Buffy woke up in the dark several hours later, a bit disoriented, not remembering falling asleep at all. She raised her head and looked around quickly, and then suddenly became aware of the cool, solid form lying asleep beneath her.

And it all came rushing back.

Her eyes widened as she stared down at him, remembering the events of the night before. *Was that real?* she wondered, a little disbelieving. *Did I really do that?*

She did not know where that side of her had come from; had not even known it existed until the day before, when she had awakened on the floor beside Spike and she had realized that the sight of the gorgeous vampire in chains on her bedroom floor had actually turned her on.

Her only sexual experience to this point had been with Angel, and that had been passionate, but…simple. Ordinary. Angel had been slow, and gentle, and concerned with not hurting her, aware that it had been her first time. And for her part, Buffy had just been concerned with not being “bad” at it – with pleasing him.

But all day the day before, the idea had been there, in the back of her mind. She simply could not get the idea out of her head, no matter how hard she tried. She realized at some point that, on some level, she had always been attracted to the cocky, platinum blonde vampire.

Even when they had been trying to kill each other, she had always been almost pleased to see him show up – because she knew that among all the pathetic fledglings and inexperienced opponents that she faced every day, here was someone who was a true challenge, a warrior who was her equal.

And that was what had truly attracted her to him – the knowledge that here was a man without the human frailties that would hamper any relationship she might have with a mortal man. She had allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to actually have a relationship with someone who would be able to fight with her, to understand the violent reality that was her life.

*I guess I do have a thing for vamps,* she admitted grudgingly.

So it was that when Spike had angrily confronted her in her room, slamming her forcefully into the wall, his voice low and menacing, she had been a bit embarrassed – but not really surprised – when the aggressive act had aroused her rather than frightened her.

And from the moment he had realized that as well – there had really been no turning back.

She glanced suddenly at her door, wide-eyed, hoping that she had remembered to lock it. The thought of someone walking in to see her in this compromising position, lying on top of the sleeping vampire who was, this time, definitely chained to her *bed*, made her feel a little sick. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw with relief that she had locked the door, and relaxed back down against Spike's chest.

She realized how reckless the decision had been, how out of control -- but that was how her life felt lately. It was something that she never would have done a year ago. But then -- she had been a completely different person a year ago. She had come home to find that while she had changed drastically, so had everything else that was a part of her life.

The losses that had befallen her without her knowledge, without her there to prevent them, made her feel so lost and helpless, and very much alone. The night before, with Spike, had been about finding her power again, regaining some sense of control that she had lost, and maybe -- just maybe -- easing the ache of loneliness that seemed to constantly plague her since her return.

She raised her head again to look down at Spike, sleeping peacefully beneath her, though his wrists were still chained to the headboard. She noted with slight surprise how truly beautiful he was, how in his sleep he appeared almost angelic -- though she knew *that* was far from the truth.

He suddenly shifted in his sleep, unconsciously pulling against the chains that bound him as he moved, and she was surprised at the renewed desire that coursed through her body at the sight, the reminder that for the moment, he was hers, to do with as she chose...he had willingly placed himself at her mercy, for their pleasure.

But in the next instant, when Spike realized upon trying to move that he couldn't, that he was bound, a frown creased his peaceful expression, and he let out a soft whimper of obvious fear, jerking against the restraints that bound him, unyielding.

Buffy's arousal was quickly made secondary to her concern as she remembered the night before, and how the vampire had been tormented by nightmares.

"No," he moaned, his voice rising enough to send a sense of alarm through her, as she began to be afraid that the others might hear him. "No -- *stop*!" he cried out.

"Spike!" she whispered, trying to wake him, shaking his shoulder urgently. "Spike, wake up!"

"Please!" His voice was even louder now. "Don't -- don't -- no..."

Through the thin wall Buffy could hear the soft sound of a bed creaking as its occupant tossed restlessly, and knew that it would not be long before his incoherent cries drew the attention of the whole household. Desperate, almost panicked, realizing that it would probably not help with his fears, but not knowing what else to do, she covered his mouth with her hand, leaning up over him and speaking his name as loudly as she dared.

"*Spike!* Wake up, you're just dreaming! Wake up!"

He struggled just a moment longer, and then his eyes suddenly shot open, wide and panicked, as they met hers for the barest instant. Disoriented and dazed, his dream melding with the reality he found himself in, he knew only that he was chained beneath her, her hand preventing him from crying out, and the scent of her arousal unmistakable around him.

His wild desperate struggles resumed, though uselessly, as he tried to pull away from her restraining hands, frantically trying to cry out around the soft, firm hand that prevented it.

"Spike -- calm down!" she hissed anxiously. "Stop it! Stop it, I'm not going to hurt you, Spike!"

Almost as suddenly as he had begun to fight her, he stopped, realizing that he was not going to be able to get away and freezing beneath her, a cold shudder of terror running through his body beneath her, as he turned his head away, his eyes closed tight.

“Okay,” she said, releasing a deep breath of relief, but not yet removing her hand. “If I move my hand, are you gonna be quiet or are you gonna freak out on me again?”

