PART 5

"Winged cupid painted blind" -- William Shakespeare

Something twisted inside Spike as he watched Buffy lose consciousness. Unbidden, his hand moved forward to touch her hair then he snatched it back as if he had been burned.

'Just do this quick,' he told himself, 'while she's still out.' He knew just how fast a Slayer could recover, even from the worst injuries, and he didn't want her coming around and instinctively trying to kill him before he was

done. And this way she wouldn't feel any pain...

Ignoring the irony of the thought of a vampire wanting to spare a Slayer pain, Spike unrolled a length of bandage and moved closer to her. He had begun keeping a small supply of bandages and other such when he had started getting

staked, shot, and stabbed on a regular basis. 'Never thought I'd be using it on *her* though,' he thought grimly. Then, no longer hesitating, he picked up a nearby bottle of alcohol, uncorked it with his teeth, and tossed a substantial amount of the fluid over her wounds.

Buffy stirred, moaning, as the alcohol ran over her bare arm and shoulder, washing away much of the blood and revealing the full extent of the damage to Spike. He stared at it for a moment. Three deep parallel gashes ran down the length of her arm, starting near the collarbone and ending just above the back of her wrist while another, lighter slash ran across the back of her left hand.

Even as he watched blood welled up again in the cuts...and as quickly as that, bloodlust was surging within him like a tidal wave, blurring his vision and filling his senses. Spike's fangs descended unconsciously as the reality of the situation struck home. The Slayer was here, unconscious and helpless, her blood dripping down the side of the tomb, the scent of her filling the air. It was

everything he had ever dreamed of, everything he had wanted since he had first come to Sunnydale. To sink his teeth into her, to feel her convulse around him while he drank her lifeblood, to go over that dark precipice with her in his arms... It would be so easy. All he had to do was bend his head and drink, to sink his fangs into the perfection of her throat and...

Only...he couldn't. Even though the very core of his being was screaming at him to just take her, his body aching with raw desire...he couldn't. Something inside wouldn't let him. And it wasn't the chip in his head either. Spike

shook his head, trying to force his face to resume its human form, trying to will the bloodlust away. Just then, Buffy stirred, her head turning to one side, unconsciously baring even more of her throat to him. The vampire gulped

then ran his tongue over his fangs. On the other hand, he could still have just a taste. Just a little. He had wanted, no, *needed* this for so long, and it wouldn't hurt her, not really... Unable to resist the craving still tearing through him, Spike slowly leaned forward, losing himself in the scent of her blood...

...then yelped as a shaft of blinding agony tore through him. Spike jumped backwards, almost falling, clutching his head with both hands as his lust and hunger turned instantly to fury. And, not for the first time, his self-control threatened to slip. It would be so easy to give into the rage that almost consumed him every time he thought about the chip in his head, to fight against it until it killed him... But he wouldn't. He *wouldn't*. No, he was smarter, stronger than that. And he wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

Besides, there was the Slayer to think about.

She needed him.

Shaking, Spike leaned on the tomb, eyes shut and fingers clenched, one hand on either side of the unconscious Buffy.

Waiting. Finally, his fangs receded and the desire quieted. Just a little. But enough. With hands that were shaking only slightly, he poured more alcohol over her wounds then began to wrap the bandage around her wrist, trying to take his mind off...other things.

She was lucky the demon had got her on the back of the arm, Spike decided as he worked his way upward, his seething emotions finally beginning to cool. If it had clawed her on the inside of her wrist and hit the veins... Well, she'd be dead by now. End of story. Would probably have bled to death out there in the rain. Spike's heart contracted at the thought and another tremor went through him, one that had nothing at all to do with the chip in his head this time. He glanced up at her ashen face and his jaw tightened. She was so beautiful, so helpless, so...

'So likely to sit up and break this bottle over my flipping head,' Spike thought, self-derision lancing through him. The Slayer was about as fragile and breakable as a jungle cat. A cranky, bad-tempered jungle cat.

Except...

Except she was blind. And either completely suicidal, or near enough as made no odds. The bands around Spike's heart tightened even more. She had come here to die and as soon as she woke up she'd probably be heading back out into the night to finish the job...unless he did something about it. But what? For an instant the surreal - and incredibly erotic -- image of tying her up with the spare set of chains and holding her here until she came to her senses, was pretty damned appealing...on a multitude of levels.

Nevertheless, he discarded the notion. Enjoyable as it might be, it wasn't very practical. She'd break free and stake him. Her friends would show up and stake him. *Someone* would show up and stake him. Guaranteed. Whichever way he played it in his mind, every scenario still ended up with him as a big pile of dust. Spike cast a quick glance down the length of the Slayer's body, taking

in the smooth skin and lacy bra, the blood pulsing just beneath the paleness of her throat...and swallowed deeply. 'Might be worth it in the long run though,' he thought unsteadily.

Spike tied off the bandage and stood back to survey his handiwork. The Slayer was looking a lot better - and slightly less mouth-watering -- now that she wasn't bleeding all over the place. Not that he wouldn't bite her in a heartbeat...if he could. But he couldn't, so he might as well think about something else. Like what he was going to do with her.

