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“Spike.”

The single spoken word held a depth of anger and hatred that would have made an average man’s blood run cold just to hear it – knowing that such fury was aimed in his direction.

Fortunately, Spike was not by any means an average man – and his blood *already* ran cold.

A sardonic smirk rose on his lips before he turned around to face the source of the all-too-familiar familiar voice. The intruder glared at him with a murderous rage in his eyes, stalking across the crypt floor toward the, to all appearances, completely unaffected blonde vampire. Apparently – the person standing in the doorway did not exactly inspire fear for Spike.

Or maybe – Spike was just too drunk to care.

He tipped the half-empty bottle in his hand in a mocking greeting to his uninvited guest, the smirk on his lips not quite reaching his haunted, pain-filled eyes. It was too soon – too close to the moment when his heart had been most recently shattered – for him to even give a second thought to the man staring at him with such hatred, or what his intentions might be.

“Thought you’d be here sooner,” Spike remarked flippantly. “It’s been – how long has it been?” he shrugged, dismissing the answer to the question as unimportant – especially with his mind too clouded to do the math at the moment. “Took you that long to work up the nerve to face me, you soddin’…?”

His question was suddenly cut off as his enemy reached him, striking out without hesitation across his face in a brutal blow with his fist.

“I’m gonna kill you, Spike,” he announced quietly, in a low, dark voice, as the vampire recovered his footing, but made no move to strike back. At the moment, maintaining his own balance was about all that Spike seemed to be able to manage.

“You’re gonna try,” Spike corrected him, all traces of amusement vanished from his glittering blue eyes. “No guarantees on the outcome, mate.” He shrugged casually before adding, “Can’t see why you think you’re entitled to the attempt, anyway, truth be told. Not like you’ve got any bloody claim on the girl anymore. *You* left her – remember? Really now, it wasn’t so very long ago. Can’t see how you can blame *me* for your own poor judgment in passing up a treasure like her…”

“Shut up, Spike.” The words were ground out in a dangerously trembling voice of barely restrained rage, as his attacker took another menacing step toward him.

“Been saying that to me for years,” Spike observed with a slightly slurred laugh that bordered on an actual giggle – not that he really cared. The same drink that had caused the sound to come out that way, also prevented him from caring *how* he sounded. “Think one of these times it’ll actually take?”

“This time I’m gonna *make* it take,” the other countered furiously, striking out against him again, this time hard enough to knock Spike backward against the wall of his crypt, hard enough to give him at the very least a splitting headache, if not to crack his skull.

But the vampire was feeling no pain at the moment.

“Come on, mate,” Spike laughed as he awkwardly steadied himself again, almost reluctantly tossing the bottle aside and taking on a ridiculous parody of his usual fighting stance – ridiculous because of the unhealthy amount of alcohol-induced stumble and stagger that replaced his usual swaggering grace. “Let’s give it a go then, if you’re that set on a fight…I’ll make it quick…”

The surprised amusement in his opponent’s dark laugh should have given him warning that all was not as simple as it appeared to be – but Spike’s judgment and perception were both hampered at the moment, and he noticed nothing off about the situation. As far as he was concerned, this was a fight that had been in the making for years – and he was more than ready to take on the man that stood before him, poised and ready, intent on taking him down.

As determined as he was to finally put the blonde vampire in his place, Spike was just as determined not to let him – regardless of history, regardless of certain facts which were most definitely not in his favor. Whether or not he really had a chance, Spike was not about to back down from this or any fight.

“Look at you!” the intruder sneered, incredulous that the vampire actually seemed to think that he was in any condition to defend himself at all. “You really think you can take me on like this? Look at yourself! You’re a wreck!” He paused, giving Spike a derisive up and down look before adding coldly, “How long have you been sitting here wallowing in alcohol and your own pathetic, worthless state?”

Spike’s eyes narrowed in anger as he snarled back, “You oughta know about the wallowing – not to mention the pathetic state – shouldn’t you, mate?”

“I’m not your mate,” the man snapped back, his voice seething with fury. “How about I help you with that little self pity problem, Spike? Do us both a favor and send you to where you belong?”

“By all means,” Spike replied without a moment’s hesitation. “You’re more than welcome to try – if you think you stand a bloody chance of beating me.”

“Hasn’t been that long since I’ve beaten you, Spike,” the man reminded him, a cold threat in his voice as he moved slowly closer to him.

“Well – yeah,” Spike admitted with a little half-shrug. “But as I recall, you had a bit of an unfair advantage at the time, didn’t you?”

“Doesn’t matter,” was the cold reply. “Cheap shot – who cares? I’ll take it – just to see you go down.”

If Spike had been just a bit more sober, he would have noticed several things long before he actually did – the tremble of pain and betrayal in the voice of his attacker, betraying a deep-rooted desire for vengeance that would not allow the man to let this thing go easily…the blind hatred and fury in his dark eyes that revealed no trace of compassion or pity for the vampire’s obvious state of disadvantage…

…or the small, black pistol that suddenly appeared in his opponent’s hand.

“Yeah,” Spike sneered, bouncing slightly – although without his usual grace – on his heels, itching for the fight that his opponent had promised. “You’re good at taking those cheap shots, aren’t you? About the only ones you can get, aren’t…”

The shot rang out, echoing against the stone walls of the crypt until Spike wasn’t sure whether it was the thunder of the gunshot, or the roaring in his ears, that drowned out the harsh laughter of the one who had pulled the trigger. When the haze of pain from the bullet that had torn through his stomach began to fade away, Spike struggled to open his eyes, realizing with sudden, sobered alarm that he was on his knees, on the floor of his crypt.

He quickly scrambled to his feet, biting his lip against the pain of the movement, as he simply struggled to place himself once again on the same level as his attacker.

“Yeah – guess you *would* need that to take me on, wouldn’t you?” he taunted him between harsh, ragged breaths, his right hand clutching the bleeding wound in his stomach, while his left hand braced against the wall of the crypt to help him stay on his feet. “No bleedin’ way you could take me in a fair fight…not like that’s gonna kill me though…”

The small smile that rose on the lips of the shooter was in no way pleasant or reassuring, as he countered softly, “Who says I want you dead?”

“*You* did, you bleedin’ wanker!” Spike pointed out, gasping for breath as he leaned back against the wall for a moment, trying to regain his bearings – and a bit of control over the situation. “Told me you were gonna see me dust, didn’t you? Don’t think you’re gonna do it with *that* thing!”

The expression on the gunman’s face did not change as he repeated his last statement, amending it slightly, “Who says I want you dead – *yet*?”

Spike did not allow the chill that those words sent down his spine to show in his face, as he forced a slow smirk to his face, standing up straight again, despite the pain shooting from his stomach throughout the rest of his body.

All at once – he felt very sober.

“Cute,” he remarked with a false unconcern. “Very cute, mate – but the whole bloody Bond movie villain routine went out with – well – Bond movies. If you wanna fight – then fight…but enough with the games, yeah?”

“You’re one to talk about games.” A bitter laugh followed the words. “After what you did – how you stole her from me – when you didn’t even care…”

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t,” Spike countered, his eyes narrowed defiantly. “Not really any of your business, is it? At any rate – seems I cared a sight more’n you did, doesn’t it?”

The gun in the man’s hand steadied, taking aim on the vampire’s chest again – but he did not say a word in response to Spike’s quiet taunt.

“Unless you’ve got wood-tipped bullets in there – and I *really* don’t think you do, judging by the first round – your weapon’s not your most effective choice, mate…” Spike started in again – mostly just trying to distract his opponent enough to allow him time and opportunity to regain the upper hand.

*Who’re you kiddin’, mate?* he admitted to himself grimly. *Ever since you allowed him to walk in on you here, pissed out of your mind – you never *had* the upper hand in this little scenario to begin with…*

“She was mine.” The quiet, emphatic statement drew Spike out of his thoughts, his eyes back to the resolute face of the intruder. “Mine, Spike – and you just had to put your hands on her – had to…”

“Woman’s not a possession, mate – not a thing you can own, ‘less of course she lets you. And after the way you tossed her away – can’t blame the girl for looking elsewhere, can you now? Way I see it – you’re the one to blame…”

“Shut up, Spike!” he was cut off again with a menacing snarl, as the man holding the gun closed the gap between them, drawing back the gun and bringing it down across the vampire’s face viciously, once, twice, and yet again.

When the blinding flashing lights faded away from his vision, Spike realized with dismay that he was once again on his knees. Apparently, the effects of the alcohol on his undead body had yet to completely wear off, after all.

He started to look up once again at the face of his attacker – but suddenly froze at the feeling of cold steel pressed firmly against his head, directly behind his ear and aimed at an angle so as to pass a bullet straight through his skull and out the other side, a few inches higher than the point where it would go in.

“You’ve taken the last thing you’re ever gonna take from me, Spike…”

“Oh so she’s a *thing* now, is she!” Spike shot back at him, disguising the slight tremor of fear in his voice with a laugh of false triumph. “Oh, she’d bloody well love that! Thought I was the only *thing* around here that walks and talks and rubs elbows with you lot…Besides – what the bloody hell are you talking about, last thing I’ve taken from *you*? ‘S long as I’ve bloody well known you you’ve done nothing but…”

The crack of the weapon against the back of his skull was loudly audible, seeming to reverberate both within and without the vampire’s head, as his head was knocked violently against the wall beside him with the force of the blow, just before he felt the muzzle of the gun pressed once again against his head.

The low, menacing whisper startled him with its nearness, and he jumped slightly as the voice of hateful pleasure was heard in his ear, “I said shut up, Spike.”

For once – Spike shut up.

After a moment, the gunman went on, “Everything I’ve wanted – everything that was mine – you took away, Spike. You made her want you instead of me…*you*! You’re nothing but a dead, disgusting *thing* -- and she still preferred you to me…”

“Now – which exactly…”

“Shut. Up.”

Another moment of heavy silence passed between them, the only sound in the room the raspy, labored breathing of the wounded vampire, and the heavy, anticipating breath of his attacker – terribly eager to exact the vengeance he felt he deserved.

“I don’t know what it is about you, Spike,” he mused, his voice trembling with a mixture of anger and excitement. “Don’t know what it is about you that makes them want you – even *knowing* what you are…but they do – don’t they?”

Spike did not bother to respond – was really not sure what he could say in this moment that would not serve to get him pistol whipped some more – or even shot again.

And though a bullet through the head would not necessarily kill him – not unless it was aimed with a precision that even this man certainly did not have – Spike hated to even imagine what such an injury *could* do to him.

“Wonder if you’d even be the same person?”

The softened voice of his attacker sent a sick feeling straight to the pit of Spike’s bleeding stomach – timed so perfectly with his own thoughts as to be deeply unsettling – and more than a little frightening.

“A bullet through the head – do vampires *get* brain damage? I mean – if it didn’t dust you…what do you think it would do?”

Spike was silent, swallowing hard as his mind raced and he struggled to keep a handle on his own rising fears.

*He’s not gonna do it,* he told himself firmly. *He wouldn’t. Even he’s not that dark – not that sadistic and twisted as to…to…* He couldn’t even finish the thought in his mind – though deep down, he knew that it was a comforting lie, designed to soothe his own fears.

This man *did* have just that sort of darkness in him – no matter how cleverly it was usually disguised.

*He wouldn’t do it – she wouldn’t like it – wouldn’t approve – wouldn’t…oh – bollocks…wouldn’t bloody well care, now, would she?* he remembered with a sinking feeling in his stomach. *Not the way she feels about me now…not after what I’ve done…Bloody hell – this is no more than I deserve, after…*I’m* the one she’ll never bloody forgive – she barely gave two cents about me *before* -- don’t wager she’s gonna care what he does to me now…*

Once again all too well in sync with his own thoughts, the soft whisper near his ear suddenly stilled his desperate wonderings with the weight of the three simple words.

“*Let’s find out*…”

And before he could react – before he could move or fight or object or plead…

…a single shot rang out in the silence of Restfield Cemetery.

And in Spike’s world – everything went black.

This lovely banner was created for me by the amazing Tamakin84!! Thanks so much, love!!!




A/N: This story picks up right after Entropy, so obviously the Spike/Buffy part of Seeing Red did not take place for the purposes of this story…but otherwise, just assume that everything else from the end of Season Six happened just as in canon, with the exception of Spike going to get his soul…Hopefully I’ll fill in some gaps and feel free to ask about it if something doesn’t make sense…and if it’s not a part of the mystery I’ll do my best to *make* it make sense! J


Three months later…


“Buffy, how can you not even *care*? Aren’t you just the littlest bit worried about him? Buffy – he’s been gone – for – for…” Dawn stopped for a moment, trying to do the math, then giving up and shaking her head before looking back up at her sister through imploring eyes, “…so *long*! What if something happened to him?”

“Then I guess he should have thought about that before he decided to up and leave town,” Buffy snapped back impatiently – trying very hard to maintain her façade of indifference to the fate of the vampire that, in her absence last summer, had become like a brother to Dawn.

But in the privacy of her mind, the thought continued, with a worried tone of frustration.

*…chipped – defenseless – somewhere who knows where, where I can’t even look out for him – stupid vampire!*

“Spike wouldn’t have just taken off like that, Buffy. He – he loves you – he wouldn’t…” Dawn’s hesitant voice trailed off completely when her sister suddenly turned to face her, a startlingly cold, bitter anger in her eyes.

“Don’t tell me how much he *loves* me, Dawnie. Because obviously he doesn’t. We’ve been over this before, haven’t we? I went to his crypt – and even though you’re not supposed to be going to places like that, especially on your own – I’m pretty sure you’ve seen it for yourself…”

Dawn made no attempt to deny the truth of her sister’s words. She *had* been to Spike’s crypt – more than once, against Buffy’s orders – and had seen for herself that the vampire had, to all appearances, left town. His clothes, his television, even the small refrigerator he had kept there to keep his blood relatively fresh – all were gone, leaving the crypt as desolate as it had been before he had moved into it.

