Everything was harder when you were blind. Even the simplest things became more difficult, more time consuming. Things like getting dressed. Sneaking out her bedroom window. And navigating. Yeah, navigating definitely had them all beat. Buffy didn't really care if she was wearing different socks or if her clothes clashed -- although looking frumpy on the last night of her life was a pretty big downer. And climbing down the tree outside her window hadn't been all that hard really -- it had mostly been a matter of hugging the trunk for dear life and trying to figure out when it was safe to let go -- OK, she had misjudged that one a bit...but finding her way through the night, all alone in the dark...that was a bit much, even for her.

Forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty. Buffy came to an unsteady halt and stretched a cautious toe forward, feeling for the curb. Feeling stupid.

This was ridiculous. If you had asked her a week ago, she would have said she could have found the cemetery blindfolded. All those nights of patrolling, all of those evening trips to and from the graveyard -- she should have been able to close her eyes and find the way without even thinking about it.

Only it hadn't quite worked out like that. She had crept out at just after midnight -- somewhat startled to discover that she knew *exactly* what time it was, despite the fact that she couldn't see any of the clocks in the house. Somehow, she had been able to tell the time by the level of darkness pressing upon her, as if she could sense how far away the dawn was and how long ago the sun had set. 'I wonder if the vamps can do this?' she had thought, then had shuddered slightly at yet one more example of how much her life had changed since becoming the Slayer, and how closely her world was entangled now with the other creatures of darkness.

As if that wasn't depressing enough, it had started to rain. Hard.

Swell.

The most difficult part (besides not being able to shake the feeling that she was completely and irreversibly lost) had been trying to look as if she could see, as if she knew exactly where she was and what she was doing, in case someone did spot her and wonder what a blind girl was doing wandering about at this hour. The streets were pretty much deserted -- she hadn't sensed anyone since she had left her own neighbourhood, but that didn't mean there weren't people out there. She was almost as worried about running into a good samaritan as she was about the vampires and demons. Well, almost. Still, her spidey sense wasn't tingling. That was a good sign. She would know if there were people -- or monsters -- about. Really she would. She drew in a quick, somewhat shaky breath. She had to trust her remaining senses, and that *other* sense deep inside her, the one that made her who and what she was.

After all, it was all she had left.

Buffy hitched her weapons bag a little higher on her shoulder and shook her head, feeling raindrops spray around her with the movement, and an icy tendril of water roll down the back of her neck. Shivering slightly, she crossed the road then turned right. The cemetery was close... maybe. Still, it was a small town. She'd find it eventually. She hoped. Or the monsters would find her first. She reached a cold hand inside her bag and checked that her weapons were all within reach, reminding herself where everything was stashed. She had just brought the basics - a couple of stakes, a long, wicked-looking knife, and a crossbow -- although she wasn't sure how much use the last one would be. She didn't think she could hit the side of a barn right now (not that there were a whole lot of barns that needed slaying within Sunnydale city limits) let alone a moving target. Maybe if she asked nicely the demon would stand still while she shot at it...

Or not.

Buffy sighed, then trudged onward. Nobody had ever said this would be easy, after all. At least the weapons check, plus her constant tension, blended with just a little bit of fear and a whole lot of frustration, kept her mind off other, more unpleasant things. Like how she didn't want to die. How she really *really* didn't want to die. Not tonight. Not any night, actually, but especially not tonight, and not like this -- blind, soaking wet, and probably wearing mismatched socks. 'I wanted to be the first Slayer to retire. I wanted to graduate College. I wanted to see the world. I wanted to have a life..." Misery welled up within her.

"This is so not fair," she thought as she took another step forward...

...and promptly fell over a tombstone.

With a startled yelp, the Slayer found herself over- balancing and falling forward, only reaching out to slap the ground with her hands and cushion the fall at the very last second. She still landed jarringly hard. For a moment she lay motionless, wincing as a shaft of pain shot through her arm, starting at her elbow and working its way up.

She was lying on a newly dug grave, Buffy realized (which beat lying *in* a new grave, but not by much). The rain had turned the earth to a sea of mud and she could feel it plastering her body, coating her like...well, like mud. With a sound of disgust, the Slayer reached up to scrape a large clump of dirt off her forehead and out of her eyes. Not that it made any difference, sight-wise, but it was stinging. Then she sighed and hauled herself slowly to her feet, checking for any major damage. Nothing. Just a few more bumps and bruises to add to the collection she had started when she had fallen out of the tree...plus a funny bone that was feeling pretty un-funny.

Rubbing her elbow, Buffy turned slowly, unsure of her footing, making sure the bag was still looped around her neck. She pushed ineffectively at the mud caking her shirt and pants with one hand -- it felt like she was wearing half the graveyard -- and suppressed a shudder as yet another gallon or so of rainwater ran down her back. 'I do not believe this,' she thought miserably as she prised one foot out of the ankle-deep mud, trying not to lose her shoe as she did. "Life just sucks," she said out loud.