'Can't let her go back out there,' he thought. Not tonight. He damned well *would* chain her up, if it came to that. She wouldn't stand a chance, alone and sightless. She'd be a nice snack for the first nasty that came along.

And if he couldn't have her for dinner, then nothing else was bloody going to either.

Likewise, he couldn't just send her back to her so-called friends and family. They'd already proven they couldn't keep her safe, couldn't protect her from herself. Pillocks. No, if he took her back to them she'd end up just as dead. Maybe not tonight, but soon.

He had to do something. Unfortunately, nothing brilliant was coming to mind. Spike sighed then straightened, wincing as pain stabbed him again in his right side, then walked around the tomb and picked up his leather coat, surveying it for a moment. Blood, drying slowly now, coated the inner left side. Still, it was all he had in the way of a blanket, so it would have to do. Be just his

sodding luck if she caught pneumonia, after all he'd done.

Walking stiffly so as not to further aggravate his injured side, the vampire picked up one of his spare black shirts then returned to the tomb and leaned over the Slayer. There was a bit more color in her face but her skin was

still cold to the touch. With another sigh, Spike began threading her unmoving arms through the sleeves of his shirt, trying not to do any further damage to her injuries. 'Hope you appreciate all this when you wake up,' he thought

crossly.

PART 6

"Heav'n but the vision of fulfill'd desire

and Hell the shadow of a soul on fire"

-- Omar Khayyam

Everything happened very quickly. One moment Spike was leaning over Buffy, tucking the leather coat around her, the next she was flinging herself away from him, off the top of the tomb and onto the ground...and the moment after that he was flat on his back halfway across the crypt's floor where she had thrown him. And there was a very angry -- and dangerous -- Slayer on top of him.

Still slightly stunned, Spike gazed up into Buffy's unseeing eyes. She was sitting on his chest, pinning him to the ground while she reached automatically for a weapon. There was no recognition on her face, no sense that she even knew where she was or who she was sitting on. Instead, something primitive and ferocious burned behind her eyes...

...something that Spike recognized, that caused the demon within himself to leap forward in welcome.

He must have moved without thinking because Buffy snarled once, soundlessly, then lashed down at him with one fist. Spike dodged the blow then surged up, sweeping her off so that they ended up rolling along the crypt floor together,

their limbs tangled.

Part of the vampire was enjoying this to the hilt, even though his broken ribs complained with every movement. The length of her body against his...having the Slayer in his arms, even like this...it was probably as close to heaven as he was ever going to get. But another part of him was busy worrying about her injuries. Just then, though, she rolled on top of him, certain parts of her anatomy pressing against certain parts of his...and Spike told the second part of himself to bloody well sod off.

They came to a sudden stop beside the tomb, rolling into its side with such force that the impact jarred them both. On top, at least for the moment, Spike took advantage of the Slayer's momentary pause and reached out with lightning

speed, seizing her wrists and pinning them to the ground. Buffy fought him wordlessly, furiously, but could get no leverage to free herself, his weight trapping her beneath him. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she

stilled, her chest heaving. There was a long pause and then an emotion he did not recognize flickered across her face...

...and everything changed. Slowly, purposefully, she shifted, arching upwards just a little. Just enough. And Spike caught fire. Or at least, that's what it felt like. Desire was suddenly coursing through him like an inferno,

answering the change in her mood, while the air around them seemed to crackle with electricity.

The Slayer sensed it too. No longer struggling, she stared sightlessly up at him while the tip of her tongue darted out to lick her bottom lip. Spike groaned. Then her legs slid slowly upwards, bending at the knees, her inner thighs caressing his hips, and he could take no more. His self-control completely gone now, he lowered his head and met her lips with his own, roughly forcing them apart with his tongue. After a moment, he let go of her left hand to seize her by the hair, tilting her head back so that he could deepen the kiss.

He could die happy now, Spike thought distantly as the Slayer's tongue entwined with his. He could turn to dust tomorrow and still be a happy man. Her free arm had slid around his back, pulling him even closer, and she was writhing beneath him, her hips grinding against his own. 'A very happy man...'

Which was when he became aware of it. Distantly at first, then more urgently he realized that something was poking into his back. Something sharp. The haze surrounding him receded a little and he recognized it for what it was. A

wooden stake.

Oh shit.

Spike broke the kiss abruptly, pulling back enough to gaze down at the Slayer. She stared blankly back up at him, her lips slightly swollen from his kiss and the echoes of passion still radiating from her eyes...but the hand holding the stake at his back was motionless and there was a hint of ice behind the passion...

Spike froze. And remembered. After the fight with the demon he had picked up the stake. It was in the coat. She was wearing the coat. Meaning she was armed. And blind. And confused. And severely hacked off, from what he could

tell.

Bloody hell.

A long moment passed in which neither of them moved, then Spike swallowed and said carefully: "You don't want to do that, pet. I helped you, remember?"

She frowned, as if trying to recall but not quite succeeding. He tried again. "Remember the demon? In the cemetery? I helped you kill it." He softened his voice even further. "I saved your life. Brought you back and wrapped up your arm for you."