All signs of life had vanished – unless of course one counted the alarming amount of spilled “life” that was clearly visible on the floor in various spots around the crypt. Dawn had been terrified to see how much blood had apparently been shed in that place – but in spite of what she saw as obvious evidence of foul play, Buffy seemed determined to believe that nothing was out of the ordinary.

“He just left, Dawn,” the Slayer stated flatly, a weary sound to her voice as she rose from her seat on the couch and moved to the mantle, idly fidgeting with the items that rested there. “He just couldn’t deal, after – so – he just skipped town. That’s all there is to it.” She paused for a moment, then added quietly without turning, “Yeah. He really cares *so* much.”

“Buffy – there was so much blood,” Dawn’s voice was soft, slightly pleading – with an edge of fearful uncertainty to it that made Buffy finally turn to face her sister, feeling compassion and concern for *her*, even if she would not allow herself to feel it for the blonde vampire that refused to leave her thoughts.

“He’s a vampire, Dawn. For all we know, he just – spilled his lunch. Or – or maybe he got hurt patrolling. Spike is always getting in fights, Dawnie, you know that. But one thing’s for sure – as long as it’s blood and not a great big pile of dust – then he’s alive, Dawnie…he’s all right…”

“Unless someone took him somewhere – or he was trying to get help but was hurt too bad to get very far, and got caught in the sunlight…”

“Dawnie,” Buffy cut off her little sister’s rising, tremulous speculation, emphatically shutting down her worries, refusing to allow Dawn to see how concerned *she* really was. “He’s okay. If Spike got hurt and made it to his crypt – he wouldn’t be stupid enough to take off across the cemetery in that state – at least nowhere near morning. If the blood in his crypt was his – and it was a – a fatal injury – then there would be a big pile of dust in the crypt – honest.”

Buffy knew that her argument was terribly weak; she was just stretching to find some way of calming her sister’s fears – though her excuses did little to assuage her own.

“Spike’s not that big.”

Buffy shook her head slightly, drawing herself out of her thoughts with a frown of confusion. “Huh?”

“You keep saying -- *great big* -- pile of dust,” Dawn clarified in a soft, halting voice, not quite meeting her sister’s eyes. “Spike’s – not that big.”

Buffy’s heart gave a little lurch inside her at the genuine fear in her sister’s voice – the very clear subtext of her words – and she found it harder than ever to ignore the insistent little voice inside her mind, the voice that urged her to go out and look for him *just one more time*…

Because Dawn was right.

For all his Big Bad persona – not to mention his incredible fighting skills – Spike really was not all that big. There were plenty of nasty creatures out there that Buffy could imagine – or didn’t have to imagine, having faced them before – that could probably overwhelm the vampire sheerly by force of superior size and strength.

And the last time she had seen him – he hadn’t exactly appeared to be in top form.

If she knew Spike at all – and if the last few months before his disappearance had been any indication, then she certainly *did* -- he was most likely drinking heavily at this point…which would only serve to throw him further off his game. And with the chip in his head making him defenseless against humans…

Well, there was just any number of ways that he could have been hurt, or even dusted, in the past few months.

It was a thought she didn’t want to entertain.

Instead, she focused her attention on her little sister, standing in front of her now with tears streaking her face.

“Dawnie,” she said gently, her voice softening as she moved in close to wrap her arms around the trembling girl. “Honey – it’s all right. I’m sure he’s fine. He’s *Spike* -- he just -- *won’t* dust. Ever. Believe me – I’ve tried, so I should know…”

When that comment – not surprisingly – failed to merit so much as a smile from her sister, Buffy studied her sister’s miserable face more closely, and realized that she was very deeply shaken by the disappearance of someone that, whether Buffy liked it or not, had become one of her best friends.

*She’s lost too much these past few years,* she thought with a suddenly overwhelming sense of sorrow. *Dad – then Mom – then me – then Tara – and – Will and Giles both leaving – not to mention, somewhere along the way, her entire understanding of *reality*, and who she is, and now – Spike…*

Buffy blinked back the tears of pain and regret that inevitably followed in the wake of that train of thought, drawing on the anger she felt at a lifetime of disappointments and abandonments, and pulling it to the surface, trying to focus on that, instead of the pain.

It was the only way that she could survive all that had happened.

*When I *do* find that vampire, he’s gonna wish he’d never done this to us -- *her*,* she amended hurriedly, not really ready to admit to herself how hard Spike’s disappearance had been on *her* as well as Dawn. *If he’s alive and well and just doesn’t care to come around – or even to say goodbye – to Dawnie of course – I am *so* going to dust his white, British…sexy, gorgeous…*

*No!* she sternly headed off that line of thinking before it could go any further. *I meant – annoying, irritating…lying, cheating…*

Except – he *hadn’t* cheated – and he’d never been one to lie to her. At least – not since the last time they had actively considered each other “mortal enemies”. And even then, come to think of it, Buffy was hard pressed to think of an instance in which he had been less than honest and straightforward about his intentions – even if those intentions had not been for her good.

Right down to every last detail.

*What happens on Saturday?*

*I kill you.*

Spike was nothing if not straightforward.

*And you *dumped* him, Buffy,* a quiet but insistent voice in her mind reminded her.

*I was never *dating* him!* she insisted back, fighting back a sense of panic that inexplicably came along with the thought.

*You told him it was over – you told him to move on…and he did.*

*But – did it have to be with Anya? Did it have to be someone that I have to look at almost every day? Someone I know, so I can never really forget it, every time I’m around them? My best friend’s *fiancée*?*

*Ex-fiancee.*

*Whatever.*

Buffy’s internal argument was cut short as her sister’s tense body suddenly seemed to wilt, leaning into her embrace. Dawn was sniffling back tears as she leaned her head on Buffy’s shoulder and whispered, “I just – I just hope he’s okay…”

*So do I,* Buffy finally admitted, if only in her mind, as she silently held her sister closer to her, wishing all the while that her mother was still with them to do these mothering acts that she was still sure she had no idea how to do properly. *So do I.*

“He’ll be fine, Dawnie,” she said aloud, her voice firm and reassuring as she ran her fingers slowly through the younger girl’s long, dark hair. “He’s Spike,” she added simply with a slight shrug, by way of explanation. “He doesn’t know *how* to lose a fight – unless it’s with me,” she amended for the sake of her pride, “…and he never knows when to quit. Anybody who messes with him is in for more trouble than he is. Unless they’re me, of course.”

Dawn raised her head long enough to roll her eyes at her sister’s comment – knowing as well as Buffy did that no fight between Spike and Buffy had ever had a *really* clear winner. But then her expression grew troubled, as she corrected Buffy’s words quietly, her voice heavy with worry.

“Unless they’re human.”

Buffy did not respond. She really had no good answer for that argument – though she was fairly certain that the greatest danger to Spike’s safety was not humans – most of whom would have no idea that he could not defend himself against them – but rather, on of the many fights he seemed to find so easily, with other vampires or demons.

Of course – she was not about to attempt to use that sort of insane Buffy logic to soothe Dawn’s fears.

*Don’t worry, Dawnie – he’s much more likely to get torn to pieces by some huge monster from hell than he is to get hurt by a *human*!*

*Right. That’ll go over well.*

“He’ll be all right, Dawnie,” she repeated, unnecessarily, as neither girl was convinced by the words. “You know Spike. He’ll turn up. Probably at the worst possible, more inconvenient time. Because that’s what he does. He has to – so I can kick his butt for putting you through this.”

She was surprised herself at the fact that her tone held more affection than annoyance, in spite of – well, everything. She sighed as she just stood there and held her sister close to her, focusing on comforting Dawn, instead of the rising fears swirling through her mind.

Yes, when Spike came back – because he *had* to come back – she *did* want to give him a piece of her mind, if not the back of her hand – for Anya – for running off like this and scaring her to death – for making her care at all, let alone this much…so much it hurt to think of him out there somewhere alone and outside the realm of her ability to protect him.

Mostly – she just wanted him to come back.

*Oh, Spike – where are you?*

**************************************

For what felt like forever, there was nothing but…nothing.

Darkness.

Silence.

Complete, terrifying aloneness.

And then…over time…bit by bit…

Things started to come back to him.

The first thing to return – was pain.

Terrible, overwhelming pain that consumed him, coursing through every nerve ending in his body until he could be aware of nothing else – had there even been anything else to be aware of.

It seemed to radiate out from the back of his skull – which felt as if it was on fire most of the time – throughout the rest of his body in random, almost electrical impulses, as the undead nervous system governing his body’s responses went thoroughly haywire, trying to compensate for and repair the terrible damage that had been done.

The next thing to return – several weeks later -- was hunger.

He didn’t know how long he had been – wherever he was – unable to move, or speak, or even think beyond the blinding agony that his existence had become – but he was certainly not capable of getting any sort of sustenance for himself. The burning emptiness that consumed his veins was nearly as powerful as the pain.

If he had been capable of putting together a coherent thought at that time – the pain and hunger would have kept him from it.

After that – a long time after -- came scent.

The first of all senses to develop, it was among the first to return as well, as Spike’s body worked desperately, with very little help, to repair itself. It was frustrating to the vampire, sensing in some part of his damaged mind that the things he could smell around him should have been familiar, though he could not put names to them or identify them.

Had he had any memory of the time before – before his entire universe had been reduced to this – he would have recalled the scents as those that one would generally associate with being underground…cold, damp, earth and stone…musty, contaminated water nearby…

…and – something else…

A new scent, one that somehow intensified the ache of hunger constantly gnawing at his stomach, one that caused the mouth that would not yet work to form speech for him to salivate, longing for the nourishment that that scent somehow seemed to promise…

Had he had his memories – Spike would have known that the elusive, often absent scent was that of a human being…flesh and sweat and a myriad of humanity’s emotions, underscored with the faint tang of fresh, hot blood, pounding through the human’s veins…

But he could *not* remember.

And while he was trying so hard to place it – frustrated at the failure of his body and mind to cooperate as they once had, though he could not remember it – another of his lost senses was returned to him – in a shock of abrupt violence and pain that drove the fledgling beginnings of thoughts from the vampire’s shattered mind.

Fear.

This lovely banner was created for me by the amazing Tamakin84!! Thanks so much, love!!!




Buffy could not remember another time when she had ever felt so completely exhausted.

She trudged down the sidewalk, away from the Doublemeat Palace and toward her house, idly fidgeting with her ridiculous cow hat in her hand as she walked. All she could really think about at the moment was her soft, warm bed – and getting to it as quickly as possible. It felt like it had been forever since she had been there – even though it had only been…

*Whoa. Nearly 24 hours. No wonder I’m dead on my feet.*

She had gotten up very early that morning – at an hour that barely qualified as no longer “last night” – taking her mother’s old SUV and heading to L.A. to talk to Angel. She had left around 3:00 in the morning, knowing that would put her in L.A. around six – sunrise.

If she waited any later than that, Angel would be asleep when she got there – and if she went any earlier, he would still be out and about doing his “helping the helpless” thing…and she was very pressed for time; she had to be back in Sunnydale for her shift at the Doublemeat by noon.

It wasn’t as if she’d actually *wanted* to go see Angel, anyway.

But she had finally decided to swallow her pride over the issue – at least partially. Her official reason for being there was for Dawn’s sake. Her sister’s fear for Spike’s safety had only intensified over the past few weeks – but that was by no means the only reason she was going.

She was scared to death for the blonde vampire herself – terrified that something terrible had happened to him.

She had gone to L.A. to do something she would never have thought that she would do.

She had gone to ask Angel if he had seen Spike – and not with the intent of staking him, but because she was actually worried for his well being.

*Yeah,* she thought sarcastically as she made her way home that night. **That* was a wonderful idea, Buffy! Went over beautifully! ‘Hey, Angel, have you seen the childe of your insane daughter Drusilla lately? What’s that? Not since he chained you up and had you tortured without mercy for hours? Gee – sorry about that – I was just wondering if he’s okay!*

She kicked angrily at an unfortunate piece of trash that had the bad luck to be in her path, fighting back that sense of anger and annoyance that was in constant battle with her concern for the blonde vampire who had become such a source of emotional confusion to her.

*Stupid Spike! I asked him before where he was between the Gem of Amara thing and when the Initiative got him! He could have *told* me what kind of terms he and Angel parted on. Saved me the humiliation of getting screamed at by Angel in front of his office staff!*

*If he *had* told you – you’d have staked him,* that annoying voice of reason spoke up in her mind again.

*No, I wouldn’t have,* she insisted to herself. *I wouldn’t have staked him. At the very worst I might have hit him. Or – beat him up. A lot.*

She sighed wearily, finally admitting to herself that really, Spike would have been crazy to have told her about his last encounter with Angel. But the idea of his being afraid to tell her something like that, afraid of what she might do to him for it, somehow bothered her.

*Stupid vampire!* her mind stubbornly repeated. *It was two years ago! It’s not like I would have hurt him – much…*

The truth was – she had not exactly given Spike much of a reason to trust that she would react calmly and rationally to the story, no matter how much time had passed since then. Her mind was dragged unwillingly back to that cold, terrible night in the alley near the police station, where she had beaten any faith he might have had in her sense of compassion or forgiveness right out of him.

*Okay – Angel’s reaction to my question – not Spike’s fault,* she finally admitted to herself – if only to give her mind a respite from the troubling images that currently filled it. *Except for in the sense of the brutal torture he put Angel through that *resulted* in Angel’s reaction,* she shrugged. *But the important thing is – Angel hasn’t seen him, either. Spike, where are you?* she wondered anxiously.

At the moment, she was feeling particularly fragile – and realized suddenly with a pang of emotion that she couldn’t quite identify…this was just the sort of night on which she would have found herself kicking open the door to his crypt, throwing herself into his arms and throwing him down on his bed – taking comfort from the only one who seemed equipped to give it to her since she had come back.

But tonight – the reason she needed comfort at all was the fact that he was not there.

That – and Angel’s treatment of her in L.A.

She had not expected the fury that rose up in her former lover, when she had asked if he had seen Spike, her worry for the blonde vampire apparently all too clear in her eyes. Angel had angrily informed her about the last time he had seen him, then demanded to know why she cared where Spike was or what had happened to him.