"That is does, darlin'."

The voice came from behind her and a little way to the right. Buffy gasped and spun around, her feet sliding a little on the wet ground. Nevertheless, in less than a heartbeat she was in a defensive stance, weight balanced on both feet, knees slightly bent, crossbow in one hand and knife in the other while her heart hammered wildly as she tried to lock in on the other presence. The driving rain was making it difficult, the water messing with her senses and throwing her off balance. There was definitely *something* out there, she could tell, and it wasn't human. But other than that... If only she could *see*. Buffy caught her breath then stilled, blinking away the raindrops running into her eyes. And *listened*.

There. He...it...whatever it was, was moving toward her. Slowly, unhurriedly, as if it had all the time in the world. And...it was familiar. She knew it. Him.

"Look like you've seen a ghost. Feeling jumpy tonight, are you, Slayer?" A pause, then: "Gotta say I'm loving the wet t-shirt look..."

English accent. Taunting overtones. Sexual innuendo.

Spike.

Buffy's shoulders abruptly sagged with relief. Not a demon (well, yes, technically he was, but not a threat to life and limb. Maybe.) She lowered the crossbow and knife before he could see how much her hands were shaking as a single thought flashed across her mind. 'Don't let him know.' Buffy wasn't quite sure why, but there was definitely something inside her that did not want the vampire to know that she was blind. Not questioning the instinct, the Slayer turned her head to where she *thought* he was and said flatly: "Spike. What are you doing here?"

"I live here, remember?"

She must be near his crypt then. Good, that told her where she was...more or less.

"Haven't seen much of you lately," he was saying. He made it sound as if it was because she was wearing too much clothing, not that she hadn't been around the cemetery, and suddenly Buffy became acutely aware of how much her wet shirt was clinging to her. Resisting the urge to fold her arms over her chest, she put the knife away, though keeping a good grip on the crossbow, and turned fractionally to follow the sound of his voice.

"Too busy with Captain Cardboard to come out and kill the bad guys, is that it? Lad seems pretty high maintenance to me. Wonder what your Watcher thinks about all this shirking..."

"Flattered as I am that you seem to be so worried about my job *and* my love life, I really don't have time for this, Chip Boy." Sarcasm dripped from her voice and for just a moment Buffy felt better, probably the best she had felt since she had been blinded. Somehow, trading veiled -- and not so veiled -- insults with Spike, not having to worry about his feelings or be treated like a piece of glass that was liable to break at any minute...it was refreshing. And she had missed it. And for just a moment, she could almost believe that things would be all right, that everything would work out in the end, somehow...

And then he was at her back, one hand seizing her right wrist, the one holding the crossbow, while his other arm snaked around her waist, pulling her tightly against him, his grip like iron. She hadn't even heard him move. Her heart, which had been slowing, jolted painfully and resumed a frantic pace. He would be able to hear it, Buffy knew, would know just how frightened she really was. Anger flashed through her instantly at the thought and she struggled against the vampire's grip. Nothing. She could get no purchase on the wet mud, her feet slipping beneath her, while he seemed to be rooted into the Earth itself, solid as a tree trunk behind her.

"Ken doll is obviously a bad influence on you, Slayer." Spike's voice said in her ear. If he had breath, she would have felt it along her neck, he was that close. "You're all distracted," he continued. "You'd never have let me get this close before."

"Maybe I just let you get close so I could do this." With that Buffy lashed downward with one foot and jerked her head backward, feeling a reassuring thud as the back of her skull impacted with his nose while her heel drove into his instep.

"Bloody hell," Spike said, dropping her like a hot brick, both of his hands going to his nose while he teetered precariously on one foot behind her.

The Slayer spun, her actions coming fast and automatic. A stake was in her left hand, the crossbow pointed unerringly at his heart -- she didn't need to see to know where it was pointed. She just *knew* -- and the adrenaline rushing through her was helping, rather than hurting her fighting skills. Another joyous rush went through her. She was still the Slayer. She could still kick major vampire ass...

...and then a demon launched itself at her out of the night and she flew backward beneath its weight.

Buffy tumbled to the ground beneath the monster, its weight driving all the air from her lungs and for a moment it was all she could do just to breathe. It reached for her throat with its fangs -- and even oxygen didn't seem all that important anymore. The Slayer rolled aside, evading the teeth, and reaching out desperately for a weapon -- any weapon -- but her fingers encountered only empty air. The creature's first rush must have sent them flying -- and she couldn't see where they had gone. Unless she rolled over them by accident, she realized grimly, she wasn't going to be getting them back in a hurry either.

This was bad.

Gasping, the Slayer lashed upwards with both feet -- and missed. By a mile. She tried again and managed to land a weak blow on the demon's -- shoulder? -- which it ignored, backhanding her so that she found herself flying through the air, hitting the ground even harder than before.

