three seconds away from landing on your ass." "Would that make you feel better?" Angel asked, his voice deceptively calm in spite of the turmoil raging inside. "I know what you're feeling right now. Your soul is stained with regret, and guilt, and remorse, and most of all ... confusion. But don't take it out on me. I came here to help you and-" "And you're done. You can feel free to go now," she replied. "Is that what you want?" "What? You're suddenly giving me a choice? Some kind of say in the matter?" Buffy chuckled hatefully. "Irony, thy name is Angel." "Dammit, Buffy!" he burst out. "I'm not the one who hurt you here, you know?" "Don't even go there." Her voice was deadly as she glared up at him. "I think it would be best if you leave. I don't need your help, and I don't want you here anymore." "Of course you need my help! You obviously can't - or won't - take care of this problem," Angel snapped. "He's a dead man, Buffy. When I get my hands on him-" "Stay out of it or I'll put you out of it," Buffy said, her voice as cold as her eyes. Angel couldn't remember the last time he'd been this angry. Not in this tooth-grinding, fist-clenching, red-haze kind of way. And certainly not with her. His demon slipped ever closer to the surface as he struggled with the urge to meet her challenge. Her aggressive stance and defiant face weren't helping matters, and the silence grew more and more oppressive with each passing moment. "I can't talk to you anymore," he finally said, stepping back, knowing that he had to distance himself from her immediately. He bumped into Giles as he turned to go, then walked away without saying a word. "I mean it, Angel!" Buffy called. "Leave it alone." Giles glanced over his shoulder, watching as Angel vanished around the corner, and then he turned his full attention back to Buffy. "How are you?" Quelling the urge to snap, she shrugged. "I'm okay." "Shall I ask what that was all about," he said, motioning in the direction Angel had gone, "or shall I pretend that the tension wasn't so thick here that I could have cut it with a knife?" "I don't want to talk about it," Buffy said flatly. To one side, there were several commandos pulling their fallen comrades from the pit. Buffy noticed Riley Finn being hoisted over the edge and frowned. "This is a mess, isn't it?" "The Council is already taking care of it." Giles followed her gaze and sighed. "But yes, it is quite a mess. So much valuable information perished with Maggie and -" Trailing off, Giles turned to face her again. "I'm sorry." "I'm not." The expression on her face disturbed him, but he kept silent. "She knew that she would make enemies with what she was doing. It's not my fault that it caught up with her." Giles narrowed his eyes, studying his charge closely. "I see. So am I to take it that you aren't at all bothered that Spike seems to have gotten his chip removed?" Buffy looked away, staring at nothing as she tried to appear impassive. If she let herself cry, if she let herself give in, she wouldn't stop. An elderly man caught her eye and waved, then walked toward them. Buffy groaned and crossed her arms. Giles cleared his throat and put a hand on Buffy's shoulder when Malachai was just a few feet away. "Buffy Summers, I'd like you to meet Malachai-" "She needs no introduction," Malachai said, extending his hand toward Buffy. "Her reputation precedes her." Buffy stared down at the old man's wrinkled hand. "Did my feelings about your Council also precede me?" Chuckling, Malachai dropped his hand and nodded. "I'm sure we had an inkling when you quit. And then again, when you told Wesley Wyndam-Price to tell us to, what was it, 'piss the fuck off'?" She grinned despite herself. "At least he got the message right." "There's a new day dawning for the Watcher's Council, Miss Summers. We plan to restore it to the institution that it once was and having a Slayer of your caliber as we begin that process would be most rewarding." Malachai smiled down at her. "Of course, I don't expect an answer right now, but it's something for you to consider. Regardless of your decision, you have my word that we will aid you in any crisis that may arise." Buffy said nothing. Giles extended a hand and nodded. "Thank you, Malachai." "What will you do with the Initiative? With all the soldiers and technology and - everything?" Buffy asked, indicating the structure around them. "Restoring the Council to what it once was means that there is no room for this sort of technology. And our only soldier is you, my dear." Malachai glanced at the stretcher carrying Riley Finn as it was wheeled past. "And to be honest, that's the way it should be. There are magicks that will erase the soldiers' memories and return them to their lives before the Initiative and we'll move on." "Just like that?" Buffy asked. "You honestly think it'll be that easy?" Malachai shook his head. "The things that come easy are rarely the things worth achieving. And with that, I must bid you farewell, Buffy Summers. It was truly a pleasure to meet you." Giles shook the man's hand, then watched as he walked away. Chewing her bottom lip, Buffy noticed the sad look in Giles' eyes. The look of longing, of nostalgia - of belonging. When he turned to face her again, she mustered a small smile. "You miss it, don't you?" "What? Miss having a society of like-minded individuals with resources that could rival the pentagon and have enough man power to move mountains? Why would I?" "I. Think. I. Get. The. Point." Buffy told him. "But I'm too tired to let it register. I need to go home." "If you'll give me just a moment, I'll walk you." "No." Buffy held up a hand. "You know, walking was never really something I enjoyed until I couldn't do it anymore. As much as I appreciate the offer, I think I want to do it alone." Giles knew better. He took a step toward her and squeezed her hand. "Buffy, as your friend, I can tell you that if you're going to look for Spike-" "Just don't, okay?" Sliding her hand out of his, she was silent for several seconds, then said, "I'll call you tomorrow." "Be careful." Giles' heart swelled with pride and not a little bit of fear as she walked across the building. He smiled when he saw several of the Councilmen turn to watch her as well, offering greetings, and no doubt commending her for her