CHAPTER TWO

“You’re—You’re what?” Buffy asked, frozen to where she stood. Spike was sitting in the rubble, one leg twisted under him. His eyes moved blindly over the general area of where she was standing focusing at the height of her knees. His hands travelled over the air in front of him, and his bloody, burnt face was slack. He couldn’t even screw it up in pain, it was so... destroyed.

“Blind, Slayer. I can’t—“ Spike faltered, trying to find a place to set down his hands, trying to push himself up to stand. “I can’t see.”

Buffy hesitated for a moment. It was Spike, he hated her and she him. I mean, we work together and all, but I don’t think we’re actually friends. Maybe we’re something close to it; she amended silently, thinking back to the night he’d spent with her on the porch. But still, me and the Scoobies are just here to relieve the boredom as far as he’s concerned, Buffy reasoned to herself, looking down at him.

They weren’t friends, but he’d helped them all, he’d been there for her. A lot lately.

Shaking her head, she hurried forward to stand in front of him. Bending down to a kneel, she reached out with an unsure hand to touch his.

Spike pulled away slightly, shocked as her warm fingers touched his cool ones. Buffy felt his reaction and went to withdraw her hand, and he immediately grabbed a hold of it. Buffy was surprised, but let him grip it, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Spike let a small, bitter smile flicker across his mouth. It bloody figured; the only time she’d ever touch him is when he couldn’t actually enjoy it. Still, he returned the gentle squeeze she gave him.

“It’s... It’s going to... to be okay, Spike.” Buffy pulled him to his feet and held him still, her hands gripping his elbows. His hands rested on her arms, and Buffy shivered. “We... we can fix this.”

“You think so, love?” Spike’s voice was hollow, his eyes directed to the ground.

Buffy worked hard to inject some optimism into her voice. Usually, her conversations with Spike consisted completely of snark and scorn, this was different. She was talking to him on a more personal level now, and she didn’t really know how he would respond to her concern. So she decided to go straight into blind optimism and reassurance, like you would with someone else’s child. “Yeah, of course we will. We’ll.... we’ll go to Giles, get you fixed up. Giles, he’ll... he’ll know what to do.”

Spike nodded a few times, his eyes staring blankly over her right shoulder. He could smell her, but he couldn’t pinpoint her, not exactly. He sniffed harder, trying to concentrate on her intoxicating scent, and the slight twitch of his nose sent pain ripping through his face. He shouted in pain and almost fell over from the hurt. It was agony, like the chip had just fired.

Catching him as he fell against her, Buffy held Spike up as his knees buckled. Her hand went to his hips, grabbing his belt to help support him. Reaching up as he leant against her, she let her hand hover over his charred, bleeding skin, barely an inch from it. “Oh, God... your face...”

Spike tried for a smile, but only managed the slightest curl of his lips without hurting himself again. “Not so pretty now, ‘m I?”

Buffy scoffed, trying to interject her usual derision into her voice, rolling her eyes before realising that he couldn’t see. Unsure of how to react, she tried for simple, patented snarkiness. After all, what else would he expect from her?

“You were never pretty, Spike.”

“Deny it all you want, Slayer. You know I’m gorgeous.” Spike chuckled, trying vainly to keep it light hearted. To keep the Slayer from worrying. Some selfish part of him wanted her to fawn over him, but it wasn’t going to happen. Not in the way he wanted.

It was less painful just to keep everything normal between them. He had heard the sarcasm and exasperation in her voice, a usual colouring to it when he was around, but still there had been genuine fear and and worry underneath it too.

And that scared him. Maybe he was in worse condition than he thought. He knew it was bad, but she sounded terrified.

“Just be glad you’ve never been able to use a mirror.” Buffy replied before pulling Spike’s arm around her shoulder and slipping her own arm gingerly around his waist.

“You taking me back to the crypt, pet?”

“I... I don’t think that’s a good idea. Leaving you alone.” Buffy babbled. Spike decided it was better not to tell her that Harmony was still around. “I’m going to take you to Giles’ place, alright? See what he can tell us about the demon. He’ll know something, he always does.”

“Time to consult the Watcher’s books then, is it?” Spike sighed, enjoying the feeling of her body against him, her arm around him despite the pain it sent through his abdomen. He must of bruised a couple of ribs or something, and his leg was bloody well killing him. He shifted his weight to lean slightly more heavily against her.

He was touched when she didn’t move away. She may not love him, may not even think of him as a friend, but she cared enough about him as an ally to try and help him.

“Lead the way, Slayer. I trust you.”
 

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Rupert Giles looked up at the familiar sound of the telephone ringing. Making note of the number of the page he was currently reading, he stood and hurried to the kitchen, glancing at the nearest clock as he did. It was only just past ten, and Buffy had promised him a quiet night, telling him that the town had been rather quiet on the vampiric front over the last week or so.

Still, there was only one person who would be calling him this late.

“Buffy?”

“Hi, Giles,” Buffy’s voice came through the line, a little subdued. “Did I wake you?”

“I’m afraid to say that life on the Hellmouth has made me rather accustomed to only a few hours of sleep a night.” Giles replied, leaning against the wall. “So, no, you didn’t wake me.”

“Oh... good.”

“Buffy? Is everything alright? You sound a little... tense.”

Buffy sighed on the other end of the line. “Giles, I think you need to round up the gang. I need your help.”