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Buffy was lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling, when Spike tapped on the door and poked his head inside. Swallowing hard, she propped herself up on one elbow, holding her legs perfectly still beneath the cover. For the past hour and a half, she had alternated between throwing her legs off the edge of the bed and walking toward the door, then losing her courage and crawling back beneath the cover. It felt odd to be able to feel the warmth of the cover on her lower limbs. It felt even stranger to be able to roll onto her side and draw her legs up, cradling her pillow the way she used to.



Before the vampires.



Now there was a vampire smiling at her and mumbling something about hair color. She watched as he made his way toward her, holding two boxes in his hands. Taking one, she glanced at it. "Hair dye. Where did you get this?"



"Your mum had it. You mentioned that you didn't like your hair much these days, right? So, let's get you up and get your lunch and then I'll bleach it out again and help you into the tub." Grinning triumphantly, Spike sat the boxes on the table beside her bed and rolled her wheelchair closer.



Buffy said nothing as he peeled the cover back and scooped her up. The feel of his muscular arms behind her knees silenced her, and she concentrated only on the sensations that coursed through her body from feeling his platonic touch. She could only imagine what it would be like to feel him touch her with more on his mind.



Once she was settled in her seat, Spike stepped back out into the hallway and brought in a brightly wrapped package, which he put on the foot of the bed. He watched as Buffy eyed it curiously, then wagged his finger at her. "No touching until you have your lunch and we do your hair, okay?"



"Where did you get that?" Buffy looked up at him, marveling at the many surprises he always had up his sleeve. Not only had he saved her life and taken care of her, he was proving himself to be quite a bit more thoughtful than she had given him credit for.



"You remember that night that Giles took me shopping?" He waited for her to nod. "This is the package that was left in his car. I just found it in the downstairs closet."



"Thank you," she said, casting her eyes downward. Guilt washed over her in a chilling tide, causing her to shiver. She stared at her legs for several long seconds, wondering if she should just move her foot off the metal resting pad and stand up.



"You okay?" Spike unlocked the wheels of her chair and knelt in front of her, trying to gauge the emotions that were playing across her features. She was quiet in a way that he hadn't seen in a long while.



"I guess I'm just tired," she replied, rolling her chair back so she could avoid his concerned gaze. "The thunder kept me awake all night."



"You sure that's it?" He looked at her steadily, squatting near her chair so he could see her face better.



"Yes! God!" Buffy pushed her left wheel, turning herself in a circle so she could move past him. "You sleep in my bed and suddenly you have to give me the third degree?"



Spike stood, watching her bump the wall as she tried to go through the door. Grabbing the handles of the chair, he guided her safely through, frowning when she snapped that she could do it herself. Once she was safely in the bathroom after slamming the door behind her, he sighed and scratched the side of his head.



Sudden mood swings. Sullen behavior. Had to be PMS.



Leaving her to do her business, he walked down the stairs to make her a sandwich.







Buffy stood in front of the full length mirror, eyeing herself critically. Her hair was long, coming almost to her waist, but any luster that it had once had was gone, replaced by stringy strands of half-blonde and half-dark brown. Turning to the side, she pulled her gown tight around her and wondered where her figure had gone. The curves that she once had had disappeared, and her once ample bosom was practically non-existent. With a sigh, she turned and bent over the sink, splashing water in her face.



She avoided looking at herself again, unable to stare at the girl she had become -- the thin, lying, deceitful girl with hollow eyes and pale skin. Gripping the edge of the sink, she squeezed her eyes closed tightly. Would she ever be a Slayer again? Did she even want to? For as much as she kept telling herself that she was keeping her recovery a secret because of Spike, she knew that deep down there was a part of her that feared her old life. The life that had caused her to be injured to begin with. If she walked back into that life, she could lose more than just Spike ... she could die. No, she would die. Those were the rules. The time that she had spent out of the darkness, although tinged with shame and regret on her part, had been safe and she had been able to be a semi-normal girl with a lifeline that didn't splinter and break. In the chair, she had a future. Out of it, she had -- what exactly?



She was just sitting in her chair again when Spike knocked. "Just a second," she called.



"Your lunch is ready. I hope you don't mind tuna again."



"Anything's fine," she replied, gripping the wheels of her chair. This was it. She had to decide whether to walk out of the bathroom or roll out. Gnawing her bottom lip furiously, she stared at the door.