Very bad. Badness on a cosmic scale.

Buffy sensed movement and rolled again hastily, barely avoiding the demon's raking teeth. One tooth-edge caught her along the back of the hand, drawing a thin line of blood, but she ignored it. Instead she aimed another kick up at the monster.

She might as well have kicked one of the tombstones. The demon rocked back slightly from the impact then lunged for her again, roaring in what she could only presume was fury. 'Great. Guess I made it mad.' Together Buffy and the monster rolled down a slight incline with it, their limbs tangling.

"Very nice," she heard Spike say distinctly as she fell. "Slayer mud-wrestling. Wish I'd known ahead of time. Could've sold tickets..."

Buffy came to a stop on top of the demon and, for just an instant, she had the upper hand. But no weapons. With a frustrated curse Buffy settled for hitting the demon as hard as she could. Maybe she could beat it to death...

Or maybe it would die of boredom. Her blow had no effect at all, at least not on the monster. Her own arm went slightly numb from the impact though, as her fist connected with its jaw. It was like hitting a slab of concrete. Big, angry concrete with fangs. With an ease that was frightening, the demon threw her off and she landed hard again, several feet away.

If she had injured it in her previous fight, the monster certainly wasn't showing the effects now. Which meant that it healed fast. Or was pretty much impervious to whatever she could throw at it. And it was fast. The Slayer barely had time to get her feet beneath her before the creature was on her again, roaring like a banshee and slashing at her with both sets of claws. She aimed a series of punches at it, driving it back a little by sheer force of will, but she was beginning to tire...and it still seemed as strong as ever.

* * *

What the hell was she playing at? Spike frowned and moved closer to the two combatants. He had been keeping out of the way, enjoying the fight...and the view. Wet, muddy Slayer, with bits of clothing starting to come undone... very nice. But she kept leaving herself open to hits that a child could have avoided, and passing up obvious opportunities to go in for the kill. And why she refused to use her weapons when they were so close was beyond him. As he watched, the Slayer reeled back from another blow and Spike's frown deepened. This was just...weird.

* * *

Buffy was still hitting the demon with everything she had, but all it was doing was making her arms ache. Whereas, when its blows connected, it felt as though buildings were falling on her. Big, bricky buildings. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps -- on the upside, at least she *could* breathe again -- and her reactions were beginning to slow. Actually, everything seemed to be slowing, the Slayer realized distantly. The world around her, what she could still sense of it, was fading, as if time itself were coming to a halt. For a moment, alarm darted through her...and then recognition banished the fear.

She had experienced this sensation before -- just a few times, true, but often enough that she recognized it for what it was. She had felt it when she had faced the Master, and when she had gone up against Adam. Had felt it at the moment when Angelus had had her cornered and defenceless. 'Take everything else away,' he had said then, mockingly, 'and what's left?'

'Me.' She had answered. Buffy.

No, not Buffy.

The Slayer.

And, as simply as that, she forgot the rain, forgot her blindness, forgot where and when she was...forgot everything except the battle. And the enemy.

She was the Slayer. And she would not go down without a fight.

* * *

'Atta girl,' Spike thought, as Buffy surged back to her feet, landing two swift hits on the demon and following up with a roundhouse kick, one foot connecting squarely with its chest. 'That's the Slayer we all know and hate.' He took another step closer...which was when he noticed it.

She was fighting with her eyes closed.

* * *

The end came suddenly, unexpectedly. An unseen, *unsensed* blow caught Buffy across the chest and she found herself sailing backwards, crashing into a nearby statue, hard enough to crack the marble. And, for just a moment it felt as if something else, besides the statue, had cracked.

As quickly as that, it was over. The trance -- whatever it was that she had been in -- ended and she was suddenly all too aware of her body again, of the burning in her lungs and the way her muscles were trembling with fatigue. And most of all, of the pain shooting along her shoulders and down her back, over her right thigh and hip, and across the back of her hand. Once again she was aware of the cold rain pouring down on her and the ambient noises surrounding her...

The demon howled, as if sensing its triumph and then, to Buffy's complete and utter lack of surprise, it came at her once more. Only this time the Slayer couldn't seem to move. Her battered body refused to surmount the wall of pain that had risen up around her. She managed to get her hands up in time to grasp the creature by the neck and hold it away from her, but that was all. She could do no more. And she couldn't keep this up much longer...

* * *

Spike was becoming seriously worried. Stupid git was going to get herself killed. And she wouldn't even ask him for help. Bloody arrogant Slayer. He should just walk away and let the demon finish her off. Serve her bleeding well right...

Only...he couldn't. Much as part of him would like to, he couldn't really let her die. Could he?

