Abled

TimeLine: Not set in any season, but the gang are all in their early twenties. Joyce is still alive and Dawn is around, but there is no big bad, and no Riley. Future AU – Spoilers – Season Four - Anything from Beer Bad and before.

Summary: After a violent accident, Buffy finds herself all alone. And Spike is the only one that can handle her.

NAVIGATION BAR ::

:: One :: Two :: Three :: Four :: Interlude :: Five :: Six :: Seven :: Eight :: Interlude :: Nine :: Ten :: Interlude :: Eleven :: Twelve ::
:: Thirteen :: Interlude ::

Buffy smiled as she walked along side her friends, happy just to listen as they chatted randomly about the film they'd just seen.

"And then it was like *pow* and *shqwa*!" Xander imitated, fake shooting stars in the sky as he re-played various scenes from the movie.

Willow smiled at Xander's antics, turning to her girlfriend, "Did you like the movie, honey?"

"I don't think there was a Chinese pom-pom maker in the whole film, baby." Willow frowned at Tara.

“There was a guy sitting a few rows down with a fuzzy head of hair though. I can see where that might have been confusing.” Willow smiled reassuringly.

“The Chinese were making bombs in that film. As with a lot of American films, other cultures are the bad-Xander, stop that!” Anya thwapped her boyfriend as he started dancing.

"Xander if you don't shut up, you better get yourself ready for the couch!" Anya, hit her boyfriend over the head playfully with a magazine she'd picked up at the cinema.

Buffy sighed, watching the jovially conversing couples with barely concealed longing. And jealousy. It had been two years since she'd last been on a date and after that disaster had sworn off the idea. First Angel, then Angelus, and then Angel again, then Parker, then Jack (her date).

First, she'd spent three hours getting ready, only for him to turn up at the door in torn jeans and a t-shirt. She'd been expecting fine dining, or at least as fine as Sunnydale could manage, but had ended up getting a burger at Wendy's. She'd envisaged a midnight stroll down the beach, swinging her sandals from her fingers and his jacket over her shoulders. What she'd got was a walk through the dank alleyways of the 'bad' side of Sunnydale as Jack attempted to spook her, a vampire attack, one very freaked out date and no lift home.

Needless to say, since then the idea of dating, let alone getting involved with someone had been unappealing. Well, that wasn't entirely true...but the only person, and she used the term oh-so-very loosely, that she ever thought might be able to handle getting involved with her, caused her too much fear to even dare to try.

There was just too much history standing between them... not that it was all bad, mind you. But there had been far too many repercussions the last time she'd given her heart - she couldn't afford to let it go again. No matter how desperately she sometimes wanted to.

Buffy sighed at the depressing thought. She'd promised herself for Christmas that she wouldn't let this get her down; that she wouldn't think about it anymore. But she couldn't control her dreams. She could never control her dreams.

Scary, terrifying, infuriating, sexy, amazing, beautiful dreams. Flashes of white-blonde hair, sea blue eyes and a deep, husky voice whispering the dirtiest, sweetest, most loving things against her skin.

She shook her head, trying to shake the images. Her eyes closed momentarily as she rubbed her hands over her suddenly depressed face. *Come on, Buff, feet forward and keep the mind off the annoying peroxide blonde!*

"Ms. Summers? Buffy, can you hear me? We're going to move you onto the stretcher now. If you can hear me, take a deep breath and brace yourself."

"Twenty-One year old female, she was hit by a car. She's still breathing but it's shallow. There are numerous fractures in her right arm, left wrist and her left leg is broken. She has severe contusions on her lower back with noticeable lack of response to pain stimulus in her lower extremities."

"Mrs. Summers? I’m Dr. Kate Walker. I treated your daughter when she was brought into the Er. May I speak with you privately for a moment?"

"Please, you can tell us all...we're all family." Joyce said as strongly as she could while her youngest held her hand so tightly that it was white. "How is she?"

The doctor gave her a tight smile, "I have mixed news for you. When your daughter was brought in there some complications but we have Buffy stabilised at the moment." Her eyes briefly flittered to the relieved group, and then back to Joyce. "However, she has lapsed into a coma."

