Chapter 73 - Difficulties

“Something’s wrong.”

“What, pet?”

“I’m not—strong anymore.”

Spike frowned at the impossibility of her words, even as he realized that something had been off about her.

“Can that happen?”

“I don’t know!” she cried. “Can it?”

“Maybe you’re just sick or something.”

“I don’t think ‘sick’ covers it!” Buffy seized his hand again, gripping it between her own. “I’m trying to hurt you. If you were human, bones would be snapping. It should at least hurt!”

He could feel the pressure, but it was nothing more than ordinary.

“I’m not fast enough and I can’t move right, and you were so much stronger—”

“You sure?”

“I can’t do anything. It’s like I’m not…it’s like before.”

She flinched as she saw his other hand move.

“Not gonna test you out,” Spike said softly.

He just had to touch her.

“I don’t understand this,” she said, sounding lost.

How it had happened didn’t matter.

“We’ll figure it out, love.”

The horror of it was slowly occurring to him. He’d been attacking her while she was defenseless. Trying to hurt her, without any idea how easily she could have been hurt.

Spike pulled Buffy to his chest. They were a tangle of limbs as he went from crouching to sitting, falling back onto the mat with her body cradled against his. He gripped her tighter for a moment, exhaling.

Buffy sighed against him. “I don’t suppose there’s a possibility that you suddenly got super strong,” she said dully.

“I sort of doubt it.”

She suddenly moved, pushing away and standing up. “I need a test.”

Spike stood. “If you like. What?”

She looked around the basement, her eyes landing on the spot where she kept her weapons. Buffy quickly made her way over and pulled her sword off the wall. It was heavy and long, and she’d never actually used it on patrol, though they had practiced with it.

Spike’s eyes didn’t miss the way she staggered as she removed the sword from the pegs it had been hanging on. She managed to lift it, but there was no way she could swing it without using both hands. Even then, it was by no means effortless.

Buffy dropped the sword after a moment. “Throw me that stake,” she said.

Spike picked up the stake they’d been using to practice and threw it to her. She fumbled, managing to catch it, though it nearly slipped out of her grasp.

“You got it,” he said.

“I should have been able to grab it without thinking.”

She flung the stake across the room, and it ricocheted of the railing of the stairs.

“Nothin’ wrong with your coordination.”

“I was aiming for the pipe in the ceiling.”

“Oh.”

Buffy bit her lip. “This is wrong. Everything’s wrong.”

“Look, we’ll figure it out, and we’ll fix it. There’s gotta be something. Magical, maybe.”

“I need to go see Giles,” she said suddenly.

Spike nodded.

She was gone in a rush, kissing him goodbye and tearing up the stairs. A minute later, he heard her car start. Spike stood for a moment before walking over and picking up the sword. He flipped it in his hand and then put it back on the wall.

His mind flashed back to mere moments ago, when she’d screamed at him to stop.

The instant after that had bothered him on some level even as it had happened. It hadn’t been because he’d had her caught; it had been the way she hadn’t fought back.

Buffy had been frantic. There was nothing about it that resembled fighting or sparring. She’d thrown herself against him in a frenzy, crashing on his body with no effect. Making helpless, frustrated noises.

It had been too much like what happened with a victim.

A way he had never wanted to see her. Least of all against him, no matter what the reason.

Spike had been thrown, seeing her in that state. It also reminded him of the short but unpleasant time when he had thought he might end up doing that to her.

He’d caught her wrists and pulled her off him—anything to get her to stop it. But when Spike had discovered the reason for her panic, he’d felt quietly ill.

It all could have gone so terribly wrong. Whatever had happened to her, if she hadn’t realized it, he wouldn’t have been able to realize it. Not until something had gone wrong and she’d been injured—not until it was too late.

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Giles didn’t really look like he was paying attention. He kept glancing at his books as she spoke, kept playing with his glasses. Willow was paying more attention, for all that she was trying to look like she wasn’t paying attention.

“Er, you’re saying what now?” he asked.

