DISCLAIMER: I don't own it. I'm just borrowing them. I'll give Buffy back, but Spike's busy being tied to my bed. :P
A/N: READ AND REVIEW! I'll give you a cookie if you do. Mmm, cookies.
She slams into the tombstone, the heavy cement cracking under the force, crumbling in piles to the grass. Breath knocked out of her, she sits in a daze as the vampire advances, grabbing her by the neck and lifting her off the ground. Her feet dangle, kicking helplessly as he grins with a mouth full of fangs.
"Time to die."
The snarled words echo in her ears and the malicious face swims as her vision goes in splotches of red and black.
The fangs graze her skin and she can feel the dead breath coming in puffs.
She squeezes her eyes shut, the hands that had clawed at the vampire's hold suddenly ceasing.
She has accepted it.
She is going to die.
She waits for the bite to come, her world fading in and out of shattered existence. For a moment she swears she can see her mother looking sadly at her from somewhere that's not.
Why does she look so sad? She's the Slayer. She was born to die at an early age. It was her destiny. Death was her gift.
And suddenly, there is air, and the crushing hold against her windpipe is gone. Air swooshes into her lungs, painfully. She can breathe again.
She falls roughly to the ground, her legs buckling at impact, and she falls to her hands and knees. Her vision begins to clear, and her breathing begins to get easier.
She looks up in bewilderment. Why is she not dead?
That is when she sees him.
His fighting is like a dance, all fist and fangs. Black clothing, bleached hair, blood and bruises.
She coughs and gets to her feet unsteadily.
He is pummeling the vamp now, taking the blows it threw back like they were nothing. He snarls a feral growl and throw the vampire a good twenty feet backward, into a waiting tree. The branch protrudes from it's chest, and it looks down in surprise, meeting her eyes for a second before it exploded in a cloud of dust.
Spent, Spike falls to his knees, a hand on his side, breathing labored, and looks in her direction.
She makes her way to him with unsure steps, and kneels by him.
For a moment they are silent, his eyes shifting away.
"You were supposed to stay at the house," she says softly, massaging her neck.
"I got bored," he says plainly, giving her a tiny smile.
She glances at his hand, cradling his side, and winces at the spill of blood he is trying to staunch. "You're hurt."
"You're on to talk," he says, struggling to get to his feet.
"I'm fine," she says too quickly, grabbing his elbow. "Let me help."
He jerks away involuntarily, then clears his throat. "No worries, Slayer. I'm a big boy."
She bites her lip.
They begin the walk back in silence, staring at the ground, staring at the trees, looking anywhere but at each other.
They walk onto the porch quietly, not wanting to wake Dawn or Willow.
As she moves to open the door he grabs her gently by the arm.
"Slay-- Buffy," he starts softly.
She looks away.
He inhales sharply, telling himself not to be such a prat. He's a man….in so many words. And this needs to be addressed.
"I saw the look in your eyes tonight, Buffy," he says in that solid voice that he sometimes used. She hadn't heard that voice much of late. "I saw."
She refuses to meet his eyes. "So what?"
He jerks her arm roughly, but not enough to make the chip activate. He doesn't want to hurt her, just to get her to look at him.
She stares back with that special something that made her Buffy. That thing that made him love her.
"So, I never want to see that look again," he says angrily, coldly. "I never want to see you give up again! That vamp had you and you were ready to just accept it. Hell with the fight, let him bite me. You've got too much going for you, too many people counting on you for that."
She starts to avert her eyes, but he jerks at her arm again.
"Listen to me," he demands. "You may have had time for that shit when you were novice, but no more. You're coming on seven years, Buffy. Do you know how many Slayers make it to seven years?"
The look in her eyes tells him no.
"None," he says. "You're one of a kind, kid. You've got friends, family, people to protect."
"I've heard this before, Spike," she says angrily, trying to pull away.
He holds tight to her. "Then why do I see a need to repeat it again? You've heard it, but have you really listened?"
