It was supposed to be like any other day. Get out of bed, go to classes, patrol, hang with the Scoobies. Just an average day. But it became painfully obvious immediately that this day would be very different from the others.

Buffy threw her legs over the side of the bed, groaning slightly as her feet hit the floor. Every bone in her body ached, which was unusual for the Slayer. It felt like the flu, but Buffy had lucked out early on in the illness department. Strange, she thought. Brushing aside the concern, she quickly jumped out of bed and continued her day.

It was nearly sunset, and Buffy had found Giles hard at work in his new store. Business was slow, as usual, but the Brit. always managed to find something to do. Willow and Xander were taking some Scoobie downtime tonight, opting for the movies. Buffy slumped into a chair. Exhaustion filled her face as she quietly fidgeted. Giles was returning from the shelves with an armload of books.

"I'm sure it's nothing to be concerned about, Buffy," Giles said reassuringly, picking a particularly thick volume and flipping through the yellowed pages with careful fingers.

"I don't know, Giles," Buffy replied, glancing up at her mentor, "It's almost time for patrol, and my hands are tied."

"I know," Giles said.

Buffy watched him carefully as he poured through book after book. After nearly two hours of it, he returned to the table and slumped down in the chair across from her. Her eyes filled with expectation.

"So far, I can't find anything. Not in the literature. Nothing. There is no reason why you should have lost your abilities now," Giles reported, noticing Buffy's disappointed gaze.

"Could it be a spell?" she asked.

"It's possible," Giles replied, "but we can't be sure."

"Great. I lose my Slayer abilities and there's no cure."

"Buffy, don't worry. I'm sure whatever this is will pass. My advice to you is to go home. Don't patrol tonight," Giles suggested.

"Good idea," she replied, rising from her seat and walking hesitantly towards the door.

It happened when he least expected it to. Spike had got himself into a fine mess again. This time, over an unpaid bet. He stood defiantly outside of the Bronze in a dark alley. An angry patron stood before him, rage twisting his features.

"You owe me, and I want my money now!" he shouted, the large assailant shouted.

"Now come on," Spike answered, smirking, "it was clear that I won the bet!"

"Don't give me that crap!" the burly man replied, swinging a fist at the vampire, a connecting.

Spike sailed across the alley, landing against a brick wall. The man pursued him, fist ready for another swing. Spike shot an arm out, blocking the man's punch, and directed one at his stomach. He expected to feel the familiar, sharp pain shoot through his skull. The damn pain caused by that damn chip. Instead, he felt only pleasure as his fist connected with the mortal's stomach and sent him square against the pavement. Spike rose quickly to his feet, standing over his attacker. The man pushed himself up, ready for another attack, and wiped the back of his hand across his bloodied mouth. Spike smiled strangely as he grabbed the man's head quickly, and sunk his fangs into his thick neck, gameface included.

As he left the alley, careful to hide the body amid the garbage, he smiled wickedly. The bloody chip wasn't working.

It was going to be. . .a good day.

She walked briskly down the moonlit street, pulling her jacket tighter around her body. The last time she had felt this vulnerable was during Giles' test. He had secretly drugged her to take away her Slayer abilities. It was a test designed by the Council. But now. . .no one had a good explanation. Not knowing scared the hell out of her. Every little ache she didn't feel as the Slayer, now felt a hundred times more intense.

The sound of footfalls behind suddenly snapped Buffy from her daydreams. The street had been unusually quiet up to this point. Buffy quickened her pace, glancing over her shoulder fearfully. The sound had stopped. She sighed a little and continued on. Not more than a few minutes had passed before she heard them again. This time, to the side. No, ahead of her. No, behind her. She swung around wildly, trying to locate the source of the footsteps, and found nothing. Heart racing and breath rapid, she turned to run. She raced down the street, suddenly feeling the ache in her muscles as they begged her to stop.

She rounded a corner, and ran right into someone. Buffy tumbled to the ground, landing back on her hands. She looked up to find Spike staring down at her.

"Spike," she breathed a small sigh of relief, before annoyance settled into her features.

He didn't reply. Instead, a smile pulled at his lips.

"I've got to tell you something. I need your help," Buffy tried to explain, trying to catch her breath.

"Not this time, Slayer," Spike said coolly.

Buffy looked up in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"That damn chip. . .it's stopped working," Spike announced, cold satisfaction filling his handsome face.

Buffy drew in a sharp breath, her heart froze for a moment. She slowly crawled away from Spike, rising to her feet and turned to run. But he was too fast. Spike grabbed her wrist, yanking her back, and shoved her to the ground. She yelped as she hit the ground, her eyes wide with fear.

"Spike, listen to me," she tried to explain calmly, with fear riddling her voice. He grabbed her neck as he pinned her on the ground, a low growl rising from his throat. "Listen to me!" she screamed.