efforts. How many nights had he spent lying in his bed, wide awake, praying to whatever forces there were that she would mend? And how many more nights would be spent in the same manner? She had regained her legs. But he doubted that the carefree bounce that used to be in her step would ever return. Angel had reopened the gash on his knuckle, courtesy of Willy's teeth. He had pulverized the bartender, showing no mercy until the man caved and shouted Spike's whereabouts. Then he had taken out every vampire in the establishment and two Povrux demons just for the hell of it. With a stake in his pocket, his duster billowing behind him, he stalked into the cemetery, heading for the crypt. His eyes were unfocused, blurred with fury, his muscles still tight from the fight at the bar. There was no question that Spike was going to die. The only dilemma he had was whether to do it swiftly, or take his time, inflicting every torture he could devise on his errant childe. As Angelus, he'd been a master at doling out pain, and no one was more deserving of it than Spike. Hell, he didn't even need much in the way of tools. He flexed his hands. They'd served him well in the past, inflicting all sorts of creative damage on humans and demons alike. All he needed was time alone with his prey... Shit! Time was something he didn't have. No doubt Buffy would come running after Spike as soon as she finished up with the Initiative. If she found him there... Okay, he'd just barge in, stake him, and leave. And Buffy would never have to know. He rounded a large monument and froze. Spike was emerging from his crypt, fingering a wad of cash in his hands. The blonde glanced up, eyes widening briefly, and then he had the audacity to grin at Angel. A red flag had been waved. Angel charged, tackling Spike and sending them both tumbling back into the empty sepulcher. Dust flew as they rolled across the dirty floor. Spike leaped to his feet first, readying himself for another attack. Momentarily blinded, Angel quickly wiped the debris from his eyes as he stood and faced the blond vampire. Spike laughed lightly. "Aww, if I'd known you were coming, I would have dusted." "Don't worry," Angel growled. "You will." "Oh, that's a good one." Spike crouched a little, motioning for Angel to bring it on. "But you lose points for lacking conviction." Angel pulled the stake from his pocket and laid it on top of the sarcophagus. "One stake. Two vampires. You do the math." Taking a step back, Angel pulled off his duster, and laid it over a broken stone bench. Spike eyed the stake, his palms itching to grasp it. He had only seen this look on Angel's face once before. And that had been when he had driven Penn away for bedding Darla. Angel had starved his childe for days, then beaten him within an inch of his unlife. The only reason Penn had escaped had been because several minions had intervened. Spike knew he wouldn't be that lucky. His only ally in town had been Buffy and the Scooby Gang - Buffy- Spike felt like someone had punched him in the gut. Then he realized someone had. Angel began to rain blows along his torso, and Spike pulled himself together, blocking and dodging as Angel began a new assault. He pulled a perfect right hook, spinning Angel around, then delivered a high kick to Angel's jaw, sending him spiraling into the wall. The dark vampire shook it off, turning just in time to block a crunching kick at his ribs. Grabbing Spike's boot, Angel shoved as hard as he could. Spike slapped against a column that ran down the center of the room, sending chips of stone clattering against the far wall and floor. Before Spike could right himself, Angel gripped his shirt and belt, half lifting him as he rammed him into the column again and again. Spike's lip split open and he stiffened when his blood filled his mouth, bringing both legs up and kicking off the column, avoiding a blow that would have broken his nose. Both vampires tumbled to the ground, with Spike at a slight advantage. He leapt to his feet and made a grab for the stake, only to have his feet kicked out from under him. His head slammed against the floor and he howled in pain. "Bloody hell!" Angel seized the stake and towered over him, wiping his own blood from his face. "Oh, it's gonna be bloody, all right. And painful, Spike. More painful than you can imagine and it still won't be punishment enough for you." Spike staggered to his feet, cautiously putting the tomb between them. "It can't be worse than this." "You'd be surprised," Angel replied. He watched as Spike lifted a shaking hand, running it over the side of his bleeding head. "Why her? Why did you have to - She was crippled! You've always been a fiend, but-" "She started it!" Spike shouted. "I tried to keep her at arm's length, but-" He stood up straight. "You've been there! It's impossible." Angel's eyes widened. "Don't you dare compare the- the abomination that you had with Buffy to what I had with her!" "Oh, and what exactly was that?" Spike grabbed a shirt off a pile in his ragged armchair and held it against his head. "A godsend? Heaven? Newsflash, we're **both** demons." "I have a soul." "And I've always had more heart," Spike said. "Yeah, it took a lot of heart to fuck her and leave her wounded and lying in an alley. One more good deed like that and we'll have to make you a saint." "At least I didn't fuck her and then try to kill her, like the martyr in this room did." Angel's nostrils flared. "That was different! I didn't have my soul then!" "And I've never had one. I guess that just makes me the better man, eh?" Spike tossed the bloody shirt to one side and took a step toward him. "Now let's finish what you started." Angel stared his opponent up and down, letting his gaze linger over the blood that rolled down his temple. "She loves you. And for the life of me, I can't figure out why." "You think I can?" Spike shook his head. "You think I wanted to hear her say it? It made me sick!" Lowering the stake to his side, Angel sighed. "Heartsick. Because you know you don't deserve her." "What I don't deserve is this conversation. It's kill or be killed, mate, not bore each other to tears. Unless of course your method is to get me to kill myself." Spike took a step toward Angel, half hoping he'd raise the stake and end it all. He had been planning on