Single book of matches,

Gonna burn what's standing in the way.

Roaring down the mountain,

Now they're calling on the fire brigade.

Bury all the pictures,

and tell the kids that I'm okay.

If'n I'm forgotten,

You'll remember me for today.



I won't ever be your cornerstone.

I...



All the black inside me

Is slowly seeping from the bone.

Everything I cherish

Is slowly dying, or it's gone.

Little shaken babies

And drunkards seem to all agree,

Once the show gets started,

It's bound to be a sight to see.



I won't ever be your cornerstone.

I don't wanna be here holding on.

I won't ever be your cornerstone.

I...



Watch her roll,

Can you feel it?

Watch her roll,

Can you feel it?



Watch her roll,

Can you feel it?

Watch her roll,

Can you feel it?



I won't ever be your cornerstone.

I don't wanna be here holding on.

I won't ever be your cornerstone.

I...









Heart of Stone





They had beaten her badly one night. She hadn't expected such a coordinated attack from rookie Slayers. After all they had given up being part of the army, why would they still practice the skills? Perhaps it was simply to punish her. Trying to fuck the world out of existence was bound to create some enemies.



And boy had they hated her. Buffy touched the left side of her face, flinching when the ruined flesh began to seep blood. Nothing had managed to mark her like this. Nothing. She folded her hands in her lap, hoping that maybe if she kept still this would turn out to be a bad dream. She had had thoughts like this before, about what happened when something got most of her but didn't manage to kill the last part.



Besides what else could they take from her?



She settled back into the pillows behind her, thankful that they were hard and not that disgusting marsh mellow soft. She needed to be hard, stony even. It was only when she was a general that she had power to control things.



"But you're not." She whispered the words to herself, still trying to believe that it was true. Her jaw ached like the first time Spike had punched her after losing the chip. The bones had taken weeks to knit back together, Slayer healing or no Slayer healing. She wouldn’t look beyond her lap. There was a horrible numb feeling that wouldn’t subside and she couldn't, she just couldn't go there. Instead her thoughts sunk back to them. Giles was dead, Faith had been favored over her and her life? Her life was like something out of a deranged fantasy concocted by Glory, The First and every other creature that she had silenced.



But it was all on her. The Slayers had been sure to remind her as well.



One minute she had been shoving her stake into the shattered chest of a fledgling and the next moment she was on her back.



Lying on her back had never been a good position for her. Not with Angel, or when I was drowning, Spike…



But there had been no time to think of him, of them. A steel caped boot had slammed into her face instantly. And then she was being battered by something heavy and metal. It cracked into her ribs like a sledgehammer, and then again and again.



"Don’t kill her." The voice said the words hastily, bloodlust lingering in the night air.



Fear seized roiled inside her. What did they have planned if not death?



She forced her tongue to move, trying to ask them, but the words wouldn't come out. She felt her jaw break as that boot forced its way into the side of her face. Kill me. Finally, please, just let it be over.



"I know, I know", said the other. "She needs to suffer though." Buffy heard one grunt with exertion and then her right leg was being smashed into something unimaginable. Pain ratcheted through her like a bullet from Warren's gun. She couldn't breathe anymore the pain was so great. Her heart was thundering in her skull and the blood… there was blood everywhere.



It flooded what little remained of her senses. Maybe they meant to leave her here for some fledgling. Horror made her reach out again. So much of her fears had been wrapped up in this moment. It made sense for anyone mortal but Buffy had already died. To do so again, like some animal being tortured by senseless children was far worse. What purpose did her life have if it ended like this?



Nothing. Just like her. I'm nothing; not a leader of Slayers, not even the Slayer, just a victim, a girl. If she could have willed herself to move, Buffy would have sobbed.



She hadn't seen it in the beginning. Moving on from Sunnydale had made her feel like she could change, if not for the better than to help others be better. Yet instead she had become someone awful. Wherever she went there was death. Her friends and family had suffered. They had all suffered.



And now it was her turn.



She tried to move herself but ended up flopping uselessly like a fish. They were standing above her, four heads of anger. In her swimming vision, she saw only flashes of long and short hair, the colours and styles too difficult to make out.



One snorted to her left. It sounded like laughter but she couldn't work it out. She couldn't make sense of anything. Buffy opened her mouth, trying to make a sound, to scream even, but all that came out was blood. How could it be humans that would kill her? Where was Spike? Her eyes watering and strained by the light that flooded down on her from torches, wandered between the jean-coated legs. He had to be here. He just had to be. It wouldn't be right without Spike some how. She needed his voice, gravelly and mean. She needed to see his mouth leering as he promised her that the day had finally arrived.



But she was alone.



Hands grasped hold of her shirt. It had been a boring cream before tonight. She tried not to vomit at the crimson stains which had seeped across it. One face swam into focus, but she couldn't remember her name.



Buffy squinted, the gash on her forehead seeming to throb as a knife slid into her stomach.



And then she, the Slayer, twisted it.



"That's for taking away my life, bitch."



The words rolled over her head. Buffy couldn't hear them, didn't know how to understand them even as that horrible wound began to grow. The muscles in her stomach had been torn apart when the Slayer turned the blade and now… Now she had to die in front of four girls, mute. She stared helplessly at the buried hilt.



"WHhh…" she tried to speak through the pain. Words blossomed in her mind of what she would've said. I'm sorry. I didn't know it would happen like this. I was just trying to help you, to help myself.