"Go ahead and fight it, Slayer," he cooed. "I'd enjoy a good fight."

"Spike, stop it," she yelled, her hair spilling out around her head as he pressed her into the grass.

"Stop whining and fight me!" he yelled, pulling her up with him. She stood shakily on her feet, rubbing her tender neck as she backed away. He stood alertly, with a regained, deadly confidence. His eyes narrowed as a dark smile filled his face.

"I can't," she yelled. "Stay away from me!"

Spike lunged, swinging a punch that caught the defenceless Slayer square in the stomach. Thrown to the ground, she moaned in pain, trying to stop the tears from rushing to her eyes. Spike watched as she huddled on the ground, groaning in pain.

"What the hell is going on, Slayer?" he yelled, anger filling his voice.

"I can't fight you," she choked. "I'm not the Slayer. . .today."

"What do you mean, you're not the Slayer?" he asked, pouncing on her playfully, and pinning her arms over her head.

Buffy looked up at him and saw the hunger fill his eyes. That familiar hunger that all vampires felt. She choked back a sob as he watched her, his face filling with unquenchable desire. He slowly lowered his head to her neck, relishing the intoxicating smell of her skin.

"Spike, please," she begged, a sob racking her voice.

He pulled away slightly, his eyes locking onto her own.

"I've lost my abilities," she cried. "I'm defenceless. I can't fight you. I can't fight anyone."

"Bloody good day," he replied, his voice strangely haunting.

She glanced around desperately. "Don't throw away everything you've become," she cried softly.

"What? Your bloody pet?" he yelled, as disgust filled his face.

"No," she said hoarsely, "my friend."

Not quite the answer he was expecting. But Spike drew away quickly, releasing her hands. Her words held some meaning to him. He glanced away, annoyed at being distracted from his goal.

"I'm scared," Buffy whimpered. "I don't know where to go."

Spike thought carefully for a moment, his eyes shifting over her. Honestly, he had never seen her in such a state. Vulnerable. Weak. And for once, in recent days, she was asking for his help. He finally had his moment to do away with her, but the satisfaction in achieving that goal had dissolved. That was what made her different from the others. Those damned Slayers. Buffy had always been vulnerable to her emotions. She wasn’t merely a weapon forged to fight darkness. No, much more then that. No doubt she could hold her own. But her innocence shone through with a beauty incomparable to anything. Her compassion was unlike her predecessors’. She had the ability to strike him down long ago. But for some strange reason, she chose not to. She brought humanity to her duties.

"Don't worry, love," he said softly.

He scooped her up in his arms, surprised at how fragile she felt right now. He stood up, looking around for a moment, before looking down at her. Her head was pressed against his chest. Her eyes were fluttering as fatigue threatened to claim her. He couldn't kill her. Spike realised that he would never be able to. He loved her too much.

The only thing that mattered right now was protecting her from those that would take advantage of her. Those that would kill the only mortal he truly cared for.

When he reached the door of the Summers' house, Spike hesitantly knocked. The lights were off, and not a sound from within. Trying the doorknob, he found the door locked. Spike threw his weight into the door and it crashed open. Once inside, he closed the door behind him and looked around. A small note near the door confirmed his suspicions.

Buffy,

I’ll be away for the next week. The doctors suggested a holiday of ‘rest and relaxation.’ You know the number.

Love, Mom

Spike breathed a sigh of relief. At least he didn't have to contend with a worried mother. He plodded up the stairs, Buffy still asleep in his arms, and found her bedroom at the end of the hall. He swung the door open and glanced around, finding her bed. Spike drew back the covers and gently laid her down. She murmured softly in her sleep as her brow creased slightly. He watched her for a moment, awe-struck by her beauty. Finally, he pulled the covers over her, and stopped to brush a strand of hair from her cheek.

She would be safe for now, he decided. But just to be sure, he sat near her window.

Morning came quickly. Buffy rolled over in bed, her eyes fluttering as she slowly wakened. Opening her eyes, she found herself at home in bed. The curtains in the window covered the sunlight from her room. Lifting herself slightly, she glanced around and saw Spike. He was sleeping in a chair near her window. As she lifted her legs over the side of her bed, his eyes flashed open.

"You're awake," he said, fatigue edging his voice.

"How did I get here?" she said quietly.

"You're not well. I brought you home last night," Spike said, watching as she rose from the bed.

She tried to take a step forward, but a sharp pain shot through her body and she almost collapsed. Spike was at her side in a flash, steadying her as she sat back down.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, glancing around awkwardly.

"It doesn't matter," he replied, brushing away her comment.

"I feel the same," she said softly. "I thought that I'd feel better. How long is this going to last?" her eyes brimmed with tears.

"Don't worry about it," Spike replied, clasping her hand in his own, as he sat beside her.