* * *

Buffy's fingers were starting to cramp, the muscles in her arms and back screaming from the strain of holding the demon back, and her tired mind was all out of options. She couldn't let go of the monster or it would kill her. On the plus side, the demon could get no closer while she had it by the throat. So the only question was which one of them was going to weaken first. And, given the way Buffy's arms were trembling, it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out which way the fight was going to go.

The impasse was finally broken when the demon suddenly did the unexpected -- pulling *backwards* and breaking her grasp. Before she could move again, before she could even *think* about moving, the monster was lunging at her, raking downward with one set of claws...

...and the world stopped.

The horrible sound of something tearing...

Something warm and wet pouring down her left arm, mixing with the rain...

The feeling when the body knows that it has been injured but the pain hasn't had time to travel up the nerve-ends to the brain yet...

And then the agony. Like a wall of flame, tearing through her body, burning every nerve end and scorching her soul. 'Didn't think it would hurt this much,' Buffy had time to think...and then her eyes were sliding shut as the world around her began to fade away.

* * *

Spike was already in motion. He had begun moving the moment that the scent of the Slayer's blood, sharp and metallic, had pierced the night air. As the demon's claws were ripping down the length of her left arm, starting at the collarbone and ending just above the back of her wrist, he was launching himself through the air toward the monster.

Once, Spike would have stood back, admiring the details as he watched the Slayer die. He probably would have applauded...or helped. Or he might have attacked the demon himself so he could be the one to finally end her life. He had fantasized about this moment so many times, had visualized what it would be like to stand over this Slayer while her blood poured out onto the ground and the light faded from her eyes. He had dreamed about it, had envisioned every nuance, every motion, every word...

But never once had he pictured himself leaping into the fray to save her. To *save* the Slayer.

Bugger.

Spike's rush hit the demon with enough force to send it staggering to one side, away from Buffy. His game face on, he threw everything he had at the monster. Just keep it on the defensive, keep it moving away from her...but then it hit him on the jaw and the vampire's goal changed to merely staying conscious. Damn, the thing was strong. Spike ducked another blow and backed up a step, wondering what to do next.

In his right mind he never would have taken on something this big. At least not without a hell of a lot more reinforcements and/or weaponry. Yeah -- heavy ordinance would be good. And a plan. Definitely a plan. Like running. Spike had never had a problem with running away. Live to fight another day, or at the very least come back and stab the enemy in the back -- that was his motto. Well, one of them, anyway. He could just go, take to his heels -- odds were good the demon wouldn't even follow him. Only...

"Stupid bloody pillock," Spike snarled to himself as he launched himself forward again and swung another punch at the demon. "Bleeding soft-hearted prat." He punctuated every word with a hit to the creature. "It wasn't bad enough you went and got this sodding chip in your head, that you're about as scary as Donald-Bloody-Duck now. But no, now you have to go and risk your stupid un-life for the stupid bloody Slayer. Isn't that just great? How pathetic can you get?"

On the other hand -- it did feel kind of good to finally have something on which to take out his frustrations. A little violence to take the edge off. Couldn't hurt, could it? For just an instant Spike found himself grinning as the demon reeled back under his assault. But then it struck him in the middle of the chest...and the vampire's grin vanished.

Spike went down like he had been hit by a wrecking ball, enveloped in pain. For a moment the world spun and it was all he could do to keep his eyes open...to see the monster reaching down for Spike's head with both sets of clawed hands.

The vampire's mouth went dry as the demon took a good grip on both sides of his head...and began to twist. Fear tore through him. The sodding demon was going to rip his sodding head off and smile at him while it did it.

Shit.

Spike was struggling frantically -- and futilely -- reaching for something to use as a weapon when the creature suddenly stiffened. A surprised look flitted across its face and then its eyes rolled back in its head. A thin stream of dark blood trickled out of its mouth...and it collapsed. Right on top of him.

Well, that was unexpected.

And uncomfortable.

Hesitantly at first, then with more force Spike reached up and shoved the creature off then put a hand that was shaking slightly up to his neck, as if to reassure himself that his head was still attached to the rest of him. It was. Oh good.

Another movement caught his attention and Spike looked up, blinking away the rain that was running into his eyes. Someone was standing over him, he realized, a long silver knife held in a bloodstained hand.

"Is it dead yet?" Buffy managed to ask, her voice reed thin and shaking. And then she too crashed to the ground beside him, her legs crumpling beneath her.

It hurt. That last hit from the demon felt like it had broken a few ribs. Actually, it felt like it had broken a whole *lot* of ribs. Damn. Spike hated broken bones. They hurt like hell.

Still...he had other things to worry about. The ribs would heal soon enough, but not if the demon got back up and continued with the killing. And then there was the Slayer, who might or might not be dead. Or at the very least, bleeding to death beside him.

No. There. He could hear her heartbeat through the rain. It was a little weak, but even and steady. She wasn't dead. Or even dying. Not yet. Relief poured through him, followed by a chaser of annoyance at yet more evidence of how much he cared, despite his best efforts to the contrary.