Her frown deepened and she moved her left arm slightly, as if testing the truth of his words. Spike's mouth went dry at the feel of the stake sliding across his back and a tremor went through him, despite himself. The Slayer felt it, her eyes flickering back up to meet his own, even though she could see nothing. There was confusion in her face now and an odd blankness, as if she were still asleep. But he was getting through to her, he could tell. He only had to keep talking...

"Come on, Buffy. Put the stake down, love."

* * *

Buffy. It was the sound of her name that finally brought the Slayer back to complete awareness. When she had first emerged from the dream...it was like she hadn't truly been awake. Or as if her body had been on autopilot. She had

known, in a distant, detached way what she was doing, but it was almost as if someone -- or something -- else had been pulling the strings. Something primitive and violent. Something she had encountered once before, also in a dream. The Slayer. The *first* Slayer.

Buffy shuddered, then fought the reaction down. No. Don't think about it. Focus on the here and now, rather than on the what-ifs. That was what Giles had taught her. Concentrate on what she could see...hear...feel, and worry about the rest later.

OK. See. Nothing. Hear. Her own heavy breathing and racing heart. Feel. Hard, slightly damp earth beneath her. And...someone lying on top of her. *Completely* on top of her. Spike. Recognition came with a shock, like a

bucket of cold water being thrown over her, and the last of the cobwebs in her mind cleared instantly. *Spike* was laying full length on top of her, one of his hands tangled in her hair, the fingers of his other entwined with hers.

Both of her legs were wrapped tightly around him and... Oh. Aroused Spike. *Very* aroused Spike. And it all came flooding back to her...

He had kissed her. And she had kissed him back. With enthusiasm. And major tongue action. She had *kissed* him. Kissed *Spike*. Buffy blinked. What the hell was she thinking? And, for that matter, why was she still just laying here beneath him, not moving?

Well, she couldn't answer the first question, but she could definitely do something about the second. Tightening her jaw, she said, as firmly as she could. "Get off."

Buffy felt some of the tension ease from the vampire -- No! That's all wrong. There will be no relaxing on top of Buffy! -- then he leaned forward a little and said, a mocking edge to his voice:

"Love to pet, but in case you hadn't noticed, you're the one who's all wrapped around me."

That was true. She still had both legs around him and her left arm was curled up around his body, holding him close to her -- and holding a stake on him.

Spike stirred slightly, drawing her attention back to his lower body. "You planning on using that Slayer?" he said. "'Cause if not, I know a lot better uses for that hand..."

That did it. Buffy shoved him away, untangling herself hastily from the vampire. Then she clawed her way back to a sitting position and transferred the stake to her right hand, wincing at the pain in her left as she did so.

"You're a pig, Spike," she hissed. "Just stay the hell away from me."

She could almost see the taunting grin she knew would be on his face. "Hey, you're the one who had your tongue down my throat! Not that I'm complaining, mind you, but just so we're clear on who was doing what to who..."

Yeah, right. "You kissed me first!" she said furiously.

"Well...yeah." A pause. "So you do remember it all then?"

His weight pressing into her...his lips on hers, rough and hard...raw, sexual energy consuming her... Oh yeah. She remembered it. All of it. And it was disturbing on practically every level. Spike? Wanting and needing *Spike*? What was that about? She had a boyfriend. And there was nothing within her that was even remotely attracted to Spike. There. Just. Wasn't.

In the end, Buffy fell back on denial. "I am not going to talk about this," she said firmly, trying to calm her racing mind. "In fact, I am not even going to think about this. Ever, ever again. It *so* did not happen."

"Fine." She heard him climb to his feet then move towards her. "I'm gonna help you up. Don't stake me." Was that a hint of anger she heard in his voice? But then his hands were on her and he was pulling her to her feet...and all

thoughts of what happened between them faded as pain took their place.

It hurt less now, Buffy realized, but that wasn't saying a lot. Her arm still felt as though...well, as though it had been clawed by a demon. It was bandaged, she noticed, and the bleeding seemed to have stopped, but even the slightest movement was enough to set waves of agony crashing across her body. For a moment the world spun and she swayed. If she hadn't been blind she would have been seeing spots, she knew. Despite her best intentions, her knees began to buckle.

* * *

Spike saw the Slayer start to fall and cursed under his breath...then he reached out and caught her, holding her tightly against his chest. 'Why me?' he thought as he held her. 'Why do I have to sodding care?' The old Spike would have just let her fall. Hell, the old Spike would never have been in this position in the first place. For a moment he yearned for the old days, before the Initiative,

before the implant in his head, before he ever came to Sunnydale... He had been happy back then with Dru, wreaking havoc on the world, doing what he wanted, when he wanted...to whom he wanted.

Now though...now he was reduced to this. Living off discarded butcher's blood. Following the Slayer around night after night just to catch a glimpse of her. Risking unlife and limb for her. And...

Sod it. Who was he kidding? It was enough to just be here like this, holding her so up she wouldn't fall on her stupid Slayer face. Enough to know that it was him she needed, even if it was just for now.

And as for the kiss... There *had* been something there, something real, no matter how much she might try to deny it. They had both felt the heat. It had been fire and sunlight, all...

Oh god. Poetry. He was bloody thinking in poetry now.

That was... He was...

Bleeding pathetic.

PART 7

"Be to her faults a little blind"

-- Matthew Prior

"Spike," Buffy said at last into his shoulder, her voice muffled.