He shook his head slightly, his eyes still closed, not looking at her.

She slowly, cautiously moved her hand, and he did as he had promised, the only sound to break the silence his harsh, gasping breaths that she knew he needed for comfort, if not for life. But he was still trembling beneath her, and she knew that whatever terrors he had faced in his sleep had not completely left him yet.

“Okay, Spike. So far so good,” she whispered softly, soothingly. “I’m gonna take these chains off, okay?”

He nodded quickly, still not looking at her.

“Okay,” she said with a deep breath of resignation, taking the key from her nightstand and turning it in the lock. “Just don’t like…try to bite me or anything, okay? I know you’re a little freaked out, but…”

Her words were cut off in a yelp of surprise as the moment his hands were free, Spike grabbed her arms and flung her over onto her back under him, pinning her, as he instinctively changed into game face, with a menacing snarl. But behind the threat in his fierce golden eyes, she could see the fear that had motivated it.

"Spike," she whispered. "It's okay. Calm down. It was just a dream. I'm not gonna hurt you, Spike, just settle down..."

*Yeah, Buffy. I think he knows you're not gonna hurt him.* She almost rolled her eyes at her own words. *You're the one pinned under him this time!*

But she continued to murmur her soft words of comfort and reassurance, keeping her tone calm and even, and finally, she saw recognition beginning to rise in his eyes, and realized suddenly that he had not even been seeing her at all, but some nightmare figment from his dreams.

And it was true. The nightmare that had haunted him every night for weeks now, of betraying Dru by his feelings for Buffy, had been intensified by their actions of the night before. What made the dream different this particular night was that the game they had played had called to mind the crueler, more vicious games that Faith had liked to play. There had been many times in Faith's bed when he had been in genuine fear for his life; it had not only been the thrill of power, but his fear and pain, that had brought Faith pleasure.

In his nightmares that night, the angelic image of Buffy's face, comforting and reassuring him, had mingled horrifyingly with a cruel, menacing image of the other Slayer, and had suddenly gone from soothing and enticing him to brutally torturing him, mocking him and accusing him all the while, whispering cruelly that he was weak, a traitor, undeserving of the love he had turned his back on -- the love whose death he believed himself to be guilty of.

But now, staring down at Buffy's carefully calm features, her eyes full of compassion and concern, no threat -- but a little fear -- the events of the night before began to come back to him, and he remembered how he had come to be chained in her bed.

Some of the tension eased from him with the realization that he was safe, and he felt his body begin to tremble with sheer relief. He drew a couple of deep, shaky breaths as he slowly released Buffy's arms.

"I -- I'm sorry," he said softly. "I didn't mean to..."

Buffy shook her head, the fear fading from her eyes, as she reached up a gentle hand to stroke soothingly through his loose, dishevelled hair. "It's okay. Don't worry about it."

Her voice was surprisingly gentle, reminding him of the angelic vision she had been in his dreams -- until last night -- and he lowered his head to rest on her shoulder, still gasping for breath, trembling all over.

"Buffy," he whispered, unable to find any other words, shaking his head, at a loss. "Buffy..."

Buffy's other hand rose to rest on his back, moving slowly up and down in a gesture of comfort. "It's okay," she whispered. "Shhh, it's all right." She paused, a little surprised herself by the compassion that had seemed to automatically rise in her, twice now, when faced with the pain of this creature, once her sworn enemy. "That must have been some dream," she commented mildly, not pressing him to talk about it, but wanting to leave the door open a crack, just in case he wanted to.

"Yeah," he sighed heavily, sounding a little steadier, but not raising his head, and not volunteering anything else. After a moment, he added quietly, "I'm sorry I -- if I scared you, love. I -- thought you were someone else."

Buffy was silent for a moment, thinking. "Faith?" she finally guessed, her voice soft and cautious.

"Yeah." He nodded against her shoulder.

She paused for a moment. "Same dream as last night?"

"Yeah...mostly." This time he did not deny the nightmare as he had done the first time she had mentioned it, the day before. "It's always the same." He still did not look at her as he spoke, and she wondered if it was easier for him to talk about it that way.

She was actually surprised that he was opening up to her at all, allowing her to see his vulnerability like this. But then, she supposed it would be hard to get much more vulnerable with anyone than he had been with her last night.

He did not volunteer any more information, but the heartbroken words she had heard him sobbing the night before suddenly sprang into her mind.

*Dru...I'm so sorry, love...*

Buffy hesitated for a moment before she spoke. “You didn’t kill her, Spike.”

He looked up at her sharply, his impossibly blue eyes wide and startled, speechless at her unexpected perception.

“Dru,” she clarified softly, in case he had misunderstood her. “It wasn’t your fault.”

He looked away from her, troubled eyes focused on the headboard beyond her.

“Believe it or not,” she went on cautiously, her fingers still stroking idly through his hair, “I know what you’re going through. And you can’t help but blame yourself. For a while. But you have to realize – there was nothing you could have done differently. It was not your fault.”