She wasn't sure how to take it. The touch. It felt strange to her. . .but strangely comforting. She almost felt like surrendering. Giving in to the situation and leaning on Spike for protection. Her Slayer abilities had escaped her, and he was the only one who could protect her from the monsters and demons.

"Stay with me," she begged, fear haunting her eyes, "I don't think I can do this alone."

Spike gazed into her eyes and nodded. "I will," he answered, pulling her closer.

It felt strange. She remembered the time, not too long ago, when he had comforted her after she learned of her mother's illness. He had stayed with her during the worst of it, gently patting her back in support. But now his touch was more than that. Closer. She let him pull her closer. Felt him gently brush her hair aside. Felt his fingers gently touch her neck, and suddenly pull back.

She was running down an alley, her shoes clicking furiously on the cool pavement. Something was behind her. She turned but saw nothing. Only shadows followed her escape through the dark streets. Rounding a corner, she saw her familiar slaying grounds ahead - the cemetery. Her heart raced as she quickened her run, flipped forward, hands touching the ground, and vaulted over the wall. Buffy landed on her feet and raised her head, whipping her hair behind. She lifted herself up and glanced around, stake in hand. The first of her pursuers leapt over the wall and was met by a wooden stake to the heart. But soon, the onrush of vampires became too heavy for even the Slayer to handle. She staked several more before being taken by surprise, and knocked to the ground.

The pack surrounded her, moving in on the kill like hungry wolves. One pinned her arms above her head. Buffy thrashed around, trying to knock them away, but found herself too weak to resist. She screamed, not knowing why, or to whom. As one was about to feed, a voice broke the eerie silence.

"Just what the hell do you think you're doing?" a familiar voice, with a British accent, asked suspiciously.

"Spike," Buffy responded, straining to see the approaching ally.

He walked slowly across the grass, his leather jacket swirling about him. His expression was seductively cold as he scrutinised the enemy. They quickly scattered in fear, fleeing the cemetery in a desperate frenzy.

Buffy rested her head against the ground and breathed a sigh of relief. Spike approached her and stood over her, looking down with the same vacant expression.

"I'm glad you're here," she admitted.

Spike smiled strangely, his eyes sparkling in the moonlight. "So am I," he replied in a tone that sent a shiver up her spine.

"Spike?" she asked, her eyes narrowing slightly.

He knelt beside her, brushed a curl of hair from her neck and stroked her exposed skin. Spike's eyes filled with hunger as his gaze fixed on her neck. A hunger she remembered seeing not too long ago. The same hunger that Dracula had shown.

"What are you doing?" she whimpered, shuddering as he stroked her neck again.

"Let go, pet," he said strangely, before lowering his head and biting her.

She jolted in bed, rising quickly as her lungs sought air. Her skin was clammy with fever.

"What's the matter, Buffy?" Spike said, rushing to her bedside.

Buffy shrieked, pulling away from him in fear. She wrapped the sheet around her body and watched him with wide eyes. "Stay away from me," she managed to utter.

Spike gazed at her strangely, his eyes narrowing. "You were dreaming," he explained. "What happened?"

"No," she objected, "it wasn't a dream. . .it wasn't."

"You're sick," he said calmly. "Lie down."

"No," she cried, "I can't. I can't surrender. You'll kill me."

The words stung him like a wooden stake.

She remained in bed, huddled under the blankets in quiet fear, watching Spike as he sat across from her. The remnants of the nightmare still haunted her mind and made her acutely aware of Spike's condition. The fact that he could easily take advantage of her in her weakened state scared the hell out of her. He could come and go from her house with an open invitation. Damn, she thought.

He rose from the chair, glancing around the room briefly. "I have to go," he announced, "I'll be back soon."

She nodded slowly, watching him as he left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Buffy pushed herself up and climbed out of bed. She moved quickly to her window, pushing back the curtain, and watched as Spike moved across the lawn below. He disappeared into the night.

She had to get out. Being stuck inside was too much for her to bear. Buffy dressed quickly, pulling on the most comfortable of clothes with her black, hooded jacket. She slipped out of the house to be greeted by the cool breeze of the night. Normally, it would have felt good rushing through her hair and cooling her skin. But feeling as weak as she did now, her sensitivity to cold was heightened. The wind's icy fingers stung her skin.

Buffy walked across the lawn and along the sidewalk. The streetlights illuminated the pavement while a full moon above spread a hazy glow. She pulled her arms about herself, drawing the heat closer to her body. The walk felt liberating. She smiled under the moonlight, unaware of the danger behind her. It did not make itself known at first. The danger came in the form of a few vampires. Vampires that sensed her weakness like a dog in heat. They trailed behind her quietly, their teeth shining in the moonlight, as they smiled wickedly among each other. An easy kill. And of all victims. . .the Slayer!

Buffy was completely unaware until she felt a hand on her shoulder. She whirled around, and found herself confronted by vampires. Her eyes widened in panic.