Naturally, she had retorted that it was really none of his business anymore who she cared about and why, and if he didn’t know, that was all he had to say, and she would be out of his way, if he was going to talk to her that way.

“Fine! I don’t know – haven’t seen him! Now get out!” Angel had snarled at her, and behind the anger and resentment she saw in his dark eyes, there had been a hurt and betrayal that made her realize that somehow, he must have sensed that there was more to her questions – questions that had brought her all the way from Sunnydale to L.A. in the middle of the night – than the concern for Dawn she had claimed was the reason.

And suddenly, she had wanted nothing more than to be somewhere else -- *now*.

She had found herself in tears several times during the three hour drive from L.A. back to Sunnydale – though she would have been hard pressed to say whether her tears were more out of hurt from the way Angel had treated her, or her worry over Spike’s safety, or the inevitable confusion that had resulted from seeing Angel again after the past few months spent in the tumultuous, emotionally painful not-relationship that she had had with Spike.

She was just confused, and frustrated, and scared, and so very, very tired…

She had left L.A. around eight in the morning, getting back to Sunnydale around eleven – just in time to take a quick shower, throw on her uniform, and get to work by twelve. But then, her boss had asked her to work a few extra hours – and here she was, nearly twelve hours later, finally heading home again.

She frowned as she walked up her driveway, to find an unfamiliar dark-colored SUV parked in her driveway – and she automatically quickened her pace, an anxious feeling building in her chest.

Xander had been staying over with Dawn while she worked her shift – and his car was still parked in the driveway beside the unfamiliar vehicle – but she had no idea who it belonged to, and, this being Sunnydale, knew that chances were, an unknown visitor to the Slayer’s home when the Slayer happened to conveniently not be there, and her little sister who may or may not still be a mystical key *was*, was not likely to be the result of mere coincidence.

Of course -- that particular sort of visitor rarely drove a shiny new SUV...but somehow, that did little to calm her fears.

She hurried up the walk and opened the door -- frowning as she walked into the foyer, at the sound of casual laughter -- *three* voices’ worth – coming from the living room.

"Did you guys know the door was open?" she asked, unable to keep the annoyance from her voice, the after effect of finding that her fear for her sister’s safety was unfounded. “You can’t do things like that,” she continued as she locked the door behind her and turned to go on into the living room. “It’s not…”

Her voice trailed off abruptly, her eyes widening at the sight of the person who was sitting casually in the living room in the recliner, one leg resting across the other, his hands behind his head as he looked up from the story he was apparently telling to Xander and Dawn, who both sat, to all appearances transfixed, on the sofa.

Riley.

“…safe,” she finished softly, setting her keys down on the end table beside the sofa and staring at her ex-boyfriend, sitting inexplicably in her living room – and noticeably without his new wife, this time.

*He’s just *full* of surprises, isn’t he?* she thought with no small amount of bitterness, as she steeled herself emotionally before speaking aloud.

“Riley,” she said by way of greeting, with a small nod and a tight, not exactly welcoming little smile. “Hi.” She paused for a moment before saying the words that had sounded too rude in her mind to actually use – had she particularly cared about Riley’s feelings anymore.

“What are you doing here?”

The ex-commando let out a nervous, surprised little laugh, glancing around at Xander and Dawn – who had not appeared to have any problem with his presence so far – for support before meeting Buffy’s eyes as he stood up.

“What? You’re not happy to see me?” he said in a light, teasing tone, clearly meant to break the tension.

It was not exactly working.

“Should I be?” Buffy countered quietly. There was a moment’s pause before she relented slightly, sighing almost imperceptibly as she continued, “I mean – last time you came to town you brought a nasty disgusting demon with you – not exactly my idea of a party.”

“Yeah,” Dawn remarked quietly, almost outside her range of hearing, with a little smirk on her face. “And then there was the Suvolte, too.”

A slight smile of irony crossed Riley’s lips, the only indication that he had heard Dawn’s snide little comment about his wife, though his eyes never left Buffy’s.

“No demons this time,” he assured her, shaking his head slightly.

“Sure about that?” she shot back, her eyes intent, though her voice was soft.

Riley dropped her gaze for a moment, his smile fading, before he met her eyes again, completely serious.

“I – I’ve missed you, Buffy.”

Buffy’s eyes widened slightly as her face took on an incredulous look. Just what was Riley playing at? she wondered indignantly – but her reaction must have shown in her eyes, because before she could call him on his very inappropriate words, he spoke up, moving in slightly closer to her as he did.

“I mean it. I really have. Seeing you – a few months ago – it just – well…”

“Wait.” The Slayer held up her hand, drawing his words to an abrupt halt, taking a step back away from him, trying to gather a bit of distance so that she could deal with what he was saying. “Riley – you can’t just – show up here, and…” She looked up at him, shaking her head in disgust and disbelief, “you’re *married*, Riley!”

“No. I’m not.”

The stunned silence that followed that announcement gave Buffy at least the small relief of knowing that she was not the last to hear that particular news. Xander and Dawn were both staring at the soldier with as much astonishment as she felt.

“Oh.”

That was all Buffy could bring herself to say at the moment, still trying to take in what he was telling her.

“I just – after I saw you – and – and Sam – she knew – she had to know, I couldn’t really hide it, never could, really, but Buffy, I…”

“Riley,” she cut him off again, her voice soft and weary, “wait. Um…Xander?” She turned and faced her friend, uncertainty in her eyes. “Can you…um…can Dawn – stay over? Tonight?”

“Buffy…” Dawn started to object, shaking her head. “I don’t want to…”

“Dawn – I need a little privacy to talk to Riley – okay? It’s Friday, you don’t have to get up early for school or anything, just – go with Xander – okay?” Buffy insisted, her voice terse, and leaving little room for argument.

“Don’t you think that should depend on what *Xander* says?” Dawn snapped, crossing her arms over her chest in a stubborn pout. She knew that she was clearly outranked when it came to her sister, so there was little else she could do except call Buffy on her just assuming that Xander would be willing to do as she had asked, without waiting for his answer.

The Slayer turned slightly pleading eyes on her best friend. “Please?” she said softly.

Xander sighed, his dark eyes troubled, revealing that he was not so very sure either that this was a good idea – but he nodded with resignation. “No problem, Buffy. You know Dawn’s always welcome.”

“Fine,” Dawn muttered, rolling her eyes. As the girl reluctantly followed their friend to the door, walking past her sister, she paused long enough to remark coldly, narrowed eyes piercing into Buffy’s in accusation, “What better way to forget all about one thing – than to replace it with something else?”

Buffy’s eyes widened and she turned as her sister passed her, objecting, “I’m not…”

But the door slammed behind Dawn, cutting off her futile attempt at explanation.

*That’s not what I’m doing,* she insisted to herself, closing her eyes for a moment to compose her thoughts before turning to face Riley again. *I’m not replacing Spike with Riley. I don’t even want to be with Riley. There will be *no* being with Riley! I just see no reason to humiliate him in front of the others – that’s all…that’s it…*

She turned around, drawing in a deep breath as she faced the hopeful expression on Riley’s face – unable to find words for a very long moment.

Finally she breathed out, “So. You and Sam. Split up. You – left her?”

Riley shook his head. “Not quite. The other way around, in fact.” His blue eyes took on an imploring look as he edged in closer, reaching out to touch her arm. “She – she couldn’t stay – not after – not when it was so obvious that I – I wasn’t over you. I never was, Buffy…”

Buffy shook her head, backing away from him slightly. “Riley – no,” she objected quietly. “I – I can’t just – you can’t just come back here and announce that you’re married – and then come back three months later and announce that you’re suddenly *not*, and you wanna get back together! I can’t just -- *do* that, Riley!”

“I don’t expect you to.”

His words surprised her enough that she looked up at him suddenly, one eyebrow raised in speculation.

“I don’t,” he repeated emphatically, when faced with the dubious look on her face. “I just – want to be in your life again, Buffy. Want to – to help you. To be – your friend. And – maybe – later on – if things work out…”

“Riley – I don’t want you counting on that. I’m not – I’m not even the same person that…” Buffy shook her head, her voice trailing off as her mind was filled with images of eyes a deeper blue than Riley’s, filled with a depth of emotion like none she had ever seen – certainly not in Riley’s eyes.

“I know that, Buffy.” Riley’s voice was quiet, solemn. “I’m not – counting on anything. I just – I’ve moved back to Sunnydale. I got an apartment – across town.” He was quiet for a moment, allowing that to sink in, before he went on, “I know things. I’m experienced. I can help you – when you want me to. And – that’s all I want right now, Buffy – just to be able to help you. I just – just wanted you to know that I’m – I’m here. Okay?”

Buffy nodded slowly, still unable to find words.

When it became clear that she really did not have much to say to him, Riley nodded in acceptance, and headed toward the door, pressing a scrap of paper into her hand as he passed her.

“My number,” he explained. “If you need me.”

“Thanks,” she replied flatly, not looking up.

Riley nodded again, as he reached for the door. “I’ll let you – get some sleep.”

She did not respond as he opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. He turned slightly before moving off of it, half-facing her as he asked softly, “If you don’t mind my asking, Buffy – who is it? That you’re – trying to forget?”

Buffy looked up at him, startled that he had caught Dawn’s words as well. After a momentary silence, she looked down again, before meeting his eyes with a steely, unflinching gaze.

“No one,” she replied. “I’m not – trying to forget – anyone.”

Riley studied her face for a moment, before nodding his acceptance of her words, and turned without another word, walking out into the night.

Buffy’s eyes welled with tears, as she allowed bittersweet memories to flood her mind – there was no one here tonight with her, no one’s feelings to worry about – so she let the memories, the pain and fears that had been overwhelming her for the past few months, flow over her, embracing and accepting them.

*Not trying to forget,* she echoed in her mind, sitting down on the edge of her sofa with her head in her hands, as tears flowed down her cheeks. *Don’t *ever* want to forget…*

*******************************

There was something…something…

He was trying so hard to remember…

Familiar.

Safe.

Inviting.

Mingled in with the scent that he had come to associate with fear, and pain, and suffering…

So…confusing.

“She’s forgotten all about you, you know.”

He flinched slightly at the sound – yes, *sound* -- that reached his newly repairing ears – the sound that announced the presence of the other – the one that came here, to this dark, lonely place of suffering – only to intensify that suffering.

“I saw her today – and she doesn’t even remember, Spike – that’s how little you mean to her.”

The words sounded hollow – echoing in his weakened, damaged hearing, with a muffled, underwater sort of sound – and he could not make out the individual words.

Not that he could have put meaning to them, anyway – yet.

He could hear them – knew that he was being spoken to – but to his infinite frustration, his mind refused to process the words, to give them meaning. He had no idea what the other person in the room was trying to say to him.

But the tone – that was impossible to mistake.

Cold, mocking, gloating over his misery and suffering – enjoying his pain and terror – that dark voice always accompanied more pain – more terror – so although he could not yet comprehend the words – Spike knew enough by now to fear the arrival of that voice – that heavy, acrid scent that accompanied this unwelcome visitor to his underground prison.

“Did you hear me, Spike? Are you listening?”

The demand in the voice made it clear that he was expected to answer – though he had no idea what to speak -- *couldn’t* speak – so the sensation of frustrated fear began to spread through him, as the heavy footsteps slowly sounded, growing nearer to him as the intruder went on.

“You *can* hear me, now, can’t you, Spike,” he observed with a smile that was audible in his voice – a cruel, nasty smile that promised only more pain – though Spike could not quite comprehend the question.

“You’ve been able to hear me for some time now…*haven’t you*?” the loud words spoken suddenly, very near his ear, made the injured vampire flinch, pulling back away from the abrasive sound that hurt his head – though he couldn’t pull back very far.

Something – something was – restraining him…

“You’re healing, Spike,” the voice continued softly, moving away from him again now – circling him in a way that the predator in Spike could still recognize as dangerous – threatening. “Gradually – getting back all those abilities that you lost when I put a bullet through your brain. It’s really amazing, actually. I had no idea that you’d heal up so well. I mean – it’s taken time, but – you’ve barely had any blood at all. Just a tiny bit each day, if I’m figuring right – and you’re getting better. It’s really very…”

He paused, trying to come up with the right word, before finally adding in a whisper of amusement, once again close enough to make the bound, injured vampire flinch, though he had no concept of exactly what was being said – only the menace and sadistic pleasure behind the words.

“…disappointing.”

“Pretty soon – you’re gonna be able to talk again – aren’t you, Spike?” the voice mused. “And when that happens – well – I might just have to bring an end to all this. Can’t have you – running your mouth. Ruining everything. You were always so good at that, weren’t you?” the man sneered angrily.

Spike’s body trembled slightly, involuntarily, at the anger and menace in the voice of his captor.

“Can you talk yet, Spike?” he asked in a low, menacing whisper. Then, when there was no response, he fisted his hand in the blonde vampire’s blood-matted, disheveled hair and jerked his head back painfully. “Can you?” he demanded.

A low, animalistic moan of anguish was the only response to the jarring assault on Spike’s still healing scalp – though he did not understand the question, did not know what was being asked of him…he was only responding in the most simple, basic, natural way, to the physical pain he was experiencing.

His captor did not quite see it that way.

“Getting there, aren’t we?” he observed mockingly. “Closer all the time…” The humor left his voice as he released his hair and backhanded him hard, knocking his head back against the stone wall behind him. “Well, *don’t*!” he snarled – responding to the next inevitable cry of pain with another blow – and another, ordering his prisoner to silence again and again…

Until finally…Spike got it.

The final cry – bit back with an extreme force of will – muffled with an effort even as his tormentor jerked his head back hard, trying to provoke a reaction – told the man that he had managed to get his point across.

“Good,” he remarked in a voice of soft, amused approval. “Good, Spike. That’s it. Don’t talk. *Don’t…talk.* Got it?”

The words were no clearer than before – with the exception of the single order that Spike now understood. He had to keep quiet – had to obey – or he would experience more pain. And now, the question in his captor’s voice made it clear that he wanted to know if he understood.