She was well aware as she spoke of the irony of the situation; she had yet to follow the advice she was giving him.

He did not speak for a long moment, and when he did, it was not a direct response to her words. He looked back at her suddenly, and the stark pain in his eyes took her breath away. His voice was a choked, tormented whisper, his eyes somehow pleading for a forgiveness that was not hers to offer.

“I – I *forgot* her.”

Buffy frowned, confused, but feeling a pang in her heart none-the-less at his haunted, lost voice. “What?”

“Just – for a few minutes. I – I forgot her. That first time I saw you again. In LA. I was *there* for her – to help avenge her. To get you to come so that Faith would pay. And then – I looked at you – and – and all I thought of – was you.”

The agony of guilt she heard in his voice, the simple, honest confession, broke her heart. But before she could speak, he went on haltingly.

“That moment – and every moment after that. Every time I saw you. I didn’t even think about her. Not once,” he admitted, his eyes wide and shock, aghast at his own imagined crime. “I loved her for over a hundred years. And I – I just let her go.”

“Spike,” she began softly. “You still *do* love her. You always will. But – that doesn’t mean you can never be with someone else. Never – care about someone else – again.” She knew that she was speaking to herself as much as to him. “You want to hold onto her forever,” she went on softly, her voice thick with unshed tears. “But – at some point – we have to move on.”

She was surprised when his piercing blue eyes darted back to hers, widening in stunned disbelief, and she wondered for a moment if she had gone too far, crossed the line.

“What – what did you say?” he asked, his voice a mere whisper.

“I said – you have to move on. Eventually,” she repeated, a bit uncertainly. “You have to let yourself get past – losing her.”

“Is *that* what we did?” he asked, his voice heavy with emotion. “The two of us? Moving on?”

Buffy nodded slowly. “Maybe.”

Something else occurred to her suddenly, and she gave him a questioning look. “When you woke up, you said – you thought I was…”

He looked away quickly before she could finish, but not before she could see the shame that filled his eyes. And suddenly, she understood the connection.

“You and Faith,” she said with dawning understanding. “Like we did last night.”

He did not respond, did not look at her, but then, finally, nodded his admission.

She remembered his terrified reaction when he had realized in his sleep that he was chained, remembering his cries that she had been so desperate to silence, and felt sick at the realization of their cause.

And furious. She was surprised at how angry the truth made her.

“She hurt you,” she stated, her voice hard.

The anger in her voice surprised him, and he looked up at her quickly before looking away again. He shrugged carelessly, trying to appear unaffected. “I let her,” he informed her, his tone expressionless.

She frowned, puzzled for a moment. “But you didn’t want it.”

“Sure I did,” he argued, his tone forcedly light, but with a bitter note that he could not conceal.

She studied his expression for a long moment, before a sad smile came over her face. “Because you thought you deserved it. It was your – penance.”

He looked up again, shaking his head in disbelief, with a soft, joyless laugh. “Bloody hell, Slayer! What are you, a soddin’ shrink?”

She looked away for a moment with a shrug. “No. I’ve just…I did it, too. Only – I did it to myself. I wanted to – punish myself. For – for…”

“Angel.”

She nodded slowly. “But – there was nothing else I could have done. It wasn’t my fault. Any more than what happened to Dru was your fault, Spike.”

His eyes dropped again, and when he spoke, his voice was trembling, guilty. “If I’d have just – if I’d only…”

She could see that he was clearly on the verge of breaking down, and pulled his head gently back down, cradling him gently in her arms. “Shhh,” she whispered, as a deep, agonized sob silently escaped his lips. “It’s all right.”

For a long time she just held him in silence, as he released his pain into the weighted silence that shrouded them. In her arms he found the comfort he had not known he was seeking. She was one who could truly understand what he had done – and therefore could truly offer him absolution.

Buffy’s heart was aching with an unspoken agony, brought to the surface by Spike’s painful remembrances. She wanted to speak, but did not dare interrupt his much-needed expression of his pain. Finally, when she felt his body begin to relax into her, felt the shaking sobs ebb away, Buffy spoke clearly into the stillness, a simple confession.

“I forgot, too.”

Spike raised his head slowly. “What?” he asked softly, puzzled.

“Angel. When you came to LA.” Buffy paused, meeting his eyes with her own open and vulnerable. “I forgot, too.”

Her lips were trembling with emotion, her eyes welled with tears, and he longed to give her the comfort she had just given him. “We both did,” he whispered, his hand lifting to brush away a single tear that slid down her cheek. “But in a way – we never will,” he assured her.

The thought that had haunted her for so long – that no matter how long she lived, she would always remember the painful story of her first love – was now somehow comforting to Buffy.

The warmth, the tenderness, unexpected in those piercing blue eyes that saw right through her, drew her in, and she found hersle leaning up toward him slowly, almost desperate with need for the solace he could provide her.

That same need was in his eyes, and he responded, lowering his mouth to capture hers in a tender, intimate kiss.

And for a little while – all but the two of them was forgotten.