Chapter Four


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She woke with a jolt and let out a moan as the muscles in her neck protested at the movement. She brought her hand to her neck and slowly righted herself, taking in her situation: it seemed she had fallen asleep at some point, still perched on the bed beside Spike. He was still sleeping despite the light streaming into the room and she gave a little sigh of relief that she had remembered to draw the curtains last night.

She yawned and stretched and pushed herself off the bed sleepily, her muscles aching with every move.

“Buffy.”

She jumped at Spike’s low voice and turned to him quickly, brushing her messy hair out of her face.

“Hi. Morning. How are you feeling?”

Judging by the way he struggled to sit up, she was going to go with not well.

“M’okay,” he got out, giving her a weak smile – and flinching in pain an instant later.

“Liar,” she murmured softly.

He sank back against the pillows in defeat and she hovered awkwardly, unsure what to do or say.

“I’ll, erm, I’ll change your bandages a bit later, if that’s okay.”

He nodded weakly and she bit her lip, looking around the room as if for inspiration.

“Buffy.”

Spike’s hesitant voice drew her attention quickly back to him and she watched as he went to speak, changed his mind, changed his mind again – and finally spoke.

“I need… need blood.”



His words jolted her into motion and she jerked forward.

“God, I’m sorry! Of course you do! I’ll get right on it.”

She rushed to the side table and retrieved the bag of blood from it.

“I’ll just go warm this up for you.”

She hurried to the door but paused midway as Spike spoke up.

“Thank you.”

She turned back to him and met his tired gaze, her expression softening.

“You don’t have to thank me,” she murmured, “I did what I had to do. I… we needed you back.”

Finishing awkwardly, she fell silent, her gaze falling to the bag in her hand. She stared at it for a long moment before she raised her gaze to Spike. He tilted his head, regarding her with curiosity as she moved back to the table and placed the bag down on it once more.

She sat on the edge of the bed and fiddled with her trousers nervously for a moment before she managed to pluck up the courage to meet his confused gaze.

“You need to feed.”

“Yeah,” he answered quietly, searching her gaze as if this was a trick.

She nodded to herself and hesitated for a minute.

“Buffy?”

She snapped her head up and met Spike’s worried gaze before nodding once, swallowing hard, and holding her wrist out.



He regarded her outstretched hand for a long, silent moment and then raised confused eyes to hers.

“Buffy… what?”

“Feed,” she whispered, unable to say anymore for fear that her shaking voice would give away her uncertainty.

“Buffy.”

“I need you better,” she got out, unable to meet his eyes, “This is the quickest way.”

His fingers grazed her wrist and she tried not to pull away as he wrapped his hand around her wrist. He held her still for a pause and then gently pushed her away, guiding her hand to her own lap and drawing her wide gaze to his.

“I don’t need your blood,” Spike said quietly, the emotion in his voice revealing just how much the action meant to him.

“But I want to give it to you.”

“I don’t want to take it,” he replied, continuing quickly before she could interrupt, “I can’t risk it.”

She had completely forgotten about the withdrawal symptoms he had been suffering so recently after his First-induced killing spree and she frowned, her shoulders sagging.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the thought,” Spike added.

She gave him a weak smile and pushed herself to her feet, snatching up the bag of blood.

“I’ll go get this ready,” she got out hurriedly, making her way out of the room before Spike had a chance to reply.



She was glad for the quiet throughout the house as she crept down the stairs to the kitchen and it was only when she spotted the clock on the microwave that she realised it was barely seven. She smiled weakly and placed the blood in the microwave, pressing ‘start’ and turning to lean against the counter. Her mind was racing, her gaze fixed blindly on the floor in front of her.

She had shocked herself with her own offer and now she was embarrassed on top of that, dreading returning to the room. She had offered Spike her own blood – and he had turned her down. She had never imagined this day ever coming, never imagined herself offering such a huge thing to him – especially after everything they had been through. The sight of his injuries in the light of day had cut her deep though and all she had been able to think of was finding a way to get him better, and soon.

It was only now, away from him, in the silence of the kitchen, that she realised the idiocy of her offer. After everything Spike had suffered lately, human blood was the last thing he needed. And especially Slayer blood. It was only a matter of days since he had been shaking with the pain of withdrawal, looking drawn and weak. She had been stupid to forget. Her desire to see him better seemed to have stripped her of her reason and she frowned.



She was torn from her thoughts as the microwave beeped loudly behind her, causing her to jump. She turned quickly and removed the bag, pausing for a moment before squaring her shoulders and heading out of the kitchen. She had to take another strengthening pause just before she entered her room but then she could enter with a calm smile.

“Yummy pig’s blood,” she joked, moving to his side and holding the bag out to him.

He pushed himself up ever so slightly and reached out for the bag, his fingers just brushing hers.

“Thanks.”

He brought the bag to his mouth and she looked away awkwardly, moving away to distract herself. She was mindlessly sorting the toiletries on her dressing table when Spike spoke up.

“What would you have done if I said ‘yes’?” he asked and she straightened, staring at the spot in the mirror where she knew him to be, even if she could not see him.

“I would have done it,” she whispered, her hands fiddling nervously with her hairbrush.

“Really?”

She forced herself to turn to him and meet his weak gaze.

“Yes.”

“Why?” he asked, the blood seeming already to have made him better – or at least made him chatty.

“I told you,” she murmured, “I need you better.”

“You need me to fight.”

She paused for a brief second before replying:

“Yes.”

She could not meet his eyes for fear he would read in them all the things she could have said instead and she looked to the floor.

“Well, it means a lot.”

She hesitantly raised her eyes to his and gave him a tiny smile, holding his gaze for a long minute. The silence stretched on until finally she shook herself from her daze and drew her gaze from his.

“I should check your bandages.”

He said nothing but she could feel his gaze burning into her as she perched on the bed beside him and began to check his many bindings, avoiding his gaze.