"Shut the fuck up." There was a knee pressing into her ruined leg. Buffy could see the sharp glint of bone. "I don't want to ever hear you speak again. You ruined everything, you know? We could have been a force for good but you didn't like the world as it was. Fucking Buffy Summers had to change everything. Well now I'm going to end you." The girl paused as Buffy's eyes started to roll back into her head. She slapped her. "Don't you dare pass out before we're finished! I want you to know the pain you have caused." The girl Slayer gestured around them, no doubt to her friends who stood watching. "You took what I wanted more than anything in the world. I used to have a choice. I could have not been a Slayer. I could've had a man and a family and a life. You and that fucking scythe ruined everything. And now I will take it from you, your choice. You could've walked away from destroying us, from taking away our right to be human." A giggle fell from soft plush lips. "Now you'll never be able to walk away from anything. You will forever think of me, of us and what's worse you'll never be able to kill anything or anyone again."



The girl let go of Buffy's shirt, watching as she collapsed into the still earth.



"Enjoy Hell, Summers."



There was no one to help her when the match hit her cheek.





















Dawn liked to come during the day. At a quarter to three every single afternoon, she would make her way into the hospital room. It was a long walk from the apartment she shared with Xander but Dawn had insisted that she didn't mind.



Her long brunette hair was in a long braid today. She had taken to simple looks since she fell pregnant. She liked to say that it made her look more matronly, if that was possible. Her stomach was convex now and it wobbled each time she moved around the bed. Buffy thought the whole thing was funny in its own way. Dawn had adopted soft pastel colours for her new 'mommy' wardrobe but she couldn't look less like an expectant mother if she went goth.



Dawn had begun to take on a glow that only those happy could exude.



A soft blue coat that wouldn't fit around her belly hung off her shoulders. It was probably raining outside. Buffy didn't comment on it. She couldn't. Dawn should have been at home, preparing for a baby. Instead she was here trying to nurse back to health a body that didn't want to move.



Buffy didn't want to think of herself as a person anymore. It hurt too much.



Dawn was saying something particularly commonsense but Buffy ignored the words. If she just listened to the cadence of it maybe she could fall asleep.



"… I called him." Dawn said. "I know you don’t want anyone to know," and then she held up a hand as though to halt Buffy before she could start screaming, "but it's for the best."



Buffy gaped at her. Not Spike. She couldn't allow Spike to see her like this. Broken.



Dawn was looking at her, she could feel it but it wouldn't be anything compared to the disgust and revulsion that Spike would feel.



"He didn't believe me at first", Dawn continued. "Said that you could handle anyone, particularly 'bite sized Buffy-wannabes'. And then when he finally did," Dawn turned to her, hand enveloping her folded ones, "there was so much sorrow."



"You shouldn't have said anything." She sounded petulant but Buffy didn't care anymore. She shouldn't even exist.



You will forever think of me, of us.



"What did you expect me to do? Keep you a secret forever?" There was so much pain in Dawn's voice. It echoed about the room even as the taller girl took a seat. No, not a girl, Dawn was the woman now, the complete woman who had everything. Both her legs. "I think I have done everything you wanted Buffy. I mean, Faith has no idea and she could actually help you, you know. They have procedures now for what happened." A hand brushed over the riddled flesh as though it was normal, perfect. "I know that you could have a life, if you wanted one."



Buffy tried to control her tears, sucking in deep barrelfuls of air until her eyes became relatively dry. "I wish I was just gone, Dawn. I don’t fit anywhere. You, you have Xander and…"



"A baby." Dawn supplied. "I know and you still fit into that. You were my sister and Xander's friend long before we ever got together. If you just agreed to live with us I would never have told Spike at all."



"Then why did you? To humiliate me? Oh, let's look at Buffy the monstrosity of a Slayer who can't even do that anymore." She could taste tears now but the sobs, the horrible shaking which had hold of her chest, was worse. "I don't have a purpose anymore, Dawn. I'm just this useless hunk of flesh." She ripped back the sheets which covered her lower half and pointed at the stump. "This is all I am now and it's all anyone is ever going to see."



Dawn was at her side in a second. Her hands pulled at her as though she could truly force Buffy to move against her will. Buffy could have resisted but found herself relinquishing control. "Look at me." Deep brown eyes searched her face as though looking for the person she had been. "You have always been there for me. You have grounded me, died for me and bled for me. Now, I want to give you something in return."



"Spike is not going to want anything to do with me." The truth made Buffy feel even worse but it needed to be said.



"Then why is he coming?" Dawn was now staring at her like she was an idiot. "He does have other things he could be doing." Dawn picked up the hospital bed cloth and settled it over the bed, once more covering her lower half. Inside, Buffy released a sigh of relief. She could barely function with that absent leg in her line of sight.



"I don't know what's going to happen when he gets here, Buffy, but you can't tell me you're mad that I called him." She smiled as Buffy gaped at her. Fury raced over her untouched skin. She winced at the feeling of moving her left side of her face. It still felt so strange. "I'm hoping that this will be the thing to set you right, set all of us on the good path. There's been so much pain for so unbelievably long. Don't you want to just rest and be happy?"



I'm a Slayer. There is no such thing as rest.



"Me plus Spike has never equaled happy feelings."



"Bullshit," said Dawn. She lifted her eyebrows high as though to reproach Buffy for even thinking of nagging her about her language. She was going to be a mother. She could handle a few swear words just as well as anyone. "You've never allowed yourself to love him. Even when we were all together, you were all with the 'fallen warrior therefore no smoochies' mode. And then the whole Angel/Twilight thing."



"Don't. Buffy had heard enough. "Just don't."



"Fine," Dawn said roughly, "but don't act like an ass when he gets here. I've been convincing Xander that having Spike as a godfather wouldn't be so horrible."



Dawn withdrew to the other side of the room, her eyes flicking up to the clock.



"You should go," Buffy said softly. "He'll be home soon."