"Ms. Summers may be in a coma but she isn't on life support which is a very positive sign under the circumstances. It is not uncommon for a patient to lapse into a brief restive catatonic state after such an injury is incurred. We will know more, depending on how long it takes for her to wake." The blonde doctor allowed her gaze to travel around the group, before resting on her patient’s immediate family.

"T-that’s a good thing, right?" Dawn stuttered, looking between the doctor and her mother for reassurance.

"It should be." Dr. Walker confirmed with a little hesitation. "There is a very good chance that she will wake up within a short period of time."

"You said there was mixed news." Giles prompted, shrewdly determining that the doctor wasn't finished telling them the whole story.

"Yes." The doctor stated, taking a deep breath. "While Buffy is breathing on her own, she has suffered a great deal of trauma. Many bones in her arms and one of her legs were injured as a result of the collision. We set them all as best we could and most, if not all of those should make a full recovery."

"I'm saying that if and when Buffy wakes there will be further complications. I'm afraid her spinal chord and several of her vertebrae were damaged in the accident. She's likely to be paralysed from the waist down." The doctor finished in a soft voice, her eyes misty with compassion.

"Hey, Buffy!" Dawn began in an overly cheerful tone as she tried to smile at her sister's prone figure. "We started school this week. I know I told you before, but I figured you might have forgot or something."

She took deep breath, trying to calm herself down in the face of Buffy's non-reaction.

"Day was pretty good. Well, same ole, same ole. Oh, but we do have this really hot new math teacher. I can see my grade going up in that!" She tried to laugh, but it came out choked.

"Um, Paula - this girl I sit next to in English was saying that Rick, that’s the guy I liked last year for a bit, 'member? Anyway, apparently he's gay. But I'm not sure I believe her 'cause I saw him like totally brush her off on Monday, so you know...."

When Buffy didn't move, a sob ripped from her throat, even though she'd tried to force it back. "I really miss you. Please Buffy..." Tears dripped down her cheeks and she buried her face in her hands.

Dawn jumped as the door opened and she stood, quickly wiping the still-flowing liquid away. A nurse stood in the doorway, a fresh IV bag in her hand. She waited a moment, before moving in.

"Hi..." The brunette smiled softly at the young girl, moving to replace the almost empty IV.

The girl didn't respond, but then, the nurse had hardly expected her to. She turned around to say something else, but found that Dawn had slipped away.

"...and a yea on the balloon thing right?" Xander tried to smile as he tugged on the string that kept the helium-inflated balloon weighted to the ground. "I was thinking: balloon, pretty!"

Anya cleared her throat, "We would have brought flowers but we decided that they would end up dying and that wouldn't be a very good role model for you."

"What? All I'm saying is: don't die." The ex-demoness' eyes clouded with unshed tears and the carpenter was immediately contrite.

"You're right; good message. Right, Buff-?" He cut himself off as realisation hit him that she wouldn't be answering. He felt his girlfriend's hand close over his and he gave it a squeeze, her strength giving him he courage to continue to talk like nothing was wrong.

"So....I discovered this really cool snack the other day, you'd like it. You get some cheese...."

"You know, you're lucky to have so many friends. They seem to care about you deeply. When you wake up you're going to be spoiled rotten." Buffy’s plump, motherly physical therapist smiled at the comatose young woman as if nothing was wrong and continued to straighten the sheets.

"And so you should be." She continued. "Dr. Walker is good at her job, so you're in good hands."

She lifted one leg, rotating it at the joints and massaging up the muscles before replacing it softly on the bed and giving the other the same treatment. She glanced over at the oriental lilies that sat, fresh, in the vase next to Buffy's bed. "I see your night-time caller has left another present, Ms Summers. Pity I'm not on night shift this week; now, there’s a face anyone would be willing to wake up for." Doris chuckled softly, carefully tucking both legs back under the covers.

"Just ignore me - the ramblings of an old woman and all that." She finished up around the room, keeping up a soft stream of speech as she did so. "Well, I'll see you tomorrow, rest well." With an unseen, yet sad smile she closed the door behind her.

"I have a surprise for you." Joyce smiled encouragingly at her daughter, absently brushing a lank piece of blonde hair from her pillow. "I know how you mourned the loss of HBO and as a treat we're getting it put back on next month." She waited expectantly for some reaction, but received none.