"Hello, Slayer," a male vampire said mockingly, circling her like a vulture. His companions watched with amused expressions, scrutinising their prey.

"Get out of here," she said, trying to sound as bold as she possible could.

The vampire laughed. "Don't play games with me, Slayer. I know your secret. We all do."

Buffy turned to run, managing to make it as far as a park. She felt a body collide with hers, and was knocked to the ground, tumbling a few times before she came to a stop on her stomach. She felt her arms pinned painfully behind her back by rough hands. Whimpering, she struggled vainly to get away.

"Who wants to go first?" she heard a voice behind her.

They argued for a few minutes over who would feed first. Meanwhile, Buffy lay helplessly on the ground, quivering with fear as they made their decision. She felt a hand scratch her neck as her hair was tossed away. She felt the cold fingers move across her skin.

"Help," she tried to shout.

"Shut up, Slayer! No one can hear you," a female voice crooned.

Buffy strained, tears falling from her eyes.

"Just what the hell do you think you're doing?" a familiar voice called out. Deja vu. The words replayed themselves eerily in her mind.

They quickly scattered, releasing Buffy from their grasp. She remained on the ground, her face pressed into the grass. She shook with fear even as she heard them run off into the night. And then he was here, by her side, crouching on the ground as he assessed her situation.

"Buffy, are you alright?" Spike asked softly.

She didn't answer. Fear gripped her throat. Her dream seemed to be playing itself out.

"Bastards," Spike cursed, glancing around. His face darkened for a moment as he searched the park. He finally turned back to her, "We gotta get you home, luv. Why did you come out? It's too dangerous!"

He lifted her up gently, turning her over, and resting her against his arm. She tried not to meet his eyes with her own. But finally, she looked up at him. He stared at her for a moment, noticing the elicit fear in her eyes. Spike reacted by brushing the hair from her face gently. Damn them, he thought, for hurting her like this. But as he brushed her hair tenderly, and noticed her pull away from his touch, he understood.

"Buffy, I'm not gonna hurt you," he said, his voice growing serious.

She didn't answer. Her widened eyes searched his. "You could," she said softly.

"Yes, I could," he said, glancing down at her, his eyes filling with something dangerous. She pulled back slightly in fear. "But I choose not to," he added, smiling awkwardly.

"Why?" she asked innocently.

Spike looked down at her. His eyes burned with something she could not identify. She squirmed awkwardly under his gaze. He reached out to touch her face, but pulled away and glanced down sadly. "Shhh. C'mon, lets get you to safety."

He rose up, gathering her in his strong arms, and made his way back home. His home.

Here he was. Sitting quietly in the corner as she lay across the room, beneath the covers, and in his bed. Riley had no idea what he had left behind. No idea whatsoever. Spike's gaze drifted across the room as he sat and thought. Thought about how he wished she wasn't in this state. Weak. Helpless. But another part of him, the larger part, relished the idea that she was ill. Normally, she would never turn to him like this, in this moment of weakness. He would go about his dreary life, and she hers. But now, he had a chance to be with her more then ever before.

A soft moan escaped her parted lips. He rushed to her side, glancing around awkwardly for a moment and watched her roll her head across the pillow.

"Cold," she murmured, her eyes moving under her eyelids.

Already covered adequately with blankets, it was apparent her fever had not broken yet. He watched her shiver violently beneath the blankets before making the decision. Slipping off his leather jacket, he tossed it over the nearest chair and slipped in beside her. He moved up behind her, as she lay on her side. As he came into contact with her body, he felt her wrack with shivers. Spike wound his arms around her, drawing her close to him. She lay in his arms, her body growing still and her breathing slowing. He gently brushed back her hair and kissed her neck softly before drifting off to sleep with her.

She awoke to the feeling of warmth and contentment. It surrounded her like a blanket. She opened her eyes, daring the sun to strike her blind as the first bright rays of the morning found a window. But they didn't. The windowless chamber was dimly lit. Buffy stirred beneath the sheets, looking around to gather her bearings. She found herself resting comfortably against. . .Spike. She nearly threw back the covers and jumped out. To think, she was lying in the same bed as her mortal enemy. Well, she reminded herself, not anymore. But still. He lay beside her, still dressed, she noticed with relief. She was leaned into his side, her hand and cheek resting softly against his chest. His arm was slung around her back as he slept quietly.

A part of her did not want to move. Did not want to evade his embrace. The feeling of his arm around her, of her pressed against him, was almost too much for her to bear. But she was the Slayer, and he a vampire. She couldn't do this again, she must not do this again. But despite her best efforts, the feeling would not go away.

She pulled away quietly, slipping her feet over the bed and gasped. She was not exactly naked. Her clothes had been piled neatly on a nearby chair, but her undergarments were still on. The camisole covered what little dignity she had left. Buffy grabbed a sheet, wrapping it self-consciously about her, and slid out of bed. She turned, finding Spike awake, and watching her quietly.