taking his money, buying a car, and driving as fast as he could away from this place, but he doubted he would have made it far. Seeing the Slayer again, seeing the look on her face when she registered what he'd done, that was worse than being staked in the heart. Worse than bathing in holy water. "How is she?" he asked, before he could stop himself. Angel stepped forward and punched him hard across the jaw. "You don't get to ask that, Spike. How the hell do you think she is?" The cut on his mouth reopened, filling his mouth with blood, which he swallowed. "I think she's better off." "That's the first sane thing that's come out of your mouth in quite a few decades." Angel raised the stake and took a step closer. "Got any famous last words to go with that?" Spike glanced at the stake, then looked up at Angel. "Tell her that you can't love something to life. And I was too much of a coward to love her to death." Angel faltered mid-strike, registering Spike's words. He felt his soul twist in agony, felt the claws that were forever digging into his heart tighten, and closed his eyes. Killing him was too easy. Spike's eyes widened in disbelief. "Do it! Do it, goddamn you!" He grabbed Angel's arm, pointing the stake against his chest. "You came here for revenge, now take it!" Angel wrenched his arm away and threw the stake with such force that it shattered against the wall. "You're pathetic, Spike." "I- I-" Spike's shoulders slumped, and he took a deep unneeded breath as he stared at the floor. "I don't want to live without her." "But you will," Angel growled, gripping a handful of his childe's hair and tilting his head back so he could see his face. "When you're alone in the middle of the night and you're aching for her, when you're in agony like you've never felt because you think she might be in another man's arms - think of me. Because if anyone will know my pain, you will." Spike watched in shock as Angel turned, slowly lifted his duster from the bench and slipped his arms into the sleeves. His sire walked over the money that had been strewn when they'd fought, and then he paused at the door. "Killing you might have made me happy. Letting you live makes us even." And as the door slammed, echoing through the dank crypt, Spike knew that for once, his Sire's words held all the conviction in the world. Buffy trudged slowly toward Revello Drive. She dreaded entering the empty house, dreaded sitting down inside alone, dreaded everything. If she slept at all, she was sure to dream of Spike, and if she didn't sleep, she'd be stuck thinking about nothing else. She wasn't sure which was worse. It wasn't like she had control over either one. No matter how hard she tried not to think of him, he was always there. As much as she hated to admit it, a part of her was happy that Spike had gotten his own revenge on Maggie. In this instance, it had been his own brand of justice, and she couldn't begrudge him that. What really troubled her was the look in his eyes afterward. She had no idea what he'd been thinking or feeling at that moment. Had he been wishing that it had been **her** neck he'd snapped? She didn't doubt for one second that if he'd had the chance, he would have tried. Would she have stopped him? She felt tears welling in her eyes and angrily rubbed them away. She had to refocus! Another chance at a semi-normal life had fallen into her lap and she had to embrace it. Just a few days before, she had been convinced that her life would be the four walls of her mother's house, a wheelchair, and not much else. Now she had the world at her feet. All she had to do was cover as much of it as possible and live her life. She was the Slayer! The one girl in the entire world who was strong enough to defeat demons. Except maybe one. Her thoughts had come back around to Spike. No sooner than she had gotten herself pumped up to move on, she was right back at square one. She turned the corner of Revello Drive and shoved her hands in her pockets. A car started in the distance and she looked up in time to see Angel's black convertible pulling away from the curb in front of her house. "Angel!" she shouted, breaking into a run. If he saw her, he didn't acknowledge her, because the car raced around the corner and the sounds of the engine faded into the night. Feeling even worse, if that was possible, she pulled her keys from her pocket and walked up the sidewalk. She saw the piece of paper stuck in the door as she climbed the steps and her heart thumped against her chest. Spike? Pulling it loose, Buffy sat down under the porchlight. Leaning against the front door, she opened the folded letter. Angel's familiar handwriting was scrawled across the page, and she felt guilty for being disappointed. Taking a deep breath, she began to read. Dear Buffy, I came by to tell you goodbye, something that I failed to do the last time I left town. I didn't want to leave here with any regrets, and that's why I'm telling you this. I tried to stake Spike tonight. I wanted to. I probably should have. His heart got in the way. If you ever need me, you know where to find me. I pray to god I didn't make a mistake. Always, A

Chapter #8 - The End

The note in her fingers trembled violently, blurring the words as Buffy tried to read it for a third time. The fact that Angel had left Sunnydale again was a dim blip on her radar. It was what he said about Spike that held her attention now. Angel had always been cryptic, always been one to talk in circles and seemed to enjoy watching her try to make sense of his meaning. But this seemed pretty cut and dried. 