"Dawnie went back to school a few days ago. I think she's doing better this year. She wasn't too happy about the surprise pop quiz they had on Tuesday but I think she's enjoying herself. Not hanging around with that Kaylie-girl which is a blessing in disguise."

Joyce tugged on the sheet covering Buffy, attempting to pull it straight as she talked but it kept crumpling. With an agitated sigh she let it go. Then quickly caught it back in her hands, lest some higher power thought it was symbolic of her letting Buffy go. Her fingers curled so tightly around the sheet that her knuckles were white.

She forced herself to relax, but refused to let go of the sheet. "I think Mr. Giles said he was coming to visit later this afternoon. I know if you were awake you'd be blaming his many visits on his love of grapes..." She tried to laugh but it came out as a tearful hiccup.

The brunette nurse was silent as she quickly changed the IV's that were connected to the various tubes travelling in and out of Buffy Summer's body.

She moved round the bed, placing the empty bags on her tray as she went. Her hands moved swiftly through the routine of removing and replacing the full catheter bag.

Her job completed, she left the room to the sound of the gentle beating of the machine; the only sign of life.

"T-the, uh, gang has continued to patrol in your, uh, absence." Giles stared in to the brown bag, full of seedless grapes that sat on his lap, anxious to keep up the pretence that Buffy was simply being quiet....as if that ever happened.

"It has been getting quieter...I know you're thinking apocalypse around the corner." He smiled tightly, taking a deep breath. He slipped his glasses from his face, absently rubbing at the perfectly clean lenses.

"Your mother and sister are h-holding up as....as best they can. As are we all.....don't worry. I know you'll be up and about soon....slayer healing and so on." Tears clouded his eyes and he stood, walking over to the small window at the other side of the room, not wanting her to 'see' him cry.

Once he was sure he had himself under control he opened his mouth to start again.

He spun around with a gasp - he hadn't heard the door open. In the doorway stood a nurse, a kind smile on his face. "Uh, yes, is there a problem?" Giles' eyes darted worriedly to Buffy's bed, hurriedly searching for any change in her statue-like appearance....but there was none.

"I'm afraid visiting hours are over." The nurse spoke softly, not wanting to upset the clearly ruffled man.

Giles, suddenly realising that he couldn't see the other man very well, quickly slid his glasses back on. "Of course, I'm sorry..."

"It's fine." The nurse was quick to reassure him. He gave a little laugh to try and put the other man at ease. "We're open again at nine, tomorrow, if you'd like to come back."

"Hey Buffy!" Willow and Tara spoke softly and simultaneously, as they walked through the door to the private room that housed their friend.

"How've you been?" Willow asked automatically, then winced. "I mean, obviously you've not been great 'cause of the coma and all but, well-"

"Honey, it's okay." Tara's quiet voice broke through the redhead's babbling as she reached towards her girlfriend and squeezed her hand to try and calm her. "We thought we'd let you know where we've been getting with the research." Tara began, urging Willow to continue.

"Oh, yeah, well....not so good. I mean we're still trying, and we're gonna keep on trying...." Willow trailed away. "Giles is trying to contact the council, see if they know of anything that might, you know, help..."

Tara whispered something in her ear and Willow suddenly shot up. "Oh, but we've been looking into healing spells."

"B-but we were thinking of trying to write our own, like a combination of what we've got." Willow continued.

"Yeah!" Willow smiled back, then sobered as she looked down at Buffy. She tried to smile. "I've been keeping track of all your school assignments, like last time...when you're better you can just roll-uh, I mean slide right in." Willow blushed at the slip up and reference to Buffy's damaged spine, but the comatose Slayer didn't react.

With a sigh, Willow sunk into the arms of her lover, a tear rolling down her face.

Doris was silent as she moved about her daily duty of tending to Ms. Summers. It had been just over two weeks since Buffy had first slipped into a coma, and while her body appeared to remain stable the kind nurse knew from experience that the recovery rate of such cases was low after the first week.

She shook her head, trying to distance herself from the patient she had become quite attached to over the past fortnight. With a forced smile she began to speak, hoping that her voice at least eased some of the boredom Buffy's inner mind must be feeling while she prayed for her body to heal itself.