“I’m saying,” Buffy repeated, “that I’ve got no strength, no coordination, no speed, nothing.”

“Perhaps you’re just a bit under the weather.”

“I’m not sick! I’m telling you, it’s like it’s gone. I hit like a girl! It’s like…like I’m not the Slayer,” she finished. It was the first time she’d said it out loud. Everything was like it would be if she weren’t the Slayer.

“We have to get to the bottom of this,” she said. “Start with the research or something.”

“I can research,” Willow said from across the store. “We haven’t had a big research in a long time.”

“Of course,” Giles said after a moment. Then he turned to Buffy again. “You can certainly forego patrolling—take it easy until you’re yourself again.”

“Definitely no plans for wandering cemeteries right now.”

“In the mean time, perhaps you can demonstrate for me.”

Buffy shrugged. “Sure, I guess. Not exactly going to take a long time, though, to show you what I can’t do.”

“Perhaps we can work on some other things as well.”

“Like what?” she blurted.

“Strengthening your focus, your mind. We were beginning to do some meditations.”

“Giles, I don’t exactly feel like meditating.”

“But it’s really calming,” Willow spoke up. “Besides all that focusing stuff. It always helps me disconnect and reconnect. I could meditate with you,” she offered.

“No,” Giles said. “Er, perhaps you should get started with the books, Willow. And mind the front.”

Willow frowned, but shrugged, going over to the bookshelf and perusing the titles.

“Okay, why not?” Buffy said. “Get my mind off it and all that.”

“Very good.”

She followed Giles into the back.
.
.
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Later, Buffy helped Willow look through the books. Unfortunately, not very many of the ones Willow thought would help were written in English. And unlike the time that Buffy had helped research a demon, there were no useful pictures in these non-English books.

Buffy decided that she wasn’t very good at research. But she felt bad about asking Willow and Giles to look up her problem by themselves, so she dutifully sat and picked through the books that she could read.

Willow was really getting into it, and after the second time that she had missed a customer, Giles got up and went to the front. He didn’t come back, having found something he needed to sort through up there.

When Anya came in for her evening shift, she was actually considerate to Buffy after she heard about her problem.

“I’m sorry you lost your powers,” she said sincerely. “It can be very frustrating, I know.”

Anya flipped through an open book, more playing with the pages than looking for something. “You know, I think there was a thing about Slayers.”

“A thing?” Buffy asked. “What thing?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m not sure I ever really heard it. I didn’t tend to pay attention to Slayers, as a rule.” She shrugged. “Sorry.”

“But there was something where another Slayer lost her power?”

“Maybe.”

Anya went to the register, and Buffy looked at Willow.

“Well,” Willow said, “at least there’s a better chance of finding it somewhere. Maybe there’s some sort of curse you can put on a Slayer.”

Buffy ended up staying rather late into the evening. They hadn’t found anything in the books yet, but Willow assured her she would keep looking.

Getting ready to go, Buffy stretched back in her chair and reached her arms overhead. She was surprised when she felt a dull pain in her left arm from the movement. Frowning, she pulled the sleeve of her sweater jacket down, and was slightly taken aback when she saw darkened skin.

Buffy quickly pulled the jacket back up, and a moment later she went into the store’s bathroom. Taking her sweater off, she saw a large and still-forming bruise on her upper arm.

Immediately, she knew what it was from.

It was from earlier that afternoon, when her arm had twisted in Spike’s too tight grasp, when all her weight had dangled from his grip on her.

Buffy put the sweater back on.

When she left the Magic Box, she wasn’t entirely surprised to find Spike waiting for her outside. It was long after dark. Buffy tossed him her keys, and he drove them back to his apartment.

Spike seemed distant for some reason. He didn’t speak, and he looked at her a bit oddly.

Their ride was completely silent.

Buffy didn’t know what was wrong with him, but she let it go. For now.

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A/N: Don’t expect this to be a rewrite of Helpless. It will go quite a bit differently.