'His heart got in the way.' Was she a fool to hope? The wind blew, rustling the letter in her hands and lifting the ends of her hair. Turning to look out at the darkened street, she remembered the night she had bolted from her wheelchair, sprinting across the lawn and out onto the freezing asphalt to protect him. She recalled the fight that had led to him storming out, the way she swallowed her pride and wheeled herself out, and the look on his face as he turned to come back inside, only to be trapped by the vampires. He had been scared. And it was that very fear that gave her the incentive to burst from the safety of her world and expose the truth. And just look at what it had gotten her. Part of her wanted to rush across town, confront Spike and beg him to - to what? Love her? Be with her? No. He was a cold blooded killer without his chip... and she was a Slayer again. Bound by duty and obligation to stop him. And to stop herself before she raced across town and... The clocktower in town chimed suddenly and Buffy stepped slowly off her porch, staring down the street. It was almost dawn. The bells only rang out at midnight. The bells had been ringing the night he had run away. As if to prove a point, the chimes dinged again, louder, more insistent. She was running before the sound had faded, note in hand, and her heart on her sleeve. Spike finished collecting the last of the scattered money and piled it on top of the stone tomb, then sat heavily beside it. It had taken him longer than he had expected to gather his things again, and already, he could feel the impending sunrise prickling at his skin. His entire body ached from the fight with Angel, but luckily, the aches and pains seemed to cancel each other out, so he couldn't concentrate on a single one. Except the one in his heart. He kept thinking about the look on Buffy's face when he'd killed Walsh. Her lips had formed a perfect 'oh', and she had looked at him with shock, her green eyes dull with pain. He doubted she even realized that she had taken a step away from him, as though she feared him. Once upon a time, he would have enjoyed her fear, played on it, preyed on it, but now it made him colder inside than usual. And the part of him that wanted to hate her for it was also the part of him that ached to touch her. To... love her. As he sat staring at the dim gray walls of the crypt, he remembered the way she had clung to him when the storm hit. The way she had shivered and pressed her lips against his. He recalled the way she had given up, reached her breaking point, and let him pull her back in. Coloring her hair, helping her dress, arguing over the remote control, it had been the closest thing to normal he'd ever had. He had so many memories for the short time he'd been with her ... but it wasn't enough. A lifetime wouldn't be enough. He had been right in what he told Angel. He couldn't live without her and yet here he was, poised to skip town with a wad of cash, a handful of memories, and enough *remorse*, of all things, to make him miserable. He shouldn't feel bad about killing. It's what he was designed to do, and he shouldn't feel bad about shagging the Slayer either. He should have been out boasting about it with his demon friends and telling them all how she cried and professed her love. And how he had mocked her and brought her to her knees. But he didn't have any demon friends, not anymore. And he knew that even if he did, he wouldn't have said a thing. He felt a familiar ache in his chest that he recognized as hunger. At the Summers' house, he had enough blood to last two weeks, but here he had nothing. He sighed and stood up, glancing around the room for the bottle of tequila that had once sat on top of his broken television. He spotted it in the corner and trudged slowly toward it, hoping that it wasn't empty. To his great relief, there was still a couple of inches of liquor left in the bottle. He tipped back his head and drank deeply, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The door opened behind him and he spun, expecting to see Angel back to finish the job. Instead, it was Buffy. His eyes locked on hers and he lowered the bottle. She stepped into the room and crossed her arms. "Celebrating your success?" Seeing her there, face red from the wind, her hair tousled, and her eyes blazing into him, almost caused the bottle to slip from his fingers. Instead, he took another sip and held it out to her. "Yep. Wanna help me?" Before she could stop herself, Buffy knocked the bottle out of his hands and slammed her fist into his jaw. He spun, staggering against the wall, then pushed himself back up, straightening his back. "What, Angel didn't mark me enough, now you've gotta get your licks in, too?" Buffy stared at him, fists held tight at her sides. "Why, Spike?" she said in a low and dangerous voice. "Just tell me why." He licked his lip, tasting blood from a cut she'd reopened. "Why what? Why'd I dare to get my unlife back? Don't ask questions you already know the answers to." "So that's it? You're evil again and all's right with the world?" She laughed bitterly, throwing up her hands. "Congratulations! You finally got what you wanted." "I've always been evil. You just didn't want to see it." He leveled her with an ice-filled gaze. "This chip didn't make me any less of a demon." "Yeah, well, maybe it made you more of a man." "I'm not a man, remember? Not human, and not some fucking prince on a white horse. Vampire. Undead. End of story." She folded her arms and looked away. "So things just go back to the way they were? Mortal enemies? This is how you wanted it?" "You got your cure!" he shouted. "Why shouldn't I get mine?" "Your cure makes you a killer!" she yelled back. "And yours doesn't? My kind would beg to differ, pet." "This changes everything between us." "No," Spike said sharply, "I'm still of the mentality that your lies and your deception changed everything." Buffy's nostrils flared. "Oh, so this is about revenge." "If I wanted revenge, I'd lie to your face and then rip your heart out the way you did mine." "You'll have to forgive me if I don't get all sentimental here, but your heart hasn't exactly been in the equation from the beginning." "You don't know a bloody thing about my heart!" he shouted. " Maybe I don't," she held up the note, "but Angel seems to think he does." Spike snatched it out of her hand. A low growl filled the room as he digested what it said. "Is this what sent you scampering over here? The Brooding One?" Spike shredded the note and tossed it at her. "Come to make sure he worked over the Big Bad?" "The Big Bad?" Buffy scoffed. "Where was the Big Bad when *Spike* was bathing me? Tending to me? Making sure I-" "That chip in my soddin' head-" "The chip made you care for me? No, Spike, we both know better." "What makes you think I cared about you?" Buffy closed the gap between them. "If you didn't, you would have killed me already," she said quietly. "Or is that why you got the chip out in the first place? So you could finally finish the