Eventually, Buffy had to pull away from Spike's embrace, not because she wanted to but because her back was beginning to protest the awkward position. Gently, she kissed him on the cheek, looked away while he composed himself. He sniffled, and Buffy's brain coughed up the random thought that vampires weren't supposed to get runny noses.

"So, um… what do we do now?" she asked.

Spike knuckled his eyes clear and opened his mouth to speak, when her stomach growled to interrupt him. He glanced at her through wet lashes, amused.

"When was the last time you ate something, pet?" he asked. "I've been knocking back the blood you've brought like it was twelve-year-old Scotch, but you look like you haven't had a decent meal in days."

"I've been eating," she protested. "Just… not yet today. I overslept breakfast."

"And I'm glad you've gotten the rest," Spike said. "But now, you should eat some lunch, and then we'll talk about that purified knife your friend the witch left for us in the kitchen, yeah?"

"Yeah," said Buffy. "I just… I hate the idea of having to cut you. After everything else you've been through lately." After everything I've already done to you, she thought.

"It will be all right, love," he said softly. Tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "But we're not talking about it until you've had something to eat. Something decent," he added.

"Motherhood looks weird on you," Buffy muttered, but she got up and headed inside.

---

When she came back out to the garage, kitchen knife wrapped in a clean dishcloth, Spike was laying down again, blanket pulled up to his chin, his eyes closed. She thought at first he might be asleep, but when her foot shuffled against the concrete he opened his eyes and smiled at her so sweetly she thought her heart would break for him all over again.

"Did I wake you?" Buffy asked.

"No, love," he said. "Just basking."

Buffy raised an eyebrow. "Basking. Cats bask, Spike. In the sun. Basking doesn't work for vampires."

"Sure it does," said Spike, closing his eyes once more. "Buffy loves me." His smile broadened, and Buffy found herself smiling back, even though he couldn't see it.

"Dork," she said. Spike opened his eyes again, curious. "I'm in love with a dork."

"Mm," said Spike. Cocked an eyebrow. "Is he bigger than me?"

Buffy snickered. Came and sat in the camp chair next to him, knife on her lap. Ran her fingers through his… ugh. His still filthy hair.

"He is you," she said. "God help me. I'm in love with you and you're a dork."

"Oi, first of all, 'm not a dork, I'm a badass vampire who's gone toe to toe with goddesses in my time," he said, pushing himself upright again. "Second – ow – if you want me to stop acting like a love-struck git you'll have to stop sayin' you love me quite so often." He looked away for a second, face falling a little. "Although I imagine once the Scoobies get wind, I won't have to worry about that, yeah?"

Buffy just shrugged. "I don't see how anything would change," she said. Could see the skepticism on his face. "No, really," she said. "I mean, Giles would just try to kill you again – nothing new there. Willow would be Willow, you know, all worried over whether I was 'making good choices', but basically supportive. And Dawn would probably be too excited to hear you're not dead to worry about us being an item. Plus I'm pretty sure she thought we should get together years ago."

"That was before," Spike began. Looked down at his hands. "Before I –"

"And it's her problem how she chooses to handle that," interrupted Buffy. "I left London and came here with a plan to finally grow up… or, like I told Xander, to at least grow out of needing Giles in my life anymore. Ugh, that sounds like I'm breaking up with him, which is just creepy." She ran her fingers through her hair, pulled it back over her shoulders. "And, okay, I'm probably going to fail miserably – Buffy is not famous for being all Maturity Girl – but I can at least let other people deal with their own damn issues, while I try and deal with mine. Instead of everybody trading and thinking they should manage each other's problems, and ignore their own, and – and never ever talk about anything that really matters!"

Spike looked her over for a moment. Said finally, "Good for you, love. Good for you." And Buffy felt something inside her relax at his words. Shifted on the cot, wincing a little, and said, "Not sure how I feel about you sitting there all worked up with a blade in your hand, though."