"Yeah, Slayer?"

"Uh...what exactly am I wearing?"

"One of my shirts. And my coat."

"Oh."

A brief pause, then:

"Spike?"

"Yeah?"

"Put me down."

"Fine."

For the second time that night, Buffy felt his hands on her waist and then she was being lifted onto the tomb again, her legs dangling over the side. She took a deep breath, trying to ignore the dizziness...and the quivers that kept going through her body every time he touched her. It was just *Spike*, for god's sake. Spike the soulless, evil demon. Spike the undead. Definitely *not* quiver-worthy. Not even human. But it made no difference. It was as if her body had suddenly decided to fixate on him, despite what her brain kept saying. Buffy's jaw tightened. 'Fixate on someone else,' she told herself fiercely. 'Get a grip!'

Of course, she had had a grip on pretty much all of him not long ago...

Buffy shook her head, forcing her thoughts away from *that* image through sheer willpower. Instead, she focused on her injuries. And there was a lot to focus on.

The dizziness was still there, although it had abated a little, she realized. Her head still swam if she moved too quickly but she didn't feel as if she was constantly on the verge of passing out anymore. Her arm continued to throb

and pain pulsed across her back and down the length of her right leg...but overall she felt better. Probably a five plus on the battered-but-better-Buffy scale. Maybe even a six... Now if she could just shake the memory of rolling

around on the ground with Spike...

As the thought flashed through her mind, Buffy became vividly aware of just how close the vampire was standing. When he had lifted her up he had somehow maneuvered it so her legs were on either side of him, his hips fitting snugly between her knees. And he was still holding her, both hands on her waist. Buffy swallowed. Hello! Personal space issues!

"What are you doing Spike?" She was proud of her voice this time. It was cool and steady with just a hint of steel beneath the words.

"Keeping you from falling on your face," he said matter-of-factly, making no attempt to move...except for his hands, which shifted slightly as he spoke.

Buffy's breath caught in her throat...but then sanity reasserted itself and a sense of outrage *finally* overwhelmed the other, more erotic feelings shooting

through her. Hastily Buffy knocked the vampire's hands away and leaned back. "I don't need your help," she said, her voice cold. "So back off Fang Boy. Right now."

There was a long pause then Spike did step back...and for a moment she missed his proximity. But only for a moment.

"Oh yeah. I forgot. I'm 'beneath you'." Spike was saying scornfully from a few paces away. "Well, we won't get into who was beneath who a few minutes ago. 'Course you don't need my help. The mighty Slayer doesn't need anyone, does she? You can go and get yourself killed all by yourself. Certainly don't need me for that."

"Shut up, Spike. You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh don't I?" He stepped forward, crowding her again and she fought the urge to shove him back...violently. "The fact that I saved your life means bugger all to you, doesn't it? Fact is, you probably wish I'd let that demon finish the job..."

"Stop it." This time she did shove him away, using both hands and a great deal of force.

It didn't help. A moment later he was back, closer than before, seizing both her wrists as he had done earlier, ignoring the stake still clutched in her right hand.

"Ruined your little plan, didn't I?" Spike continued, pressing his verbal attack. "Thought you were going to go out all noble, didn't you? Be the right little martyr. Well, let me tell you this, Slayer -- I've seen martyrs in

my time. Killed a few of them myself. And you know what? In the long run, at the end of the day...all they got was dead. Didn't make a blind bit of difference what they did. 'cept to them of course."

Buffy shook her head violently. "That's not true."

"Sure. Say it's not true. Say you can make the world a better place by not being in it -- and who am I to argue? But it's just you and me here. So let's be honest, right? You weren't going out to save the world -- you were running

away from it. Come on, admit it -- you gave up. The going got tough and little Buffy ran away and hid from the big bad world. Tell me, were you thinking of anyone beside yourself when you decided to go out and off yourself? That

family of yours, f'rinstance?"

The anger that had been steadily growing inside her suddenly blossomed into an inferno and Buffy ripped her hands free from the vampire's grasp, not caring how much the motion hurt her wounded arm. "I *was* thinking about them," she said, her voice choked with emotion. "I can't protect them like this. The world needs a Slayer, and I can't be it! Not anymore!"

"So...what? So you just give up, is that it? The baddies win and the world gets a new Slayer?"

She was on her feet now, standing in front of him, not caring how she had got there. "Yes!" she shouted, her self-control completely shattered. "Yes, I came here planning to die tonight. Yes, this time I'm going to let the bad guys win so the world gets a new Slayer. One who can see, one who doesn't need help just to get dressed... Is that what you wanted to hear? Does it make you feel

good to hear me say it?" Buffy's voice was shaking, along with the rest of her, and it was taking all of her willpower not to hit him, not to use the stake on him...not to take out all her fear and frustrations on the one being she knew could take it...

"No," Spike answered her quietly. "But you needed to say it."

Disbelief went through her. "Oh that's just great," she snapped, acid bitterness etched in her voice.

"Psychiatrist Spike is in. What a good idea. Get Buffy to admit she's suicidal, make everything all better by talking about it. Well I've had the shrink job already thanks, from people who actually care..." She stopped, swallowed, then went on.

