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The One Who Sees

Losing an eye brought everything into focus. Freaky, but that's the way life goes when you're living on a Hellmouth.

Before, he'd been denial guy. Straight as an arrow, no matter what Larry said. Or Carl, in Oxnard. Or Anya. Or those guys in that club in L.A. last year...

He'd been blind until Caleb's thumb had given him sight.

Before everything had gone hazy, he'd seen Spike, all rage and fury, for him. And the first thing he'd seen when he came round in hospital was Spike, blue eyes glistening with tears he'd never shed. And hope. And love.



Seeing Is Believing

Buffy had been oblivious to everything but the pressure of leadership. She'd interrupted a hot and heavy make-out session in the basement and assumed that Spike and Xander were simply training together or fixing stuff.

In the end, it was Andrew who opened her eyes, him and his video diary. She'd come in through the back of the kitchen and found him staring, hypnotised by the playback screen. Silently, she'd crept up behind him, ready to ream him out for spying on whomever he'd been shadowing today. And then she'd seen...

Spike. Xander. Shirtless.
Lips. Hands. Grinding.
She felt stupid.



A Sight For Sore Eyes

Back from Africa, grateful for Andrew's inability to lie. Braced for unconcern, cold dispassion, casual disregard. Willing to plead with Angel for just one glimpse of what he thought he'd lost forever. Unprepared for the wave of emotion that nearly breaks him there, outside the door, knowing that Spike is completely unaware of his return.

Trembling fingers comb roughly through thick locks, toying with the reality of the patch. On? Off? Sanitised cover-up or naked brutal honesty?

The door opens in the middle of indecision, loose strap dangling from his hand.

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes, luv."