Buffy huffed a little laugh, looked down. "Yeah, that's just me distracting myself," she said. She grimaced, fidgeted in her seat. "I hate the idea of doing this to you, Spike. I'd rather talk about my feelings than do… this. Which should tell you something."

Spike smiled. "How's this, then – you and I work through these markings together, and whenever it gets too much we'll take a break and have a natter about something emotionally harrowing instead. Sound all right?"

"Whatever 'harrowing' means," said Buffy. She unwrapped the knife, took a deep breath and let it out. "You know I'm great with the stabbing and the staking, but I'm pretty sure the Slayer package doesn't include surgery in with the rest of the skills."

"You'll do fine, love," said Spike. "The writing… the magic makes it hurt already. Like I told the witch. They burn. You can't make it worse. You'll be shutting them off. It'll feel better, for me. Might bleed a bit, might sting a little, but the magic will be gone, yeah? They won't hurt as much once you're done."

Buffy took another deep breath. "Making it better," she said. "Making it better. I can do this."

"You can," said Spike.

"Okay," she said. "Where do I start?"

---

Spike sucked in his cheeks as he thought it over. "Witch said to do everything in reverse order. Figg did my hands and feet last, so you'll go there first," he said. "Reckon you should start with the right foot, in case there's a flinch in my bad knee. Get the worst one over with first, yeah?"

He watched as Buffy made a face of her own. Squeamish. Not a look that belonged on a woman who could slaughter an entire pack of demons in one go, wading through their gore until the last one was destroyed. It was kind of funny, really.

Well, okay, and he felt bad for her. Tried to imagine what it would be like to hurt the one he loved, in order to make them better.

Remembered Drusilla, when he'd first brought her to Sunnydale, and forced himself to find another topic.

"Okay, said Buffy. "Here goes –" and she slipped the blade along the sole of his foot, quick and sure. He hissed a bit in surprise, but the sting was nothing.

"I'm sorry!" she said.

"No," said Spike. "No need. Just startled me, is all. Feels…" he wiggled his toes experimentally. "Feels fine. Burning's gone, just like that."

"Really?" she asked him, eyes pained. "You're sure?"

"Positive, love," he replied. "And – yeah, I remember this now – when he put the seals on, they sort of… pulled me away from my body, like. Made me weaker. This… I can feel it, love. Like I'm settling back in where I belong." He smiled at her. "Now do the others quick."

He could see her gain confidence as she took care of his other foot, and he held out his hands for her when she moved toward the head of the cot. It was the same with them; a brief sting, a bit of blood before the cut closed itself, and a sensation of groundedness. Of strength returning to his body.

Careful of his palms, he crossed his wrists behind her neck and pulled her in for a kiss.

"Hey!" Buffy twisted away from him, and for a second he was horrified. Had he…? "Knife here, you… you dork. Do you want to get stabbed?"

She held the blade comically far out to one side, leaned in, and touched her lips to his, and he hummed contentedly. "Love you, Slayer," he murmured against her mouth. Kissed her again, nibbled at her bottom lip. Kind of hot, doing this with no hands just at the moment.

Buffy pulled away again, amused. "And now you're the one distracting me. Quit that," she said. "And… I love you too," she added shyly, and he hummed again, gazed at her through eyes half-shut. She giggled.

"Are you basking again?" she asked.

"Always," he rumbled. Blinked, leaned in to kiss her, but she ducked out from under his arms with a snort. "Well it's either that," he said, "or complete disbelief and confusion, and I'd rather bask, if it's all the same to you."

"Fine," she said, "you bask, I'll make with the slicey." She waved the knife under his nose. "Where to next?"

Spike sighed. It was more fun trying to distract her – but then that may have been the magic talking, as his energy was anchored more firmly into his physical self. Certainly doing something physical felt far more important to him just now than messing about with any bloody magic.

Oh, well. Time for that later, he supposed. Buffy loved him.