With a heart-felt sigh he turned the silver doorknob and silently slipped in to the room, closing the door behind him. It was dark, the only light in the room came from the full moon outside and the flashing LED's that were part of the various equipment the girl in the bed was hooked up to.

With preternatural grace he moved forward, carefully removing the day-old flowers and replacing them with fresh ones. The task, which had built into a routine over the past couple of weeks, helped ground him.

The lone chair still sat by the door, and he pulled it as close to the bed as he could get it; the sound of the rubber against the metallic floor aching loud in the silent room.

Suddenly feeling very old, he slumped down into the plastic chair that stood solidly by the bed. His pale hand dragged itself over his tired features, as he stared at her through his fingers.

He sighed, leaning forward in his chair so that his elbows rested on his knees, his face still cradled in his palms. "You've got to wake up, ducks. Everyone's hanging on by a thread....even demon-girl."

"Your mum and th' bit need you. They all need you." He stared across at her eyes, willing them to open as he did every night.

And then he broke the rule. The one, unspoken rule that every visitor had unwittingly and unknowingly kept.

With a shaking hand he reached for hers. His touch was hesitant at first, as if he were afraid that he might injure her further. But then, as his emotions overcame him, he clasped her hand tightly.

He went to bend his head, but hesitated, before ploughing forward and brushing the lightest kiss over her pale skin.

"I love you, Buffy...." He whispered against her skin, resting his forehead on her limp hand, selfishly stealing her warmth, if only for a moment.

Spike's head shot up as the monitor confirmed what he'd barely detected. Her heartbeat was quickening. His eyes shot to Buffy's chest and watched as it began to rise and fall at a faster and more regular rate.

His eyes darted over her face, searching anxiously for a sign of movement, anything.

Spike's heart jumped to his throat, it could be nothing, it probably was nothing - there had been slight twitches before - twitches that the doctors had said could be positive signs...

"B-Buffy?" He wanted to give her room and hold her to him all the same time, should he call for the nurse? His mind was a mass of contradictions.

Spike let out a small yelp as he felt a pressure in his hand and quickly looked down. It was Buffy's hand. He was still holding Buffy's hand. Buffy's hand had just squeezed his.

"So...when can I leave?" Buffy smiled at the doctor at the side of her bed; she had a friendly face....and was the key to her freedom from this place so it was probably best to suck up to her.

"Why? You need more tests? You've been testing me all week - hope I did better then in school!" Buffy laughed lightly, trying to make a funny then continued. "And hey, you know I have this great recovery rate; and I'd probably get it done better from home."

"Buffy, I'm not quite ready to do that yet." Kate smiled again and pulled a chair up to the bed, sitting down. "As you know we've been running a lot of tests, trying to work out what’s going on in there!"

Buffy tried to smile but it didn't come. A sense of foreboding spread through her veins. Suddenly the room seemed colder.

"You broke quite a few bones in the accident, most of which are healing nicely and we can expect a full recovery."

"I'm afraid your spinal chord and several of your vertebrae were damaged in the accident. This damage is most-likely irreversible." Pain shone clearly through the blue eyes of the young doctor. "You're paralysed from the waist down."

Buffy opened and closed her mouth several times, her brain trying to work out whether the older woman had actually said what she thought she'd just said.

"I'm-but, I...no, you see I....NO. You see I heal quickly. This is just a momentary thing. I mean yeah it's never happened before, but I'll be up and movin' in a couple of days."

"NO! Get Giles, Rupert Giles, he's just outside...he'll tell you." When Kate didn't move, Buffy's tone of voice became more shrill and insistent. "Get GILES!"

Buffy sighed in relief at the sight of her Watcher in the doorway. "Giles, tell her how I recover fast. She's totally on the wrong track, and boy is your face gonna be red, lady. Tell her Giles." She demanded, her eyes trained on him.

"Buffy..." Giles' face fell at the pure look of pleading on his Slayer's face and his eyes dropped to the floor in shame.

"Giles, TELL HER. Come on, angry-puppy-dog catcher here...GILES." She shouted and his eyes snapped up to meet hers.

Buffy shifted on the bed, her hands crushing each other as she watched tears fill her Watcher's eyes.

"Giles, tell her." Her voice quieted, reminiscent of a small girl and the older man felt his heart break just that bit more.