"You're better?" he asked quietly.

Buffy glanced briefly at him, not wanting to engage his eyes for too long. "I think so," she said, clearing her throat slightly, "How did I. . ."

"Get here?" he finished her question, flashing a smile. "You were attacked, and I brought you back to my place."

"Your place," she repeated, suddenly clamping a hand to her neck and pulling back.

Spike shook his head firmly, "I didn't feed, Buffy."

"Why not?" her voice grew hushed.

He rose from the bed, walking towards her, reverting to his gameface. She shrieked in response, trying to back away until her back met the stone wall. He moved closer and closer until he was inches from her.

"You wanted to see me like this?" Spike asked, agitation in his voice.

"No. . .I. .." she tried to argue, as he threw her arms against the wall, pinning her.

"You want me to kill you?" Spike interrupted, moving his head seductively from side to side like a king cobra.

Eyes wide with fear, Buffy shook her head. "No," she whispered, closing her eyes to fight back the emotion. When she had opened them again, she found Spike had resumed his human appearance. Sympathy washed through his eyes.

He stopped before her, his head close to hers. "I won't kill you, Buffy," he said, his hand drifting up to her face, as he gently stroked her cheek.

She shuddered at his touch. But the fear melted away and she sobbed, collapsing in his arms.

She stood, in his arms, for what seemed like an eternity. His hands drifted along her back, trying to stroke away the fear and frustration. Her body shuddered with each sob. Spike pulled away slowly, looking in her eyes, as his jaw tightened. He lifted a gentle hand to her face, brushing away the tears that streaked her skin.

"Why are you doing this?" Buffy asked, confusion filling her face.

Spike examined her for a moment as he attempted an explanation. "I've killed two Slayers," he began, growing serious for a moment, "and I thought I wanted to kill another. But. . .you're different."

"I don't understand," Buffy replied, her face still wet. "How am I different?"

He stared at her, the words being too difficult to form. Too difficult to say. "I tried to blind myself to the feeling before. I thought it was this damn chip in my brain. But the longer I tried to convince myself, the more I knew this feeling was real," he explained, clutching her arms instinctively.

Buffy glanced up fearfully. "Spike? What are you talking about? What feeling?"

Spike shook his head mildly in frustration. "Ah, damn. Buffy. . .I. . .I'm in love with you."

Buffy pulled away slightly, her eyes widened in a mixture of surprise and fear. "No, you. . .you're not."

Spike moved towards her, his eyes fixed on hers with determination. "Yes," he said calmly, "I am."

"That's not possible," she tried to counter, "you're my enemy. You're a vampire! You have no soul!"

"There's a lot you don't know about me, luv," Spike said gravely. "Haven't you learned yet? Humans think they have us pegged. . .hell, with their books and watchers. To hell with them, they know nothing. You still don't know everything about yourself."

"Well, I'm trying," Buffy said, agitation in her voice.

"Then try to understand this," he said, gesturing at himself.

Buffy remained quiet, watching Spike as he awaited her reply. "How could I trust you? How do I know you won't try to kill me?"

"What must I do to convince you?" Spike shouted.

He watched her for a moment before drawing up to her. He could smell the sweetness of her hair, the honey of her skin. The feeling became too intoxicating, even for him, and he knew the answer to his own question. Clutching her arms, he drew her close. His lips were inches for hers, and he could feel her breathing quicken, and her eyes vainly search his own. Finally, he met her lips with his own. The memory of that damn dream, the moment he realised he loved her, seemed to pale in comparison to this moment. He kissed her softly. The hunger he had experienced every time he had been near her, yet so far away, had accumulated into this moment. And now, only the two of them existed. Only the two of them mattered.

She let him kiss her. A part of her brain screamed in protest. Another told her to shut up. His lips caressed her own for a minute, before she responded. As she drew her hands to his shoulders, Spike pulled her closer, almost crushing her against him, and deepened the kiss. Electricity seemed to flow between the two with every touch.

Finally, she pulled away, her face flushed. "I believe you," she breathed. "But. . .I can't do this. I can't kiss you."

Spike tilted his head in confusion, his expression glazed from the heated moment. "What do you mean?" his voice deep.

"Because. . .if I keep kissing you, I don't think I'll be able to stop," she answered softly.

Suddenly, her face contorted into pain, and she slumped to the ground. Buffy glanced up, wincing, as she drew her hands to her head and raked them through her hair.

"Buffy?" Spike shouted, kneeling beside her. "What's going on?"

"I don't know," she cried. "Take me to Giles."

Spike lifted her up immediately, worry filling his chiselled face.

