Disclaimer: All the characters and recognizable dialog belong to Joss Wheedon and Mutant Enemy, not me.

Thanks ever so to all my awesome reviewers!

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Chapter 4
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After cleaning up his bedroom, Spike had been at a loss for what to do with Buffy, who sat there watching him curiously the whole time. For lack of any other ideas, he rummaged through his book collection and found the collected works of Shakespeare, and started reading sonnets to her. The sound soothed her, and she sat next to him, leaning against the headboard of the bed with her head on his shoulder. After a while he asked, “Are you enjoying this, Buffy?”
 
“Buffy,” she whispered in response. That must be my name or something. . The angel’s voice was rich and pleasant, and the rhythm of the words was like a heartbeat, relaxing her.
 
Spike smiled, trying to encourage her. He put his hand on the book. “Want to hear more?”
 
“Yes,” she replied, still in a whisper, as if she wasn’t quite sure that ‘yes’ was the correct word.
 
“No problem, love,” he said. He flipped to a likely verse and began to read:
 
“Those lips that Love's own hand did make,
Breathed forth the sound that said 'I hate',
To me that languished for her sake:
But when she saw my woeful state,
Straight in her heart did mercy come,
Chiding that tongue that ever sweet
Was used in giving gentle doom;
And taught it thus anew to greet;
'I hate' she altered with an end,
That followed it as gentle day,
Doth follow night, who like a fiend
From heaven to hell is flown away.
'I hate', from hate away she threw,
And saved my life, saying 'not you'.”
 
“Hell,” Buffy said suddenly.
 
Spike cocked his head and looked at her. “What was that, love?”
 
“H… hell,” she repeated uncertainly. She shivered a bit and looked around, trying to somehow indicate their surroundings. That must be the word for this place.
 
Spike’s heart broke, although he mistook her meaning. “So sorry you had to go through that, pet,” he said, pulling her close once more. “Wish I could make it so that all never happened.” Not bloody fair, he thought for the hundredth time. She’s been a force for good since she was fifteen for fuck’s sake. Never should have had to experience hell. He stroked her hair until the shivering stopped, then sat up a bit. “Shall we…” he began, but then he heard the sound of his crypt door opening. “Be right back,” he said. Buffy grabbed at his arm, making a low whining sound in her throat, like a frightened animal. “It’s okay. No one’s going to hurt you. Safe place, remember?” She nodded, but still looked worried as he turned and made his way upstairs.
 
Willow, Tara, Anya, and Xander were gathered in his upper room when he got upstairs. “How is she?” Xander asked.
 
“She’s fairly calm right now,” Spike said. “I got her into some clean clothes, got her to eat a little more.”
 
“You… you undressed her?” Xander shouted. “What gives you the right to…”
 
“Will you shut your bloody trap?” Spike growled. “I don’t need you frightening the girl again. I took no liberties with the girl, if that’s what you’re worried about. Just got her into some of Harmony’s old things so she could be comfortable.”
 
“Has she said anything?” Tara asked, trying to diffuse things a bit. She found that she had no trouble believing that Spike had been a perfect gentleman. She had seen him in action with Dawn, and never once feared for Dawn’s well being.
 
“Said her name a couple of times, though I’m not sure if that means much. Said yes to hearing more Shakespeare,” he said with a shrug.
 
“Shakespeare?” Xander guffawed. “Since when do you read Shakespeare?”
 
“Since about 1865, you ignorant git,” Spike retorted. “Enough of this. Why are you lot here?”
 
“We wanted to try a healing spell,” Willow said. “It’s meant to calm someone in distress.”
 
Spike looked doubtful. “Are you sure? Are you certain of the consequences? Not sure the last spell went so well.”
 
Willow bristled. “For the last time, my spell was fine. I just want to help her get over whatever she went through in hell, okay?”
 
Reluctantly, Spike consented. “Come downstairs. But for the love of God, don’t go rushing up to her en masse. She’s hanging on the edge, and I’ll not have her worried in any way. Understand?”
 
“Fine. Just let us help her, alright?” Xander snapped. With serious reservations, Spike led them downstairs.
 
Buffy was on the bed where he left her, curled up apprehensively. “Listen love,” he said, sitting next to her and taking her hand. “No one’s going to hurt you. And you can’t hurt anyone else, yeah?” Buffy looked into his blue eyes as he willed her to understand him. He got up and stepped to the side as the others slowly filed downstairs.
 
“Buffy?” said Tara. “We’re going to help you, okay?” Buffy inched away from her, still making that low, feral whine.
 