The world was spinning. Some-one was spinning the world. It was all screwed up; this wasn't right. God, please someone make it stop. This isn't real, not possible; fake.

She couldn't breathe....there wasn't enough air. Why wasn't there enough air, wasn't there meant to be some sort of endless supply?

Giles' voice. Silly, Giles. He obviously was ill. Because she was fine. She was the Slayer. This sort of thing didn't happen to slayers. Faith bounced back didn't she?

They were lying to her. Just one big, old crappy Xander-joke. Well, it wasn't funny.

Giles watched from the doorway, a single tear sliding down his cheek, as the nurse injected his hysterical ward with a sedative and her body slowly calmed.

Giles turned over abruptly, smashing his fist into the too-soft pillow below him, before burying his head under it in an attempt to drown out the words that continued to torture his brain.

And none of it had helped. Not one jot. He'd never thought of anything like...this.

“What about all of your 'one girl' crap if a fucking truck can take my legs?!”

“Giles, please there has to be something, a spell - anything. You can't let me...”

There was a light rap on the door before it opened and Dr. Walker popped her head around the wood. Joyce smiled politely at the younger woman's entrance, but the third body in the room didn't remove her eyes from the window and the outside world.

"Mind if I come in?" The blonde doctor smiled kindly, pushing the door open wider as she walked in, chart in hand.

"Not at all." Joyce answered, her eyes moving to Buffy. "Honey, the doctor’s here." She stated unnecessarily.

The Slayer barely lifted her eyes in acknowledgement before returning to stare out the window.

"Buffy, I hope you don't mind but I'm going to borrow your Mom for a minute." Kate's smile stayed firmly in place, but her eyes indicated to Joyce that it was serious.

The old, musty office was cluttered with papers and books. There was the odd picture on the wall and a couple of frames containing diplomas and degrees. The window was open, and the sun shone brightly into the surprisingly expansive room giving it an almost ethereal quality.

"Mrs. Summers, Buffy has undergone significant physical trauma; of that we are all agreed. And while most of her external injuries are healing and will continue to do so, she is making no progress with the internal ones and at this rate I fear she may not."

Doctors. Another one. Dr. Something-or-other. She couldn’t remember his name. How many doctors had she watched attempt to her baby in the past month and a half? Half a dozen, a dozen, two? She couldn’t remember. Did it matter? She didn’t think so. Only one thing mattered. And she couldn’t do anything to help her.

"What are you saying?" Joyce asked the elderly psychiatrist, watching in agitation as he sat forward in his chair from behind the old, oak desk

"I have been working with Buffy for nearly four weeks." He stated. "Buffy has been used to a very active lifestyle. From her medical records I can see that the surprisingly few times she has been hurt her recovery has been speedy to say the least."

"Karate lessons..." Joyce murmured absently by way of explanation. As if it explained anything.

"Yes...however, this time, it seems, her body has been pushed to it's limit. I know this is hard for you and your family; we spoke earlier about possibility of Buffy returning to her 'normal self'." He lifted his hands to form quotation marks around the words 'normal self' and Joyce frowned.

"Exactly; I know you said these things take time...but Buffy has always been such a resilient child." Joyce said beseechingly; grasping at the arms of her chair. Knowing she was grasping at straws.

"I'm afraid, Mrs. Summers, there-in lies the problem." The doctor gazed across at her sympathetically. "It's easy to say there are different stages of recovery; grief, denial, retreat, anger, acceptance. However, the human psyche is not always something that is so easily categorized; every person is different. With your daughter she has always relied on her strength; her martial arts skills and her ability to recover quickly from injury. This has all suddenly been taken away from her. Her safety blanket is gone. Buffy is going to have to come to terms with the very real possibility that she may never walk again."

Joyce let out a silent sob at the declaration, hastily bringing her tissues up to her face.

"It’s going to take her a long time to get back to being herself again, isn't it?" Joyce asked tearfully.

"Nothing in psychology can be said in absolutes. The sooner she is able to accept the reality presented before her, the quicker she will heal. The same can be said for some of her physical ailments.