It seemed like an eternity before Spike reached the magic shop. To his advantage, the sun had just set. He dared to think what might have happened if Buffy had collapsed during the middle of the day. Kicking the door open with his foot, he carried Buffy into the small store and looked around anxiously for the Watcher. He finally spotted Giles, who was busy flipping through several yellowed texts with a look of concern on his face.

"I need your help," Spike said quickly, crossing the distance and laying the unconscious Slayer across the nearest table.

Giles rose quickly and rushed towards her, eyeing Spike suspiciously before concentrating on Buffy's condition. "What happened?" his voice grew stern.

"You tell me," Spike responded, shrugging, "She collapsed. I think she's got a headache."

"Dear God, no," Giles muttered, examining her closely.

"What? What's going on?" Spike asked, growing more concerned by the minute.

Giles remained quiet, glancing back at the open book behind him. "I've found something in the books."

"Bloody hell, man, what is it?" Spike shouted, anger taking the better of him.

"Buffy lost her abilities a few days ago. There's a reason behind it – it’s not a coincidence. This. . .is her most vulnerable time. Few Slayers reach this. . .trial," Giles explained, concern increasing as he studied Spike. "Spike, I fail to see why you're so concerned."

Spike looked around uncomfortably. "Well I. . .I've been looking out for her," he said.

The Watcher's eyes narrowed. "Looking out for the Slayer?" he said, sounding unconvinced.

"Listen, I don't have time for this. . .tell me how to end this right now!" Spike ordered, rushing Giles against the nearest shelf.

A few books dropped from the collision. Giles stared at Spike, scrutinising his every move before comprehension filled his face. "The chip. . .it's not working. . .is it?"

Spike shook his head, reverting to his gameface. He smiled, fangs gleaming under the soft lights of the store. "Right you are, Watcher."

"But. . .why?" Giles asked, glancing at his pupil in apprehension.

"Just. . .shut up! I don't have time for this. I can make things very unpleasant for you," Spike shouted.

"Alright," Giles conceded, lifting his hands up, "alright. I'll tell you."

Spike changed back to his human appearance and moved back, releasing Giles in the process.

"There is only one way to bring her out of this state. If we don't, she will continue to get worse and eventually. . ." Giles ended abruptly, discomfort filling his face.

"What do we do?" Spike said gruffly.

Giles looked around, as if in an attempt for intervention, but found none. "She must be fed upon. . .not killed. . .but drained slightly."

Spike stared at Giles in disbelief, his mouth slightly agape. "I don't understand. . .what kind of a trial is this?"

Giles wearily rubbed a hand across his forehead. "I don't know. Honestly, I don't think this is a standard trial. My theory is that such a trial was instituted by another party. . .vampire, demon, perhaps."

"The one chance at killing the Slayer?" Spike asked, glancing back at Buffy.

"Yes," Giles stammered. He studied Spike for a while. "Whatever you're considering, don't! If you try anything, I swear, I will kill you!"

Spike and Giles stood in silence for a moment, studying one another in quiet suspicion. Finally, Spike broke the silence.

"Who's it gonna be?" he asked in a grave tone.

Giles rubbed the bridge of his nose and frowned. "There's always. . ."

"Angel," Spike cut in, grimacing, "right?"

"Yes," Giles replied, his brow furrowing.

"The only problem is the bloke isn't here. Even if we tried, he might not get here in time," Spike said, gesturing towards the unconscious Slayer. The thought of Angel and Buffy. . .together. . .he shook his head slightly, willing the thought away.

"That's true. What do you suggest?" Giles asked, eyes narrowed.

"You know there's only one option right now," Spike said, his eyes settling on the Watcher.

"No," Giles said firmly, shaking his head.

"What other option do you have?" Spike asked coolly. "Now, if you want her to live, you're going to have to trust me."

Giles almost scoffed at the idea. To put his trust into someone who was once his enemy was almost unimaginable. But Spike had changed over the last year, or so he surmised. Of course, the chip probably had something to do with it. But now that the chip was not working, could he really trust him? For all he knew, Spike could easily take this opportunity to kill the Slayer, like he had killed the others before. But what other choice did he have? Buffy would most certainly die without any intervention. What he needed was her opinion. He could not make the decision for her. She had to make the call.

Giles moved towards Buffy and gently shook her shoulder, trying to wake her. Her eyes fluttered open for a moment and she stared blankly up at her Watcher.

"Buffy, how are you feeling?" Giles asked gently.

She blinked, raising a hand to her forehead and glanced around deliriously. "Not good," she replied.

Giles licked his lips, sighing heavily. "Buffy, I'm afraid that this isn't going to cure itself."

"What do you mean?" she asked, struggling to speak.

"You're undergoing some sort of trial. There's only one way out of it, I'm afraid."

Buffy studied Giles for a moment, noticing the look of hesitation in his eyes. "Tell me."