Dawn nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Losing magic had changed everything between the Scoobies. With Willow gone again, Buffy didn't expect her other friend to be okay.



"He'll come eventually." Dawn offered. "He's just struggling to deal with the Twilight mess." She wrapped a rainbow scarf around her neck, before waving goodbye.



And then she was alone.

"I have a heart I swear I do, but just not when it comes to you."




The night was possibly worse than the day.

Her body still remembered her routine. As soon as the clock struck midnight, her hands would begin to itch. She had never wanted to touch wood as much as she did now. Somewhere out there a fledge was digging itself out of the earth.

And she was stuck in a hospital bed.

The frame was metal but had caved in places where her hands had grasped. She felt tiny sitting on the mattress, her whole body swallowed up by sheets of light blue and white. Her hands ghosted over the bedspread which covered her. The nurse had brought it in earlier, tucking in the corners as if she would dart out of bed. They all treated her like a child, hushed voices chatting in the hallways but never inside of her room. They knew what she was, even if there was no special annotation on her chart.

Perhaps they thought she deserved it.

Ricochets of what she had done and rippled through society. It was small at first. People she didn't know, couldn't possibly have met would stare at her, their mouths wide and their eyes accusing. She hadn't known what to say and in a moment of pure fear become Anne.

Anne didn't have a past. She was just a waitress, working in a nameless diner with a boss that resembled a Star Wars villain. She had to wear a ridiculous 1950's esque outfit but it was all reasonable. Her mind didn’t feel like a whirlpool of emotions and her heart… her heart wasn't broken. It was only when she went to visit Dawn at the apartment that the truth would sink in.

She had changed everything. It was her fault.

And Angel's.

Something akin to disgust lodged in her throat as she considered the vampire. It had always come back to him at some point. As much as she tried to run from their past, prove that she was over the whole undead Romeo and Juliet romance, it kept recurring.

She had told him once that when he kissed her she wanted to die. Maybe the last time it had finally rung true. If she never saw Angel again it would be too soon. Buffy heaved a sigh, her hand subconsciously brushing the raised bite marks on her throat. He had taken a piece of her like all the others but whilst she had killed the Master, dismissed Drac and left Spike, Angel had continued to take from her. It was as though his fangs had stayed attached to her body, constantly draining her of the ability to move on, to forge a new life.

It felt like she had been living two lives. In one she was still a sweet sixteen year old girl, moon struck and in love with someone so much older and darker than she could imagine.

In her other life Angel didn't exist.

Somehow the two had managed to merge. She had become a full girl all over again with a life that didn't involve him until he showed up and ruined it.

And Spike had played the role of the absent man.

It had been acceptable after their shared history. Of course he wanted to have his own life but did that mean acting as though she didn't exist? In her heart Buffy knew that she had loved him. But what did that love mean? Now that she was just a body, how could she ever face him? Rage coiled in her muscles and before she knew it she was punching the mattress surrounding her. She was so angry at both of them.

It was an irrational rage that had festered ever since he had burned to nothing in the hellmouth. It was like he had known that she would never be at peace and refused to give her anything to hold onto. He had rejected any future with her, whether or not he survived.

But he had, he did survive, she thought. He existed for over a year without letting me know anything. And now this?

Buffy looked around her room, wishing for what felt like the thousandth time for a window. Dawn had requested that they place her in a room without one. Her little sister had assumed that after falling from Glory's tower, six stories would be simple.

The only difference would be that she wouldn't go to heaven. She was certain of that much.

And Spike was coming to remind her of it.

She had moved into Xander and Dawn's for a week, directly after it happened. There had been a funeral service for Giles and she had made herself attend, citing her own death and wake. Dawn had told her that it was the right thing to do, that she had to face it. But all Buffy had seen was Faith, the prodigal daughter and accusing stares.

She could accept it. As Buffy she had to take the blame. But Anne? Anne had a whole life full of the normal and mundane. Her mind had latched onto the idea like a survivor at sea clung to the wreckage. They, that massive group of people who hated her, would never know about Anne.

It was such a stupid idea: become Anne and pretend nothing ever happened. She had assumed so confidently that things would settle into some kind of routine and that maybe everybody would forget that she, the Buffy Summers of untold power ever existed.

And boy had she paid for it. Xander had asked her to leave almost instantly. Willow's loss of magic had hit him personally. Almost instantly Willow had disappeared, cutting off communication. Buffy had accepted it but Xander? Xander could only see that Willow was hurt because Buffy had chosen a vampire and sure they had been best buddies in Scotland but things changed. He treated her like she had personally ripped the heart out of Willow.

Maybe she had.

Buffy had refused to involve Dawn. How could she when her sister had actually found someone to be happy with? She'd ducked out the night after Spike visited and moved into the apartment above the diner.

And now he was coming to see me? To laugh in my face? The questions immediately filled her with a sense of shame. Spike didn't have it in him to be cruel. He had stopped caring years ago and nothing would change it. Especially since I fucked Angel.

She scooted forward to the edge of the bed, grimacing at her awkward position. Her right leg or what was left of it felt heavier than normal. When she thought to move it she would have to remember that there was no knee to bend anymore. It made things almost impossible. The moment she felt that dead weight her arms would shake and she'd fall back into the mattress.

But she couldn't do it now.

If Spike was coming, and a part of her doubted that it was true, then she needed to get gone. Dawn had probably told him the address and Buffy had never doubted Spike's ability to find someone. But she wasn't ready yet.

Mind made up, Buffy began to push herself forward. Tears began to flow but she shoved the threatening waves of self-pity to the back of her mind. She could cry all she wanted but she was not going to just sit here and wait for his cobalt eyes to stare and well up with pity? Boredom?

