CHAPTER SEVEN


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“Buffy!”

Spike could only watch on in horror as Buffy failed to dodge the demon’s club and it landed a solid blow around her head. She went flying, collided with a crypt, and was instantly knocked unconscious. He let out a low growl, fury bubbling up inside him, and before the demon could make any move, he tightened his hold on its neck and twisted until he heard a loud snap. He jumped off the demon as it fell to the ground and rushed to Buffy’s side. He crouched beside her and hesitantly pressed his hand to her cheek.

“Buffy? Buffy, love?”

There was no reaction and as a trickle of blood made its way down the side of her neck, he began to worry. He moved her carefully and lifted her into his arms, cradling her against him. The smell of her blood swarmed around him and he tightened his hold, hoping there were no other demons nearby.

He turned back towards town – but paused. Buffy hadn’t wanted to go to the shop before, fearing her friends’ reaction. Without another moment’s hesitation, he turned in the direction of his crypt and quickly moved away. He couldn’t risk standing out in the open with a bleeding, unconscious Slayer much longer.



He reached his crypt in no time, and his anxiety increased when Buffy still showed no signs of stirring. Maybe she had hit her head harder than he had thought. He couldn’t remember it being that easy to knock a Slayer unconscious. He frowned and carried her down into the lower part of the crypt. He paused for a moment – embarrassed – at the side of his bed, but then laid her down gently, guiding her head down onto the cushions. The cut on the side of her head started to stain the fabric almost instantly and it propelled him into motion.

He quickly found the first-aid kit (it had never been in much use before, but had been kept as a precaution, mostly for Dawn’s benefit) and turned her head carefully to one side, frowning again when he saw the long gash on the side of her head. Her hair was stained red around it and he brushed it aside. He did his best to clean the wound, feeling clumsy in his attempt, and finally just sat there, holding a cloth to her head. She had to start coming round soon, surely? She had been out for ten minutes or more. He brushed his free hand over her forehead and started when she let out a tiny moan. Slowly, her eyes flickered open.



Her eyes landed on him instantly and she frowned in confusion.

“Spike?”

Her voice came out weakly and she kept blinking as she tried to focus on him.

“It’s alright, love.”

“What- I-“

She moved to sit up but suddenly noticed his hand pressed against the side of her head and frowned.

“What…?”


She raised a hand to nudge the cloth, her eyebrows knit in confusion.

“What happened?”

“Got thrown against a crypt and knocked out.”

“My head hurts,” she moaned, apparently just becoming aware of this.

“It’s a pretty nasty cut,” he told her, watching her with concern.

She frowned again and touched her hand to her head just beside his.

“Scared me for a minute there,” he admitted softly, cursing himself for even saying the words when she gave him a wide-eyed look. She quickly looked away though and he saw her swallow quickly.

“Not the only one scared,” she whispered, so quietly he almost didn’t catch it. He studied the side of her face and he could have sworn he saw her chin quiver.



“Buffy?”

She turned her gaze to his and the confusion in her eyes hit him like a shock.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quickly.

“I don’t know.”

She bit her lip and turned away from him, visibly fighting her emotions.

“It’s alright, love. S’just a little bump.”

She gave a pitiful laugh and turned watery eyes on his.

“That’s not the problem and we both know it.”

He didn’t want to know what she was suggesting but it was obvious. It all added up.

“It’s just a side-effect.”

She forced another smile but could not hold it and dropped her gaze from his.

“I have to face the truth,” she murmured, her voice thick with the tears she was obviously struggling to hold back.

She met his gaze once more and the fear he now saw there scared him. And made him want to reach out and take her in his arms. Protect her.

“You don’t know-“

“I do,” she interrupted, holding his gaze, “I’ve been trying to ignore it… trying to not pay attention to all the little things that were right there in front of me… I’m weak… I can’t fight… I can’t even feel you nearby anymore…”

“Buffy,” he whispered, wishing he could take away the pain she was feeling. She looked so lost, so fragile.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and opened her eyes once more, fixing her watery gaze on him.

“I have to accept the truth. I’m not the Slayer anymore.”



It was like a sledgehammer to the chest. He had known it, had sensed it along, but just like her, he had been in denial. Being the Slayer was such a big part of what Buffy was that without it she seemed… smaller. Helpless. She was shaking under his touch, he noticed, and with horror he realised that she was crying. She turned her head away from him, brushing away the tears and it just about broke his undead heart. He wanted to say something, anything to make her feel better. But there were no words. For once, Spike was speechless.

He should have known. He didn’t feel that frisson – that warning – around her anymore. The vampire acknowledging the Slayer’s power. He had thought he was simply blinded by love for Buffy, but it wasn’t that. There was simply nothing there anymore. He felt the loss as acutely as she did. He knew too well how devastating this was to the woman he loved: could witness it now in her shaking shoulders, her pitiful attempts to silence her sobs. He couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to her, although he restrained himself enough to simply lay his hand on her shoulder. As he had done once before. She jumped a tiny bit with his touch, but it did not stop her tears and she buried her head in her hands, leaning ever so slightly towards him as she curled her legs up towards her chest.

“It’ll be alright,” he whispered helplessly, wondering even as he said it just how that could possibly be true, “Shhh.”

And then it happened: almost by accident, Buffy leaned just a tiny bit further, until he could feel her shoulder against his chest, feel her body warming him. He hesitated, torn, but after a moment’s consideration he very slowly, very carefully, moved his arm and laid it around her shoulders. She slumped against him and after his shock had passed, he dropped the cloth and raised his other arm, locking it around her. Buffy was in his arms. It was a dream, but nothing like he had ever imagined. Not like this. He murmured to her wordlessly and simply held her, wishing he could help - but knowing there was nothing he could do.