It was really very simple – but it was a tremendous breakthrough for the vampire.

A breakthrough that came at a great, painful cost.

He nodded slowly, instinctively knowing that that action would let his tormentor know that he understood.

There was a long silence before the man replied in a voice of astonishment, “Yes? You got it?”

Spike nodded again, emphatically, drawing back against the wall in anticipation of another blow – which did not come.

“Good! *Good*!”

The excitement in the man’s voice was clear, as he stood up straight again and moved away from his prisoner, apparently thrilled with this success – though Spike had no idea why.

All he wanted was for the pain, the torment and terror, to come to an end. There was something – someone, perhaps? – that he found himself longing for, though he could not remember it. Some sense of safety and belonging and comfort that he desperately wanted to find again – something that he somehow knew, if only he could get to it, would make this agony stop – if only he could find it.

But how could he find it, he wondered with a sense of despair, if he could not even remember what it was that he was looking for?

This lovely banner was created for me by the amazing Tamakin84!! Thanks so much, love!!!




For the first few weeks after Spike’s disappearance, Buffy had found herself focusing the greater part of her attention during her patrols on Restfield Cemetery, spending an unusually large amount of time there -- and inevitably stopping by the now empty crypt near the center of the cemetery.

Just in case.

Usually she just ended up slaying some new random demon or vamp that had decided that the unoccupied but cozy little crypt would make a good lair.

Those slays tended to be particularly vicious.

Buffy knew deep down, each time she stopped there, that she was not going to find Spike in his old home, no matter how badly she wanted to – but in spite of that fact, each time was still a fresh disappointment, and a renewal of her fears as to what might have happened to him.

By the time Spike had been missing for four months, Buffy had stopped patrolling Restfield altogether – and her lack of attention to the place was becoming as much of an issue as her focus on it had been before. She knew that she should be checking it periodically, but she found after a time that she simply could not bring herself to walk by Spike’s old crypt, where she had spent so many hours with him, knowing that he was not there, and never would be there again.

She told herself that it didn’t matter much; Sunnydale had demons enough scattered throughout it to keep her busy – and her avoidance of Restfield was nobody’s business but her own.

The problem was – Sunnydale’s demon community was beginning to make it their business.

If some vampire or demon wanted a relatively safe place for a massacre or ritual or sacrifice of some kind – Restfield had become the place to go. They could be more than reasonably sure that whatever evil they were up to would go undisturbed, since for whatever reason, the Slayer seemed inclined to avoid the place.

While the kill count from her nightly patrols became smaller and smaller – leading her to believe that she was doing her job effectively – Restfield gradually became a hot spot of demonic activity in Sunnydale…and the Slayer remained completely unaware of the situation.

But there were others who *were* aware.

Buffy was making her way rather listlessly through Westside Cemetery, after a rather uneventful patrol, more than ready to get home and go to bed. She had been working double shifts at the Doublemeat as often as possible – and although she was thoroughly exhausted, all the hard work was finally beginning to pay off. The bills were being paid – all on time – and she was actually finding that she was able to set back a bit of money each week for emergencies, as well as being able to afford a few small extras for herself and Dawn.

Things were definitely improving in most areas of her life.

All except one.

She was trying so hard not to focus on that one area of her life that she could not seem to forget, that when a large, hulking shape suddenly stepped out in front of her from the bushes beside her, she jumped back, startled. Instinctively she raised her stake – the action freezing midway as she recognized the person standing in front of her. She released a weary sigh that just barely managed to not sound annoyed as she lowered the stake again.

“Riley,” she said simply, an expectant note to her voice, as she tucked the stake back into her back pocket.

“Buffy,” he replied with a nod, taking a deep breath before he added, “There’s trouble.”

"Shocking," she remarked flatly, her expression not changing. "What's going on?"

"I was patrolling East Central Cemetery -- there was a girl -- and this -- group of demons -- don't know what kind, never saw them before -- grabbed her, and dragged her off. I followed them, looking for a chance to attack...but...there were so many, Buffy..."

"How many?" she asked, her tone now 100% Slayer, as she immediately turned and headed in the direction of the cemetery Riley had mentioned, assuming that he would keep up with her as he went on with his story.

"At least a dozen -- maybe more..."

"Where did they take her?"

"Restfield."

Buffy's step faltered for just the barest fraction of a second -- so briefly that she was sure Riley hadn't noticed -- but then she smoothly shifted her course just slightly, in order to be headed toward Restfield, instead of the cemetery Riley had been patrolling.

"By now it's probably too late," she observed. "By the time you got all the way over here to me, they've probably killed her already."

"Maybe not," Riley explained with a shrug. "They were -- waiting for someone. Their leader, maybe? They said they couldn't begin the -- ritual feeding ceremony, until this -- other one arrived."

"They -- spoke English?" Buffy frowned, a bit surprised as she looked up at the soldier.

Riley shrugged with an ironic little half-smile. "As a *second* language, I'm sure," he replied, easily keeping pace with her as they quickly made their way toward Restfield Cemetery.

When they reached the cemetery, they slowed their pace, keeping close to the cover of the trees that surrounded the cemetery. Riley silently nodded for her to follow him as he led the Slayer cautiously toward the spot where he had last seen the demons. Buffy peered over the dense undergrowth at the assembled circle in the secluded little corner of the cemetery that Riley had led her to, her nose crinkling in distaste as she took in the scene before her.

The demons were huge – over seven feet tall – with dark, scaly gray skin that seeped to be oozing some sort of green substance. The same green substance was dripping from their horns – three each, across their foreheads, above gaping mouths full of hundreds of long, needle-sharp teeth.

She could not quite see through the rough circle that they formed, but she could hear quiet, muffled whimpers and cries coming from the center of the circle – so she could safely assume that was where they had their human victim…and that the girl was still alive.

“You didn’t mention how extremely disgusting these things were,” she hissed. “But there *are* like, twenty of them at least. That’s *almost* like a dozen.” Even in a whisper, it was impossible to miss her sarcastic tone.

“They’re gathering,” Riley explained, more than a little defensive. “There weren’t as many when I left.”

“Right,” Buffy replied tersely. “Doesn’t matter now. Wait for my signal – then you take the dozen on the left, I’ll take the dozen on the right.”

“That’s it?” Riley’s tone was dubious, as he gave her an uncertain look. “That’s the plan?”

“Well,” Buffy shrugged carelessly. “Once I get finished with my half, I’ll probably be starting on what’s left of yours. What do you expect, some brilliant complex plan in ten minutes? Just – wait ‘til I say go…”

They waited in silence for a few minutes longer, trying to get a handle on exactly what was happening n the clearing. The creatures did indeed seem to be preparing for some sort of ritual. The largest of them – apparently the leader – moved to the center of the circle, and as he did, the others shifted to the sides, allowing Buffy and Riley to see inside the circle.

A large tree stump was set in the middle of the circle, with a heavy iron peg driven deep into it, attached to one end of a thick, heavy chain. But what caught Buffy’s attention was the terrified young girl, bound at the other end of the chain by her wrists, close enough to the stump that she could not rise from her knees, and gagged to prevent her panicked screams from being heard.

But the gag did not keep her from *trying* to be heard.

“Thank you all for coming to the annual feast of the human virgin,” the leader began in a pleasant, casual tone.

At least – Buffy *thought* it sounded pleasant and casual, for a – whatever-it-was. It was really hard to tell, between the growls and slurps that punctuated its heavily accented English.

“If we’re all here – I believe it’s time to begin the ceremony,” the leader continued, stepping slowly closer to the increasingly terrified girl, who yanked uselessly, desperately against the chains that bound her.

“You see any weapons?” Riley asked Buffy in an anxious whisper.

“Do they look like they need them?” she shot back incredulously. “Look at those teeth! And they’re just – out in the open? Dozens of those huge, disgusting things, and they’re not hiding or anything? They’ve got a lot of nerve! Don’t they know that a cemetery is just -- *naturally* the Slayer’s territory?”

“Well – not Restfield, Buffy,” Riley reluctantly informed her. “Restfield is always like this…”

“Since when?” she demanded, eyebrows raised as she stared at him in surprise.

“Since – well, since I’ve been back in town anyway. I thought you were just – scared to come down here by yourself…”

Buffy’s soft, offended huff of disbelief was her only response to those words.

“So,” Riley whispered a bit nervously, clearly trying to shift the topic of conversation away from his thoughtless comment, “*when* are we going to…”

“*Go*!” she hissed suddenly, just before launching herself from the underbrush out into the clearing, drawing a dangerous-looking sort of small battle axe from under her jacket as she did so.

“I guess that’d be now,” Riley muttered with a half-smile, following right behind her and leaping into the battle.

They had caught the unsuspecting group of demons completely off guard, taking down a half dozen of them before they even realized that they were under attack. The element of surprise was in their favor, at least, since the demons had assumed that they were safe in Restfield – and that bought the Slayer and the soldier a few precious seconds.

After that – all hell broke loose.

Buffy fought for all she was worth, spinning and kicking, throwing well-aimed blows left and right – and found to her relief that although these creatures were large and definitely very strong, they were also less agile, a bit slower, because of their size and the rather unwieldy shape of their bodies.

Before long, between the two of them, she and Riley had managed to take down all of the monsters – except one.

The leader.

A silent stand-off between the demon on one side, and the Slayer and the ex-commando on the other, ended with a sudden unexpected action…

…as the demon leader suddenly turned tail and ran away from them across the clearing, headed out into the woods surrounding Restfield.

Buffy hesitated only a moment, glancing between Riley and the girl the demons had captured, still bound to the stump, her arms pulled up to cover her face from the violence and bloodshed that had resulted in her rescue. Looking back out into the woods, where the creature had disappeared, Buffy made her decision.

“Make sure she’s not hurt,” she ordered Riley, already heading for the woods. “Get her loose and make sure she gets home okay.”

“But Buffy,” Riley called after her. “You can’t just…”

“I can take him, Riley – take care of the girl,” she cut him off, disappearing into the woods before he could say another word to stop her.

Buffy stopped short after a few hundred yards, looking around her into the surrounding darkness, trying to see where the creature had gone. After a moment, she realized that it was not going to be difficult to track…considering the trail of glow-in-the-dark green goop that it had left in its wake, coating the ground and brush that had been in its path.

“I love this job,” she muttered darkly as she followed the trail, her axe ready in her hand.

“Now let’s see,” she said to herself under her breath after a moment, slowing her pace a bit, as it suddenly occurred to her that she might not want to catch up to this thing too quickly, which would give it the opportunity to catch her by surprise. “If I was a seven foot slime monster being pursued by a much faster, much smarter Slayer – what would *I* do?”

The creature was much slower than she was – she knew it, and it knew it. It was obviously at least somewhat intelligent, and it had seen her make short work of the rest of its clan, so she could expect it to know what a threat she was, and also to be capable of some kind of trick.

Buffy held back slightly, following the unmistakable trail of the neon green slime that the monster left in its wake, watching carefully around her all the while for any signs of trickery – which, now that she thought of it, would be pretty obvious. The monster could not help but leave its trail anywhere it went – so there was only so much deception it could possibly pull off.

She came to an abrupt stop when she saw where the trail was leading. Directly in front of her, a worn wooden door swung slightly in the wind, beckoning her onward – toward the dark stone steps that led downward, into the old Initiative caves. The steps that she could see from where she stood were coated with the creature’s trail, so there was no mistaking where it had gone.

She thought about how long it had been since any human had set foot in those caves – how many nasty things might have taken up residence down there in the past two years – and she almost turned around and let the thing go.

*No,* she told herself firmly. *Gotta get it. If I let it go, it’ll just pick up another victim sooner or later…*

*But there are *lots* of evil, nasty things – nice and *above* ground – probably about to grab a human snack in the next few hours, too,* she reminded herself. *No need to go down into the dark, scary…*

*No! Not scary!* she suddenly cut off that train of thought, remember Riley’s annoying comment earlier about her being scared to go into Restfield – and that was *so* a whole other issue that she was going to have to take care of right away! *You’re the Slayer, Buffy, suck it up! Get down there!*

Slowly, cautiously, she descended the stairs – suddenly glad for the glowing monster goop that cast an eerie green light on the walls around her, at least partially illuminating the room, allowing her to see at least far enough around her to know if anything was close enough to reach out and grab her.

And for the moment – nothing was.

Buffy followed the trail, deeper and deeper into the caves, glad for another reason that it was there – because it would make finding her way out that much easier when the time came. She kept her footsteps soft and quiet, moving swiftly but silently through the semi-darkness – and eventually she became aware of distant sounds ahead of her.

She was catching up.

The monster did not seem to be aware of her presence, as its pace did not seem to increase at all, so she gradually allowed herself to catch up to it, though being careful to keep out of sight – at least one turned corner away at all times.

Suddenly, she heard the footsteps cease, and froze momentarily, wondering if it had realized it was still being pursued. She pressed her back to the wall, listening closely for any further sounds.

“Well…what’s this?” she heard the raspy, garbled voice of the creature from just on the other side of the wall – followed by a disgusting, wet, snuffling sort of sound, as if the creature was sniffing something.

Buffy focused for a long moment just on *not* losing her dinner.

“Not exactly human,” the thing went on, talking to itself. “But close enough…”

Buffy frowned, puzzled and disturbed by the monster’s words. If it was about to feed on something, she thought, perhaps this was her opportunity to catch it off guard. Slowly, cautiously, she stepped out away from the wall, moving into the doorway that led into the small, roughly circular cavern in which the creature now stood, its huge bulk obscuring her view of whatever it was it was looking at.

She cringed slightly when her next step squeaked loudly, the squeak of rubber soles when wet – and then cursed softly when she looked down to see that it was not exactly water that she had stepped in.

The monster growled as it whirled around to face her, and even before she looked up, she knew that it was aware of her presence – no use being subtle anymore.

Good. She was getting tired of subtle.

“Any idea if this green nastiness of yours washes out?” she asked lightly. “Because it might have some influence on how quickly I kill you.”