“Buffy? It’s Anya, remember?” Anya said, a little too loud and bright for Spike’s taste. “As soon as you’re not crazy anymore we have some news for you…”
 
“Anya!” Xander cried. “Not now!” But the loud voice had already frightened the Slayer, who inched away further, looking wildly from the assembled Scoobies to Spike and back.
 
Willow stepped forward slowly. “We just need to lay our hands on you, okay? To help you.” She reached her hand toward Buffy as she began chanting, “Healing flame, burning bright, let mine will be done this night…”
 
Buffy screeched and leaped backward off the bed, hands outstretched to ward off whatever evil was coming from the red-haired one. “No!” she screamed as the others watched in astonishment. “No, no, no!” She retreated to the farthest corner of the room, screaming her refusal over and over hysterically. Her back hit the wall and she collapsed down onto the floor, still screaming as if all the demons in hell were after her.
 
Spike vaulted the bed and rushed to her side. “Buffy, love, it’s alright.” But she turned her back and kept screaming, clutching her hair and rocking back and forth uncontrollably.
 
“Dear God, what happened to her?” Tara breathed, completely floored by the display.
 
“Get out,” Spike said, standing to face them. “That’s twice she freaked when she saw you, Red. You need to get away from her.”
 
“But we just want to help,” Willow said.
 
“Then leave, for God’s sake, and let me calm her back down.” Spike snarled.
 
“Come on,” Tara said, tugging at Willow’s sleeve. “Spike’s right. We can’t do anything for her in this state. We’ll have to think of something else.” Willow hesitated, tears forming in her eyes. “Come on, Willow,” Tara repeated, and the others obeyed, glancing back at Buffy, whose screaming had subsided into pitiful sobbing. The sound of the crypt door opening and closing once more echoed in the distance.
 
Spike sat down next to Buffy, rubbing her back soothingly. “They’re gone, Buffy,” he said. “Don’t quite know why they frighten you so, but they’re gone. Just me here. You’re okay.” He continued murmuring soothing words as her sobs quieted. He picked her up then and brought her back to the bed. She looked at him with something like gratitude when he settled her onto the pillow and smoothed her hair. “Might be good to rest for a while. You’ve had quite a day.” He stood up, intending to get some blood and then go find something to kill once the sun went down. Buffy, however, had other ideas and clung to his arm. “No,” she whispered with a desperate note to her voice. Spike understood – she didn’t want to be alone. He climbed in next to her and took her once more in his arms, holding her until she fell asleep.
 
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“I’m starting to think that resurrecting her was a bad idea,” Anya commented on the way home. “She came back all wrong.”
 
“How can you say that?” Willow cried. “She’s Buffy! She’s our friend! We couldn’t just leave her in torment forever!”
 
“But if she was in hell it’s not like we would really know what was happening,” Anya reasoned. “We could speculate, but it’s not like we’d have to experience it.”
 
“Anya, so not helping right now,” Xander snapped. “She’s here, it’s done, now what?”
 
“I really think we’re expecting too much too soon,” Tara said. “There may not be an instant fix for this.”
 
“She needs to be in familiar surroundings,” Willow said firmly. “If she’s in her own space, she’d be more likely to remember. We’ve got to get her home somehow.”
 
“How do we manage that, if she freaks whenever we get near her?” Xander asked.
 
Willow considered for a moment. “What if we magically knocked her out? Like a binding spell of some kind. Then we could bring her home and wake her up. Maybe if she sees her room and Dawn she’d remember.”
 
“Spike isn’t going to like that,” Anya observed. “He seems pretty protective of her.”
 
“We’ll do it when he’s out or something,” Willow decided. “Everyone agree?”
 
Xander voiced his support, and Anya shrugged and agreed as well. But Tara still looked skeptical. “I’m really not sure about this, Willow. We might just traumatize her even more.”
 
“Tara, I can do this,” Willow insisted. “If she’s at home, we can get a better sense of what she needs, and create some sort of normal atmosphere for her.”
 
Tara bit her lip. “Just make sure you’re doing it for her, not for you, okay?” she said. “Make sure you’re doing it because you really think it’s best for Buffy, not because you feel guilty.”
 
Willow swallowed, keeping her face impassive, even as Tara’s comments pricked at her conscience. “I truly think it would be best for her. And I think that if we get her on a more even keel, Spike will probably agree as well.” Tara nodded her reluctant assent, even as she coped with the bad taste this left in her mouth.
 