job?" Spike grabbed her and yanked her closer, effectively blocking the fist she automatically lashed out with. "Don't fool yourself, kitten. You weren't even a thought when I got the chip zapped. I did it for me! And what bothers you most is that now there's nothing standing in the way." "In the way of what?" Buffy asked through clenched teeth. "You and me. Bare bones. Who we are." "Who we are is a vampire and a slayer. Enemies. According to you, that's all we ever were." Spike tightened his grip. "Let's find out then, shall we? Put it to the test. We're gonna play twenty questions and if I don't like your answers, you'll know." She struggled in his grasp. "Don't threaten me!" He gave her a mocking glance and stilled her movements, his lips only a few inches from hers as he growled, "One, was it a game to you? Toy with Spike's emotions and see if you can get a rise? See if you could win?" "Win what?" Buffy cried. "A rough night in the alley? Sorry, I'll take what's behind door number two." "Behind door number two are my walking papers. You remember those? You lied to me and I walked? You chased after me, Slayer, and then you begged for what you got. I made it perfectly clear to you what I am. I'm a *demon*. Getting hurt only goes with the territory." "Getting hurt? You *murdered* me in that alley. I lay myself bare for you and since you knew you couldn't hurt me physically, you went right for my soul. I told you that I lo-" "Oh, here it is again!" Spike shouted. If she made another declaration of love, he didn't know what he'd do. He stared past her at nothing for a few seconds, his fingers still digging into her upper arms, before he made eye contact. This time, when he spoke, he leaned down so they were nose to nose. "You love me? Was it all sunshine and roses covering up the stench in that alley? I hate to break it to you, precious, but that wasn't love. That was me fucking you out of your mind." Buffy shoved him as hard as she could. "You overestimate your skills." "Is that right?" Spike kept his footing and put his hands on his hips. "Maybe you overestimated yours. Notice I'm the one able to walk away and you're still coming to me." He paused, giving her a questioning look, waiting for her to yell back at him. When she said nothing, her face like stone, he shouted, "Why are you here? What do want from me!?" "I want to know why!" Buffy cried. She took a step forward and struck him on the chest. "Why did you do it?!" Hot angry tears flooded her eyes as she pounded her fist against him. "Show me, Spike! Show me why losing the chip was worth losing me! Hit me! Kill me!" "Stop it!" Spike growled, trying to grab her arms. He caught both and pinned them behind her, causing her warm, soft body to arch against his...and every hunger and impulse he'd ever had surged through him at the contact - kiss her, bite her, take her...love her. He closed his eyes and swallowed, fighting for control - control over the demon, control over his heart...control over his very unlife. "Go ahead and just kill me, Spike!" she sobbed, leaning her head against his chest. "Do it quick like you promised before and stop torturing me!" Her breath hitched in her throat. "I can't...I can't take this anymore...this slow death...please...just...do it..." And there it was. That magical death wish that all Slayers eventually began itching for. The reason he'd bagged two, actually. Once upon a time he would have gleefully taken her up on it. Would have torn out her throat and bathed in that powerful aphrodisiac that flowed through her veins. Danced on her grave, even. Once upon a time. Helplessly, he buried his face in her hair, breathing in her unique scent. "Don't you get it?" he growled in her ear. "I can't kill you. I've never been able to kill you..." Something inside him gave way and he shook her, the words bursting forth in a torrent. "I bloody hate you, Summers! This - this thing between us is unnatural, it's not supposed to happen! I'm not supposed to want you, I'm not supposed to do anything but take your miserable life and end my torment. And I can't do it. All I can do is think about you and dream about you until it drives me insane." His eyes were wild as they stared down into hers. "Spike -" He loosened his grip and wrapped his arms around her, dropping his head to her shoulder as if defeated. "You're under my fucking skin, Slayer, so far under it bleedin' hurts. And I don't want you there. I don't want you inside me, I don't want..." his voice was barely a whisper, "I don't want to love you..." Her eyes closed as she began to hope, and her hand came up to tentatively stroke his hair. "I know," she murmured softly as hot tears slipped down her cheeks. "Believe me, I know. But after everything that's happened...I don't think either one of us has a choice." "You've got your legs back, Slayer. You should use them to run as far away from me as you can get." In direct opposition to his words, his fingers dug into her skin, unwilling to let go. "How can this possibly work?" he wondered aloud. "How can it not?" She tightened her fingers in his hair and tugged his head back to stare into his eyes. "I know who and what you are, and no matter how many times I tell myself that it's crazy, that I *should* run, it doesn't make a damn bit of difference. I still want you, I still want to be with you...and I dare you to look me in the eye and say you don't feel the same." Under her gaze, his eyes darkened to the color of midnight, and her breath caught at the intensity of his stare. She knew he was warring within himself, still trying to put up one last resistance before leaping into the abyss, where she'd fallen so long ago. She understood it, just as she understood how futile it was to even try to fight it. And she wasn't above giving him a push to help him along. "I want you, Spike," she whispered. "I want you so much I ache with it..." He stared down at her tear-stained face, at luminous eyes that reflected the hunger that he felt. And he knew that he'd never had a chance, not really, and if he walked now, the way that Angel had, he'd never feel this way again. Never experience the warmth of her smile, or the heat that nestled deep within her. Never know sunlight again. It was too much to give up. "Bugger it," he growled helplessly before surrendering and