"You just don't get it, do you? None of this is going to make any difference. We can talk about my feelings all you like. Hell, we can pound on each other till dawn if that's what you want, but nothing's going to change. When the sun

comes up I'm still not going to be able to see it, no matter what you say or do, no matter how much I wish otherwise. I am *blind*, Spike. I'm a blind Slayer. And I can't do my job, not like this. I can't...I..."

To Buffy's complete horror her voice suddenly broke and tears welled up in her eyes. No. No! She would not do this. She would not cry in front of Spike. *Especially* not in front of Spike. Taking a deep, ragged breath, she

spun around and leaned both hands on the tomb, blinking fiercely, willing the tears not to fall.

He was right behind her. She could feel him, unmoving, a solid presence at her back. Buffy swallowed, desperately fighting the emotions that were threatening to overwhelm her. "Look," she said shakily. "You saved my life. Fine. Thanks very much. But I want you to leave me alone now so I can do...what I need to. So just...just let me go, ok?"

"No, pet. I won't."

Buffy sagged and for a moment she thought she was going to burst into hysterical laughter...or turn around and sob on his shoulder. 'Can't do that,' she thought disjointedly. 'I'm the Slayer. Have to be strong. Have to do this by myself. Have to...'

But then Spike was reaching out, pulling her back against him and wrapping both arms securely around her waist. Buffy tensed, half-heartedly trying to break free, but his grip around her only tightened...and somehow she couldn't

find the strength to struggle anymore. It was as if all the energy had drained out of her, leaving her weak and exhausted, as if she were being sucked deeper into something that was cold and dark and she no longer had any strength left to fight it. Her dream flashed through her mind again and she remembered the cold presence she had sensed. Spike?

Buffy tried once more to free herself then gave up. "Let me go," she whispered weakly, her hands resting limply on top of the arms that were holding her.

He shook his head, his face brushing her hair. "No Slayer," he said, his lips close to her ear. I won't. Maybe you're right. Maybe this is the only way out. You want to get yourself killed, I'm not gonna stop you."

There was a pause, and when he spoke again it was in a whisper, so soft she could barely hear it. "But you don't have to be alone..."

Yes. Yes, she did. Everyone needed her. She had to be strong for them, for the whole world sometimes. Not the other way round. Not...

But, standing there with Spike's arms around her, she could almost believe him. There was something comforting, even protective, in the way he was holding her, and her body relaxed, just a little. It would be so nice to let go, to stop being the Slayer and just *be*... Hesitantly, as if expecting him to pull away at any second, Buffy slowly allowed her head to lean back until it was touching Spike's shoulder and then, with a long quavery sigh, she closed her eyes, feeling the tension flow out of her.

* * *

Spike swallowed. It wasn't possible to feel such ecstasy...and so much pain. Buffy was finally in his arms. Willingly. Not struggling, not fighting. Relaxed. And it was sweeter than heaven. But it was hell too. Because try

as he might, he couldn't delude himself that he was the one she really wanted to be with, that she would be with him at all if anyone else was around. Soldier Boy...the Watcher...her gang of Slayerettes. It didn't matter. Any of them would do, better than him.

He was...he was convenient, was all.

But then again...did it matter if he was only a poor replacement for the others? After all, she was in *his* arms right now. And now was all that mattered. 'So just enjoy it while you can,' he told himself fiercely, 'and stop bloody brooding about it.' He closed his eyes, listening to the Slayer's heartbeat, feeling her warmth against his chest -- and a feeling of desperation went

through him.

There had to be a way. Something the Scoobies hadn't thought of, didn't know about... With that thought, Spike's eyes flew open and he froze.

Maybe, just maybe, there was.

PART 8 "If the blind lead the blind"

-- New Testament

Buffy sensed the change in Spike's mood and a faint tremor of regret went through her. For the first time in...well, ever...she had felt safe. Secure. Protected. It had felt so good to just let go, to lean on someone else for a

change. She knew it was temporary, knew that it couldn't last. It never did. But, for a moment --just for a moment -- she had been able to convince herself that it would. That this feeling didn't have to end. But then she felt Spike's arms stiffen around her, the sudden tension in his body...and she sighed.

Spike. Weird. It seemed as if she had spent more time *in* his arms than out of them tonight. And, for the most part, enjoying it. It didn't make any sense. They had been mortal enemies, reluctant allies...and everything in

between for the last few years. He had fought with her, kissed her, lied to her, and almost destroyed the most important things in her life. He had hurt her...and been kind to her. He had almost killed her...and had saved her life. More than once. Not even counting tonight. Buffy sighed again, her head still resting on his shoulder. I don't understand you, Spike.

"And you probably never will, love. But I know you."

She must have spoken out loud, Buffy realized. She opened her eyes. "What do you know?" she asked wearily, not moving.

One of his hands moved up to caress her hair and it was a true measure of her exhaustion that she just stood there and let him. "I know you don't want to die," he said. "I know you're not ready to dance that dance yet. That's why

you fought that demon instead of just letting it kill you. Hell, if you'd really wanted to off yourself, there's lots easier ways. More certain. Less messy."

"Maybe I was afraid." Her voice was bleak.