She glares.
"Buffy, you've got something that makes you different. All that, it helps you go on. It also hinders you. You've carried the weight of the world on your back for seven bleedin' years. You can't carry it all."
She curses the tears sliding down her cheeks.
"Do you have any idea what it's like, Spike?" she says to him. "To have to fight everyday of your life to LOOK normal? To save the world from baddie after baddie, apocalypse after apocalypse?"
"Yes," he said softly. "I do. And that's why I know if you keep up this way you'll be dead in before the end of the year. Now tell me…do you really want that?"
Her lip trembles. "Yes…sometimes I do."
"And the rest of the time?" he asks her softly.
"I can't want to…I have to take care of Dawn. I have to save the world," she laughs, not finding it funny in the least. "I'm too busy to die."
"Too important to die," he says. "But Buffy…"
"What?" she says tearfully, looking up at him.
"You don't have to carry it all," he says. "That's what your friends are for. Willow, Xander, Dawn…hell, even Anya….there all here to lessen that load. You just have to let them in…let them do what friends do. You try so hard to be independent, but you're missing the point."
"What about you?" she sniffles.
"What about me?" he asks, confused.
"Where do you fit in?" she asks, looking him in the eyes.
"Not sure, Slayer. Not sure I have a place," he says. "But…I'd like to. I'd like to help you, if you'll let me. Sometimes, when you're helping everyone else out there, you lose sight of the fact that you need help yourself."
She speaks softly, tentatively. "I'd like for you to help…"
"We can help each other," he says, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes. "One lunatic helping another, eh?"
"You calling me crazy?" she says with a small smile. A joke.
"What else?" he replies.
She opens the door, and as she walks in she grabs a hold of his hand, clutching the cold fingers tightly.
He stands on the other side of the threshold, looking at their hands, then up at her.
"You comin' in or what?" she says, sniffing.
"What else?" he smiles.
Taking a deep breath, Buffy holds on to him for her life. She has things to do.
But she won't be doing alone.
A/N: READ AND REVIEW! I'll give you a cookie if you do. Mmm, cookies.
She slams into the tombstone, the heavy cement cracking under the force, crumbling in piles to the grass. Breath knocked out of her, she sits in a daze as the vampire advances, grabbing her by the neck and lifting her off the ground. Her feet dangle, kicking helplessly as he grins with a mouth full of fangs.
"Time to die."
The snarled words echo in her ears and the malicious face swims as her vision goes in splotches of red and black.
The fangs graze her skin and she can feel the dead breath coming in puffs.
She squeezes her eyes shut, the hands that had clawed at the vampire's hold suddenly ceasing.
She has accepted it.
She is going to die.
She waits for the bite to come, her world fading in and out of shattered existence. For a moment she swears she can see her mother looking sadly at her from somewhere that's not.
Why does she look so sad? She's the Slayer. She was born to die at an early age. It was her destiny. Death was her gift.
And suddenly, there is air, and the crushing hold against her windpipe is gone. Air swooshes into her lungs, painfully. She can breathe again.
She falls roughly to the ground, her legs buckling at impact, and she falls to her hands and knees. Her vision begins to clear, and her breathing begins to get easier.
She looks up in bewilderment. Why is she not dead?
That is when she sees him.
His fighting is like a dance, all fist and fangs. Black clothing, bleached hair, blood and bruises.
She coughs and gets to her feet unsteadily.
He is pummeling the vamp now, taking the blows it threw back like they were nothing. He snarls a feral growl and throw the vampire a good twenty feet backward, into a waiting tree. The branch protrudes from it's chest, and it looks down in surprise, meeting her eyes for a second before it exploded in a cloud of dust.
Spent, Spike falls to his knees, a hand on his side, breathing labored, and looks in her direction.
She makes her way to him with unsure steps, and kneels by him.
For a moment they are silent, his eyes shifting away.