It is common for patients in circumstances like Buffy’s to become depressed, temperamental, prone to anxiety attacks and violent outbursts, and as we can observe from Buffy’s current state; silent and some-what unresponsive." The doctor spoke plainly, knowing that it would be only counterproductive if he were to mince his words.

The elderly man smiled kindly, "Be there for her. Help her work through those tough periods; be a friend when she needs one. Be a mother when she needs one. To a certain extent an authority figure if, and when, she needs one."

There was a pause while Joyce let the information sink in. Had it really been a month ago that she was that normal mother to a vampire Slayer and a mystical key; the purpose of which they had yet to discover?

"I know this is a very difficult time for you and your family. You're going to have to be strong, be ready for her when she's ready to open up to life again."

Joyce cringed as another object crashed against the door she'd managed to shut just in time and shattered to the ground. Weary tears slid down her face as she bent and slowly began to pick up the shards from the last rounds of glass.

In the background, Xander cleared his throat uncomfortably and she gave him a tight smile before resuming her work. The carpenter sighed silently, and continued to attach the chair lift to the staircase.

Joyce moved passed Xander with a solemn look upon her face, her hands cupped in front of her containing the broken remains of her daughters' favourite childhood figurine. It was an ice skater. She could still remember the day they'd bought; Buffy had been six and so enamoured with the skating world.

She recalled Buffy's fervent pleas and promises of how well she would look after her, that she would call her Dawn and love her for ever and ever and ever!

From the kitchen she could still hear the banging, the crashing, the breaking and splintering of Buffy's room as her only child destroyed it.

With shaking hands, Joyce tipped the shards of glass into the kitchen bin, barely noticing when several nicked her pale skin. She moved silently to the sink, trying to ignore the destruction overhead as she gently ran warm water over her cuts.

She heard her daughters' pained wail, and an answering call welled up inside her, though she clamped it down. The doctor said it would take time...time - something Buffy now had an abundance of.

Joyce swallowed determinedly. She had to be strong. Had to be the protector, the care-giver; the mother.

But she couldn't stop her own tears from falling on to her fingers and she watched as the salty liquid swirled in with her blood.

And with every object the smashed against the plaster, she fell just a little further from her pedestal.

He shut his eyes against the tears that wanted to escape when he heard her cry out - but he dared not to go to her. So instead the returned his hands to the job in front of him.

The despised job that had befallen him - the one he knew he would never forget for the rest of his life.

Inside her room, the Slayer screamed, lifting the despised contraption up with shaking arms that betrayed her weakness, and sent it flying into the wardrobe. The wooden doors smashed under the force, sending huge splinters everywhere.

From her position on the bed, she swept an angry arm across the bed-side table, destroying it's surface contents. Lamp, alarm clock, photos streamed to the floor in an unholy mess. With another cry, she wrenched the draw out of its hole and flung it at her dressing table smashing the mirror to smithereens.

"I HATE YOU!!!" She screamed out. It was a general declaration - not meant for one person but for the whole world. They had all condemned her to this pathetic, weak, neutered state.

They had taken her life, her youth, her innocence, her time, her world...and now her legs.

Perfume bottles and dainty moisturisers which had been originally placed so lovingly atop the wooden dresser crashed to the ground, staining the carpet.

Buffy reached out to tear down the photographs that were pasted to her wall, and as she did, she slipped: crashing to the ruined floor with a thud. She landed heavily on her front, and the exposed skin of her arms, chest and face caught on the sharp mess she had made.

She tired to push herself up and drag herself back on the bed, but her arms were too weak. Her body slid on the sludge that had fallen there, causing her to loose her position and bang her chin on the wooden bed frame. Stars danced before her eyes as the pain shot throughout her body, at least the parts she could still feel.

She could have called for help. Xander or Joyce could have easily come to her aid. But she stayed silent; refusing to call anyone as her pride betrayed her.

With a wailing sob she slid down fully to the floor, attempting to curl into the foetal position...but she couldn't move her legs.

“Come on, Buff. It can’t be that bad…I added a lift in the hallway. No more pesky stairs when you’re totally schnookered…and hey - getting around’s gonna be so much easier with the-“ He was trying but…

“Don’t say it!” Buffy snapped, her eyes flashing angrily. She watched dispassionately as the boy dropped back a couple of steps, a weary sigh escaping his lips as he inched closer to the door.