"A vampire must feed from you. . .not to the point of death, but enough to reverse this process and restore your abilities," Giles explained, bracing himself for her reaction.

Strangely, she seemed to know. Buffy closed her eyes tightly and moaned slightly. Opening her eyes again, she turned her head to face Giles.

"I don't know what to do," Giles said, frustration filling his voice. "We cannot call in Angel soon enough."

"I know," Buffy nodded. She pursed her lips, thinking hard, before rolling her head to the other side.

Spike was standing at a distance, watching the conversation with a serious expression on his chiselled face. As Buffy made eye contact with him, his expression softened slightly.

"I guess my choice is limited," she said with resignation.

"Buffy, are you sure about this?" Giles asked in a worried tone. "Do you trust him?"

Buffy studied her former adversary for a moment and answered, never turning away. "Yes."

Giles sighed, muttering something under his breath.

"Giles, could you leave?" Buffy asked softly, glancing up at her Watcher with pleading eyes.

His expression changed to sheer panic.

"Don't worry," Buffy said, "I. . .I'll be okay. You've got to believe me."

Giles stood quietly for a moment, weighing his opinions carefully, before moving towards the door. As he left, he raised a stern finger towards Spike. "If you harm her, at all, I swear. . .I will kill you!"

He left, closing the door behind him.

She lay on the table, consumed by the throbbing in her head, the ache in her muscles, and especially by fear. The argument between Giles and Spike had been one big blur to her. But as she watched Spike approach the table and glance down at her, she suddenly realized what she had got herself into. His penetrating gaze slowly fixed on her. She closed her eyes, fighting hard to wish this moment away, as though it were simply a dream. But as hard as she tried, the moment stayed. She heard his footsteps, as he circled the table, and shuddered uncontrollably. Buffy could not stop it. The feeling grew worse, and she reconsidered her earlier decision. She did not want this. She did not want to feel the pain. She did not want to be at the mercy of a vampire. . .again.

She felt a hand on her wrist, and her eyes snapped open. Spike stood beside her, looking down at her with an unreadable expression. She wanted to pull away. To run. To hide. But an invisible force held her body rigid. She shook with fear.

"I. . .I don't think we should do this," Buffy stammered, as a sob gripped her throat. Her wide, moist eyes pleaded.

"We have to," Spike said, his voice deeper then usual, and soothing in a strange way.

"Please," Buffy whimpered.

He looked down at her, laying a hand on her forehead, and brushed away her hair. His jaw tightened slightly as he studied her. "Shhhhh," he said softly, "don't worry, pet."

"I'm scared," she choked, glancing up at him.

Something flashed in his eyes for a moment. Sympathy? Regret? She could not tell. Buffy tried to raise herself up. She sat on the edge of the table, bracing the edge to jump down onto the floor. She rubbed a hand along her neck, pulling her top just a little higher to hide the skin and glanced at Spike, who stood beside her. His eyes moved hungrily along her neck. . .almost like the time he had first tried to kiss her. The time he had told her how he had killed the other Slayers. She gasped, struggling to get down and get out as fast as she could. But his arms suddenly shot out and gripped her arms tightly.

"What are you doing?" she shrieked, trying hard to pull away.

"Buffy," Spike said sternly, pressing her back down against the table, "this is for your own good. You're not thinking straight."

"Spike! Stop it! Please!" she screamed, thrashing around, until the tears finally consumed her and she loosened up. She sobbed, trying to hide her face with her hands.

He gently moved them away, gazing down at her with a pained expression on his handsome face. Lowering his head, Spike grazed her lips gently. The tension left her body. He gently stroked her face, moving his fingers along her jaw. Along her neck. Pulling at the fabric of her top. Exposing her neck. He pulled away, gazing down at her for a moment.

"I love you, Buffy," he said in a haunted voice.

Suddenly his features changed. Twisted into the brutal form of a vampire. She lay motionless, her head tilted back, her eyes shut tightly, and her hands raised slightly towards his chest. She never had time to cry out. Never had a chance to stop it. Spike buried his fangs in her neck. The sharp pain passed quickly, replaced by the gentle caress of his lips on her neck. And as he drank, the world began to spin before her. Spin wildly and threaten to swallow her whole. And she gave in.

She didn't know where she was, and for a moment, who she was. All she knew was warm, comforting darkness. She was standing, alone, in a dark room. A large room, she guessed. A warm breeze rushed by her, drawing back her hair. Buffy turned around and tried to find something in the dark. There was absolutely nothing. Nothing to relate with, nothing to focus on, and nothing to hold on to. Anxiety rose inside of her as she glanced around.

Suddenly, a presence emerged from the inky blackness. Buffy swirled around to face it. A figure parted the darkness and walked towards her. Spike. Buffy frowned in confusion as the familiar figure approached. His handsome face held no discernible expression. He merely gazed intently at her as he walked slowly from the dark. She tried to speak, but strangely, the words would not form. And she was left with no means to communicate with him. Her body even froze.