covering her mouth with his own. At the first taste, an indescribable combination of salt and honey and want and need, he wondered why in hell he'd ever considered putting up a fight. Surrendering wasn't so bad, he mused. Not the stake in the heart he'd assumed it to be. No, it was more like being consumed by the sun. But instead of feeling like death, it felt like...coming home. The room around her seemed to disappear as Buffy melted into him, offering herself up to the hunger in his kiss. After everything that had happened she'd nearly given up hope on ever getting this close to him again. Almost sobbing with relief, she clung desperately to his shirt, pulled him even closer and matched his hunger with her own. His hands tangled in her hair as she arched against him, rising on tiptoe so that their bodies were perfectly aligned. She let out a gasp as he pressed his erection into the space between her thighs, letting her feel exactly what she was doing to him. "Spike..." she whimpered as his mouth drifted over her chin and down the slender column of her throat, his tongue tracing the delicate vein that throbbed with every beat of her heart. Her slayer-sense got the better of her when she felt blunt teeth scraping over her skin and she unconsciously stiffened in his arms. Spike stopped and pulled back, his expression unreadable. He cupped her face in his hands and stared down at her for what seemed like forever, scraping her nerve endings raw with the intensity of his gaze. When she opened her mouth to break the tension, he spoke. "You want me, Slayer? "God, yes," she replied breathlessly, and tried to move forward to kiss him again. He pulled back again, stopping her. "Then trust me," he said softly. He moved against her again, sliding his thumbnail over her jaw and tilting her head to one side, exposing her neck. Buffy held her breath as his mouth descended, licking and kissing a path from the base of her throat to her ear. He knew where each and every nerve was located, where the tiniest of touches would send her pulse racing. And it did, her blood automatically rushing to the surface, as if answering the call of his hungry mouth, begging him to taste it. He silently questioned where these masochistic tendencies came from. Why he was willing to torment himself by refraining from taking that powerful elixir that surged through her veins. The scent alone was nearly driving him mad, as was the knowledge that nothing in the world tasted as sweet as slayer blood. And still he kept his fangs at bay, using only blunt teeth and lips and tongue on her jugular. Her knees grew weaker with every second as she helplessly clung to him, whimpering with need. The sensation at her throat was maddening, driving her to rub against his hardness in desperation, seeking release. He couldn't possibly make her come this way...could he? He was certainly giving it his best shot, making her writhe against him and clutch his hair in mindless passion, on the verge of begging him to please, please... But the bite never came. And when he pulled away long enough to tug her shirt over her head, she felt almost...disappointed. She remembered just how powerful Angel's bite had been, how it engulfed her entire being and culminated in a mind-blowing orgasm. Yeah, and you almost died, she reminded herself. Worth it, though, came the next reckless thought. Oh, so very worth it. And then Spike's hands and lips were on her again and she couldn't think at all. She couldn't do anything except pull at his clothing in desperation, eager to feel his skin against hers. Together they dragged his shirt over his head and fumbled with buttons and zippers, frantically shoving each pair of pants down over hips and thighs. When the last article of clothing had been kicked away, they faced each other, flushed and breathless with passion, and not a little bit of fear. Spike's hot gaze traveled the length of her as he finally permitted himself to really look at what he'd been hungering for these past few weeks. She was incredibly beautiful, slender, but rounded in all the right places, and she was his for the taking. He thought of all the times he'd turned away from her, out of either propriety or pride, and cursed inwardly, calling himself every kind of fool. There was no way he was going to make the same mistake again. When he finished his perusal, he found her conducting her own wide-eyed appraisal of him. He grinned at the expression on her face, wondering if she liked the view. Her lips parted, and like a starving man, he reached for her again. Fingers threading through his hair, she pulled his head down to kiss him, and again he was drowning in the taste of her. His hands slid down her body, and then her legs were wrapped around him as he lifted her and unsteadily made his way around the sarcophagus to the mattress that lay behind it. Spike dropped to his knees and they tumbled onto the lumpy pallet, her slender body stretched out beneath him. He groaned at the feel of warm, satiny-smooth skin against his, at the touch of moist heat grazing his hard cock. All he wanted was to bury himself to the hilt inside her, to lose himself in the inferno between her thighs, but not before finding out if she tasted as good as she felt. If the rest of her matched the utter deliciousness of her mouth... Buffy's head was swimming as she gazed up at him. Everything was moving so fast, and every inch of her body throbbed with need. She rubbed her legs against his, enjoying the feel of hard muscle and coarse hair against her smooth skin. Her hands ran up over his back, tangling in his hair as his lips found her throat again. Closing her eyes, she moaned as his mouth traveled down into the hollow between her breasts, then lower, over her stomach, and the moan turned into a whimper as he brushed a kiss over her mound. Her eyes opened and she forgot how to breathe as his dark, hungry gaze fixed on her face. "Spike..." she whispered pleadingly, and the grin he flashed her was so predatory, so sexy, that she wondered if it was possible to come without even being touched. And then, as she watched him lower his head to taste her, she didn't have to wonder at all. The first touch was achingly soft, the merest brush of lips across moist flesh. Spike took a moment to collect himself, closing his eyes