The idea of him feeling anything for her in this state made her want to punch something. She wouldn't let it happen.

Summoning every ounce of resolve, she wrapped her hands around the stump, bottom lip quivering and moved it to a more comfortable position. And then she scooted forward again.

It took four more attempts before she reached the edge of the bed.

"There", she said with satisfaction. She hadn't dared to move before now. Dawn had left a wheelchair in the room but it felt too real. She had never used it.

"First time for everything." She tested her jaw, moving her mouth around as she considered her next move. It was stiff and painful but that was nothing new. Slayer powers without the residual magic were bound to be less than extraordinary. In her heart, Buffy wondered whether the Slayers had cast anything during their beating. If she had been as pissed off as they… She closed her eyes, breathing in and out as she would before a particularly hard exercise. It was useless to think of what they had done to her. It was over. She was a Slayer no more.

She fell to the floor in a heap, her weak left leg catching most of her weight. I should've been working on maintaining strength rather than feeling sorry for myself. The reprimand was instant but as she started to drag herself across the floor she knew it wasn't realistic. If she wasn’t a Slayer then why would she need to train?

Why would she do anything?

Her one reason for moving now was to escape Spike. She started for a moment, fear welling in her throat as someone passed down the hallway outside her door. The shuffling footsteps were too heavy to be him but it reminded her of Dawn's words. He was coming and he wouldn't waste time.

The floor was cold to her skin and the nightgown she wore flared out around her. She tried to crawl but the sensation of her leg, stump , hanging in the air was too much. Instead she lowered her body until she was against the floor, hands pulling and scraping.

Finally her hands grasped the metal bars of the wheel chair. Dawn had assured her that it was one of the best. Xander might hate her but he was willing to splash out on the top of the line ride for a former friend. Buffy squeezed her eyes tight for a moment, willing away the raw emotions. She couldn't think of him at a time like this.

I have to keep moving. And go where?

Suddenly the weight of everything crashed into her.

She was alone.

She had no friends to help her.

She had nowhere to go.

It wouldn't change now or even when Spike traipsed into the room full of bravado.

Alone The word haunted her almost constantly since the incident. Dawn had taken to calling her nightmare the 'incident' and Buffy had slowly found herself referring to it with that horrible word as well. What else could she call it? She wasn't dead so it wasn't a true death. But it had been a death of some sort. They had killed her, murdered the Slayer without ripping out her heart.

"But I'm still here," she whispered. "They didn't take everything."

Just the ability to function. I can't move, I can't run, I can't slay…

Her heart skipped a beat at the thought. She had been dancing around it for so long. What was she if not the Slayer?

The wheelchair seemed to loom above her, a trap that she had allowed herself to fall into. Angel may have helped her become this body, this thing but it was not all one-sided.

No matter how much she wanted it to be.

Positioning her body was difficult but eventually she managed to get her legs behind her, hands steadfast on the ground as she reached for the seat itself. The wheelchair rocked from the pressure, its brakes threatening to release as she scrambled and jerked her way onto the seat. Her arms were a tangle as she shoved her back against the chair. It made her feel so small. The back of the chair reached to the tip of her crown. Gingerly she tested the wheels. They were large spokes, impossibly sturdy looking. Dawn had told her that it would become second nature to use them.

She couldn't believe it.

Entranced by her ability to actually move again, Buffy pushed the wheels and sent herself flying into the opposite wall.

The resounding thump of her collision was worse then the pain that flew through her limbs. Buffy barely registered her own shocked gasps as she pushed herself off of the wall. She could move. She didn't have to crawl along the ground.

Fresh tears began to run down her cheeks but she didn't try to stop them this time. She had hidden in that bed for so long that even this small movement, this ability to change, felt like a miracle. She forced her hands to spin the wheels again, not caring when her muscles began to burn. She careered about the room, her face bright with elation. It wasn't perfect but in this moment it felt like everything. Worries about the future fled her mind in the long minutes that passed.

And then she stopped.

There was somebody at the door and then it was opening. She heard the whine as the person pushed it aside, their light footfalls sounded unnatural in the night air. Stupid Buffy. I should've been gone by now.

And then he was behind her and the thrill was nothing compared to the smell of leather and cigarettes.

"'Lo love."

when I believe in you my soul can rest







"'Lo love."

She kept the wheelchair from moving, hands clutching at the brake lever as though it was her only lifeline. Her hospital gown was up above her knees. My knee she amended silently. Curiosity warred with her own sense of self-preservation. She wouldn't look at him, she couldn't.

"This isn't real."

A rough chuckle sounded behind the shell of her ear. He was so close. Once she would have been terrified to feel his lips at the edge of her skin but now? Now it was like the caress of a ghost. He might exist but he didn't factor into her reality.

Spike was truly the absent man.

She had allotted everyone a role in her life. Heaven had changed her in the short time she had been there. When she had been finished, she had been able to see the patterns that each demon or person gave off. It was like a ribbon of colour which followed them wherever they went. It was a distant memory, something that was only hinted at in the thin line between sleep and consciousness but she had known then. The purpose of things had made perfect sense when her heart finally stopped beating. When they forced her back into the earth and made her crawl out, everything had been chaos. She could no longer picture where everyone fit.

It wasn't until she nearly danced to death that things had fallen back into place. There was good and there was evil and then there was her. But the ribbons of colour had vanished.

Considering herself broken had made it easier to love Spike. She was damaged goods for a damaged monster and in the soft moonlight of a cemetery, she could pretend that it was normal, that loving him was acceptable.

But she had known even then that it wasn't. In the harsh light of day her friends, those firmly in the 'good' box, had rallied around her, surprised, disgusted, and more than a little disappointed that she didn't fit into either category anymore.