It was Xander this time. He was the week’s third attempt, in what she envisioned would be a long line of irritation.

“Don’t you think you should at least try it?” Xander squeaked out, jumping as Buffy growled and swung her limp legs over the side of the bed so that she faced the window.

Buffy rolled her eyes, barely noticing the tears as they slid down her heated cheeks, when she heard the door close behind the whelp.

He left in silence – left her in silence. They couldn’t handle it…they just expected her to bounce back. Fuck the fact that her body was irrevocably broken, that her world was gone. She’d ignored her pain in the past; pushed aside her inner turmoil to make them happy for another day.

They just couldn’t contemplate the fact that maybe, just maybe, this time her mind had been screwed with once too often…

But they didn’t care – the world just kept on taking. But in such a way that she was never offered that sweet release she’d been promised.

There was nothing left, but they just couldn’t accept that. They just kept on trying to take more, even though she was way past empty.

Her fists clenched once again as she recalled her mother’s cavalier anger at her attitude.

“Why can’t you just try?! This isn’t just happening to you – it’s on all of us! We’re trying to help, damnit!”

“Bullshit…” Buffy had hissed, her fists clenching. “It’s all happening to me. Just like it always happens to me! Time after time I save the world…for what? Nothing! Angel’s in LA…a demon for hundreds of years; he’s murdered millions of people…but the fucking Power’s That Be safeguard him. What did I do to deserve this?”

The following day Giles hadn’t known how to answer….knowing that he had no answer. How often in the past couple of months had he asked himself that very question? Hundreds? Thousands?

Buffy snorted, flinging a hateful look at the metallic object in the corner before resigning herself to lying down on her bed. There was nothing else she could do.

“We could dress it up. I-I-I mean, if you wanted us to. I promise I won’t use any orange felt.” The Witch tried to smile, but the movement couldn’t quite be forced upon her melancholy features.

Buffy said nothing, instead letting out a scornful laugh as she glared at the red-head, safely in the arms of her lover.

*Yup, score two for lesbian lovers. Just show the invalid how alone she really is!*

Willow shuddered, sinking back into Tara for comfort, as the look her best friend shot her send her flying back to her High School days, when she’d been nothing more powerful then the school nerd; being picked on day in and day out.

“Yeah!” Buffy stated scornfully. “There’s one thing she could do to help…but noooo, she can’t do that! How many times have I saved her ass? I never asked for so much as a thank-you…but she doesn’t wanna even try to help me.”

“I tried, Buffy!” Willow cried, falling out of Tara’s embrace to land on her knees close to the Slayer. “I begged the Gods to help…I prayed-“

“Prayed!” Buffy rolled her eyes at the inadequacy of such a gesture. “Well, thank god for that!” She exclaimed sarcastically.

Willow was crying by this point, but Buffy didn’t seem to notice or care. The Wicca continued to babble apologies but all the Slayer heard were excuses.

A few moments later, Tara came forward. She gathered her lover up to her feet, and gently led her out of the room, murmuring to Buffy. “We’ll come visit you tomorrow.”

“Whatever.” Buffy spat violently. She heard the door shut, and flung a pillow from her bed at the offending wood. Her eyes stared at the wall as she listened to the sound of her mother apologising to Willow, and the red head apologising to Joyce.

It was only when she heard Tara’s car pull away from their drive did she allow the tears to fall. It was only now, while she was allowed this reprieve that she could grieve for her actions.

She knew what she was doing wasn’t fair to her friends and family. But she couldn’t let them continue to grow attached to her. This way was better.

She knew the plan by heart; had thought of it and not much else since she was told the truth about her limbs.

And then…and only then could she take the release that she so longed for…but one that she had been denied.

“H-Hello Buffy, m-my name is Eleanor Pastel. I-I’m your new phis-phiso…uh, th-therapist.” The timid woman tried to smile at the young woman sitting on the bed.

If she hadn’t known better she wouldn’t have thought anything was the matter with her legs. The younger woman held herself with poise; her very aura oozed strength and power.

Buffy raised an eyebrow, dismissively looking the woman up and down. “So, you’re the new one, huh?” She rolled her eyes as Eleanor jumped at her sharp tone.

