CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A/N: It's been an age, I know. I apologise profusely and offer Spuffy goodness in atonement.

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It had been two days and he was sure he could still taste her on his lips. Buffy’s kisses had left him a state of near-agony. He had barely been able to sit still, let alone rest, since he had torn his lips from hers out of some sort of gentlemanly courtesy that he now regretted. He didn’t know if it had been her nightmare that had propelled her to seek some sort of comfort, or something else – something he wouldn’t even let himself consider as an option – but the fact was, she hadn’t returned. He wasn’t sure if she would.

Perhaps she would be too embarrassed. Perhaps she wouldn’t have the heart to shatter his precious hopes. He was desperate to see her though. Now he had tasted her, he was intoxicated more than ever. Her kisses had been like fire, burning through his entire being, and her hands – her small hands clutching at his neck and pulling him closer. It was maddening.

He didn’t dare to venture out, just in case she came looking for him, but all alone in his crypt, he was starting to go mad. He had emptied out no small number of whiskey bottles and his supply was pretty much gone now. Yet, he waited still, hoping she would come, even if not to give him what he so desperately
wanted: her.



There was nothing interesting on the television and he flicked between the channels aimlessly, the last of his whiskey drained. It was almost midnight and he had almost given up hope that tonight might be the night she came to see him. She wouldn’t be out this late by herself – she knew better than that. Or so he hoped. No sooner did he think that, then the door to his crypt creaked open and Buffy appeared, cradling her arm against her, eyes wide with pain.

“Buffy!”

“Spike,” she whispered, her face twisting into a grimace of pain.

Unable to hold himself back, he rushed to her, his eyes racing over her.

“What’s wrong?”

“My shoulder,” she moaned, “I think… I think it’s dislocated.”

“Dis… How?”

She gave him a shamed look, her eyes looking to the floor.

“I was on patrol.”

“What? By yourself?”

He was angry at her, for endangering herself so recklessly, but when she let out a helpless whimper, his attention quickly returned to the problem at hand. He placed a hand on her good shoulder and guided her to his chair, pushing her to sit before crouching in front of her. He took her hand and gently guided it away from her bad shoulder – and as soon as he did, she gasped in pain.

“Okay, shh,” he murmured, releasing her arm for a moment.

“It hurts.”

“I’m sure it does.”

He reached out and, as carefully as he could, rested his hand over her shoulder. It didn’t feel right at all, but he couldn’t see properly with her cardigan.

“Need to get a better look, love,” he said quietly, fingering the fabric.



Buffy’s eyes widened and he heard her heart stutter, but after a moment she nodded quickly. He slowly unbuttoned her cardigan – trying to hide the shaking of his hands – and guided it from her. She winced as he slipped it off and brought her hand back to her shoulder. She was wearing only a small vest now and he made a conscious effort not to take in all the smooth skin on view. He could see almost instantly that her shoulder was dislocated so he didn’t go to the trouble of hurting her anymore by touching it.

“There’s only one thing for it.”

She nodded quickly, biting her lip.

“Do it.”

“Maybe you should go to a hospital.”

“No! No hospitals.”

“Buffy-“

“Please,” she pleaded, gripping his hand with her free one, “Please, Spike, it hurts.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, torn between wanting to help and not wanting to hurt her anymore.

“Yes. Please do it,” she got out hurriedly, her teeth clenched in pain.

“Okay,” he said softly, “Okay.”

He released her hand and placed one hand in front of her shoulder and one behind. He paused, giving her one last chance to back out, but she nodded quickly, shutting her eyes tightly and bracing herself. In one swift movement, he pushed at her shoulder and she let out a cry as it slipped back into place.

Unable to stop himself, he drew her gently into his arms, brushing his hand over her hair as she cradled her arm against her chest, taking long, deep breaths.

“Better?” he murmured, rubbing her back.

She nodded against him and he let out a sigh of relief. He tucked her cardigan around her shoulders and held her tightly

“Good.”