"Damned Slayer," he muttered as he climbed painfully to his feet, holding his side with one hand. "This is all your fault. Couldn't even kill one demon without getting yourself all shredded. Not to mention me." Stiffly he walked over to her then bent down and pulled the knife from her limp grasp. Narrowing his eyes, he turned and moved towards the demon, kicking the unmoving creature in the side and enjoying the solid thump of his boot on its hide.

"As for you," he said, hefting the knife in one hand. "Let's see how you like this..."

With that, Spike bent down and, with relish and a certain grim sense of satisfaction, hacked off the demon's head.

* * *

It didn't take long. Once Spike might have lingered over the task, enjoying himself, but he had more important things on his mind. Like the fact that he had an unconscious Slayer to deal with. And how anyone could come along at any time. Her friends would probably jump to the wrong conclusion -- what else was new? -- and stake him on the spot, whereas *his* friends...er...acquaintances... fellow creatures of the night -- whatever -- would try to finish her off. And him too if he got in their way. Besides which, she was still bleeding. The scent was wafting around him like honey and clover -- and probably drawing every creature within a five mile radius. Slayer blood. The ultimate goal of half the undead population of Sunnydale.

Scratch that. The *entire* undead population of Sunnydale. Including him. His fangs had descended again, unbidden, at the thought of all that lovely hemoglobin, just laying there. Spike licked his lips...then shook his head. He didn't need the warning tingle from the chip in his head to stop that line of thought in its tracks. No. It was...

It was one of those emotions that Spike had decided he wasn't going to think too hard about. He glared down at the unconscious Slayer. "I should just leave you here," he said out loud. "You're more bloody trouble than you're worth..." Nevertheless, with a sigh he straightened, wincing, then crossed to her side.

Her heartbeat was still steady and the bleeding from the wounds on her arm had slowed a little. When Spike laid one palm along her cheek though, her skin was cold and she did not move at his touch. "Probably get sodding pneumonia, you will. *And* find a way to blame me for it." Swearing under his breath, Spike shrugged his coat off, wrapped it around her, then, bracing himself against the pain in his ribs, bent down to pick her up.

She was surprisingly light, the vampire found as he lifted her. There was so much strength that emanated from her, so much force of mind, that he tended to forget just how small she really was. Now though, her body limp and cold in his arms, she seemed almost...

Actually, she seemed pretty much like she always did. Only unconscious. And bleeding. He had to get her out of here. Neverthless, for the briefest of moments, Spike allowed himself to savour the feeling of having the Slayer in his arms. He swallowed once, deeply, then straightened and, ignoring the fire that was burning a path along his right side, carried her off into the night.

* * *

Buffy was dreaming. She was on a boat sailing away from something or someone, the spray from the water lashing her across the face and the even motion of the craft making her faintly nauseous. Besides which, she was cold. And her arm hurt where the giant tuna fish had fallen on it. And why the hell was Giles dancing with an octopus anyway?

OK. This was way too bizarre. Time to wake up. But then the dream changed and she was underwater, miles beneath the surface, the light swiftly receding. There was something else with her in the dark, something that grabbed her by the ankles and was trying to pull her even deeper... Buffy kicked out desperately with both feet, fighting to get back to the light, but it was no use. A fish, or another creature altogether brushed by her, its skin cold against her own, but she couldn't see it, could see nothing except the inky blackness surrounding her. Then, even the fish was gone, and she was all alone. In the dark. Panic ripped through her, and she flailed out with both hands...

...and hit something solid. Buffy's eyes flew open -- and met only darkness. Suddenly the terror from the dream became real. She was trapped in the dark, couldn't see, couldn't...

"Quit bloody struggling, will you?" A voice said, sounding slightly winded. "I'm trying to help!"

Buffy stilled, her heart thudding as reality crashed in around her. "S-spike?" There was a faint quaver in her voice, one that she couldn't quite conceal.

"No, it's bleeding Prince Charming. Who do you think?"

Buffy blinked as the last traces of the dream faded. She gradually became aware of her surroundings. The scent of leather and stale cigarettes. The sound of rain falling. Cold water running down her face and neck. Something warm and soft enfolding her -- Spike's coat, her mind supplied - and her cheek resting against something cool and solid. The sensation of movement... He was carrying her. Buffy jerked once in instinctive reaction and Spike's grip around her tightened.

"Are you *trying* to make me drop you?" he snarled.

Buffy stilled, but it wasn't because of Spike's words. No, it was the pain that was rising up inside her with every movement. Her left arm felt as if it were on fire and she could feel blood dripping down her fingers onto the ground below. And, for the first time, she was glad to be blind - - she so did not want to see how bad the damage was. The rest of her wasn't much better either -- pretty much everything hurt. A lot. That demon had really done a number on her.