She looked up as she spoke to gauge the effect of her quip on her quarry – and suddenly froze, all the breath sucked from her body in an instant. She couldn’t have moved – spoken – couldn’t have defended herself. She was aware in some distant part of her mind that if this creature wanted to kill her now – she would not be able to stop it.

*One good day,* the words echoed in her mind, as her eyes welled with tears and a deep ache began anew in her heart.

Completely unaware of the conflict the Slayer was experiencing – only remembering how she had killed more than a dozen of his fellows and had hardly broken a sweat – the creature turned tail abruptly and fled, choosing to run rather than attempt to fight her.

Buffy did not take her eyes off of the sight that had arrested her attention – though at the last possible moment, she did recover enough presence of mind to swing her axe-bearing arm, releasing the weapon to fly straight and true into the back of the creature’s skull – dropping it to the ground, dead, with a single blow.

She didn’t bother to check and be sure – had no further interest in the creature she had hunted down. All of her attention was focused on one thing – the “not quite human” thing that the creature had been about to feed upon.

The very thought made her weak with horror.

She took a couple of slow steps forward, her mind scarcely processing the numerous injuries, bruises and cuts and marks unidentifiable in the dim light cast by a single torch on the wall. For the moment – none of it mattered.

All that mattered was that he was here – and judging by the trembling of his body, even as he shrank back against the wall, his eyes screwed tightly shut in fear and avoidance of the fate that had nearly befallen him – alive.

For the moment, to Buffy – that was all that mattered.

As she took another slow step forward, the Slayer finally found her breath, and a single word left her lips in a trembling, tearful whisper of mingled hope and terror.

“*Spike*?”

This lovely banner was created for me by the amazing Tamakin84!! Thanks so much, love!!!




He was in terrible shape.

As Buffy’s stunned mind gradually adjusted to the fact that he was actually *there*, right before her, she began to take in the other, more disturbing details of the situation, and a sense of anger began rising up in her, with her fear for him.

Someone had really done a number on her vampire.

Spike was slumped against the stone wall of the cave, his weakened, emaciated body supported almost fully by the iron chains that bounds his wrists to the wall on either side of his head, holding him up. His chest was bare – revealing a frightening array of ugly, angry welts and bruises; and as Buffy’s eyes gradually adjusted to the dim light in the room, she realized with rising horror that she could clearly make out every bone in his once-sculpted torso.

*How long has it been since he’s eaten?* she wondered momentarily – for once not feeling the sense of disgust that she usually felt when she thought of what it was exactly that Spike ate.

All she felt at the moment was concern.

And rage.

He looked terrible, signs of recent and perhaps not-so-recent abuse covering his body, on the verge of starvation -- if vampires *could* starve to death...

But more frightening than the way he looked, was the strange, unsettling way in which he had reacted to her presence.

As she whispered his name, the soft sound a clattering echo in the stillness of the room, the blonde vampire flinched back against the wall, hard, his painfully thin body shaking violently. He kept his eyes closed, his head turned away from her, and did not make a sound, though his entire body appeared tensed, poised for action that the chains, rattling against the wall with his movements, did not allow him.

“Spike?” she tried again, softening her tone even more, as she edged nearer to him. She had no idea what had happened to him – though she had every intention of finding out – but whatever it was appeared to have traumatized him to the point that he didn’t even seem to recognize her. “Spike? It’s me – Buffy…” she whispered.

She really felt very silly, identifying herself to this creature that had, a few months earlier, known every detail of her life, her heart – worshipped the very ground she walked on…whether she felt worthy of that adoration or not. But now – he did not even seem aware of who she was at all.

Spike? Not knowing her? The very thought seemed ridiculous to her – and deeply unsettling.

“Remember me?” she asked softly, her tone light and gently ironic, though her voice was trembling, and the smile she meant to be reassuring was weak, on the verge of dissolving into a sob, as she moved steadily toward him.

It didn’t really matter, she thought somewhat numbly. It wasn’t as if he could *see* her smile, with his eyes closed, turned away from her like that.

She was suddenly startled by the first response she had seen from Spike yet, as he began to shake his head slightly. She stopped moving for a moment, frowning, before continuing slowly toward him.

“You – you don’t?” she whispered. “You don’t remember me?” In spite of the desperation of the situation, she still felt an unreasonable sense of hurt come over her with the thought that he really *didn’t* know her.

As she reached him, extending a gentle, cautious hand to touch his shoulder, she was startled when he jerked back away from her in panic, shaking his head harder, almost desperately, a low pleading whine beginning to sound low in his throat.

And suddenly, Buffy began to wonder if the head-shaking was more about not wanting her to come near him than about actually answering her question.

A cold, sick sensation of fear came over her, as she found herself noticing suddenly that he had not spoken a word since she had found him. His demeanor was just -- *wrong* -- so not like him... She found herself reminded suddenly, with a little chill of apprehension, of when Angel had come back from hell, all wild and feral and uncomprehending.

And then, she found herself wondering all at once -- if he had even understood her question at all.

“Spike?” she repeated, keeping her tone carefully soft and calm. “It’s okay…it’s okay, Spike…Stay calm…okay? It’s okay, Spike, I’m here…you’re safe now…it’s okay…” As she gently spoke to him, trying hard to keep the rising terror out of her voice, for his sake, Buffy glanced around the room, looking for a key to the chains that bound his wrists.

Much to her relief, with her soft, repetitive words, and the gentle touch of her hand, he seemed to be calming down a bit – though it was hard to tell, as he still would not open his eyes or say anything – but the plaintive whine had died away, and the trembling had eased a bit, though it was still quite noticeable.

“Spike – do you know where the key is?” she asked him quietly, her words slow and even, though she was not sure at this point that it made any difference.

He froze, not responding, not moving a muscle, and Buffy frowned at his reaction, puzzled.

*Well -- at least there's *some* reaction,* she thought with a fresh wave of sorrow washing over him. "My God, Spike, what happened to you?*

“The key. To the chains. Do you know where it is?” she forced herself to ask again, in a voice that was firm in spite of the quaver it held. After another long moment of nothing, Buffy added in a voice of flat resignation, “Do you even know what I’m asking you, Spike? Do you understand?”

She noticed suddenly with dismay that her repeated questioning, however gentle, was starting to upset him again. He drew back away from her touch, shaking his head pleadingly, his trembling intensifying again. It was as if he knew that she wanted something from him, but couldn’t quite comprehend what it was – and worse, he was terrified of what her reaction might be when he could not do whatever it was that she wanted.

“No – it’s okay…don’t worry about it,” she murmured gently, tears streaking her face as she raised a hand to touch his cheek – only to have him flinch away from her. “It’s okay – I’m not gonna hurt you,” she assured him. “It’s okay – and you don’t have any idea what I’m saying to you, do you.”

She deliberately kept her tone flat, not wanting to upset him again by asking him questions that he could not answer. She let out a deep, shaky breath, raising a hand to gently touch his dirty, disheveled hair – startled to find it matted, blood-caked, resistant to her fingers running through it.

She was even more startled in the next moment when the bound vampire nearly leapt as far away from her as was possible in his chains, a low moan of pain and terror rising from his throat, as he cringed back against the wall as far as he could, straining against the chains in his desperate effort to escape her touch.

“I’m sorry!” she cried out, tears flowing freely from her eyes, as she realized just how badly he must be hurt. “I didn’t mean to – didn’t mean to hurt you, Spike…”

But since he could not seem to comprehend her words, her anxious, almost panicked tone only served to upset him more. He clearly would have dropped to his knees had the chains allowed it, huddling down against the wall as far as he could get from her, that awful terrified sound again coming from his throat as he hid his face against his arm in a pitiful attempt to hide himself from what he perceived to be a threat.

“Okay…okay…” Buffy repeated in a trembling voice, taking a step back and trying to regain her own composure. “You need a little space…you don’t need me…touching you…just…just find the key, Buffy,” she muttered, looking desperately around the room for someplace where someone – whoever had done this to Spike – might have hidden it.

That was another question, reverberating again and again in her mind…who had *done* this?

But it was a question for another time – a time when Spike was safe and calm and cared for, in the haven of her home – not for right now, when he was panicked and confused and disoriented, and she was not doing much better than he was.

Her eyes landed on a small folding table a few yards away from where Spike was chained – and her stomach turned at the sight of most of the items arrayed on that table, which had escaped her notice until now. Various implements of torture, stained dark brownish red with blood…

*Spike’s blood…*

She felt her stomach roiling within her, and forced the thoughts away – couldn’t think about that now – had to think about – the key…where was…

*There!*

She grabbed the shiny little piece of metal from where it lay on the table, and turned quickly back to Spike, cringing a bit herself when he flinched at the sudden movement – but relieved to see that his eyes were open now. Judging from the guilty sort of way he kept his eyes aimed at the floor, Buffy suspected that he had been watching her while she searched for the key – though why he would think that she might be angry about that, she simply could not fathom.

“It’s okay,” she repeated, beginning to feel foolish from the repetition, but seemingly unable to stop. “I’m gonna get you out of here, Spike…gonna take you home…”

Again, the vampire froze completely for a split second, his trembling ceasing momentarily with surprise, his eyes wide and staring strangely straight ahead in a way that…

Suddenly…Buffy felt her own body began to shake, and she shook her head, fighting back a sick feeling of horror as her mind tried to reject what she was increasingly sure was true. It made sense – explained why he wouldn’t look at her – why he seemed so disoriented – so frightened of every little sound…

*God, no…* she thought desperately, her heart aching for this creature that had come to mean so much to her. *Please…no…*

“Spike?” she whispered, moving close to him again, shifting her body, trying to bring herself into his line of vision. “Spike – look at me…”

He didn’t move, though she could see the confusion, the anxious desperation in his face as he tried – really *tried* -- to understand what it was she wanted from him. With a cautious, gentle hand, she lifted his chin, disturbed when he only flinched slightly, but was then unsettlingly compliant to her touch, allowing her to turn his face upward slightly.

She passed her free hand slowly in front of his eyes – feeling weak and sick again when they did not move.

*He can’t see…oh God, he can’t see!* she realized with horror.

“Oh, Spike…Spike, what happened…?” she sobbed out desperately, releasing him and moving trembling hands to the cuff at his right wrist, struggling to unlock it and free him from the bonds that held him.

A part of her wondered if she should perhaps be more cautious – if this semi-feral version of Spike might not freak out completely once he was free…

*How long has it been since he was free?* she wondered, with another anguished sob, as she unlocked the left cuff from around his wrist.

The vampire staggered slightly forward when the restraints were removed – and then immediately dropped down onto his knees, his head bowed low, his face to the floor of the cave -- that desperate, pleading whine that was almost painful for Buffy to hear, clearly audible again.

“Spike – no,” Buffy found that her own voice was a whimper as she dropped to her knees on the ground beside him, tears streaming from her eyes. “No, don’t, Sweetie…it’s okay,” she tried her best to soothe him. “Don’t…”

She rose up straighter on her knees, hovering over him as he seemed to be trying to bring himself as low as possible, an obvious and heartbreaking gesture of submission – and Buffy felt the slow-boiling rage that had begun in her heart intensify just a little bit more.

As she took his arms and gently tried to get him to get up, she suddenly froze, as she caught her first glimpse of the mangled mess that had been made of his back. It was every bit as bad as his chest had been, but the wounds on his back had been aggravated by the harsh stone of the wall behind him, until his entire back was one big mass of raw, open wounds.

Her eyes trailed slowly up the marred flesh that had once been so beautiful, remembering how his perfect alabaster skin had appeared in the moonlight under her hand...

Her thoughts were cut off abruptly when her eyes reached the back of his head, now clearly visible to her in the torchlight -- and the Slayer's eyes widened with horror at what she saw. She raised a hand slowly toward the injury -- which seemed to have healed somewhat already, but was still ghastly, an open, gaping hole on one side, covered over with scar tissue.

She knew better than to attempt to touch the wound, her mind racing as she tried to figure out what might have caused such a wound -- though she had the feeling that whatever had done it, was surely the cause of Spike's weakened mental state.

The Slayer hardly realized it as her eyes narrowed in fury that rose swiftly to the surface, darkening with rage, and her voice lowered slightly, almost a growl as she spoke without even meaning to.

“Who *did* this?”

The rage in her voice was all that the vampire understood, and he fought her gentle hands in an attempt to lower himself to the floor again, whimpering softly. Buffy’s eyes widened in dismay as she realized what she had done, and she pulled him gently but firmly up again, wrapping her arms around him in an attempt to keep him up.

“No,” she whispered firmly. “No, Spike…no…it’s okay…don’t…”

He froze at her words, his attempts immediately ceasing – and she realized with both relief and anger that there was at least one word she had spoken that he had understood.

No.

Her eyes narrowed again, though she was careful this time to keep her tone the same, soft and reassuring, as she murmured soft, soothing nonsense sounds in an effort to calm him. It was not the *words* that were soothing to him, after all -- just the soft, gentle sound of her voice.

But the thoughts running through the Slayer's mind in that moment were anything but gentle.

She *would* find the person who had done this to Spike.

And they *would* pay.

********************************************

He had been certain that the misery of his existence was about to come to an end – and he had been utterly grateful for it. To be eaten by the monster that had invaded his prison could surely be no more painful than the torment he had endured here -- and then, it would be mercifully ended.

But then – that strangely familiar, almost musical voice had driven away the overpowering scent, the presence, of the foul creature that had been poised and ready to devour him.

Somehow, Spike felt that he should have known her – though he could not begin to connect a name with the powerful voice he heard – strong and sweet – iron and silk…and in that moment, holding his existence completely in her grasp.

*Dirty…ugly…bad…*

The words echoed through his mind, words that he could not quite put definitions to – but the tone of his captor, using them again and again to describe the reactions of anyone who might find him, was irrevocably connected to those words in his mind. He could not quite comprehend the meanings of the words, not yet -- but he knew that in his captor's mouth, they defined him…and that those words, whatever else they might mean, meant that he was low…evil… unworthy to be in the presence of the woman who had come into his prison.

The woman whose destiny it was to hold his fate in her hands.