She had tried though. She took on the imagined role of the good Slayer and allotted her friends title roles that seemed to make the most sense possible. Xander was the soldier of the group, Anya the relief and sobering voice of reality and Willow… Willow had been her secret weapon. When everything else had gone to hell, Buffy had thought that she could rely on Willow to take on the responsibility, after all hadn't she done it before? So many times Willow had stepped up to the batting cage, to take on Adam, Angelus, the First. Perhaps she had pushed her too far. The battle to destroy the seed had changed her mind about everyone.

Spike was her greatest source of confusion. Even as she felt his unneeded breaths of air brush the nape of her neck, she wondered if perhaps he had come to kill her. He hadn't had a Slayer in years, decades really. Maybe tonight would be her last. Something released itself from her chest, fear flying out from that horrible knot of anxiety. Spike would understand her predicament.

He would help her end it.

"Glad I came, Slayer?" His hands fell on both of her shoulders. The left thumb had a heavy signet ring on it which scratched against her skin each time he moved.

"I don’t know. Should I be?" I need it to be you. I just wish it had happened before.

He laughed again and then he was spinning her around to face him. Abruptly his mouth closed shut. "Gods… I didn't think they could do such a thing to another Slayer…" Mindless of her shock, Spike reached out a hand to caress her jaw.

Buffy grabbed hold of it the second those cold fingers touched her too warm skin. "Don't", she bit out. "This isn't something you need to be concerned with."

"What the fuck are you talking 'bout?" He broke his hand free and then began to run his fingers through the hair that hadn't been shaved away. "You may have a heart of stone Slayer, but I –"

"Don't call me that either," Buffy said throwing her head to side. She gasped in pain as he untangled his fingers and then he was standing across the room.

"'M sorry". Spike didn't know what else he could say to the girl in front of him. There had never been a Slayer allowed to live after this sort of damage. The Council had always seen to it that the girls died a quick death. Nibblet did well to keep this quiet.

"What do you want Spike?"

"Don't rightly know," he admitted. "The lil' bit called me –"

"Dawn." Buffy interjected.

He nodded, eyes flickering onto the grey tile and then back to the left side of her face. He didn't hide his surprise at seeing the raw skin. "Suppose I can't call her that anymore now that she's got the Whelp's get inside of her."

Why couldn't he just leave me alone. "You're talking about my brother in law."

He ignored her, hands raking through gelled curls as though it would change what he was viewing. "Look," he said, lips pursing, " I came didn't I? That has to mean somethin'."

"I don't want you here." And she didn't. His presence made her wounds feel raw. She tried to push her way over to the bed but he was already there, lifting her small form onto the mattress. Her skin crawled at the feel of his too cool hands through the thin fabric. It had been years since they had properly touched and now she could never look at him that way again.

But he didn't seem to notice. Without thinking he was pushing her to the side and curling against her back.

She opened her mouth to rebuke him, tell him how unwelcome he truly was but his hands were already on her lips 'shushing' her into silence.

And then he was murmuring into that special place at the nape of her neck. "Not going to leave you, love. You can spit and hiss all you want. T'is my job to look after cranky bints like you, no doubt." He sighed against her and it was at once the most terrifying and amazing feeling. She wriggled herself up against him, no longer attempting to separate herself for dignity's sake. She had no pride anymore. Curling against a vampire couldn't ruin her reputation anymore. Warmth flowed through her when he didn't push her away. Instead that old leather coat was wrapped around her until she felt like she was in a leather cocoon.

"You know you can't stay", she whispered. "The nurses don’t like anyone coming in at night and they will freak if they see you in the morning."

"Hush pet, we'll be long gone before then." His hands tightened their hold around her as she struggled to flip around to face him.

"Wait… what are you talking about?"

Spike was silent now, his gaze so mistrustful even as his hands caressed up and down her back. Teeth that were far too white gleamed at her and then all she saw was his fangs.

"Why? I thought you forgave me." Her eyes were so heavy even as he licked a path up the side of her throat. She should've known that he would do this, but fear was pulsing as she considered her impending death. The old Buffy would have kicked and screamed until Spike let her go or decided to fight her for the privilege.

But now? Her arms went loose against him, fingers no longer trying to claw her way free. In the end it was always going to be him. Spike had been the only monster who could truly take her in a fight. She was only disappointed that it had ended in a graveyard somewhere. Slayers were meant to die in the open, not in a hospital bed.

"Just relax, love. I promise it won't hurt."

A sharp prick of fangs against her skin was all she felt before the world went dark.

I only want you to see my favourite parts of me and not my ugly side, no not my ugly side.


He hadn't truly known what he was doing until her eyes drifted shut. Everything in him had latched onto her trembling weak body as though biting her would force the Slayer to come back to life. Maybe Angelus and Drac had been allowed to wound her but him? Spike touching the saintly risen bite marks would set off alarms. Or at least that was what he had hoped.

Even with a soul he didn't see himself as the same as her. She had commanded an army of women made to kill his kind and banished magic in the process.

What did one measly soul compare to her acts?

He studied her ruined face again. It reminded him of the damage done to Dru in Prague. They had beaten her until her heart had nearly broken, ripping at clothes and skin and the very daintiest parts of her. When he had managed to feed her enough blood to knit the basics back together, it had taken years for the softer parts to return. Her ruined skin had probably spent the better part of a decade fading away the horrible scars caused by irate villagers.

Buffy didn't have the same luxury. Everything about a Slayer read: "rare parts, refunds not available". Her body was made to wear and tear until the moment it simply couldn't. Spike, in his juvenile blood-sucking days, had liked to imagine the Slayers as very well made dolls. It would take ages to wear down the joints that made them move but oh the joy of it all when you cracked the shell! It was like one of those Spanish contraptions where candy fell to the ground and they all danced, except that he always became covered in blood.