"To die? Could be. Or maybe deep down you think you're not done with the living yet. Maybe you're too busy just trying to keep your head above water that you can't see the big picture."

Her dream. Endless darkness beneath her. Distant light above. And Buffy, caught in the middle, unable to reach the one, unwilling to give into the other. Trapped.

With a shudder, Buffy pulled free of the vampire and turned around to face him. "So what is the big picture, Spike? What is it I'm not seeing...besides everything?"

She heard him move slightly, his hands sliding into the pockets of his jeans. "Choices," he said simply. "Never looked at all the choices, did you? So busy trying to fight everything on your own it never occurred to you to ask for help. You know what it is that makes you different from all the other Slayers, pet?"

What? Buffy frowned, trying to keep up with the way the conversation kept changing gears. "No. But I'm sure you're going to tell me."

"It's all those friends and family you've got hanging 'round. Told you that when we first met. You've got all these people around you -- even me now, thanks to this bloody chip. But in the end, you're still alone. Too afraid to reach out to others, 'cause that makes you vulnerable, doesn't it? It's safer to go out and take on a demon by yourself than to ask for help. Because the worst the demon will do is kill you. But if you open yourself up...well, then you run the risk of having your heart ripped out. And that's a whole lot worse than death, isn't it?

"What do you know about it Spike?" she whispered, a lump forming in her throat.

There was a jagged, self-mocking edge to his voice. "You'd be surprised. But you know I'm right, Slayer."

Yes. She did. He could read her like a book. A large book with big print and lots of pictures. He was right. She didn't want to die. But she didn't know how to live either. The thought of rejection, of asking for help and not getting it...it was terrifying. On the other hand -- so was the idea of dying alone in the dark. And there was more to consider here than just herself. Spike was right. She had family and friends who loved and needed her. More

than that, she loved and needed *them*.

The dream kept intruding on her thoughts. She hadn't been able to reach the surface by herself, no matter how hard she tried, she remembered. But maybe she wasn't supposed to. Because there had been something else in the water with her. It was dark and scary, but it was all she had.

*He* was all she had...

An eternity seemed to pass while the thoughts whirled around inside her. Finally Buffy drew in a deep breath, her heart pounding painfully, so loudly she knew he'd be able to hear it. Then, fear twisting snake-like inside her, she said softly:

"Will you help me Spike?"

Another eternity went by. And then:

"Yeah, love. I will."

* * *

She had asked *him* for help. Not G.I. Joe. Not her whiny friends or poncey Watcher. But him. Spike. And better yet, he actually had some help to give her. He knew how to get her sight back.

Well, he didn't really, but he knew somewhere they could go. Some place that might be able to help her. It was a shot in the dark -- no pun intended -- but it was better than nothing.

"You're gonna have to trust me," he said fighting to keep his voice unruffled.

Buffy didn't move. "OK," she said.

"'OK?' That's it? No sarcastic remarks? No insults?"

She shook her head slightly. "No. Sarcastic Buffy is on vacation. This is the new-and-improved, non-scathing Buffy."

"Right. For what -- the next two minutes?"

She frowned. "I'm trying to be new and improved here. You're not helping."

"Just 'cause you're in touch with your inner self right now doesn't mean I have to be. Then again...getting in touch with the inner Buffy could be fun..."

Spike grinned as first awareness, then embarrassment flashed across her face. "You are...disgusting," she said, hitting him on the chest with one fist. But it was a half-hearted blow and they both knew it. Still, it helped to relieve the tension. The emotions that were running between them were too strong, too raw. Better to fall back on insults and violence. At least those were familiar. Safe...

And at least it wasn't the hand with the stake in it that had hit him.

"I am at that, darlin'." Spike agreed cheerfully. "That's why you like me."

"I happen to like nice men," she snapped.

Spike seized her right hand, pulling her towards the exit. "I'm a nice man," he said as he led her back outside, into the darkness.

* * *

"So where are we going anyway?" Buffy asked, stumbling a little as she stepped up onto a curb.

"What happened to the trusting me?"

"Oh, I'm trusting you all right. This is me being all trusting...and gullible and naive and blind as a bat!" Her voice began to rise, becoming louder and louder as she walked alongside him. "And if you don't stop letting me walk into things I'm going to..."

"Going to what? Stake me? Won't be much use to you then, will I, blondie?"

"You drive me crazy, you know that?"

"Yeah, well, right back at'cha. At least you're not the one holding hands with the Slayer. Hope no one I know sees me..."

"Tell me about it. And where are you taking me?"

Spike didn't answer right away, shaking some of the water out of his hair instead. It was still pouring bloody cats and dogs and he was getting soaked. Again. He shot a quick glance at the Slayer. 'Course, she was all warm and

dry in his duster, wasn't she? Meanwhile his sodding jeans and t-shirt were...bloody sodden. Typical. Irritation flashed through him -- and something inside the vampire welcomed it with a sense of relief. It was better than the

other feelings that had been welling up inside him, back there inside the crypt. Dangerous emotions that he hadn't felt in a very long time. Emotions he'd be just as happy doing without.

No. Think about something else. "It's called the Trial," he said abruptly.

"You're taking me to court?"

"Not that kind of a trial, you daft git."

"I am not a...whatever that is. Just tell me about this trial..."