This one made five in two weeks and from the looks of it they were down to scraping the bottom of the barrel.

The first two had been easily deterred by her violence. Things thrown around them…they’d all cracked under the pressure and the fear.

Fear was something Buffy was good at instilling. She’d had a lot of practise. Except her practise was with demons – creatures that killed for a living – fought for fun.

Then had come Matron Pain…Buffy had been proud of her…a full five days she’d lasted before running from the house in floods of tears.

But the piest d’resistance was Aaron Nelson. He’d been the easiest of the bunch. She’d taunted and teased him…mocking him and his position with her promises of wild sexual abuse allegations.

“I’ll tell them you touched me…” She’d whispered venomously, her cold eyes staring directly into his shocked ones on the third day. “…tell them how you tied me down and put a gag in my mouth when I tried to scream for help. I’ll tell them how you struck me, and forced your cock inside me…”

“…How you showed me the blood you’d cut from me so I could know how rough you’d been. You’d probably like to do that, wouldn’t you Nelly-boy?”

“Is it one of your sick dark fantasies that you beat off too when you go off to the bathroom? I bet your wife would love to hear all about it…”

Ten minutes into the first ‘session’ the woman still hadn’t been able to edge away from the door frame, and neither would she be able to given the look on her face as the Slayer continued her individual brand of verbal assault on the poor woman.

“Did you know the skill it takes to kill a Polaraksh demon? You have to slide a Jakata dagger straight down the centre of its spine, watch as it begins to shake and its outer skin starts to dissolve. You have a split second before it explodes.” She slid said knife out of her bedside draw, running the tip of the blade achingly slowly over the wood and then on to the bed.

She continued in her deceptively sweet voice, as Ms. Pastel stood motionless, her eyes fixed on the dagger. “Do you have any idea of the quantity of blood I have on my hands? The pain and the shrieks that haunt my dreams…the people I’ve allowed to kill…to be killed.” Buffy shrugged with a mockery of a smile gracing her lips.

She drew the dagger over her uncovered legs, watching dispassionately as trails of bright red blood sprung up behind her as she cut lightly into her thighs.

Eleanor gasped, knowing inside that she needed to move – to get help. But her mind had shut down and her body shook with fear.

“Did you know, that if I push the knife in deep the blood changes colour?” Buffy asked conversationally as her hand continued to trail light zig-zags across her useless legs.

The nurse let out a shriek as suddenly the dagger was flying through the air, and embedded itself in the new plaster just two inches from her head. Tears poured out of the woman’s eyes as she finally found the courage to escape.

She pounded down the stairs, sobbing all the way and ignoring the distressed sounds of the kind gentleman who had let her in earlier.

Moments later Giles appeared in the doorway, a shocked and worried look on his face.

Buffy shrugged flippantly when he took in the sight of her bloodied legs and the ceremonial knife in the wall. “Was it something I said?”

Giles sighed silently, shaking his head. Without a word he turned from the room to head to downstairs for the medical box so that he could wrap her wounds. He knew they didn’t really need it – they’d mend in an hour, something that Buffy hated all the more as she knew her mobility would not.

Buffy’s shoulders slumped the second the door closed. As the footsteps got further and further away her body started trembling.

Tears poured down her face but her hands were shaking too badly for her to wipe them away.

Her body stopped shaking; her hands quickly wiped the tears from her eyes as her face moulded itself into a mask of disinterest.

*This is the only way.* She thought despairingly, just as Giles opened the door once more, wet cloth and gauze in hand.

“I just don’t know what to do. We’ve tried so hard…I’m so sorry for all this trouble, I never thought…” Joyce was at a loss for words as she tried, yet again, to plead the case for her daughter to Dr. Walker.

“I understand, Joyce. Buffy is having a hard time adjusting – it’s not unheard of. And no-one’s blaming any of you. Especially not Buffy.” She stated kindly.

Mrs. Summers sighed out her relief. “I don’t know what to do.” She reiterated.

“It is….” Kate paused, searching for the right words. “…highly unconventional, but there is always the possibility of a family member or close friend learning to undertake the daily therapy; it is what we were trying to build towards in any case.”

Joyce’s eyes lit up at the seemingly perfect suggestion, listening with rapt attention as the doctor continued with her conditions.