And then Dru would shag me senseless. Spike couldn't help the smile that drifted across his face. The blood of a Slayer was probably the only thing that Dru could love besides Angelus. And he had given it to her.

Maybe that was why he had gone for the bite. It wasn't to wake her up but maybe to make her belong to him. The Powers That Wanked knew that he had never been the true chosen one in any sense of the word. But maybe he didn't need to be anymore. Spike could be the guy who came after, the bleach punk vampire with a vengeance who sorted out the Great Poof's mess.

The one who saved Buffy Summers.

It was a daunting idea and it said something that Spike was only thinking it after he had abducted the girl. His first instinct had been to take her the moment he walked through the door but a cranky inconsolable Slayer had not seemed like a willing runaway. So he had waited, snuck up to that soft skin that was raised with wounds and pain and buried himself in, until he could barely think about where his fangs ended and she began. If he sat still for long enough Spike could still feel where her blood had touched him. He glanced at his hands, marveling at the strength two sips could create.

If Buffy could create such a change in him, what could he do to her?

Wonder and just a hint of hope surged through Spike's body. He almost stopped the car then as though he could conduct all necessary experiments and ideas on a sleeping Slayer on the side of a forgotten road. He tried to imagine the 'old Buffy' response of indignation, nose punches and an eye roll, but it was hardly useful. There was no pretense that he could latch himself to, not when he looked at her thin leg and lax body. She was different again from when she had been in heaven. It was like the hardness that had seeped into her bones from the Earth had evaporated until she was as weak as a newborn child. Spike didn't know whether he wanted the old Buffy back or this new version of her. He had the manual for the old Slayer: distract her as much as possible until she can relax. But this time? Spike didn't know what to do with a helpless Buffy Summers. The concept was as antithetical to him as soap to the Whelp. And yet she had said nothing, only sighing in that soft little way of hers that meant that she was ready, ready for her last good day.

Spike was damned if he could accept her meeting a bloody end.

He didn't try to fool himself when she gave that 'I love you' speech as he impersonated Joan of Arc. He had known it for what it was: 'thanks for sacrificing yourself. Ps: we were friends.' But it had still meant something, enough that when he became corporeal he didn't suffer the need to try again and convince them both that it could work. He simply knew that it couldn't.

What were they now? Friends? Enemies? Frenemies? Spike wished that he had Dawn there to bubble out an explanation that made sense. She may be a mum-in-waiting but her heart was still too young. He couldn't see her as anything but a lanky teenage girl with auburn hair. And yet she had convinced him on the phone to come within a single minute.

'Spike, she needs you. She won't talk to anyone, won't eat. I can't even let Faith know because of the whole Giles thing.'

Buffy lay there lax in the car seat. Her eyes looked bruised from a lack of sleep but otherwise she still breathed. He cursed to himself.

He still couldn't forget loving her.

It enraged him in a way that made the soul feel positively sick. After everything that had happened with Angelus, love and Buffy Summers should've been the farthest thing from his mind. Instead the warmth inside of him had surged the moment he entered her room.

He didn't understand it.

He had been love's bitch, 'had' being the operative word, but Spike had been sure that he had moved on from her, from their doomed relationship. Blue herself had helped him to overcome it.

He slammed his head into the back of the headrest, not wanting to picture the godking's face when he showed up with an ex. Then there was Rose and the others to think about. He had barely managed to convince his wanton group of women that he was fine just going to visit the chit. What would they do when he arrived with a pissed off, mutilated Slayer?

Mutilated . It made his stomach twist into horrible snake-like patterns just thinking that word. But it was real. All of the anger of the vengeful Slayers had found its way onto Buffy's body. She was like a breathing artwork of Twilight, depicting the death and destruction that it had brought to everyone.

It wasn't enough that everyone hated her, the murderous gits had taken it to another level.

Part of the steering wheel cracked beneath his hands. "Buggering fuck!" Spike slowed onto the side of the road as anger threatened to spill from his lips. He needed to remain calm, he needed to do the right thing whatever the hell that was, he needed –

"Spike?"

Anxiety gripped his throat as Spike turned to stare at the Slayer.

She was rubbing the back of her hands into her eyes as though to banish a bad nightmare. He hadn’t found her any clothes yet so the hospital gown rode up her thigh as she struggled in the seat.

"Spike, what's going on? Why am I not at Saint Andrews?" There was just a hint of panic in her voice and it made him want to drag her into his arms. He settled for shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.

"Couldn't leave you, love. 'T wasn't right."

She sputtered for a moment, likely formulating words to tell him to take her back or face her fury. But then her gaze faltered as though attempting to control anything was a waste of energy. Without him even touching her, she calmed, folding herself deep into the passenger seat like a compressed flower on a page.

Jade eyes stared at a dark grey carpet. Both of her feet should have been resting against it. She half expected to stretch out her limbs and feel her big left toe bump the dashboard. And then she remembered and it all became a waste of time. Let him do what he wants, she thought. Wherever he kills me won’t make a difference. Dawn's face all rosy cheeked and blue eyes flooded into her mind. Dawn would want to know where to find the body.

"Where are you taking me?"

Spike looked at her, hoping that their eyes would connect. What good would nursing her back to some form of life do him? He had a soul. He even had a life that didn't involve any of the Scoobs or their bleeding Council. He didn't need her to feel like a man anymore.

But she needs me.