"Soul," he told her. "And water, if I remember right. These marks, here." He gestured crosswise along his chest. "They're high enough, shouldn't bother my ribs… he did them in two sections. Start here, in the center, and go around to the back."

"Okay," she said. Took a deep breath and he moved his arm up out of the way.

She cut.

Spike shrieked and his body convulsed at the sudden, white-hot pain.

Where the seals on his hands and feet had only stung a bit, the inscription across his chest was excruciatingly, terrifyingly painful. He'd been watching and thought he saw the marks flare bright red for a second before subsiding, but the pain the dying magic left in its wake had him gasping. He'd arched and thrown himself backward on the cot, and now he lay writhing in sudden, shocking agony.

His knee and his side yelled at him to bloody stop moving, but he couldn't control the spasms if his life depended on it.

"Spike? Spike!" Buffy's voice was deafening in his ears, pounding through his skull, and he threw his hands up to cover them. The light overhead seared his eyes even through closed lids, and he groaned.

The scent of his own blood, of Buffy, of the sawdust in the garage, of the leftover filth from his time in the cistern, all assaulted his nose. He jerked his head to the side, trying to escape the stench, trying not to breathe.

It was all he could not to throw the blanket off and lay there naked, the way it was rasping at his skin. Like wearing steel wool, it was.

"Spike," Buffy had started to cry. He could smell her tears.

"Too much, too much," he whispered. He panted, clawing his way through the pain toward control. "Water," he said, "should've known – perceptions, senses…" he tried to look at her, reassure her, but it was all too bright and at a new wave of pain, his eyes rolled back in his head. He threw one arm over his eyes, pressed his elbow down hard to block out the light.

He could hear Buffy's heart pounding, and her breathing hitched as she cried. "'S all right," he whispered, "it's just… all at once… hear everything, smell… everything… too bright…" He arched again, mouth falling open as the pain began to fade. He let out a shuddering breath, through his mouth. Sagged down into the cot, drained.

Caught his breath. Tried to straighten out his bad leg, but it was having none of that from him. "Nng… help me up, love," he said. Arm still flung across his eyes. "Need to get the rest of it…"

"I don't know if I can," she said. Softly, which he was bloody grateful for right then.

"You can," he murmured. "Have to. Have to get it off…" Tentatively, he lowered his arm. The light was still bright, but he thought he might be adjusting. He squinted at her through the glare, tried to smile.

She didn't seem to appreciate it.

"'S temporary, love," Spike said. "Promise. Fading already… see?"

"Oh, God," she whispered. "I'm so sorry… I'm so…" Her breath hitched again and she looked away. But he watched as she screwed her eyes shut tight, gritted her teeth. Visibly steeling herself for the next part.

"That's my girl," he said quietly. She blew out another breath, and Spike felt the air scrape across his skin. Wasn't looking forward to the next set of cuts, but he saw no need to tell her that. Hard enough for her as it was.

"We'll take a break after this, yeah?" he said to her. "Distract ourselves. Emotionally harrowing conversation."

"Yeah. Yeah. Okay." Buffy wouldn't look at him as she lifted him, helped him sit up again. "I… I still have the back to do on this side," she said, "and then all of the other side." She moved around behind him, planning to draw the knife in one long arc from front to back.

"I know," said Spike. Turned his head a little; her breath in his ear was just that little bit too harsh. "Let's just… let's get it over with, I'll tell you about the past year, you'll tell me something deeply disturbing about Giles and the Scoobies, life will be grand."

Now that he knew what to expect, the rest of Buffy's cuts across his chest weren't quite so horrific. They hurt like a bitch, and he couldn't bite back a shout as she drew her line across the sigils again, but his sight didn't seem to get any more sensitive. Sounds didn't grow even more painfully loud.

The garage still stank and he could tell he needed a shower in the worst way, but at least he didn't think his sense of smell had picked up anything more revolting than it already had.

When it was over Spike sagged back against her, let her hold him up for a second while he got himself back under control.

"Well," he said when he could speak again, "that was fun."

---