Frustration and terror mingled in his mind, as he struggled to comprehend the words she was saying to him…the reasons why her voice, her scent, were so familiar…and why he felt both terror and hope, battling within his battered spirit, for dominance of his being.

And then…she was questioning him…and he couldn’t answer…had no idea what it was that she wanted… Gradually, he was beginning to get his memory of basic words and meanings back -- but he still could only make out a few, and could not begin to put together what the question was she was asking him -- let alone to find th answer.

…and he knew -- *knew* -- that she would hurt him, would strike him down, punish him for his disobedience.

Except – she hadn’t.

After months of nothing but bondage and torment and suffering – all of which he had been led to believe he deserved – the concept of mercy, of tenderness and compassion, was something that his mind could barely begin to conceive of. According to the brutal lessons that had been driven into him over the past few months, a glorious being such as he instinctively knew this woman to be should have nothing but pain and judgment for something as low and unworthy as he was.

And yet, her hands, her voice, had been gentle, as she had unlocked his bonds, after – so very long…

She had the power – he could sense it, feel it rolling off of her in waves…knew what she was instinctively, though he could not quite put a name to it.

And yet – she had not hurt him.

*She will,* the thought echoed through his mind ominously. *In time – she will…*

He knew that kindness was not what he deserved. His world had been reduced to only so much – and what she seemed to be offering did not belong there…and therefore could not be real, could not last.

Because in the nightmare that his life had become – it *always* came back to the pain.

All he could hope for, was to do what he could to please her, and hope to hold off that moment of suffering as long as he could.

But how could he hope to do that, he wondered with a sense of despair rising up in his broken heart – when he could not even comprehend what it was that she was asking of him?

*She’ll kill you,* he heard the soft, echoing voice of his tormentor in his head – and suddenly understood what he had meant. *When she sees what you’ve become – how pathetic and worthless you really are…she’ll dust you and put you out of your own and everyone else’s misery…*

He had only been able to understand a few of the words -- but the general concept was clear.

The moment would come – he knew it.

But until it did – he would do what he could to please this glorious golden goddess, who had released him from his bonds...perhaps only to put him into bonds of her own -- he could not know yet -- but it did not really matter.

Because if he had the choice of one slavery over another – he would choose to be hers.

This lovely banner was created for me by the amazing Tamakin84!! Thanks so much, love!!!




Trembling, terrified, the wounded vampire waited anxiously on his knees on the floor of the cave, awaiting the command of the powerful woman kneeling beside him – his savior…or his destroyer…

He couldn’t know which just yet.

He wished that she would tell him what to do – or even do something to him herself – anything just to let him know what it was that she wanted from him. Clearly, she did not want him to do as his captor had required of him, on the infrequent occasions when he had actually removed his chains – though never for long, and always only to further brutalize him.

*On your face, you disgusting thing! Don’t move! Don’t you *dare* look at me!*

It had not mattered to the man that Spike could not even see – let alone deliberately look at him.

Spike shuddered at the memory of the menacing words, his trembling intensifying slightly. All he wanted was to find out what she wanted him to do – what he could do to please her – to avoid the punishment that he knew was in her hands to mete out.

It had been difficult for him to understand what was expected of him, from the man who had brought him here, kept him here; he had not been able to understand the words spoken to him, and therefore had no idea what the sharply spoken orders he had been given had meant.

But he had learned.

*On your knees! Don’t get up! Shut up that whining, you little nothing, or I’ll give you something to cry about! I said *don’t move*!*

Each order had been punctuated with violence. Beaten and screamed at and forced into whatever position his captor had wanted him in – he had finally managed to comprehend what he was supposed to do. Thus, the instant that this woman had removed his chains, Spike had fallen to his knees on the floor, his face to the ground, submitting to her without hesitation.

But apparently – that was not what she wanted from him.

A new sense of fear came over him as he simply waited, helplessly – wondering.

Then – what *did* she want?

******************************************

“It’s okay – it’s all right, Spike,” Buffy whispered gently, careful to keep her voice quiet and even.

She frowned, concerned and confused as without any real cause that she could see, he began shaking harder, his entire body visibly wilting – poised at a moment’s notice to fall directly back into the submissive pose she had stopped him from before.

It hurt her heart more than she could believe to see him like this.

No matter what hurtful things had passed between them – she knew that the damage she had done to him far exceeded the pain he had caused her. Whatever remaining anger she had held to him, over Anya, over his disappearance – all had vanished in the moment she had seen him, chained there in that cave.

Her immediate instinctive reaction to his obvious fear was to reach out, to touch him, to put her arms around him and offer him what comfort she could with her embrace – but she was also afraid to touch him, for fear of hurting him; she was not even sure she could find a place on his body to touch him that was not injured.

And she was not altogether sure that her embrace would be welcomed at the moment, anyway.

“Just wait a second,” she murmured soothingly, though she knew by now that he did not understand her, as she took her cell phone from her pocket. “I’m just gonna call…”

Her voice trailed off, as she realized suddenly – she had no idea *who* she was going to call.

Xander?

No. After what had happened between Spike and Anya, Xander’s hatred of the blonde vampire – which had been obvious for a long time, even before that – had intensified, until she knew that there was no way in the world that he would be willing to help Spike, even for her sake.

He would most likely just tell her to stake him and put him out of his misery, if he was so bad off.

Riley?

*No,* she decided, feeling decidedly uncomfortable at that idea. Riley had never understood her reasons for allowing Spike to live at all, even once he was chipped and helpless. That, added to the whole jealousy factor, what with Riley’s wanting to get back with her, and knowing about her history with Spike…

No…Riley would not be willing to help.

She found herself wishing desperately that Giles was there. While her Watcher might not agree with her as to the urgency of helping Spike right away, he would certainly not refuse, not after all that Spike *had* done to help them over the past few years – not if he knew how very important it was to *her* to save his life.

But Giles was *not* there – and it was becoming more and more clear with each passing moment, that Buffy was going to have to handle this on her own.

For one brief moment, she even considered calling her little sister. Dawn had managed to convince Buffy to let her stay home alone that night while she patrolled, so barring any of the typical teenage scheming that Dawn was so good at, she should be at home right now. The sixteen-year-old was learning to drive, and doing well – and for one insane instant Buffy considered calling her and telling her to bring the SUV.

But no – Dawn’s shaky driving skills aside, there was no way that she could let her little sister see Spike like this – not without preparing her for the shock of it.

*Looks like I’m out of options,* she thought grimly, closing the phone again and starting to put it away. *I can’t leave him – whoever did this might come back – and I don’t think a taxi’d come all the way out here…though at this point I’d gladly pay someone to…*

Her eyes widened with a sudden flash of inspiration.

*Anya!*

She hesitated for just a moment, before quickly making her decision and dialing the number for Anya’s new apartment. A few weeks ago, she had been unable to avoid going into the Magic Box, in need of some supplies to defeat a particular type of demon, and knowing that the little shop was likely the only place she could get what she needed.

It was the first time she had seen the ex-vengeance demon since that last encounter outside the Magic Box, that night when Anya and Spike had…

It had been a terribly uncomfortable reunion.

Anya still ran the store, with minor assistance and advice from her silent partner in England, but she kept her distance from what was left of the old Scoobie gang – which was, basically just Buffy, Dawn, and Xander.

Still, she had given Buffy her telephone number, and had asked her – rather awkwardly – to “please let her know if anybody got eaten or otherwise killed by a demon – because even though she felt too weird around them all now to actually hang out, it was still the sort of thing she wouldn’t like to not know about.”

And strangely enough, despite the unusual way Anya had of expressing herself – Buffy knew exactly what she meant.

That was the good thing about Anya – there was never any mistaking how she truly felt.

Buffy had no problem with the girl, really. She had been angry with her immediately following the incident, yes – but it had not taken her long to realize that of all the people involved in the situation, Anya had done no wrong whatsoever to anyone. She had already been dumped by Xander at the time, so she was not being unfaithful to anyone.

She wasn’t even being thoughtless or inconsiderate to Buffy – considering that she had had no idea of what had been going on between Spike and Buffy at the time.

*Which was absolutely a big fat nothing! You'd broken up with him -- remember?*

Buffy reminded herself sternly, a sense of guilt coming over her as she thought back to that night, back to the pain and desperation she had seen in the eyes of the little ex-demon, as she had stared up at Xander, venting her anger and indignation at his presumption, to tell her who she could and could not be with, now that he had already let her know that he did not want it to be *him*.

Pain that she had seen, clearly mirrored in the deep blue eyes of the vampire she had broken.

And now – someone else had broken him.

Buffy turned her head to look again at the fearful blue eyes of the kneeling vampire, now sightless, but still so very expressive. He was shaking violently, his entire body tensed in expectation of some move from her – some action or command.

She had none to give him.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, edging nearer to him, while she waited for Anya to pick up the phone. She reached out a gentle had toward the only place on him she could see that did not bear some mark or injury – the back of his hand, which was pressed against the cold stone floor beside his rail-thin, trembling legs.

“It’s all right, Sweetie,” she repeated almost unconsciously, closing her hand gently over his.

He jumped at the unexpected touch, but did not pull away from her – though her soothing tone, the soft repetitive movement of her thumb across his cool, rough skin, did seem to calm him a bit.

With a weary sigh of resignation, Buffy was about to hang up the phone, when the eighth ring was suddenly cut off halfway through. A brief muffled sound of a scuffle was heard on the other end, as if someone was having difficulty actually getting the phone to their ear. A moment later, Anya’s sleepy voice was heard in her ear, demanding and irritated.

“Do you even *know* what time it is? I don’t know all that much about it, but I’m pretty sure most humans would consider calling at this hour very rude. I have to get up early in the morning and make money. Who is this?”

“It’s Buffy.”

There was a moment’s stunned silence on the other end, Anya’s tirade of annoyance cut off in an instant. Clearly, she had not expected to be hearing from the Slayer anytime soon.

“I – I’m sorry. About – waking you,” Buffy found herself stammering, suddenly unsure of what to say. “It’s just – well…”

Anya’s voice was suddenly clear and tinged with a note of panic, as the only reason she could think of for Buffy to be calling her at this late hour suddenly occurred to her.

“It’s Xander, isn’t it?” she demanded, her voice rising slightly with her fear. “Oh, my God! Is Xander hurt? Buffy, is he dead?”

“No, no!” Buffy assured her quickly, her eyes widening with horror. “He’s – fine, Anya, that’s not – I mean…I need your help.”

Anya was quiet for a long moment, obviously as surprised by those words as she had been to find out who it was calling her.

Buffy held her breath for a moment, hoping that Anya would not ask too many questions, not need too much explanation – because she wasn’t really sure how much longer she could hold on to the fragile grip she currently had on her emotions. She had no idea how much Spike was actually capable of understanding at the moment – but it hardly seemed right to discuss his condition over the phone, right in front of him – and she didn’t want to, either.

Buffy’s voice must have said what she could not have put into words at the moment – because after a moment, Anya spoke, her own voice quiet and resolved.

“What do you need, Buffy? What’s happened?”

“I need you to bring your car down here, right away. It’s – it’s Spike. He’s hurt – bad.” Buffy paused, attempting once again to control her rising emotions – but then giving up as she added in a tearful, pleading voice, “Please – there’s no one else I could call…”

“I’m gonna help you already, Buffy, just tell me where you are!” The impatience in Anya’s voice only made her concern that much clearer.

Buffy felt her own body begin to tremble as she explained to Anya where she was, and where to park her car, and how to find them.

“Just – follow the trail of green demon goo,” she instructed weakly, a little grimace on her face, followed by a sheepish, “Sorry.”

Anya shrugged it off and hung up the phone, after assuring her that she would be there in no more than fifteen minutes.

The Slayer hung up the phone, put it away in her pocket – and collapsed forward, rocking slightly on her knees, weeping with relief.

Tears of relief turned into tears of fear and confusion and emotions that she could not even begin to put names to – until she felt something that made her go still, stunned and hopeful and not quite believing it was possible…but…

It was!

She looked down, wide-eyed, at her trembling hand that covered Spike’s, to see that he had turned his hand under hers, and was gently stroking his fingers across her palm in a gesture of comfort. She raised her startled eyes to his – almost disappointed to see them as sightless as ever – wondering at the reaction that she would not have thought possible from him, with the state he was in.

His head was bowed slightly, his eyes wide and intent, though aimed randomly at some point on the floor just beyond her – and she could see the concern, the confusion and uncertainty in his face that her tears had provoked. He did not seem to understand why she was upset, or any of what was going on for that matter.

But he *did* understand her tears – and was attempting to do what little he could to soothe them.

“Spike,” she whispered, an ache of sorrow and sympathy and gratitude all rolled into one overwhelming knot of emotion, tightening in her chest. “Oh, Spike…you never change, do you? You’ll always…”

She shook her head, her voice trailing off, as her eyes flooded with fresh tears. Once again she felt the desire to wrap her arms around him, to pull him close to her and hold him, until all this pain and misery just magically faded away.

But she knew that it was not to be.

Spike needed much more than comfort and affection to heal from whatever horrors he had lived through during the past few months. She did not know exactly what had been done to him, but she was not even sure that a complete recovery was going to be possible at all.

But that small, simple action on his part had given her hope that just maybe – maybe – it was.

She dared not do as she wanted so badly to, afraid as before that she might hurt him, or frighten him with the sudden movement – but she gently squeezed his hand, before relaxing her grip to hold it comfortably in hers, still whispering meaningless words of comfort to him all the while, as they waited in silence for Anya to arrive.

This lovely banner was created for me by the amazing Tamakin84!! Thanks so much, love!!!




“Buffy? Are you down here? Where are you?”

Anya’s hesitant, apprehensive voice echoed through the empty halls, into the cavernous room where Buffy and Spike waited for her to arrive.

Buffy barely had time to feel relief at all at the presence of someone else, there to help her with this unexpected, painful burden of dealing with Spike’s devastated condition, when the damaged, frightened vampire beside her suddenly reacted with panic to the unfamiliar voice.

He jerked his hand back, away from hers, scrambling backward across the stone floor, back toward the wall, the pitiful keening sound beginning in his throat once more, as he struggled helplessly to put as much distance between himself and the intruder as possible.