"It's a..." Actually, he didn't know what it was. Precisely. Sure, he'd heard a few rumors, a bit of hearsay here and there, but that was it. Still, beggars

couldn't be choosers. "It moves around, I'm told." Spike continued. "You don't find it. It finds you."

"So we're what? Walking in circles until some -- thing --finds us? Good plan. Is it too late to go back to the cemetery and look for another demon?

"No. Yes," Spike said indignantly. "And I do have a plan. Actually, I've got an address."

"Uh huh. And what happens when we find it -- excuse me --when *it* finds us?"

"We ask them to give you back your sight."

There was a long silence, then Buffy finally said, in a small voice. "They can do that?"

Spike nodded, then remembered that she couldn't see him. "Yeah," he said. "I think so."

"Maybe."

* * *

Maybe.

*Maybe.*

Still, it could be worse. 'Maybe' was better than no way in hell. 'Maybe' was better than a whole lot of things. Besides which, 'maybe' was all she had.

The Slayer shivered briefly, then winced as she stumbled again, her arm jarring against her side and sending a stabbing pain into her shoulder. Silently, Spike reached out to steady her...and she felt him flinch too.

Buffy blinked, momentarily forgetting the pain in her arm. "What's wrong with you?" she asked sharply.

"I'm sure you're going to spend the rest of the night telling me."

"No, I mean -- Are you hurt?"

A pause, then: "A few broken ribs. From killing *your* demon."

Oh. She hadn't realized he had been injured. How could she not have realized? And because of her... "Sorry," she said quietly, wondering all over again at the incongruity of this conversation. Apologizing to Spike. Walking hand in hand in the rain with Spike.

Asking Spike to help her...

"Why are you doing this?" The question came out slowly, almost reluctantly.

She could sense his surprise as he turned to look at her. "Doing what?"

Buffy started to wave her free hand then stopped as pain tore through her arm once more. OK. Rule of the evening number 28 -- no gesturing with the left hand. She tucked it slowly and painfully into the pocket of his coat. And

rule number 29 -- try to ignore the fact that you're wearing *his* clothes.

"All this," she said, a little unsteadily. "Taking me to this trial thing. Helping me..."

Silence.

"Spike...?"

He sighed, sounding annoyed and...something else. "Because you sodding asked me to," he said. "Happy now?"

She swallowed. "Oh."

There really wasn't much to say after that, Buffy decided. So she said nothing, walking on in silence with him instead.

PART 9

"Charms strike the sight

but merit wins the soul"

-- Alexander Pope

"We're here."

"Where?" Buffy's voice seemed as controlled as ever, but beneath the words lay a note of strain and exhaustion. Spike glanced at her, noting the paleness of her skin and the tense way she was holding her arm. It had to be hurting. She was probably hurting all over. Even Slayers don't just walk away from a beating like the one that demon had given her...not without scars. 'Course, the real

question was whether they were on the outside or not...

Come to that, he wasn't feeling that great either. Hiking in the rain with broken ribs wasn't his favorite thing. And neither was this. Spike turned back to the swimming pool beneath his feet. It was large, lavish...and empty.

The only thing between him and all that concrete...was thin air. 'Really not lookin' forward to breaking any more bones tonight,' he thought unhappily.

"Well?" The Slayer sounded impatient. "Where are we?"

Spike shifted slightly. "We're gonna have to jump," he said, not answering her directly.

Buffy swallowed. "Up or down?"

"Down."

"Down," she repeated. "How far?"

"Not far."

"You're lying through your teeth, Spike."

"Yeah...well...OK, I am. Look, do you want to get your bloody sight back or not? 'Cause I don't have time to play twenty questions with you. You're just gonna have to decide whether you trust me or not. Your choice, Slayer."

* * *

Trust him. Trust Spike. Before tonight Buffy would have burst into hysterical laughter if someone had suggested that to her. Because if ever anyone was untrustworthy, it was the bleached blond vampire. She still hadn't fully

forgiven him for what he had done to her and her friends last year...

And yet -- he was different tonight. He had saved her life *and* gotten himself injured in the process. He could have left her bleeding in the graveyard; instead he had brought her back to his crypt and bandaged her up. He hadn't even taken advantage of her or made fun of her...much. And, of all the people who were close to her, he was the only one who had managed to break down her barriers, to see through the lies and to keep pushing until she had finally done the unthinkable and ask for help. Ask *him* for help.

True, he was annoying, arrogant, and way too sure of himself. And dangerous. Don't forget dangerous. He might have a chip in his head that prevented him from acting out his violent impulses, but she knew they were still there.

She had seen that look in his eyes all too often...when she could still see, that is. One day he might even manage to remove the implant. And where would they be then? He'd go back to his old ways and she'd have to kill him. Or he'd

kill her. Either way, it wouldn't be pleasant. And, for the first time since Angel, the thought of dusting a certain vampire was...distressing. It would -- it would hurt, to have to kill Spike...

And she was so never going to tell him that. 'That's all I need,' she thought bitterly. 'Give him another weapon to use against me. Good plan, Buffy.'