The demon... Buffy tensed slightly, ignoring the various body parts that shrieked at her and the wordless growl from the vampire carrying her. "Is it dead?" she asked, her voice a little breathless. It wasn't from fear though. It *wasn't*. And neither did it have anything to do with the fact that she was cradled against Spike's chest while he carried her to god knows where...

"Yeah, it's dead," he said.

"You sure?"

She could almost sense his grin. "Pretty sure."

Buffy frowned, but let it go as relief began to cascade through her, leaving her weak and shaken. It was over. The demon was dead. And she was still alive.

She was still alive.

Oh.

Not quite certain how she felt about that, Buffy turned her mind to other things. Like the fact that she was in Spike's arms...and wrapped in his coat. She twitched. "Put me down," she said, her voice as steady as she could make it.

"Oh sure. So you can fall on your face before you get three steps. Not bloody likely."

"I can walk..."

"Sure you can." With that he moved his left hand, the hand that was beneath her shoulders, and squeezed her left arm, just above the elbow.

She didn't quite pass out, but it was a near thing. The pain became agony, sweeping all the way down to her toenails, and she couldn't stifle the gasp that rose to her lips. The world rocked for a moment and she distantly realized that Spike's chip had kicked in with his actions. He staggered briefly then righted himself and kept going. 'Serves you right,' she thought hazily.

"Sure you can walk, Slayer," Spike was saying, an echo of pain still in his voice. "Run a bloody marathon, you can. I'll just leave you here then. Let you find your own way home."

"So why don't you?" Her voice was tired, bleak, and wracked with agony. "Why are you helping me anyway? Why didn't you just let the demon kill me?"

He didn't answer her. Instead, there was a brief silence then he said shortly: "We're here."

"Where?" Buffy whispered, the agony in her arm beginning to abate, just a little. But not enough. Not nearly enough.

"My place."

Sensations sweeping over her. No more rain. Damp earth. A sense of great age. A small, enclosed room. Spike's crypt. He was telling the truth.

Something deep inside in the Slayer loosened, some tension that she hadn't even known was there until it was gone, vanished. She knew where she was. With that knowledge came a sense of relief -- and she began to shake, her body trembling violently within the folds of Spike's coat. It wasn't because of her injuries or the cold, she knew. It was...everything was beginning to crash down upon her. The aftereffects of the battle with the demon. Shock probably. Surprise that she was still in the land of the living -- more or less. And...and something else altogether.

For just an instant she felt Spike's arms tighten around her...and then, without warning, he let her go. Buffy tensed, expecting to hit the ground hard. Instead she found herself being deposited fairly gently on the top of the marble tomb in the middle of his crypt. He set her down...and she immediately began to topple over to one side, just managing to brace herself with her good arm so that she remained upright -- weak, dizzy, blind, and shaking like a leaf. But sitting up. Yay for Buffy.

"You okay?" Buffy heard the scratch of a match, then a wreath of smoke wafted toward her. She shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a position where her arm didn't hurt quite so much.

"Yes," she said firmly, keeping her gaze levelled downward so he couldn't see her eyes, wishing the trembling would stop. "I'll be fine."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"Good." With that he seized her, holding her firmly by both wrists, ignoring the way she flinched as his fingers closed on her left arm. "Then do you want to tell me what the hell that was all about?" There was real fury in his voice and Buffy leaned backwards, trying to free herself.

"Let me go!"

The vampire ignored her, his fingers tightening around her. "Are you trying to get yourself killed? 'Cause if you are maybe you could let me know ahead of time and I won't bother to save your sodding life in future."

At that moment something broke inside her. Later, Buffy would say that it had all finally become too much. Her blindness, the battle, everything that had happened to her up to that point... She had finally reached breaking point. The straw that broke the Slayer's back. With what was probably the last of her strength, she wrenched loose from the vampire and shoved him violently away with one well-placed fist, sliding down the tomb until her feet reached the ground. Her legs held her up...just.

"I never asked you to save me!" Her voice was choked with emotion and she swung her right arm, desperately wanting something...anything to fight. Something she could actually defeat, someone she could beat into the dust until it all went away... Fury was running through her in torrents, wiping away the pain and the memories and leaving only rage behind. Pure, unsullied rage. Buffy aimed another blow at the vampire. "I was doing fine on my own. If you hadn't interfered I would be..."

Spike evaded her with ease then moved forward again, shoving the Slayer violently back against the side of the tomb and pinning her hips with his own. He caught both of her wrists and forced her arms behind her back, holding on to them both with one hand. Then he reached up with his other hand and seized a fistful of her hair, tilting her head back as far as it would go, baring her throat to him. She struggled, but he held on, moving even closer so that the full length of his body was pressed tightly against hers.