“Spike – hey…Spike…” Buffy murmured, her tone soft and reassuring – or at least, she hoped it was – as she didn’t bother to get back to her feet, but just crawled slowly, cautiously toward him on her hands and knees. “It’s okay, Spike…it’s okay…she’s safe, she’s here to help, Spike…come here, Sweetie…”

His back was to the wall by now, his bony knees drawn up against his battered, emaciated chest as he apparently tried to make himself as small and invisible as possible. At Buffy’s softly spoken last few words, he cringed slightly, his expression making it clear that he did not want to obey.

But he did.

Buffy’s eyes widened in a combination of horror – that he obviously felt he had no choice but to obey her words, as an order – and hope, as he moved hesitantly, fearfully toward her, coming to rest beside her in the same humble position of submission he had gone to when she had taken off his chains.

Was it possible? Had he really understood what she had told him to do?

“Spike?” she whispered, so caught up in the excited hope birthed in her by his reaction, that she barely even noticed as Anya made her way into the room, guided there by their soft, urgent voices. “Spike? Can you – can you understand me?”

He simply stayed there in that awful position, apparently too confused and terrified to respond.

“Spike – get up…” she said softly, reaching down beside her to take him by the arms, her carefully gentle hands nearly recoiling at how painfully thin they were. “Come on, don’t do that, Sweetie, get up…”

She felt a tremulous wave of relief and hope wash over her as he immediately submitted to her touch, rising up on his knees in response to her words, his intently focused, yet unseeing eyes wide and anxious, as he waited for her next command.

He had already obeyed the last one.

“Did you – did you understand me, Spike?” she repeated hesitantly – letting out a shaky sob of relief, her face breaking into a smile when he nodded slowly and deliberately.

“Okay – okay, good,” she whispered, thinking aloud, her voice trembling with emotion. “So – there are *some* things…just not…everything…”

Her words trailed off as she thought back over the words Spike had responded to over the past hour – “no” – “don’t” – “come here” – “get up”…

A cold sensation went through her as her mind went through the various implications of those words – all commands – that Spike was still able to comprehend. She tried hard not to think about that right now – to focus on the good news, rather than the wealth of bad that seemed to so greatly outweigh it.

If Spike could still understand some words – then it had to be possible for him to relearn others – right? The wound on his head, however terrible it was, at least showed signs of healing – so, it was possible that he might still recover completely – wasn’t it?

“Oh my God.”

Anya’s soft, hushed whisper startled her; she had almost forgotten the presence of the other woman in the room. Buffy turned to look at her, without rising from her knees or relinquishing her gentle hold on the kneeling vampire beside her.

“What – what happened?” Anya asked, her voice softer now, not having missed Spike’s obvious flinch at the sound of her unfamiliar voice.

“I – don’t know,” Buffy struggled to get the words out, fighting back a sob. Now that someone else was here, the temptation to allow her feelings to overwhelm her was greater than ever. “I just – found him like this…he’s hurt pretty bad, and he – he doesn’t remember me. Doesn’t seem to – to remember much of anything…”

Anya slowly approached the kneeling pair, her eyes wide and troubled as she moved slowly around behind Spike, drawn in horror to the gaping wound on the back of his head.

Buffy felt Spike’s trembling increase as he sensed Anya behind him, much closer than he was comfortable with – and she gently tightened her hands on his arms, whispering soothingly to him to keep him from bolting, as the ex-vengeance demon (as far as Buffy knew, anyway) crouched down behind him, recovering from her initial reaction and leaning in closer to study the wound, while making no move to touch him.

“Shhh,” Buffy softly soothed him. “It’s okay, she’s not gonna hurt you…it’s okay, Spike, she’s a friend…it’s okay…”

Anya’s eyes flickered to Buffy’s face momentarily, one eyebrow raised in a slightly skeptical expression that lasted only an instant, before she returned her attention to the matter at hand.

“This looks…” she began, shaking her head slightly.

“…terrible,” Buffy whispered, nodding slowly in agreement to what she had thought Anya was going to say.

“Yes,” Anya nodded once, peering even more closely at the wound, tilting her head to the side and studying it from a different angle. “But – it looks like – Buffy, it looks like a gunshot wound.”

Buffy blinked, momentarily uncomprehending. The words were so completely unexpected, so different from anything she had suspected – for a moment, she couldn’t even wrap her mind around the concept. Spike had been -- *shot*? With a *gun*?

“But – who would…” she shook her head in confusion, her voice weak and uncertain as she finished in a stricken voice, “…who would *shoot* a vampire in the head? And…I mean…if you’re gonna go after a vampire, you’re gonna use a stake – right?”

Anya did not answer for a moment, her eyes having left Spike and trailing a slow circle around the room they were in – the makeshift torture chamber of someone’s design. After a few moments, she looked down into Buffy’s wide, searching emerald eyes, and replied in a soft, steady voice.

“Yeah – if you wanna *kill* the vampire.”

Feeling a steadily building sense of numbness tingling through her as her mind processed what Anya was saying, Buffy looked behind her again, at the bloodied chains hanging from the wall.

Spike had been kept here for a very long time – starved – tortured – abused to the point that the slightest touch, the softest sound, terrified him.

As Anya spoke again, Buffy felt the numb tingling in her chest change – slowly warming – gradually becoming a burning rage.

“This was personal,” the ex-demon observed. “Whoever did this – wanted to hurt him. Wanted him to suffer. They didn’t want him to die – not from the gunshot…and not right away.”

Buffy was silent for a long moment, swallowing back the rage rising up within her before she stated in a low, trembling voice of anger, “Who would do something like this?” She paused, shaking her head, before adding coldly, “I’ll kill them. I’ll kill them, Anya…”

The soft, pleading whimper that left the broken vampire’s lips drew Buffy abruptly from her anger with a wave of guilt and regret suddenly coming over her, as she realized that once again, he had misunderstood – having mostly her tone, not her words, to go by.

“It’s okay,” she whispered for what felt like the hundredth time, trailing one hand gently downward to lock onto his again, as she reassured him, “I’m not gonna hurt you, Spike…it’s okay…”

“Buffy – we have to get out of here,” Anya reminded her, a note of urgency to her voice as she glanced toward the door. “Whoever did this – they could come back. Any time. We have no way of knowing how long it’s been since they’ve been here, and how long it’ll be before they get back.”

At first, Anya was not sure Buffy had even heard her words, as the Slayer remained focused on comforting Spike, soothing sounds rolling from her throat with a gentleness that the vengeance demon would never have associated with the Slayer – not before or after she had known her personally.

“Maybe it’s better if they *do* come back.”

Anya blinked, startled by the hard, cold sound of the Slayer’s voice when she finally responded to her words. Her eyes widened when she realized exactly what Buffy was saying.

“But Buffy – not that they don’t deserve it, no matter what – because, anybody who could do something like – like this…” Anya’s voice trailed off, as she shook her head, unable to find words for the utter decimation of the once strong, vibrant vampire she had known. Forcing herself to focus, finding her train of thought, she continued urgently, “…but Buffy…are you really ready to do that?”

“To do what?” Buffy’s irritation was clear in her voice, though Anya knew it was not really directed at her. The Slayer’s emotions were understandably very much on edge at the moment.

“To – to kill a human,” Anya clarified softly.

A moment of silence fell between them as Buffy realized what Anya was saying. Her eyes widened in shock; it was a possibility that had not even crossed her mind. The sheer brutality of what had been done to Spike had made her automatically assume that it had been done by some old demon enemy of his; the thought that the attacker might be human had not occurred to her.

“You think – you think a *human* did this?” Her voice was incredulous, aghast at the thought.

“Why would a demon use a gun?” Anya countered immediately, one eyebrow raised in obvious surprise that Buffy had not already thought of that question.

Buffy shook her head slowly, more than a little overwhelmed by the idea. “But – how could anyone – I mean – this is beyond…”

“This is vengeance.”

Once again, Buffy looked up at Anya, questioning without a word.

“If there’s one thing I know, it’s vengeance – and that’s what this is. This isn’t random in any sense of the word, and there’s no profit to be gained from doing this to Spike. It can only be payback – someone who thinks they’ve got a score to settle…”

“But – what could Spike have possibly done to deserve…”

“I’m not saying he deserved it,” Anya interrupted, shaking her head grimly. “Though,” she corrected with an apologetic little shrug, “we *are* talking 150 years of bloodshed and mayhem…so…it really could be just about anyone…”

“If they’re human,” Buffy was thinking out loud, her voice quiet and somber. “We’re only talking the last 50 years or so…”

“Unless whatever he did was to their ancestors, not the actual person who did this,” Anya pointed out.

Buffy sighed wearily, her head bowed as she tried to come to terms with the situation enough to actually deal with it. She was determined that she *would* find out who had done this to Spike. Whoever it was might well think that they were justified in seeking vengeance against the former Scourge of Europe – but as far as Buffy was concerned, *nothing* could possibly justify this.

But she would think about the complex, troubling ramifications of the situation later.

Right now – she had to get Spike to safety.

She gently shifted so that one arm was braced as lightly as possible against his torn and bruised back, cringing a little herself when he flinched, letting out a quiet little cry of pain – and then flinching again, as if he expected to be punished for the cry.

“I know,” she murmured, fresh tears falling down her cheeks. “I know it hurts, Spike…we’ve gotta get you home. Can you get up? Can you stand up, Spike?”

His slow, awkward nod told her that he had understood her words, and also that he was at least going to try to obey her – though Buffy had her doubts as to whether or not he actually *could* get up on his own.

“Let me help you,” she advised him gently – though it was quickly clear that he did *not* understand those words…probably hadn’t heard them once since he had been shot…as he struggled to rise on his own anyway – only to collapse back down onto his knees with a strangled sound that was almost a sob of frustration and despair.

“It’s okay…it’s okay, Spike,” she assured him, choking back her own answering sob, as she steadied her arm behind him, placing her hand under his elbow and trying to help him to stand.

Anya quickly moved in behind Spike on the other side to assist her, and between the two of them, they managed to get him on his feet.

“Okay – that’s it,” Buffy murmured, a tense frown of concentration on her face as she steadied herself, allowing her own shoulders to take the greater part of Spike’s weight. “Can you walk?”

He did not move, made no attempt to respond, and the convulsive swallow accompanied by a flash of fear in his face told her that he had no idea what she was asking him.

“Come on,” she tried again, gently urging him forward as she took a small, careful step toward the door.

His weakened legs faltered and nearly gave out, and he bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, in an attempt to muffle his moan of pain, as his battered back fell hard against her supporting arm behind him.

Anya was doing her best to help Buffy, but even with her restored strength as a vengeance demon – which she was trying pretty hard to mask – and Buffy’s Slayer strength combined, she knew they were going to have a difficult time getting Spike all the way back to the car without causing him severe pain. She would have employed more of her strength, but at this strained point in her relationship with Buffy and her friends, she wasn’t sure how safe she would be if Buffy found out that she was a demon again.

She glanced past the vampire they were supporting to catch a glimpse of the Slayer’s face – and the frustration was clear in her tear-filled eyes, in the stubborn set of her jaw, despite her trembling lips…

Anya rolled her eyes, heaving a weary sigh, resigning herself to whatever fate might befall her because of her reckless actions – but knowing that she could do nothing else.

“Screw it,” she muttered, releasing her grip on the injured vampire and standing up straight, moving around to face Buffy.

The Slayer gave her a surprised, uncertain look when she found herself suddenly bearing Spike’s full weight, wondering why Anya had stopped helping her – unaware that Anya was about to do all that she *could* to help her.

“Um, Buffy,” Anya began with the tone of a confession, glancing downward for a moment before meeting her gaze again apologetically. “There’s something I need to tell you – but – well – let me just get us to the car first…”

Buffy shook her head, confused, breathing heavily with exertion, not understanding what Anya was talking about.

But the next moment, she did – when with a wave of Anya’s hand, the three of them found themselves magically transported to the comfortable leather interior of Anya’s car, Anya in the driver’s seat, Buffy and Spike together in the back.

“So – yeah,” Anya went on casually, as if nothing had happened. “Teleportation – kind of cool perk of the – um – vengeance gig.”

Buffy was silent for a moment, still reeling from the unexpected trip, let alone Anya’s sudden revelation -- glancing around the car, trying to catch her bearings again before meeting the eyes of the anxious, expectant girl, craning her neck to look behind her at the occupants of the backseat.

“Oh,” the Slayer finally remarked, a bit weakly – but not the least bit angry. She shrugged slightly. “Okay.”

Anya breathed a heavy sigh of relief, turning around and putting the key in the ignition.

She froze at the next, completely unexpected word from the Slayer’s lips – spoken with a cold, dangerously calculating tone that said much more than the single word.

“*Good*.”

This lovely banner was created for me by the amazing Tamakin84!! Thanks so much, love!!!




Spike sat completely still in the backseat of Anya’s car, disoriented and desperately trying to gain some sense of direction – of where he was.

It was impossible.

His limited memory of the world around him, narrowed by captivity and torment over the past few months, did not allow for something as unusual and surprising as teleportation.

One moment, he had been in the cold, damp stone room that had been his prison – and the next, he simply – wasn’t.

Where he was – that was the question.

The slight hiss of pain from the girl sitting beside him alerted him abruptly to the fact that his hand had tightened on hers, without even realizing it, to the point of being painful. He immediately released her hand, pulling back across the seat until his back hit the door – which was much closer than he had expected.

He had hurt her; there was no way that he would be escaping unpunished – not after hurting her.

An attempt to move to the side brought his battered body in contact with the seat in front of him – and panic rose up in him, as he realized how tightly he was closed in, apparently on all sides. He felt his body begin shaking harder, and he drew back against the car door, shaking his head, terrified, and desperately confused.

And then – she was talking to him again…and her tone surprised him.