Spike walked into her room and put her tray down, then glanced back into the hallway. "Are you coming out or what?"



Standing up, she reached for the knob and turned it, opening the door just a crack. As soon as she could see the hallway, she slammed it shut and sat back in her chair, wringing her hands in her lap.



Spike dropped the stuffed animal he had been looking at and walked across the hall, poking his head into the bathroom. "Why'd you slam the door?"



Buffy shrugged and pointed at her chair. "My chair hit it. I don't usually bring it all the way in. This room's too small."







Thirty minutes later, Buffy was sitting at the vanity table, watching in the mirror as the bottle of bleach floated magically through the air. Spike's lack of a reflection made for some interesting viewing as he separated and massaged the dye into different sections of her hair. Trying hard to forget the lie that she was literally sitting on, Buffy pointed at the mirror. "You know, I can see why vampires would make bad hair stylists. You would scare the hell out of patrons with the no reflection thing."



Spike glanced up from what he was doing and stared at the mirror. Grinning a little, he lifted a lock of her hair straight up, making it stand on end. "With hair like this, that fear could go both ways. Even I know how to keep my roots in check."



"Hey!" Buffy frowned and reached upward, trying to pat her hair down, but Spike stopped her. "That's not funny."



"Don't touch it with your bare skin! It will burn!" He nudged her hand away and continued working.



"Spike, I hate to point out the obvious, but it's already touching my bare skin."



"Smart ass," he replied, massaging his fingertips over her scalp.



Buffy closed her eyes, enjoying the way his hands felt. Suddenly, it dawned on her that she would have to rinse her hair somehow and her eyes flew open. "Oh my god! How am I gonna rinse my hair?"



"I'm a step ahead of you, luv." Spike glanced at the clock on her table and began timing the coloring. "As soon as this is almost finished, I'll go and get the shower ready."



"Shower? How am I supposed to stand in the shower?"



"Your mum had a shower massager installed. The hose is really long. You'll sit in the tub and use that to rinse, then we'll run you some bathwater."



Relaxing a little, Buffy nodded. "Yeah, that sounds okay."



Spike was glad that she couldn't see his reflection. He was anything but okay with the situation. It was going to be hell on him to see her naked again. Naked and wet and sitting in the tub like some kind of delicate mermaid. Glancing at the clock, he willed himself not to react to it. He had been trained to take care of people and see to their needs. He had been a good doctor and this was no different than any of the patients he had seen before he had been sired by Angelus. Sure, it had been over one hundred years ago, but he still retained the memory of his schooling and training.



And he only had fifteen more minutes to get himself mentally prepared for it.







Buffy sat in the hallway, watching Spike adjust the temperatures inside the shower. He turned after a few minutes and moved toward her, reaching for the hem of her gown. Turning a bright red, Buffy caught his hand as he brushed across the fabric. "I want to wear my gown."



"I've already seen you naked, Slayer," Spike replied, gathering a handful of the fabric. "Besides, this is a nice gown and you'll just ruin it if the bleach gets all over it. It will stain." It suddenly struck him that he sounded exactly as he had when dealing with Dru. He'd never been able to walk away from a beautiful woman in need, and here he was again, playing nanny to the Slayer.



"I don't care," she stated, moving his hand again and smoothing out the material he had wrinkled. "I want to wear it."



Spike stood up, assessing the situation. Whatever it was that was bothering her had begun to bother him too, and he could feel his patience being stretched to the limit. "You can't always wear a gown in the tub, Buffy. If you want me to stay and take care of you then you have to learn to let me. You can't be modest and you can't be stubborn and headstrong. You're paralyzed, Buffy, and that gown could tangle up and drown you within minutes."



"That would never happen," she said, shaking her head. "I can pull myself up."



Narrowing his eyes at her, he lifted her roughly and let her slip to the floor. Moving quickly, he stuffed her gown around her and pulled it tight, stepping on the bulk of the fabric. "Pull yourself up," he growled.



Buffy had to force herself to use just her arms. She struggled for several seconds and then sighed in defeat. "I can't."



Gripping her under the armpits, he pulled her upright and quickly pulled her gown over her head. Letting her fall back on her elbows, he slipped her panties over her hips and legs, then tossed them on top of her gown. She kept her head lowered, half attempting to cover herself, and he took the opportunity to stare down at her, drinking in her petite curves and small breasts. She glanced up at him suddenly, questioning what he was doing with her eyes, and he snapped out of it. Keeping his gaze anywhere except her body, he lifted her and took her into the bathroom, where he deposited her in the tub.