"Dead," Spike said menacingly in her ear, listening to the pulse of the vein beating beneath the skin of her throat as he held her. "Dead is what you would have been if I hadn't *interfered*. What's the matter, Slayer? Sacred duty finally got too much for you? Got a little taste of that death wish and you want more? Well, just give the word, girl, and, chip or no chip, I'll still..." But then his voice trailed away as what his brain had been telling him for several minutes now, finally began to sink in.

The Slayer was still fighting to get loose, though her efforts were weaker now. Her heart was fluttering against his like a wounded bird and her entire body was shaking, with more than cold. But that wasn't what had stopped him. No, it was her eyes. And their complete and utter blankness. The way they *weren't* focused on him and the way they didn't follow his every movement. Almost as if...

Spike dropped her abruptly and stepped backwards, stunned. Blind?

He must have said the word out loud because her shoulders sagged, all the fight abruptly going out of her. Buffy collapsed back against the tomb as if it were the only thing still holding her up, and dropped her head, no longer meeting his gaze. There was a long moment of silence, then she said wearily: "Yes, I'm blind."

"Happy now?"

Silence. Spike hadn't moved. A few more heartbeats passed then the stillness finally became too much for her shattered nerves to bear any longer. "Well?" Buffy asked tautly. "Aren't you going to say it?"

"Say what?" Spike's voice sounded odd. Flat somehow.

"I don't know. Some crack. How this really makes your century, maybe. I don't know..." Her voice trailed away and she shifted a little, cradling her left arm in her lap, wishing the waves of pain that were rolling across her body would go away for a while. Wishing *he* would go away...

"How?" Spike's question abruptly brought her wandering mind back to the present.

Buffy didn't pretend not to know what he meant. "Acid- spitting demon. Ducked right when I should have dodged left. End of story."

"When?"

He really was a vampire of few words. Or syllables. "Last Tuesday. And no, there's nothing anyone can do. I'm blind. For life. However long that turns out to be." This time her words were laced with bitterness.

She heard him shift his weight, sensing the slight movement of his feet on the hard-packed dirt, and braced herself for the...no, not sympathy. She didn't expect sympathy from Spike -- despite that moment on her mother's porch a week ago when he had...when he had been kind. No. She couldn't deal with any more kindness right now. She'd had more than enough from her friends and family, and it was killing her. Insults, threats, demons trying to murder her -- those she could handle. But not kindness. Not now. And not from him. Buffy opened her eyes -- not that it made any difference -- and straightened her shoulders. "And don't bother saying how sorry you are, because I won't believe you," she snapped.

There was another long pause and then: "Not likely. I was just going to say that you're bleeding all over my bloody...uh...coat."

Oh. Buffy reached up with one hand to the leather that was still wrapped around her. For a moment her fingers tightened around one edge, then she doggedly began to pull it off, trying to jar her left arm as little as possible. A moment later hands were touching hers, helping to slide the leather duster off her shoulders.

"Always figured I'd get to undress you one day," he said tauntingly.

Buffy tried to bat the vampire's hands away but failed miserably. "In your dreams," she muttered.

"Yeah," he breathed, so quietly that she almost didn't hear him. And then he was pulling the coat aside, causing a fresh wave of agony to shoot through her, and she decided she had misheard.

"Can you stand?" Spike's voice was calm, matter-of-fact, as if he didn't care one way or the other. He probably didn't.

Buffy frowned, then shook her head, not even trying to make the effort. She knew she couldn't stand. The dizziness was back with a vengeance and she was colder than ever. So cold she felt as if she were turning to ice. Buffy the Snow-Slayer. Funny. She could no longer feel the ground beneath her, she realized dimly, and the world was becoming distant and remote. Blood loss and shock, part of her mind supplied...but she couldn't really find it in her to care. Maybe *this* was it. This was how she would die -- not in battle as she had always thought, but bleeding to death in Spike's crypt -- which was ironic in a way that pretty much redefined the word 'irony'. Still, maybe that would be ok. She didn't think she'd ever have the courage to try this again. If it didn't end tonight... Buffy's eyes began to flicker shut.

A resounding cuff across the face banished the oblivion that was beginning to enfold her and the Slayer's eyes flew open again. Without warning she found herself being dragged to her feet then tossed roughly onto the top of the tomb. Buffy gasped, wincing at the pain in her jaw which now rivalled that of her arm. "Ow. What are--?" she started to say, but Spike's words overrode hers.

"You are so damned...pathetic, do you know that? God, any more nobility and self-sacrifice around here and I'm going to throw up."

"What..." she tried again but he ignored her, reaching out to give her a shove so that she fell backwards, laying full length on the top of the tomb.

"Just shut up and keep still," he said. His voice was practically vibrating with fury and for a moment the clouds in her mind rolled away. Chip or no chip, Spike was still dangerous. Always would be. Buffy froze as she sensed him moving closer...but then he went around the tomb, heading across the crypt where she could hear him rummaging for something. Then he moved back towards her and she tensed again, wishing for the millionth time that she could see what was happening.