It was an epiphany for him to realize that it wasn't about sex, or her friends or wanting someone to help save the world. Buffy had been forced to let go of it the moment she lost her leg. And even before, when he had been wolf ramming Angelus' heart, she had still managed and excelled at dominating the world on a global scale. Buffy had taken care of the Slayers and her friends for practically a decade and with it all the silly needs of a world that didn't want her.

What she truly needed was peace and arms to hold her when she couldn't bear to breathe.

I can do that, Spike thought. There was something burning under his right breast that he hadn't felt since that night in the abandoned house. It clawed at his chest, forcing him to breathe in hope.

"Spike, I'm serious." Buffy paused at the strange look that fled across the vampire's face. She took a deep breath to continue, "where are we going?"

"Home," he said softly, finally feeling like his undead heart could stop it's fitful lurches of movement. "'M taking you home."

I knew I'd get like this again.
that’s why I try to keep away.
be a hundred percent when I'm with you
and then a perfect heart's length away


Conversation flowed between them almost like water falling into the sea. At first it was just trickles of words, him saying that they should sleep or her wanting to keep going to wherever the hell it was they were meant to be going. And then it became more. He talked of what he had done in LA, of hell and the women that he had found there. He spoke of lonely nights with nothing other than his soul for his comfort and of days spent wishing that the hellmouth had simply swallowed him whole.

It was on the fourth night in a dingy hotel that he told her about the women in more detail.

"Rose is about the nibblet's age now. She's jus' like Dawn too, all long limbs and teenage angst. Blue is barely there most of the time. She doesn't like our world anymore then Twilight did…" Spike had faltered for a moment as Buffy's lips trembled and then kept talking, words tumbling from his mouth in an effort to hide his error. "The others… I can barely remember how they all came to be livin' in the house. One minute 'was mindin' my own business and then they were screaming for help."

"You saved them." Buffy's words were more a statement then a question. She realised, almost instantly, that he had become a hero in his own right. It was something that almost made her jealous. Spike had once been good simply because he loved her. Now, he had become someone complete. He doesn't need me at all.

Spike continued on, oblivious to her inner musings. "I guess so. Didn't know that the beastie had already gotten to their family when I stepped in. Couldn't leave them to the authorities, couldn't walk away either. Jus' took 'em with me."

It was three nights more before Buffy could muster the courage to ask Spike a question.



She had been lying on a single bed, her leg hidden beneath several blankets. He had without question taken the floor. It was folded neatly as a makeshift pillow.

She rolled over until she was peering down at him from the bed. His eyes were closed and yet she knew that he had not yet fallen into slumber. His chest still rose in mirror with her own. She had spent enough nights at the crypt to wake with fear when the chest beneath her did not move. It was one of Spike's quirks to breathe at all. "What do you expect will happen when we get to this 'home'?" Her mouth twisted around the word as though it was a foreign language long forgotten.

He had sighed and stretched, muscles rippling in a way that reminded her of a time when she had forgotten herself in his embrace. "Don't know, Buffy. Haven't really figured it all out yet. 'M taking you to the edge of the property. 've got a house there where you can be your usual Slayer self. Don't figure that it will all be sunshine and roses. A general will have trouble fitting in with a bunch of scared girls and a vamp, I expect." He grinned at her sheepishly and then faltered at her angry glare. "The girls will have to get used to you an' you them." He opened one eye to look at her, cheekbones catching the afternoon light as she stared back helplessly. "'M not who I used to be, Slayer. We all have to accept changes in the other."

She remembered shaking her head at him. Change was something that she had fought against as long as she had been breathing. A slayer was meant to stop whatever some big bad had planned, she was meant to be the coda to the battle between good and evil. In her heart being a slayer had come to mean protecting the status quo. She never truly won. She only stopped things from getting worse, from changing into some nightmare. She and Willow had fiddled with the very fabric of the world when she sought to accept change. And it had only brought her pain. Buffy couldn't express the fear that welled up in her throat at meeting these people who had changed Spike. He could handle his metamorphosis and had only improved in time. She had only become something darker and more lost. She could not handle facing anyone else. Maybe as Anne; but not as me. Not as Buffy the cripple.



"The girls are expectin' you." His voice was a smooth baritone, each consonant clipped as her head rested against smooth glass windows. They were close to their destination and he had begun to feel that returning thrill of home. The very air smelled familiar and welcoming. "I had to practically beg the chits not to follow me and even then they were wonderin' what you would be like." He ignored the way Buffy shuddered with self-consciousness, his voice remaining hopeful. "Had to remind them that you lot don't walk around in capes with fancy outfits and what not." A shadow crossed his face. "TV has twisted everyone's minds of what a Slayer is. Soddin' Harmony had everyone thinking that vampires were like the Adams family. Had more than one silly fool try and make friends with me." He scoffed for a moment and Buffy had stared as Spike chewed his bottom lip with irritation. ""M a fucking vampire for peat's sake. Had to show the bumpies and nearly bite the bugger 'fore he left me alone. It was the night before I visited you at the Whelp's abode." Without thinking of the consequences, he asked the one question that had haunted him, "why'd you run?"

Buffy had stilled then. Such a loaded question. It was too much to traverse such ground. Her emotions were still too raw. How could she explain that her shame to him? Spike had died to save them all. She had nearly wiped out existence with a kiss. Her mouth opened and closed several times but she couldn't form the words. Spike had looked at her as though expecting an answer and then nodded almost with disappointment when her face remained impassive. She couldn't be open with him. She couldn't be open with anyone anymore.

There were still some words that couldn't be breathed out loud.