He didn’t want to let go of her: he was overwhelmed by the feel of her in his arms, the scent of her invading all his sense, the thud of her heart. She did not seem inclined to move either and he rested his cheek on her hair, closing his eyes. Maybe he had died and gone to Heaven. Trying to curb the urge to hold her tighter and to kiss her, he spoke up instead.

“How did it happen?”

She tensed and pulled away, avoiding his eyes.

“Buffy?” he got out, perplexed.

She turned her gaze back to him but immediately dropped it to her knees.

“I fell over,” she mumbled, so low he barely heard it.

He was stunned into silence for several long moments and she raised her head, took one look at him, and jumped to her feet. In seconds he was on his feet too and he stopped her by the door, holding her by her good shoulder.

“Buffy.”

“I’m useless! I can’t do anything. It doesn’t even take a demon to take me out. Just a stupid gravestone!”

She took a deep breath after her tirade and dropped her eyes to the floor, her whole posture mirroring her shame.

“Buffy.”

She did not respond and he reached out, touching his fingers to her face and drawing her reluctant gaze to his.

“Buffy, when are you going to realise you can’t do this anymore?”

She paused and he saw her shoulders sag.

“What else am I supposed to do, Spike?” she whispered, eyes pleading him, “This is what I do. It’s the only thing I can do.”

“I can’t let you get yourself hurt like this.”

“It’s not your decision to make.”



His anger threatened to overwhelm him and he took a step away from her, clenching his fists tightly.

“You’re going to get yourself killed if you carry on like this,” he said.

She squared up to him, looking every bit the Slayer she had been.

“This is my job. I can’t just walk away.”

“How many more dislocated shoulders is it going to take before you realise you are not the Slayer anymore?”

“It was an accident,” she bit out, her eyes flashing with anger.

“All it’s going to take is one accident and you’re on the wrong end of a vamp’s teeth!”

“Forget it, you don’t understand!”

She turned to go and he followed her, caught up in his anger. He grabbed her by her good arm and dragged her back towards him, glaring down at her.

“I won’t let you do this!”

“You can’t stop me!”

“You think?” he bit out, unconsciously tightening his grip on her arm.

She met his glare for several long moments, too stubborn to back down.

“You’re hurting me,” she finally said after a long silence.

He released her with a growl and moved away. He wanted to wring her neck, he wanted to shake some sense into her – anything to make her see that she was not the Slayer anymore, that this wasn’t her job anymore.



He suddenly realised she had been silent for far too long and he turned to her, carefully trying to control himself. He froze when he found her staring at him, now holding her good arm.

“What?” he got out, wondering what could have put that spooked look in her eyes.

“You hurt me.”

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair – and freezing when he realised what Buffy must have. He met her gaze with wide eyes, not knowing what to think.

“You hurt me… and it didn’t hurt you.”

“Buffy-“

He had taken a step towards her but she held out her hand to halt him. He could hear her heart thundering and her eyes flew over him uncertainly. When she threw an unconscious glance at the door, he realised with a pang that she was afraid. Of him.

“Buffy,” he called, drawing her eyes to his, “Listen to me.”

He was desperate to move closer but he held himself back, wary of spooking her. He held his hands out to the side in a show of surrender.

“I would never hurt you, you know that.”


There was a long silence and he watched her face, wishing he could know what was going through her mind as several different expressions passed across her face.

“But I’m… I’m a completely normal human now. Why…”

His mind was reeling with the knowledge that his chip was either malfunctioning or completely broken and he almost missed the slight edge in her voice. Almost. His eyes met hers and in an instant he realised what had her so worried.

“You are human.”

“So how can you hurt me? … Just like you can hurt other demons?”

He couldn’t stay still any longer and he moved forward, pausing only inches from her, wishing he could reach out and hold her.

“I don’t know, but - listen to me –“ He caught her hand, drawing her eyes back to his as she went to turn away, “You are human.”

She nodded but uncertainty lingered in her eyes still.

“And I would never hurt you.”

“I know,” she whispered after a pause, squeezing his hand in hers.
She may not have known how much those words meant to him and he swallowed hard.

“I should go home.”

He wanted to ask her to stay but she was looking nervous again and she slipped her hand out of his.

“I’ll walk you.”

She made no protest and they set off into the night together.