As he came up beside her, a hand drifted to her face and stroked away the tear she did not know she had. She glanced down, startled, and looked up at him with questioning eyes. He smiled slightly, drawing her closer and enveloping her in his arms. Buffy relaxed, allowing herself the opportunity to press against him. She looked up, into his eyes, and smiled. He responded by running a gentle finger across her lips, pulling her closer. . .

Pain. The feeling drew her from the dream and into the harsh light of reality. Her eyes fluttered open, moving about desperately. She tried to turn her head, but a hand moved quickly to brace it. Her mouth tried to form words, and she was finally granted a chance to speak.

"What. . ." the word rushed out hoarsely from her lips Her eyes were wide with shock.

His head was still nestled in the curve of her neck. She felt something different for a moment. Something very familiar. Something she felt she had forgotten and suddenly had remembered. A new strength grew inside of her, starting at her core, and working its way outward. It fought its way through her arms and legs. Suddenly, it flooded her brain and she knew. Knew everything. Remembered who she was, and why she was here.

She thrust him away, jarring him from her neck, and toppled from the table and onto the floor. Landing on her stomach, she groaned from the impact, and pushed herself up. Her legs found the strength to support her as she rose up. And suddenly, she felt the fortitude she had lost. She rose to meet his expectant gaze. He stood on the opposite side of the table, wiping the back of his hand across the side of his mouth, quickly casting off his vampiric visage and resuming his human appearance.

"Buffy?" he asked.

She stood boldly, watching his eyes carefully before allowing a small smile to escape her lips.

Spike stood still. His face filled with an expectant expression as he waited for Buffy's answer.

"It worked," she replied softly, stretching her arms slightly.

Spike nodded. "Good," he said quickly, relieved that he had not caused any major damage.

She glanced around quietly with an air of unease. Her eyes drifted away from his, as though afraid of facing the aftermath of the situation. Buffy pressed a cautious hand to her neck, pulled it away, and found her hand stained with a small amount of blood.

"So, I guess I should thank you," she said uncomfortably, wincing slightly at the evidence of the wound.

"Buffy," he said, his voice deepening.

Her discomfort was evident. He wanted to console her. To tell her how much he hated himself right now, for what he had to do. But he also knew it was very necessary. Still, he could not shake the feeling of regret. And as he watched her put up a wall between them, his heart sank. Hazel eyes drifted away from his and sought something else to hang onto.

"Don't," he broke the uneasy silence, "don't thank me."

Buffy looked at him, her eyes filling with an unsettling confusion.

Spike lifted his hands slightly, as if to prove a point, and stepped forward. "I know you could never look at me in the way I'd want you to. And don't deny it. . .I know it's true. Frankly, I don't think I could stand seeing the disgust in your eyes."

Buffy opened her mouth in protest.

"Don't," he interrupted. "I don't want to hear it. What's done is done, Slayer. I guess this means were back to the same ol' game again. Pitted against one another."

He saw the hurt in her eyes. The confusion. The desperation.

"You're wrong," she responded, "I know exactly what I feel."

"Buffy," he said, his tone growing tired, "leave it alone. I'll leave. . .go the way of the angels and disappear."

"Spike," she shouted, "that's not fair! You have no idea. . ."

"He had his little taste, you dumped him, and he left," Spike cut in, his eyes fixing on hers.

"Stop it," she said firmly, her body tensing.

"Why?" he asked, moving closer, as if to challenge her.

"He made the decision on his own. He left me here. . .alone. Do you think I wanted that? Do you think I wanted to be alone?" she argued, her eyes welling up with tears.

Spike noticed the grief in her eyes, and his face softened slightly.

"You think that you can just leave? That's going to solve everything? You jumped the gun. Have you even stopped to ask me how I feel?" Buffy shouted, throwing her fist down.

"Then, how do you feel?" he asked, moving closer until he was inches from her.

"I love you," she shrieked, "okay? You protected me when you could have killed me. You chose humanity over the darkness. I didn't share your feelings for a long time. But, I can't deny it now. . .we need each other. I need you!"

Spike was overjoyed. He moved closer, pulling her into him and kissed her passionately. He moved his hand to her face and slid the tears away with his thumb. Finally, he felt what he had longed for, for so long. He found the satiation of emotions that he thought would never be quenched. Feelings he thought would never be shared. But now, here he was. And here she was. They were together. Not just in the physical sense. . .it was so much more then that. She was the light, and he the dark. In a universe of dichotomies, one complemented the other. There could not be one without the other.

Nothing could predict what lay ahead for them. The future was still uncertain. But the only certainty lay in the fact that both would endure. Light would always complement dark. She would always be there. He would always be waiting.

"God, I love you," he said, watching the content in her eyes.