and breathing in her scent - the scent of arousal that had been making him crazy for weeks. It was all he could do to keep from falling on her like a ravening beast, to keep his game face in check as her pulse thundered in his ears. Fighting for control, he rubbed his cheek against one thigh, then the other, and then nuzzled his face into her damp curls with a soft growl that almost a sigh. The Slayer arched and let out a cry of her own as he fastened his mouth on her, licking and sucking gently at first, then more insistently in response to her pleas. She tasted better than he could ever have imagined - better than the sweetest fruit, the headiest wine...the freshest blood - and he realized that after this, nothing else would ever satisfy him again. His tongue explored every fold, delved deep inside her, swirled over her tender, swollen nub while she writhed and clutched at his hair. As he felt her body tense, his hands tightened on her thighs and he sucked harder, pressing his tongue to the sensitive spot just beneath her clitoris...and then he could feel her going over, hear her scream his name as she climaxed violently against his face. He didn't give her a chance to recover. Sliding up her body, he entered her with a quick thrust and rode the aftershocks of her orgasm, almost passing out as her hot, tight walls squeezed his cock mercilessly. He set a fast pace, driving her into the mattress, desperate for his own release. Buffy wrapped her legs around him, her hips rising to meet his blinding thrusts head on. She could feel herself cresting again, her body tensing in anticipation as her fingernails dug into his back. "Spike," she gasped, her breath hot on his neck, "please...nownownow..." and then she shattered, and he was coming with her, his growl joining her cries, his seed mingling with her juices, sweat-slick skin and tangled limbs, bodies trembling as he pulsed inside her one last time and she arched up to hold him there. Spike's hands were in her hair, his face pressed against her neck, trying to catch the breath that he didn't really need. He could feel her shaking beneath him, and then something warm and wet touched his face. Raising his head, he stared at her with glazed eyes. "You're crying," he murmured, catching a tear with his thumb. While she watched, he brought it to his mouth and tasted it. Her breath caught and she looked at him searchingly, wondering how a demon could be so gentle. He wasn't supposed to be tender, or caring or any of the things he'd shown her during her paralysis. And yet...here they were. "What are you thinking?" he asked softly, propping his head on his hand. She stared at him with huge eyes still shiny with unshed tears. "After the last time, I wasn't sure...I never expected it to be so....so...." "That makes two of us, luv." Smiling ruefully, he brushed his thumb across her cheek. "No regrets, then?" he asked, holding his breath as he waited for her answer. "No," she smiled back. "No regrets." "Good." He grabbed his pillow and shoved it beneath his head, then settled her so that she was curled up against him. Feeling her shiver, he remembered how cold the crypt could be and reached around for the blanket, dragging it up over both of them. She snuggled closer and gave a tiny sigh. "What?" he asked. "Nothing," she said. "C'mon, tell me." "It's just...you can be so sweet, so thoughtful, sometimes." She felt a rumbling chuckle beneath her ear. "Stop it! You know I'm right. I've never known anyone like you - you're probably the exception to every rule in the vampire handbook." Except for Angel, she thought, and then drove him out of her mind completely. He didn't belong here. Not now. "Look who's talking. I heard they wouldn't even *give* you the slayer handbook. And here you are," he ran a hand over her hip and let it drift up to cup one breast, "fraternizing with the enemy. I guess we're both deviants, eh, pet?" "Obviously, or we wouldn't be here now," she smirked. "Not that I'm complaining. But *why* are we so different? Why are *you*? Does it have to do with who you were before?" "Who I was?" "You know, a doctor. I'm assuming that you became one because you felt...I don't know - empathy? - for others less fortunate. I mean, back then it couldn't have been for the money, right? So maybe after you were turned, you retained some part of that empathy, some...sliver of human compassion. That would explain where your 'bedside manner' comes from. It would explain a lot, actually," she mused. "You know, we could always ask-" "Bloody hell," he burst out. "Don't you dare tell anyone! Not even Giles - I mean it, Slayer." Buffy snuggled back down again. "Relax, scaredy-cat, I won't tell. Besides, it gives me something to hold over your head." "You're evil." "Must be why I like you so much." She paused, remembering that they'd never really resolved the issue of her feelings. "I wasn't lying, you know, about that night I got attacked. I *was* going to tell you that I was falling for you. It wasn't Willow's spell at all. Not if she did it after I was paralyzed." Spike was silent. "Spike?" She sat up and looked him in the eye. "What I felt was *real* - all of it - from the start. And it's more than 'like', more than just 'want'..." She took a deep breath, unnerved by his stare, but determined to go on. "I love-" "Buffy, don't," he quietly interrupted. He saw the hurt look in her eyes and sighed, inwardly searching for the words to make her understand. "Look, pet, what we have here is... incredible, but..." He lowered his gaze for a second, and when he looked back up at her, his expression was one of regret. "I can't give you the words, Slayer. Even if I could, I'm not even sure if I believe in that kind of love anymore, the kind that you want. The kind that you...need." "Why does everyone always think they know what I need?" Buffy cried out in exasperation. "You, Mom, Giles, Angel - You don't know, any of you. Hell, half the time *I* don't even know. I know what I don't need, and that's everybody in my life making decisions for me. I'm a big girl, Spike. My eyes are wide open, you know?" "Are they? Can you honestly tell me that when you say you love me, you won't want to hear it in return?" "I..." She paused, shaking her head. "I've heard the words before, Spike. My father said them, right