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Spike woke up next to Buffy, who still slept like the fallen angel he saw her as. He carefully got up, relieved as she stayed asleep, and went upstairs to feed. He guzzled two containers of blood one after the other. Sorry about the delay, lad, he silently told his demon. Got bigger problems than you. He grabbed his duster, put on his boots, and went outside for a smoke and a patrol. Restfield was usually fairly quiet. Word got out among the demon population that this was Spike’s territory, and no one in particular wanted to mess with him. The occasional stupid fledge or demon with a grudge showed up to challenge him, but he rarely had any major challenges this close to home. Still, he patrolled the place, more out of restlessness than anything else, chain smoking the entire time.
 
Why the hell is she after Willow? Spike wondered as he walked. Does she remind Buffy of something she saw wherever she was? Afraid of the magic? He just couldn’t figure it out. He could understand wanting to strangle Xander. He found himself wanting to strangle Xander at least twice a week. But all of Willow’s annoying power tripping had been after Buffy had died. Makes no sense, he thought again.
 
As he continued to walk around, he wondered how long he’d be able to take care of her. She should be at her house, he mused. Maybe little sis would help snap her out of it. But with the witches there… Caring for Buffy was no particular problem for him. Drusilla had more than prepared him to deal with any variety of madwoman that crossed his path. He just hoped that what he was doing was actually helping. Whatever it is, William, it’s probably better than throwing more magic at the girl, he reasoned. Really wish I knew what that spell resurrection spell was.
 
He finished his circuit, having found no activity, and looped back to the door of his crypt. Just as he reached the door he heard Buffy screaming. In a panic he bolted through the door and down the stairs. He skidded to a halt to see her in bed, thrashing around in the throes of a nightmare. Relieved that it was nothing more, he rushed to the side of the bed, shaking her gently. “Buffy! Wake up! You’re dreaming. Buffy!”
 
Buffy sat up suddenly, breathing hard, and her screaming shut off as she woke. She looked around wildly, scrambling backward to cower once more against the headboard. In her dream she had been in the good place, but the four people who had been there earlier were there. They had each grabbed one of her limbs and pulled, like the demons had dismembered the Buffybot, tugging horribly until she had shattered and fallen, their voices echoing in her ears. When her eyes finally focused on Spike she moved with lightning speed to wrap her arms around him. Spike nearly fell on his ass from the force of her assault, but he regained his balance and sat down next to her, once more letting her cry out her terror.
 
When she finished Spike unwound himself from her and silently got up to get her a drink of water. He watched her as she drank thinking, she’s like a child. She eats, she sleeps, she cries. How long can she exist like this? And how are the others going to deal? He was nothing if not stubborn, and would care for the woman he loved as long as it took. But what was going to happen when Willow got tired of waiting? Bint thinks she can fix everything with magic. Shaking himself, he took a deep breath. One day at a time, William.
 
He made some instant oatmeal for Buffy, and gave her an apple as well. She munched quietly and contentedly, seeming to relax more than she had yet. “Need something more, love?” he asked.
 
“More,” she said, nodding. Spike handed her another apple, happy to see her eating, and communicating. She still seemed to not completely understand what was going on, but words were returning slowly, which could only be a good sign.
 
When she finished she got up and made her way to the makeshift bathroom Spike had set up. He was certain that if vampires could blush he would be at this point – vampire hearing made certain that he couldn’t avoid knowing what she was doing. When she snaps out of this she’ll probably never be able to look me in the eye again. Buffy wandered back in, looking around vaguely. She spotted the book of sonnets and picked it up. “More,” she said again, handing it to Spike.
 
“Even with a vocabulary of four words you’re a bossy bint,” he chuckled. “Come on over, love. Story time.” He patted the bed next to him and she scrambled up, curling up at his side eagerly. He began reading as she sat, leaning on him and just drinking in the sound. Never would have thought this stuff was your style, Slayer. It saddened him a bit to think that a fully functional Buffy would never sit like this, listening to Shakespeare and enjoying his company. Still, rather have her back to normal and hating me than stuck like this. Slayer deserves better than that.
 
Buffy found that the repetitive rhythm of the sonnets tended to drown out her fear and sadness. She wasn’t sure what all the words meant, although some trickled through. Love. I knew love there. I think the angel loves me. He looks at me like he loves me. He keeps me safe like he loves me. She looked sideways at him, studying his blue eyes and long lashes as he read. Are all angels so cool, like he is? It made sense to her. Hell was fire and ice and painful sounds. This creature was all soothing, lyrical words and felt neither hot nor cold. She wished he could take her back right now, but if she had to stay in… whatever this place was, she was content if she could stay with him.
 
After a good hour and a half of reading, Spike put the book down. “Throat’s getting a little sore, pet. Mind if I take a break?”
 
 Buffy looked confused, and pointed to the book. “More?” she asked.
 
“In a little while,” he said. He turned to look at her, and put his hand on her shoulder. “Who are you? Do you remember?”
 
