Blood dripped from his nose onto his top lip.

Spike lay there beaten and tired.

Too tired to lick the crimson liquid from his face.

His eye swelled shut as he lay there waiting for the sun.

If he couldn’t be in the dark with her then he would join her in the sun for one brief glorious moment before he dusted…

The beaten vampire could feel his shattered ribs rub together as he sighed.

His girl had done him over good.

Spike didn’t care about the pain.

Cos if he felt pain then he must exist.

He could feel Buffy’s pain in the words she had yelled at him as she beat him to a pulp – he knew that she was referring to herself - she felt soulless and dead inside and couldn’t feel anything real. Buffy had been talking about herself as she beat him. He never felt the pain of her frantic strikes, only the pain of her anguish and self-loathing.

He welcomed her fists and words if they helped her in anyway.

Spike welcomed her touch even if it was in hate…

Only to help her in the only way he knew; through violence – if it lessened her pain then he would take it from Buffy…he loved her and that was that.

He accepted her punches anything to take care of his girl…

It was worth it…

He rolled onto his knees. Clutching at his side, Spike rose shakily to his feet – had to get home and heal. So he could be there for his Slayer.

As Spike staggered out of the alley all he could think was – it was worth it.





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