before he left us. Angel said them, and it didn't stop him from becoming Angelus, or from leaving me. They're just...words. And yeah, they're nice to hear, but not always enough in the long run. Besides," she shrugged as she moved closer, looking up at him through long, dark lashes, "I've always considered you to be a 'man of action,' anyway." His stomach muscles tensed as one tiny finger traced the line of hair that stretched from his navel to his groin. "Was I wrong?" His answer was a low, rumbling growl as he grabbed her arms and rolled her beneath him. His full weight came down on her and she reveled in the feel of his strength pinning her to the mattress. She squirmed a little, squealing when he nipped at her throat in a show of dominance. "You want action, Slayer?" he purred in her ear. "Is my stake sharp and pointy?" she shot back breathlessly, faking a struggle. Her retort made him grin as he positioned himself at her entrance and slowly slipped inside, one torturous inch at a time. She let out a soft gasp and tried to take him deeper, but he held back. "Beast," she moaned, feeling her entire body turn to jelly as he nuzzled her neck. "Mmhmmm," he murmured in assent, suddenly thrusting all the way into her. He raised his head and stared down at her with glowing eyes. "But I'm *your* beast. Yours to command...yours to tame..." He was moving so maddeningly slow that Buffy thought she'd surely die from the torture of it. It hadn't taken him long to figure out exactly how to touch her, to know just how to drive her crazy. He drove into her hard, deep, his hands lifting and spreading her while his tongue teased her nipples into stiffened peaks. She felt utterly helpless, and for once in her life, she didn't care. Tame him? Why on earth would she want to? "I think...I like...you better...wild...and..." A sharp cry was wrenched from her as quickened the pace, "...untamed...yes, there...oh, God, Spike...don't stop...please!" The explosion came from deep in her womb and radiated outward, causing her to convulse around him like a vise. Her muscles gripped his cock, pulling him into oblivion with her until *he* was the helpless one, shouting her name as he filled her again and again. When he was completely spent, he collapsed on top of her and closed his eyes, listening to her ragged breathing. "Christ, Slayer," he panted, "if we keep this up you're going to kill me yet." "At least you'll die happy," she murmured drowsily, a small smile of contentment on her face. She gave a slight whimper of protest when he pulled away to drop onto the mattress next to her. He gently turned her to her side and spooned himself against her back, wrapping his arms around her. Snuggling back against him, Buffy sighed as she felt his lips brush her shoulder. "I told you," she said softly, "actions are better than words." He chuckled sleepily. "I should have known you'd want to prove your point with a demonstration. I can't even feel my legs, for fuck's sake." "That's me, demonstrative girl. You're not complaining, are you?" "Oh, yeah, this is me complaining." He suddenly started tickling her, causing her to squirm and giggle uncontrollably. "Get away from me, you horrid sexy thing! You're corrupting my morals." "STOP IT!" she shrieked. When she could finally catch her breath, she gasped out, "God, you're demented. I must be crazy." "Get off it, luv. You're the sanest person I know. Horribly evil, but sane." He grunted as a small elbow slammed into his ribs. "Go to sleep before I hit you," she grumbled. "You know that would only turn me on even more," he answered, grinning as his eyelids grew heavy. "Oh hush. After all that, I'm too tired to even think about turning you on." She grabbed the blanket and Spike helped her settle it over them as she wriggled closer. Her eyes closed and she started to drift, only to startle awake a moment later. "Spike?" "Yeah, luv?" "Do I even want to know where this mattress has been?" Spike was silent for a moment and she was about to prod him awake when he answered, "Uh...not really, no." "I was afraid you'd say that," she sighed, trying to tug the blanket underneath her body. "We're going to have to discuss your living conditions, or lack thereof." "Tomorrow, Buffy," he promised sleepily. "We'll talk about it tomorrow." The casual way he said it gave her pause. For so long she'd only been able to think about life one hour at a time, and now she finally had a future, finally had something to look forward to. She doubted that any of it would be easy, especially with Spike being sans chip, but they'd deal with it the same they had dealt with her paralysis - together. And everyone else in her life would just have to accept it. "Tomorrow," she whispered, and smiled as she drifted off, secure in the knowledge that he'd still be there when she woke up. Still awake, Spike listened to the deep, even breaths that signaled her slumber and tightened his hold around her waist. Tomorrow, he mused, would be very interesting. If they managed to get out of bed at all, there'd be Giles to deal with, not to mention the rest of the gang. And Joyce... Joyce didn't even know that Buffy could walk, so hopefully that bit of good news would overshadow the fact that her daughter was involved with another vampire. One without a soul, and without even the chip to act as a muzzle of sorts, things could get a bit dicey. But Buffy had made it clear that she wanted him, and for now, that was all that mattered, right? And anyway, it wasn't as if he'd ever bothered to follow the rules before. He'd always deviated from the norm. *I'm a loner, Dottie, a rebel...* Christ, now he was quoting Pee-Wee Herman to himself. Spike shook his head and thought about how he'd told her she should run away now that she had her legs back. In the aftermath, he could finally admit to himself he was thankful that, as usual, she hadn't listened. The irony of it all struck him suddenly - that she'd chased after him because of something *Angel* had said. Her former lover, his greatest enemy...who said the gods had no sense of humor? They had it in spades, perverse though it may be. And as long as it worked to his advantage, who was he to complain? *His heart got in the way.* Bleedin' ponce. "Fuck you, Angel," he whispered just before sleep claimed him, "and...thanks." -end