"You were supposed to stay at the house," she says softly, massaging her neck.
"I got bored," he says plainly, giving her a tiny smile.
She glances at his hand, cradling his side, and winces at the spill of blood he is trying to staunch. "You're hurt."
"You're on to talk," he says, struggling to get to his feet.
"I'm fine," she says too quickly, grabbing his elbow. "Let me help."
He jerks away involuntarily, then clears his throat. "No worries, Slayer. I'm a big boy."
She bites her lip.
They begin the walk back in silence, staring at the ground, staring at the trees, looking anywhere but at each other.
They walk onto the porch quietly, not wanting to wake Dawn or Willow.
As she moves to open the door he grabs her gently by the arm.
"Slay-- Buffy," he starts softly.
She looks away.
He inhales sharply, telling himself not to be such a prat. He's a man….in so many words. And this needs to be addressed.
"I saw the look in your eyes tonight, Buffy," he says in that solid voice that he sometimes used. She hadn't heard that voice much of late. "I saw."
She refuses to meet his eyes. "So what?"
He jerks her arm roughly, but not enough to make the chip activate. He doesn't want to hurt her, just to get her to look at him.
She stares back with that special something that made her Buffy. That thing that made him love her.
"So, I never want to see that look again," he says angrily, coldly. "I never want to see you give up again! That vamp had you and you were ready to just accept it. Hell with the fight, let him bite me. You've got too much going for you, too many people counting on you for that."
She starts to avert her eyes, but he jerks at her arm again.
"Listen to me," he demands. "You may have had time for that shit when you were novice, but no more. You're coming on seven years, Buffy. Do you know how many Slayers make it to seven years?"
The look in her eyes tells him no.
"None," he says. "You're one of a kind, kid. You've got friends, family, people to protect."
"I've heard this before, Spike," she says angrily, trying to pull away.
He holds tight to her. "Then why do I see a need to repeat it again? You've heard it, but have you really listened?"
She glares.
"Buffy, you've got something that makes you different. All that, it helps you go on. It also hinders you. You've carried the weight of the world on your back for seven bleedin' years. You can't carry it all."
She curses the tears sliding down her cheeks.
"Do you have any idea what it's like, Spike?" she says to him. "To have to fight everyday of your life to LOOK normal? To save the world from baddie after baddie, apocalypse after apocalypse?"
"Yes," he said softly. "I do. And that's why I know if you keep up this way you'll be dead in before the end of the year. Now tell me…do you really want that?"
Her lip trembles. "Yes…sometimes I do."
"And the rest of the time?" he asks her softly.
"I can't want to…I have to take care of Dawn. I have to save the world," she laughs, not finding it funny in the least. "I'm too busy to die."
"Too important to die," he says. "But Buffy…"
"What?" she says tearfully, looking up at him.
"You don't have to carry it all," he says. "That's what your friends are for. Willow, Xander, Dawn…hell, even Anya….there all here to lessen that load. You just have to let them in…let them do what friends do. You try so hard to be independent, but you're missing the point."
"What about you?" she sniffles.
"What about me?" he asks, confused.
"Where do you fit in?" she asks, looking him in the eyes.
"Not sure, Slayer. Not sure I have a place," he says. "But…I'd like to. I'd like to help you, if you'll let me. Sometimes, when you're helping everyone else out there, you lose sight of the fact that you need help yourself."
She speaks softly, tentatively. "I'd like for you to help…"
"We can help each other," he says, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes. "One lunatic helping another, eh?"
"You calling me crazy?" she says with a small smile. A joke.
"What else?" he replies.
She opens the door, and as she walks in she grabs a hold of his hand, clutching the cold fingers tightly.
He stands on the other side of the threshold, looking at their hands, then up at her.
"You comin' in or what?" she says, sniffing.
"What else?" he smiles.
Taking a deep breath, Buffy holds on to him for her life. She has things to do.
But she won't be doing alone.