“Buffy,” she said, eager to please him.
 
“Good girl,” he said with a smile. “Don’t suppose you remember my name, do you?” But Buffy frowned, not comprehending the question. Noting her distress Spike said, “No worries. Just don’t call me late to dinner, whatever you call me. Speaking of which, I’ll be right back, okay?” His stomach was growling, and he couldn’t quite remember when he had fed last. Buffy’s eyes got wide as he got up, but he smiled and pointed up the stairs. “Just going up there for a tick. You’re safe, remember?”
 
“Safe,” she repeated uncertainly.
 
“That’s right, pet.” Spike turned and went upstairs. He opened his fridge and found that he was down to his last pint of blood. Have to make a run to the store soon. He looked outside, but sunrise was too near for a store run, so he sighed, drank his meager breakfast, and went back downstairs. “See, I’m back,” he said to Buffy. Her face lit up with relief at his approach – it seemed like bad things happened every time he went upstairs.
 
Spike found himself rather tired. He had slept little in the past couple days, and what sleep he had managed had been broken with worry. “Mind if I take a little nap?” he said. When Buffy looked at him blankly, he lay down on the bed next to her and closed his eyes to demonstrate. She poked him a little and he opened one eye. “Just going to rest a while, that’s all. I’m right here, okay?” Buffy seemed reassured by his words and watched as he quieted and slept.
 
She sat for a long time and just watched him, statue-white and immobile, cheekbones carved by a master. She still couldn’t figure out why he didn’t move when he slept. Maybe angels never move, she thought. After a while she got up, used the ‘bathroom’ again, then wandered aimlessly around the room. She picked up the book of sonnets, but the words made no sense to her, so she put it back. She found a stake in the pile of detritus on his dresser and picked it up curiously. Something about this smooth piece of wood felt right and comfortable in her hand, but she wasn’t sure why. I fought with one of these, didn’t I? A weapon, for fighting… something bad. The angel must also fight bad things, like demons. She saw his knife lying there as well, and picked it up, turning the shining blade over and over. She ran her finger over it and gasped as she cut herself. She dropped the knife in alarm, sucking on her cut finger. Her interest in the weapons waned quickly, and she moved on. She fingered the silver rings in a small wooden bowl, other books that she didn’t understand, frustrated by her lack of ability to remember anything. It seemed like understanding was dancing on the edge of her brain, nearly within reach. Sometimes when the angel spoke she would get small flashes, like someone turning on a light in a dark room for an instant. But then the fear would return, and the confusion, and she would mentally curl in on herself, waiting for the next blow.
 
After completing her circuit of Spike’s basement room, she stopped at the foot of the staircase. The others with their painful voices who reeked of magic had come from up there. But curiosity won out in the end and she slowly, cautiously made her way to the upper level. It was much less pleasant here, dusty and filled with coffins. Buffy wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. She stepped timidly around the coffins, trying to make sense of her surroundings. She opened Spike’s fridge, startled by the wave of cold air, but otherwise finding it empty. When she saw the battered armchair and the television she paused. I was here. I brought my mother, and the dark-haired girl here. They were safe here. I knew the angel would watch over them. She wondered who the dark girl was. Her mother had been with her in the good place, she was sure of it. But the dark girl? Buffy nearly wept in her frustration. She’s someone important. I needed to protect her. But from what?
 
Just then Spike’s voice, sounding a little frantic, came from downstairs. “Buffy?” he called. His white-blond head came shooting up from the basement, his eyes wide and concerned. He had woken up and found her missing. Images of her wandering unprotected had floated through his brain, and given the midday sun he would have been unable to go look for her. Now that he saw her he breathed a sigh of relief. “Had me worried there for a moment.” Buffy thought for a moment that he was angry at her, but soon realized he was happy to have found her. She sat down in the armchair and drew up her knees, looking at him expectantly. “Fancy a bit of telly time?” he asked. When Buffy looked at him blankly, he went over and turned on the TV. The sudden noise made her jump, whimpering with fear as she huddled away from it. Spike flipped channels until he found some classic cartoons, and Buffy forgot her fear as she became fascinated by the bright colors. Spike tuned the sound to a moderate level and picked her up, sitting down on the chair so she could curl up in his lap. She was soon smiling at the antics of Bugs Bunny, leaning her head on Spike. Spike buried his nose in her golden hair, still glorious even without a recent shower. Love you, Buffy, he thought to himself. Gonna do whatever it takes to bring you back. If I have to take care of you for the rest of your life, I will. His arms tightened around her protectively as he made his silent vow.

TBC

** The Sonnet is Shakespeare's #CXLV http://www.shakespeares-sonnets.com/all.php