The next night Spike finally acknowledged that they were 'home'. He parked the car in front of an old barn and quickly took the bulk of his belongings inside the foreboding building. Buffy noticed with some anger that one small pack was oddly familiar. The vampire must have taken her belongings from the hospital when he abducted her. Her eyes focused on the barn, weariness settling into her shoulders. She didn't know why he was wasting all this effort on her. Gods knew she hadn't been kind to him. She hadn't done the right thing by anyone.

The barn unnerved her. The colour had long since leeched out of the wood but she could see that efforts had been made to fix the wear and tear of years of neglect. It loomed into the night sky like a beacon.

Before she could prepare, Spike was picking her up and carrying her from the car. Her moans of pain had him halting in the driveway. "Your leg," he said softly, grasping the stump as he clutched her to his chest. "Does it hurt?"

Buffy rolled her eyes and immediately regretted it when Spike's face darkened. "No, I'm just peachy. What do you think?" Her voice was laced with sarcasm.

Spike almost growled and shifted her again as carefully as possible. The bint was infuriating. He didn’t know how to deal with the sadness which almost perpetually welled in her eyes. He did however know how to deal with Buffy's anger. "Do you regret going back to slaying?" he asked.

She kept her gaze focused on the ground beneath her. It was enough that his arms were wrapped around her frame, in the way that one would carry a babe. Useless. "I regret a lot of things", she said bitterly. Part of me still regrets you. "All I ever seem to do is make the same mistakes over and over again." She didn't dare to look him in the eyes as Spike paused to peer down at her, his expression masked by a veil of dark brunette hair. She half hoped that he would argue with her, say that it wasn't her fault, how she wasn't to know that something greater than her would use Angel as a pawn… Instead he stayed silent. "I deserve everything that's happened."

A low growl sounded from deep within Spike's chest. "Stop it." He walked over to a large doorway, shoulder knocking the door open as she clung to his thin cotton shirt. The room was warm, rich hues of yellow paint covering the walls. Far too carefully Spike dropped her down onto a bed.

"Don't know what those ninny's at the hospital put up wit' love, but 'm not having it. All this guilt riddled nonsense is doing you no favours." He growled again when she kept her head down, stubborn shoulders tightening. She reminded him of one of those sirens locked on the rocks. She was his ruin, calling to him silently even now. "Christ, 'm a git. For loving you. "Snap out of it, Slayer."

Angry jade eyes met his at the dreaded name. "Don't." She said the word in the way that one would a curse. "Don't call me that."

"What? Call you what pet?" Spike cocked his head, irritation rising with every moment that passed. "A Slayer?" He pushed her back onto the bed until Buffy's back was flat against the mattress, his face mere inches from her own. "T'is what you are. Can't change that no matter how they cut you up." He pulled at a strand of her dark hair and then curled his fingers into the remaining locks. "Believe someone who's tried, pet. You can't unmake a slayer." I tried to drag you into the dark with me and even then you wouldn't go. He opened his mouth, ready to tell her how much he cared when she twisted away from him, scars tightened with anger.

"What do you know about it?" Her voice had started off with a hint of strength in it but the pitch turned high as Spike's eyes bored into hers. "You haven't lost your ability to move. They didn't take what you made real away." She tried to flip herself away from him, away from his furrowed brow and all too human concern.

"You're just a vampire. You can't understand what it is to simply loose your purpose."

Spike stiffened at the insult. His loves had always had barbs for tongues. Drusilla had known the exact words to say after a night spent with Angelus. Cecily had even used her talents to drive him into death's arms. And now the Slayer. He hadn't expected Buffy's words to cut him so deep though. After all these years 'thought I was past it. "You can be as angry as you want, pet. Gods knows that you've earned the right to sulk." He curled his tongue behind his teeth as Buffy's outraged noises echoed in the room. Sanctimonious bint. "From what Nibblet said t'is almost been four months since it happened." Spike rose up to sit on the edge of the bed. She was still burying her head into the covers but now her breathing was laboured as though trying to suffocate the rage which was waiting to pour out. "Another week should be sufficient for you to have a proper good pity party."

"That's not what I'm doing." Buffy's voice was muffled by the comforter but it sounded sulky even to her own ears.

"Certainly looks that way from this angle, pet." Spike had to restrain himself from reaching for her as a quiet sob sounded. "The chip restrained me in ways that a bleedin' leg could never do." Allowed me to see what I had been hiding from, my love for you.

Buffy lashed out then, her arms straining as she pushed herself up to swing at his obnoxious head. "How dare you – " she cried out. Her hand connected with his cheek with far less force then she had hoped for. "I'm nothing now. Don't you see that? The chip came out. This will never get better." She flailed against him as Spike dragged her into his arms. He couldn't stand not to touch her any longer. Her eyesight was blurry with unshed tears and her cheeks felt like stone as her face contorted into a weeping mess.

Can't loose control. I can't cry in front of him… Buffy gritted her teeth, attempting to stave off the emotions which threatened to overwhelm her and then his voice was in her ear.

"Let it go, love. Just let it all go."

And she did, great broken sobs that made it hard to breathe, let alone think. Buffy sank into his iron arms, hands fisting into his shirt until it ripped.

The sobs were nothing new. She had cried in the hospital for herself. She had even cried when Dawn could see, her body heaving deep soul-wrenching breaths of air and tears. Out in the cemetery and in the world she had allowed herself to feel the loss.

But she had never mourned like she did now. Buffy had never let anyone feel the depth of what she had lost. Without thinking she let Spike's arms cradle her even closer, his chest melding with her scarred cheek until she did not know where she ended and he began.

Spike's voice was no more than a constant litany of sounds against her brow. His hands were still the same ones that she had struck against, that had battered her body and brought her to edges of ecstasy. His heart still did not beat. And yet it did not matter, at least not anymore.

For the first time in what felt like years, Buffy finally felt some form of peace.