Buffy felt a blush spread over her face and neck and quickly grabbed the shower head, turning it to the highest pressure. She turned the spray toward her head, using her free hand to work the dye through. The chemicals seeped into her still healing cuts on her palm and she yelped.



"What did I just tell you?" Spike grabbed the massage and rinsed her hand. "Let me do it."



"I'm not helpless," she mumbled, crossing her arms over her chest, the truth in her statement making her cringe. She closed her eyes as he rinsed her hair and soon he was satisfied that the water was clear. She felt him rinse the tub around her and watched as he turned the shower off and stopped up the tub, letting it fill around her. "I can bathe myself."



"No, you can't," Spike said evenly, squatting next to the tub. "What happened? Buffy, why are you being like this?"



"I- I just- I hate this." Buffy noticed a bottle of bubble bath on the ledge of the tub, and dumped half of it under the running water, needing to hide herself. Nude in front of him, with her body coming to life in ways she never imagined, she felt as though he could see right through her ruse.



Spike watched the bubbles foam up and come around her, swatting a few away before he turned the water off. "Is it because I stayed in your bed all night?"



She gasped and jerked her head up, meeting his eyes fully for the first real time that day. "Oh, god, no. Spike, don't think that. I asked you to stay. I guess I just woke up cranky." Silently, she added, 'and able to move my legs and terrified that you'll leave. Because I can walk, because I am lying to you, because it changes everything. Because with me crippled, I'm a normal girl, but the second I walk again I'm the Slayer and your kind is my prey.'



"Well, why don't we turn the crank the other way?" Spike lifted a washcloth and lathered it with soap. With one hand, he pushed her hair over her shoulder and began to soap her back. "You don't have to be embarrassed to let me do this, okay?"



She reddened again, despite the conviction in his tone. "I can't help it."



Spike dipped the cloth in the water and soaped it again, then handed it to her. "Wash your face." He waited until she took it and began to scrub her face before he spoke again. "Slayer, I'm going to tell you something, and you'd bloody well better not laugh."



Wringing the rag out, she splashed her face and glanced at him. "Okay."



"Do you remember the other day, when you mentioned your back pain and I told you some medical things and you asked me when I got my medical degree?"



"Yeah."



"I didn't lie to you. I went to medical school and worked in a hospital for three years."



Buffy's eyes widened and she sat up straighter. "You're serious?"



"Yes." Spike took the washcloth again and pulled her leg out of the water.



Biting her lip, to keep from cackling as he soaped between her toes, Buffy spoke quickly. "Were you happy?"



Nodding, Spike soaped her calf and knee, working upward toward her center. Part of him wanted to toss her the rag and tell her he'd be right outside the door. Her skin was so soft, so smooth under his touch and it was driving him crazy. She was driving him crazy. He paused at the apex of her thighs and reached for her other foot, soaping it the same as he had the other. Moving to her chest, he worked the washcloth in a circular pattern as he spoke again. "I was very happy at the hospital, but I was transferred to an asylum at the end of my third year. It was impossible to be happy there."



Buffy tried with all of her might to pay attention to the story he was telling her, but as he kneaded her breasts, she found her lower half responding, a throbbing ache beginning to surge in her womb. She wanted more than anything to squeeze her legs together and apply some kind of pressure to the part of her that had been dormant for so long, but instead, she found herself pulled back into his story at the mention of Drusilla.



"Anyway, Dru had apparently been picked up and she was all disoriented. I found out later that she had forgotten to eat for a few days. Vampires get a nasty case of dementia when they don't eat."



"So all this time, she's been starving?"



"Very funny." Spike paused and let the washcloth dangle between his fingertips, debating whether or not to attempt to completely bathe her. He had no idea how far Joyce went or how capable Buffy was. When she made no move to take the rag from him, he figured that he should continue and soaped it again as he continued his tale. "She fed on a couple of orderlies and then came at me. It was right around that time that Angelus figured out where she was and all kinds of hell broke loose when he brought a few minions in to get her back. I did the gallant thing and tried to protect her from the deformed men, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up a vampire and she was cooing over the pretty new pet that her daddy had given her."



