Love Is Blind
By Avalon
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Prologue
“But love is blind and lovers cannot see”
-- William Shakespeare
//click//
Dear Giles,
Well, this is pretty strange. Plus, I’m not certain this thing is
working. It sounds like it is but I can’t really be sure. I hope
so. It would be too ironic if my last words wound up as just a bunch of
static on the tape.
Oops. Gave the ending away there, didn’t I. Sorry. Still, it’s not like you didn’t see this
coming, right? We both know this is bad. Actually I think I’ve
reached a whole new level on the Buffy bad spectrum.
And it’s not going to get any better, is it?
Poor Giles. You’ve been trying so hard to sound upbeat and
positive around me. But...well, I hate to be the one to break it to you,
but you’re a really bad liar.
Or maybe it’s just that you can’t lie to me.
Not that I don’t appreciate you trying, really. It gave me a nice
couple of days, where I could pretend everything was going to be all right, that
my eyes would somehow get better, and we’d all live happily ever after.
Damned demon.
OK, back to what I was saying. Since I can’t tell when the tape is
about to run out, I’d better get to the important stuff sooner rather than
later.
First of all -- this wasn’t your fault. Please don’t blame
yourself (and don’t tell me you’re not -- I can hear it in your voice).
You gave me plenty of warning -- I distinctly remember the words “...and be
careful Buffy. Don’t forget it can spit acid....” And how revolting
is that anyway? (the acid, not your warning).
I did listen to you, honest. But I was...well, not overconfident,
exactly. More -- distracted, I guess. Too much going around in
circles in my mind. I should have known better, especially after that
vampire skewered me with my own stake. Guess my heart wasn’t really in it
that night. Too worried about my mom, wondering what I was going to do
about Dawn, thinking about Glory... And besides, it was just a little demon --
relatively speaking. But then its
really, really big cousin showed up and…well, you know what happened
next.
I know I killed the small one while I could still see a bit, but the
other got away. Actually, I’m kind of surprised it didn’t stop and kill
me on the way, but maybe the wound I gave it was more serious than I
thought. Still, that means there’s an
injured monster roaming around out there...and no Slayer to stop it.
You’ve all done a great job of patrolling and keeping things under
control, really you have. I know I shouldn’t blame myself for what
happened to Willow. Yes, I know she’ll be all right, and that we’re all
lucky that it was just a broken arm and all, but still...
It was my job. I’m the Slayer. I’m the one who’s
supposed to be out there keeping the night safe, not sitting here, all
sheltered and warm. And I keep asking myself -- what’s going to happen
when Glory crawls back out from whatever rock she’s hiding under? She
wiped the floor with me before - you guys won’t stand a chance.
No offence.
So -- where does that leave us? The doctors weren’t exactly
holding back with the naked truth. I’m never going to see again, not even
with Slayer super healing powers. Just
too much damage. I know there’s no magical cure either -- we already had
this conversation when my Mom got sick. And I’m not sure I believe in
miracles -- at least the good kind -- anymore.
So what’s left? I know - I’m being way rhetorical. And
probably pretty pretentious. Must be all those Psych classes at
College. But I’m just trying to prove that I really have thought all this
out, that I’m not just doing this on some suicidal whim.
Sorry. Poor choice of words there. I don’t have a death
wish, really I don’t, no matter what Spike said (and why am I even thinking
about him right anyway? Sometimes I worry about my
psyche...) Anyhow, I really have thought this through and we both know
there’s only one answer.
The world needs a Slayer. And…and I can’t be her anymore.
So I’m going out tonight to hunt down the demon that helped do this to
me.
Don’t get me wrong. I know I don’t have a hope in hell. I’m not blind. Well, OK, I am.
But you know what I mean. I know what
the odds are and how this is all going to end.
It’s pretty much a given. But maybe, just maybe, I can take the
demon with me. Give Willow a little goodbye vengeance present. And
keep the night a little bit safer until...
...until the next Slayer comes along.
Poor little Slayer. Doesn’t seem fair to load all this on her
somehow. I know how tough it was when I was just starting out, and I had
Merrick and then you and all my friends to help me.
I hope she has someone.
I don’t know if you’ll be her Watcher. There’s a lot of stuff I never
asked, although I always wondered. Just seemed like it would be too
painful to talk about somehow. And the
time was never right. Well, it’s definitely too late for twenty questions
now. But -- if you do get to meet her, the new Slayer I mean, will you
ask her to watch out for Dawn for me? I still don’t know what or who she
is, but I know she’s important. Besides, she feels like my
little sister. I love her, even if she is annoying pretty much all of the
time.
So, where was I? Oh yeah, Buffy’s famous last words.
Er…drawing a blank. How about if you just think of something
clever and pretend I said it?
Anyway, you do understand why I’m doing it this way, rather than in
person, right? For starters, I know you guys wouldn’t let me out of your
sight if you knew what I was planning to do. Which is why I had to wait
over a week until you all let your guard down a bit.
Still, I got a week. More time than most Slayers do,
probably. And I got to say goodbye to everyone, in my own way. I
don’t think anyone suspected what I was planning, although I could be
wrong. It wouldn’t surprise me if you knew, or at least guessed.
You could always see right through me, couldn’t you? No pun intended.
Today was nice. A day in the sun with my Watcher and all my
friends. Will you tell Riley that I’m sorry for snapping at him? I
didn’t mean to, it’s just he seems to like me so much better helpless, like he
wants to protect me and look after me and…
…and I am so not going to discuss my boyfriend with you. Besides, I can tell him everything on his
own tape. Just forget everything I just said, okay?
Except...you will look after him, won’t you? And Willow and Xander
and all the rest? And my mom and Dawn? They’re going to need
someone.
After.
OK. I’ll put the other tapes in the top drawer of my
nightstand. They’ll be labeled, although it’s kind of hard to write when
you can’t see. Not that my handwriting was ever that great to start
with. Still, I’m sure you’ll figure out which is which. You’ll make
sure my Mom and the others get them, won’t you? Thanks.
I...I guess there’s nothing more to say.
Except...
Thank you for being my Watcher.
I love you.
//click//
“Ever wayward, weak and blind”
-- Gustave Nadaud
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 neighborhood, 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 pried 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.
“The night has a thousand eyes and the day but one”
- Francis William Bourdillon
The demon was big, scaly, and seemed to have more than its fair share of
claws and teeth. And it smelled. A lot. “There’s just
no excuse for not flossing,” Buffy said breathlessly as she fought to remain
upright, her feet skidding on the wet earth. But then the demon’s full
weight was on her, razor scales pressing against her skin...and she no longer
cared about the smell.
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 defenseless. 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.
“Comes the blind Fury”
- John Milton
Spike didn’t catch her before she fell. He didn’t even try.
He was still flat on his back, trying to make the pain go away and hoping the
world would stop spinning, when Buffy collapsed. For a long moment he
stared across the soggy grass at her, blinking in surprise, then he hauled
himself upwards slowly. Or tried to.
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 lying 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. Nevertheless, for the briefest of moments,
Spike allowed himself to savor 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 was 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 after effects 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 leveled 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?”
“Before mine eyes in opposition sits grim Death”
-- John Milton
“Yes, I’m blind. Happy now?” At that moment, Buffy’s knees
abruptly gave way and she found herself sliding down the side of the marble
tomb until she was sitting limply on the ground. With a shudder, she
leaned her head back against it and closed her eyes. Waiting.
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 rivaled 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