"If you think you get to bleed to death here you're off your rocker. I don't want your gang of Scoobies staking me because I let you die. And I certainly don't want the next Slayer coming along, out for revenge and a little Spike- slayage -- not while I've got this chip in my head at any rate."

"So throw me out in the rain and don't get involved," she said weakly.

"Don't tempt me. No, I'm going to patch you up -- only to keep you from dripping blood all over my floor, mind -- and then I'm taking you home where you can be somebody else's problem. *Anybody* else's problem."

"No!" Buffy tried to sit up but he held her down easily. "Spike, you don't understand..."

"Don't I?" He reached for the collar of her shirt, yanking open the top button. "And before you get any ideas, I'm taking this off so I can fix your arm, is all. So don't get excited."

"Like this would excite me. Listen, you don't know..."

He undid the next button and then the next, wrenching her shirt open. Buffy flinched and her shivering increased as a cold draft played over her bared skin.

"How 'bout I tell you what I know," Spike was saying, pulling her right arm through the shirt sleeve. "Like how you probably spent the last few days deciding that the world needs a Slayer, a new Chosen-bloody-Whinger. Since the other one's, what? Doing ten to twenty for murder?" He succeeded in freeing her right arm and moved on to the left. "So heroic little Buffy decides to go out and get herself killed so the next Slayer can be called and fight the forces of evil, blah blah blah. How'm I doing so far?"

She said nothing. Partly because he was right, partly because she was in too much pain to do more than clench her teeth and try not to scream -- and partly because she was *way* too aware of the fact that Spike was undressing her. Which was more than a little surprising, given that she was in agony, frozen to the marrow, and hanging onto consciousness by a thread. What the hell was the matter with her anyway?

Spike's fingers brushed against her bare stomach and she inhaled sharply, then shook the bizarre thoughts away, concentrating instead on remaining awake.

He was still talking. "Bet you planned everything," he said derisively. "Wrote all the Scoobies tragic little goodbye notes. Probably shagged your boyfriend one last time and then went out demon-hunting. Right?"

A small shaft of anger went through Buffy and for a moment she forgot everything else. How come Spike got to be the one who could always get inside her head? Why could she fool everyone else but not him. Never him. It wasn't fair...

"Well, am I right? I like the lacy lingerie, by the way," he added, almost as an afterthought as he pulled her injured arm through the shirt sleeve then let the blood- soaked garment drop to the floor.

Buffy didn't answer. Couldn't. The sudden jolt of pain in her arm was overwhelming and she felt as if she were being pulled backwards and downwards, sinking ever deeper into shadows. 'Can't faint,' Buffy thought desperately, a tremor going through her. 'Won't...' But her grip on the world was failing. For a fleeting moment the Slayer thought she felt something soft brush against her hair -- Spike? -- and then even that was gone and she was alone in the dark.

Again.

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 colour 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.

* * *

Buffy was dreaming again. She was still underwater, but somehow the dark and cold seemed less frightening this time. Maybe because she could sense that she wasn't alone. There was someone in the darkness with her, someone who didn't mean her any harm. She didn't know how she knew. She just did. Buffy stretched out a hesitant hand -- and the sea answered it. It was ageless. Powerful. Inhuman. And...welcoming. For the first time in a very long while, she felt safe. Protected. Like she could just surrender to the waters around her and...

...and there was something above her. Buffy opened her eyes and looked up. A light was shining dimly in the distance, faint and golden, miles away above her head. She frowned. Was she supposed to try to reach it? It was too far, she would never make it. She would drown first...

The moment that thought entered her mind, the Slayer was suddenly aware of her body's raging need for air. Fear tore through her. She didn't belong here. She had to get to the surface...or die. Fighting down the panic inside her, she began to swim upward, her eyes focused on the distant light. Around her she sensed consternation, concern - and something else -- from the being nearby, but she ignored it. It wasn't important. Nothing was. Only reaching the surface...

The light was too far away. She wasn't going to make it. Already her lungs were burning, her heart pounding, her limbs weakening. And the undertow had returned, trying to pull her deeper again, preventing her escape. Buffy struggled desperately, risking a quick look at the darkness below. It was powerful and endless, and she knew that if she gave into it she would be lost. Forever. With one final, desperate lunge, she threw herself to one side, breaking the thing's grasp on her and...

...and landing with a jarring thud on hard earth. She could see nothing in the darkness, but sensed instantly that somebody -- some*thing* -- was standing over her. 'Vampire!' her Slayer senses screamed...and adrenaline flooded her system. In a heartbeat she had gathered her feet beneath her and was surging to her feet, vaguely aware of pain in her left arm. The vampire took a step toward her...and the Slayer came up fighting for her life.

TO BE CONTINUED