"So, Angel sired you for Dru?" Buffy watched as his strong hands soaped the rag. She knew exactly where he was about to go with it and there was no way she could handle the feel of his hand *there*. She was capable of doing it herself. She could have shooed him out the door, should have, but instead she bit her lip and waited patiently to feel his hands move lower on her. She should have felt guilty, but all she felt was a breathless anticipation as he laid the soap down.



Spike nodded and reached under the water again, sliding his hand down her stomach until his thumb brushed against her dark nest of curls. Swallowing hard, he concentrated on the wall behind her head and hoped that she had no idea what she was doing to him. Turning his hand palm down, he slid along her inner folds, careful with the pressure he was applying, although he was almost positive she couldn't feel it. No one had told him how severe her paralysis was. His cock was at full attention, stabbing into the edge of the tub, and he continued his story, hoping to take his mind off what he was doing. Clearing his throat, he said, "He figured that she needed a doctor around all the time to tend to her needs and prevent her from winding up in the hospital again. I became everything for her. Her surrogate father, her caregiver, her lover, her life -- and I never looked back."



Buffy felt a line of sweat forming on her forehead as his hand ran all over her inner thighs. His face was expressionless, as if he was unaware of what he was doing, but Buffy knew that the way he touched her had nothing to do with washing. His thumb brushed over her clit, then lower, his fingers dragging the rag along. She felt him trace the length of her and barely dip into her ... once, then twice. Every muscle of her body tried to betray her by arching against him, and she struggled with her breathing, trying to keep it semi-normal instead of ragged. As he brushed against her swollen clit, she cleared her throat and slipped her hands beneath the water, pinching her legs to pull the attention away from what he was doing. "Until now."



Spike yanked his hand away, dipping the cloth several times in the tub. Oh, he had been so caught up in what he was doing ... in the feel of her, in how she had clamped around the tip of his thumb, that he had forgotten what he was saying. "Until now. It's only fair that I tell you about me. You told me about your grandfather." Satisfied that he couldn't stand much more, no matter how much they talked about his past, he rolled her slightly and washed her backside, then hit the drain before he turned the shower on again to rinse the bubbles away.



Her arousal began to slowly recede, replaced by humiliation from the fact that he had washed her -all over- and she had felt every brush of his hand. Rinsing was simple and soon enough, Spike was spreading a towel on her chair and lowering her onto it. He grabbed another and quickly scrubbed her body down, needing to see her dry and dressed as fast as possible. She covered herself with her mother's terry cloth robe and sat silently as Spike wheeled her back to her room. He told her a few more things about his past, mostly about his early kills and what Angelus had been like, as he brushed through her hair and used the dryer on it. And she could feel his hatred for Angel coming through in every word he uttered.



When he was finished, Spike stood back and admired his handiwork. Her hair was shiny now, curling delicately around her breasts and parted deeply on one side. It was a little lighter than it used to be, and it was beautiful. "You look lovely," he told her in a quiet voice.



Buffy patted her hair and started to roll toward her vanity, only to find the path blocked by Spike. "Don't I get to see?"



Nodding, Spike handed her the package at the foot of her bed. "Open it."



Smiling broadly, she tore the paper from the box and lifted the lid. Inside there was a silver handled mirror, ornately designed with rose patterns and vines around the handle. Buffy gasped and turned it over, running her fingers over the back. "It's beautiful."



Taking it from her, Spike turned it so she could see her reflection. "No, *that* is beautiful."



Buffy stared at her reflection, shocked at her own image. Gone was the helpless girl who had felt sorry for herself and felt comfortable seducing Spike. The Slayer had re-emerged, pushing away the victim and trying to reclaim her life. A life that both scared and hurt her. Forcing herself to smile, she whispered. "Thank you, Spike, for everything." Buffy glanced at him over the mirror, but looked away just as quickly. A pit formed in the middle of her stomach as guilt weighed heavily upon her. "I- I don't feel very well. I think I should lie down again."



Spike frowned and took the mirror from her, helping her into the bed. "Do you want me to call Giles?"



"No. I'll be okay." She made a great show of tugging her legs so she could roll onto her side. "I just need sleep."



After Spike left the room, she sobbed silently, her tears dampening her pillow and causing her body to shake uncontrollably. What was she supposed to do? Just go back to being a Slayer? Spike loathed Slayers. He hated everything about her sacred duty. If she told him she could walk, he would leave her because she didn't need him anymore, and if she kept pretending and he found out, he would hate her for lying to him.



She was stuck between a rock and a hard place.



Quite literally.





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