Only -- only he wouldn't, would he? He had proven that much, at least. And what about last week, when he come after her with a shotgun after their confrontation in the alley? The alley. Buffy closed her eyes briefly. What

she had said that night, the words she had hurled at him in anger and pain... She had been wrong. He wasn't beneath her. He had proven that tonight, a hundred times over. And she had to tell him. She owed him that much at least.

"Well?" he was saying irritably. "Are we going to do this or not?"

Buffy opened her eyes and swallowed deeply. "Spike," she said quietly, concentrating on the feel of his hand in hers.

"Yeah what?"

"I didn't mean it."

"Mean what?"

"What I said. Last week -- in the alley. I...I'm sorry. And I wanted to say thank you. For what you're trying to do. Just...thank you."

The vampire said nothing, his hand cold and motionless in hers. An eternity seemed to go by.

"Spike?" Buffy said finally, biting her lip a little.

At last he stirred, shifting beside her. "Oh. Well. That's all right then." For a moment he sounded - almost embarrassed. Sheepish. Sheepish Spike? The world just kept getting stranger and stranger...

Suddenly self-conscious and not really understanding the sudden tension that had filled the air between them, Buffy turned back to the -- whatever it was that lay ahead of her -- and said with false brightness: "So, are we going to jump or what?"

This time there was a hint of pleasure in his voice. "You trust me?" Spike said, pulling her into his arms.

She didn't fight him. "Yeah. I do. Call me Demento Girl, but I trust you."

"Good. After you then." And with that he gave her a hefty shove in the small of the back, stepping forward with her...and together they fell, the ground vanishing from beneath their feet.

* * *

Only Spike saw how they crashed right *through* the concrete on the bottom of the empty pool, as if it didn't really exist. They fell together for several more feet and then Spike was tucking and rolling, and springing back to his feet with feline grace.

Buffy wasn't quite so lucky. Unable to see where the floor actually was, she couldn't anticipate her landing. She managed not too badly thanks to her Slayer instincts, but she nevertheless hit the ground pretty hard. For a moment

she lay unmoving at Spike's feet and fear sliced through him. What if she were badly injured? Hastily the vampire reached down toward her...only to be shoved violently away as the Slayer climbed to her feet, unaided.

"Next time I decide to trust you, Spike," she snapped, rubbing her knee with one hand, "remind me to bang my head against a wall until the feeling goes away."

"That's my bad-tempered Slayer," he said absently, no longer listening now that he was sure she was all right. Instead he pivoted around, surveying the room.

It small, poorly lit, and devoid of furniture. Torchlight flickered off stone walls, giving it a medieval look. Shadows cast by the flames stirred in the corners, but there was no other movement. And no people.

"I am so not your *anything*," Buffy was saying peevishly. "And where the hell are we, anyway?"

"This is the place of the trials, my dear." The voice came from directly behind them. Where there had been only emptiness a moment ago. Buffy and Spike both spun toward the sound, the vampire instinctively morphing into his game face. "Who the bloody hell are you?" he growled.

A smallish man stood before them, wearing slightly rumpled, old-fashioned clothing and an expression of slight distaste. "Please, sir. Language."

"Sod my flaming language. Who the hell are you?"

The man drew himself up, holding onto both lapels. "I am...why, I suppose you could call me the Valet. I am here, after all, to make sure things go as...smoothly as possible." He had a distinct English accent, similar to

Giles'. "And you are..." the Valet looked down at a tiny leather notebook in his hand, "William the Bloody, also known as...er...Spike, and Miss Summers. And you are here to restore Miss Summers eyesight. Quite a laudable goal,

really. For a vampire."

As he spoke, the little man moved towards Buffy. Without warning, he placed both hands on either side of her head and she yelped in surprise, pulling away from him.

"Hey!"

In an instant Spike had interposed himself between the Slayer and the Valet, shoving the man away from her. "Touch her again and I'll..."

Unconcernedly the man shrugged off the vampire's hand and straightened his waistcoat. "Oh not to worry Mr...ah... Spike. I'm only checking to make sure we really can help her before the trial begins." He leaned a little closer,

ignoring the fangs, his voice dropping conspiratorially. "Just between us, we had a bit of a...situation...recently. One of the supplicants actually managed to pass all his trials, but we weren't able to grant his reward due to a...an unfortunate mix up. All quite embarrassing really."

"Who was it?" Buffy asked curiously.

"Another vampire, oddly enough. Needless to say, I've been ordered to check first and make sure we can keep up our end of the bargain. After all, we do have a reputation to maintain. So..." He took a step forward, shooting a

cautious glance at Spike who was still hovering protectively over the Slayer. "...if you will permit me..."

Buffy swallowed then nodded hesitantly. Once more the Valet reached out for her and closed his eyes. Several seconds ticked by and then he stepped back, smiling and looking pleased.

"Yes. We can definitely do something about that. No problem at all. So now there's just the matter of the trials..."

Spike didn't stir from Buffy's side, although he did allow his face to morph back to his human appearance. "What exactly does she need to do?" he asked, shooting a concerned glance at the Slayer.

"Miss Summers?" The Valet glanced at Buffy in some surprise then his gaze returned speculatively to Spike. A cold sensation began to crawl up the vampire's spine.

"Miss Summers?" The man said again. "Why, nothing at all."

"No, it is you who must undergo the trial."