“It’s all right, Spike…you didn’t hurt me…it’s okay, calm down, I’m not gonna hurt you…”

“Buffy – um – he’s not gonna freak out and make me wreck my new car – is he?” Anya asked anxiously from the driver’s seat, glancing in her rearview mirror, frowning in frustration when the reflection refused to shed any light on the actions of the panicked vampire that she could clearly hear from the backseat.

None of the words made sense to him – none of them were words that he had heard much during the past few months. He had the concepts of “you” and “me” down – but that was about it.

But the girl’s tone spoke volumes above her words – and he found himself calming slightly, a sense of guarded relief washing over him. Of course, he reminded himself, it was completely possible that she was tricking him – making him believe that she was not angry…only to punish him when he least expected it.

Some people did that – he knew.

But – she hadn’t. Not yet, anyway.

He tensed slightly as he sensed her edging nearer to him across the seat, continuing to talk to him softly. “I’m not angry with you, Spike…I’m not gonna hurt you…”

The words were meaningless to him…but her voice was so gentle, so soft…

*Not angry…*

*Not gonna hurt me…*

*Safe…*

Her message got through loud and clear, whether he could understand every word or not.

Now – he just had to figure out whether or not she meant it.

“Come here,” she whispered, reaching out a hand to close gently around his. “Come here, Spike…”

He swallowed hard, hesitating only a moment before he scooted across the seat closer to her, his head bowed in submission, his slightly parted lips trembling with unshed tears of fear and uncertainty. He had no idea what she was going to do – knew that whatever she planned, there was little he could do about it.

He had no choice but to obey.

He flinched slightly when he felt the warm, silky skin of her arm come to rest lightly across his shoulders – probably the least damaged part of his almost skeletal back – but then found himself relaxing slightly when she did nothing else, simply held him close at her side.

“You’re safe, Sweetheart,” she whispered reassuringly in his ear, her free hand coming around to hold his trembling one firmly in his lap. “It’s all right…just calm down…settle down, Spike, we’ll be home soon…”

*Home*.

It was an unfamiliar word to him – yet somehow, filled him with a warm, bittersweet ache that both soothed his fears, and brought him to the edge of tears again.

After a few moments, when he realized that she was not going to do anything else to him, not going to hurt him – at least not yet, he was faced with a dilemma. His entire body was tense with the deeply ingrained expectation that at any moment, the inevitable pain would resume – his mind racing, trying so hard to understand what was happening, what was *going* to happen…

And it was all just too much.

He couldn’t comprehend it – so for the moment – he quit trying. Partly because he wanted so desperately to believe the promise in this woman’s gentle voice – and partly because whether she meant him harm or not, there was nothing he could do about it anyway – Spike allowed himself to relax into her gentle embrace.

It was the first tenderness, the first touch that had not sought to hurt him, in as long as he could remember.

Traumatized, confused and exhausted beyond any further labored thought – the vampire was asleep in moments.

**********************************

Anya pulled the car into the driveway of the Summers’ home, breathing out a sigh of relief at safely reaching their destination. Most of the ride there had been uncomfortably quiet – at least for Anya. She was never sure exactly what was appropriate to say to humans, especially in intensely emotional situations such as this – and yet, she knew that most people found long silences awkward as well.

Since her relationship with Xander, she no longer had any idea what was okay and what was not, when it came to small talk.

Not that “small talk” would be appropriate in this situation, anyway.

At any rate – she was very relieved that the ride was over.

Taking the keys from the ignition, she turned halfway in her seat – more than a little surprised at the sight that met her eyes.

The bruised and battered vampire, looking terribly small and vulnerable in his starvation-ravaged condition, had fallen into a sound sleep; and in his sleep, he had unconsciously rested his head on the Slayer’s shoulder. Buffy had her arm around him, very careful not to further aggravate his numerous injuries; her other hand held his, her thumb gently stroking over the back of his hand in a repetitive comforting motion.

Anya just wasn’t quite sure which of the two the gesture was intended to comfort.

Buffy looked up at her, her expression more lost and sorrowful than Anya had ever seen the Slayer look before. Her cheeks were tear-streaked, her eyes red from silently crying the whole way there. When she read the clear distress in Anya’s eyes, at not knowing what to do or how to help, Buffy lowered her eyes, sniffling back her tears in an attempt to regain her composure.

“I’m sorry,” Anya blurted out suddenly, earnestly. “That Spike’s hurt and brain damaged, and it’s upsetting you.”

Buffy flinched slightly at the abrupt statement of the situation – especially the use of the term “brain damaged” – but forced a grateful little smile as she replied in a voice barely over a whisper, “Thanks, Anya…just…just help me get him inside, okay?” She moved to reach around Spike’s sleeping form and open the car door – and then froze, giving Anya a questioning look.

“Can you just…?”

Anya thought about it, giving a little sideways shrug and a nod, as she replied, “You have to invite him first…”

Buffy looked at the surprisingly calm, still face of the sleeping vampire beside her, as she whispered, “You’re invited into my house, Spike…”

The next instant, Buffy found herself and Spike, sitting in precisely the same position as before – only this time on her living room sofa. Anya was standing in front of them, a slightly self-satisfied expression on her face.

“Nifty trick, there,” Buffy remarked, as she gently shifted her body away from Spike, trying to figure out a way to ease him awake, without sending him into a total panic.

“You’re welcome,” Anya replied without hesitation. Her smile faded into an uncertain expression, as she asked hesitantly, “Can I – I mean – what do you need me to do to help you?”

Buffy glanced up at the girl in surprise, before returning her full attention to Spike, as she replied slowly, thinking about her answer. “Um – can you get me a clean white sheet from the upstairs hall closet? I’d like to lay something down on the couch – I mean, if that’s where we’re gonna do this…”

“Okay,” Anya agreed, heading toward the stairs. She paused at the bottom, turning around to face Buffy again. “Where we’re gonna do what?” she asked.

“Get him – cleaned up. Bandaged. Whatever we can to make him more – more comfortable…” Buffy replied, frowning with confusion and uncertainty herself; she had no idea how to do this, what to do for a starving, beaten, tortured vampire with – brain damage.

More than ever, she wished her Watcher was there.

*Or Mom,* she thought wistfully, fresh tears springing to her eyes. *She’d know what to do. Mommy – I miss you…*

“Don’t you think he needs blood, first of all?” Anya suggested, moving back toward the living room a couple of steps, undecided. “I mean – he’s been starved, obviously. He’s not gonna get better without…”

“Right,” Buffy frowned. “I don’t have any…we’ll have to get some…first, though…I need that sheet, before we get blood on the couch…”

She glanced down at the numerous injuries that scarred his back, sickened and a little disturbed to realize that although they were obviously open and aggravated, there really was very little blood.

*Because he doesn’t have any left to lose,* she realized with dismay.

“Oh – right,” Anya agreed with a nod of understanding, heading again for the stairs. She hesitated at the bottom again, half-turning to ask speculatively, “You’re the expert on bloodstains – how well does blood come out of leather?” Her unhappy frown told Buffy that she was thinking about the seat of her car.

“Better than you’d think,” she murmured distractedly, her focus still on Spike, as she cautiously removed the support of her shoulder from under him, and he began to stir slightly, frowning as he began to wake up. She added as an afterthought, “Careful. Dawn’s asleep up there; don’t wake her up, I really don’t want her to see him like this.”

Anya nodded again, and disappeared up the stairs.

Beside her, Spike’s head suddenly jerked up, sleepy blue eyes suddenly wide open and staring at nothing, as he pulled back against her arm behind him – and then immediately let out a whimper of pain as her arm rubbed across the raw abrasions that covered his back.

“Spike – it’s me, Spike,” she reassured him softly – only remembering after the words left her mouth, that who she was meant nothing to him at this point. “Calm down…you’re okay…it’s okay…you’re safe…”

He froze at the sound of her voice – and she could see the change in his expression as he remembered the last few hours…going from utter panicked confusion, to guarded relief, mingled with uncertainty – and he stopped trying to pull away from her.

“We’re gonna take care of you, Spike – get you all cleaned up and taken care of and fed – are you hungry, Spike?” Buffy cringed at her own stupid, thoughtless question, aware that she was rambling, but seemingly unable to stop.

Spike blinked in surprise at her words – and then nodded slowly, emphatically, in response.

Buffy’s eyes widened in surprise, as a slow smile spread across her face when she realized she had discovered one more thing that he understood. She repeated it, wanting to be sure. “You’re hungry? You want some blood?”

He hesitated a moment, uncertain when she asked him again, before nodding a second time – though she felt his body tense under her touch, watched him flinch slightly as he replied.

She felt that slow burn of anger rising up in her again as she thought of how terribly starved he was, and wondered how the promise of food or the threat to keep it away might have been used against him in the last few months.

“Okay,” she assured him gently. “Okay, we’re gonna get you some blood as soon as we can, okay? I promise.”

He did not respond at all, simply sat there with that uncertain look on his face – and she knew that he was once again unsure of what she had said, and therefore unsure how to respond.

Thankfully, at that moment Anya reappeared at the foot of the stairs, an armload of sheets, pillows, and one soft, thick comforter in her arms – all of which she dumped unceremoniously on the floor beside the couch.

Spike nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Okay…let’s get up, Spike, okay?” Buffy gently directed him, supporting him as he struggled to his feet.beside her, clearly eager to do whatever she told him – probably to avoid the punishment that he still seemed to expect from her at any moment.

Anya quickly laid out a doubled white sheet across the seat of the sofa, and hung a second one over the back of the couch, to protect it as well, before placing a single pillow on one end of the couch.

“Okay…I need you to lie down, Sweetie,” Buffy told Spike, her voice trembling slightly, though slow and careful, not sure if he would understand her words or not – more troubled by the thought that he *might* understand them than that he might not.

He *did* understand the softly spoken order – judging by the sudden intensifying of his shaking body against her arm – though he did not nod or give any other indication that he understood. He seemed frozen, rooted to his spot in terror.

Buffy deliberately shut her mind to the possible causes of that terror.

“Come on,” she urged him gently, leading him back to sit down on the edge of the couch, before carefully disentangling herself from the frightened, confused creature who was now clinging to her almost desperately as she helped him to walk.

*And when exactly did *that* happen?* she wondered, not sure whether that was a good or a bad thing.

She supposed that clinging to her for support, and perhaps security, was a definite improvement over cringing from her in fear that she would hurt him. Carefully, she rose from the couch, still holding his hand in hers to reassure him of her nearness.

“Okay,” she said softly. “Lay back…” Gently, she pushed his shoulder downward, directing him to lie down on his back on the sheets.

Although he yielded to her hand, she could feel the tension, the unconscious resistance in him, and realized again with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, that somehow this particular direction seemed to cause him even greater fear than before.

*Don’t think about it, Buffy,* she ordered herself sternly. *Just don’t – not right now…*

Anya moved quickly to help Buffy, to lift Spike’s thin, trembling legs up onto the sofa – and he jerked away from her unexpected touch in fear, crying out in the agony caused by the sudden movement.

“Anya!” Buffy cried out in frustration, and some anger. “Don’t touch him!”

“I was only trying to…”

“Just – don’t, okay? He’s scared enough as it is!” Buffy cut her off, her voice trembling dangerously as she tried to soothe the startled vampire. “It’s okay, you’re okay, Spike, she’s not gonna hurt you…just…just lay down, Sweetie…”

Obediently Spike pulled his legs up onto the sofa, slowly leaning back until he was lying down – but by now, he was shaking so hard that the entire couch was vibrating, and a low, pleading sort of whimper rose in his throat as he obeyed.

“Buffy…” Anya’s voice was low, cautious, with a dark note of dread to it that made Buffy’s insides quake. “I think maybe…”

“Don’t.” Buffy cut her off in a low, shaky voice, tears obscuring her vision again as they made their way down her face. “Anya, don’t say it…”

“It’s just – you ought to be prepared – I mean – whoever did this obviously didn’t stop with the – top half of his body, and you’re gonna have to…” the vengeance demon rambled nervously, wanting Buffy to be prepared for the worst – which was looking more and more likely all the time, judging by Spike’s panicked reaction to her last order.

“I know what I’m gonna have to do, Anya,” Buffy snapped, never taking her eyes off of the trembling, terrified vampire lying on the couch, waiting for – for what, exactly?

Her voice softened in response to his flinch at her harsh tone, as he went on, “Just – please…” There was a note of defeat to her voice as she whispered, “Just – just go, Anya? Can you – can you go find him some blood, somewhere?”

Anya was quiet for a moment, studying the expression on the Slayer’s face with a worried frown. “Okay,” she nodded finally. “I can do that – but – are you sure you don’t need me to…”

“I can do this, Anya,” Buffy cut her off, more sharply than she had meant to. “It can’t be helped. I’m the Slayer, I’ll do what I have to do…” Under her breath, she muttered softly, “And it’s not like I’ve never seen him before…”

She didn’t think that Anya had heard her last comment, as she nodded her acceptance and headed toward the door – until she heard her add in a slightly resentful whisper, “Yeah -- me either…”

Buffy froze, her back stiffening in anger, before she whirled around to glare at Anya’s retreating back. Some sense alerted the vengeance demon to the Slayer’s attention, and she turned around to face her, her arms crossed over her chest, eyebrows raised expectantly as she waited for Buffy to speak.

“You were with him for one night,” the Slayer finally said, her voice trembling and full of barely controlled emotion. “One freakin’ night – not even that…more like half an hour…” She shook her head, struggling to find words, as the tears coursed down her cheeks again. “Spike and I – we had something, Anya…you have no idea how hard this is…I – I don’t have the first clue how to go about this, but – but I know that it doesn’t feel right to – to do this – with someone else in the room…at least, he had an actual *relationship* with *me*…”

Her words cut off there, her eyes widening in surprise at the impact of what she had just admitted, for the first time.

Somehow – keeping the secret didn’t seem all that important now.

“Be careful, Buffy,” Anya advised gently after a long moment of silence, an expression of mingled sympathy and apprehension in her eyes that made Buffy look away. “Because – he doesn’t remember that.”

Buffy looked up at her, startled – but the vengeance demon had already turned and headed out the door. Buffy took a deep breath, steeling herself for what had to be done next, as Anya’s cautionary words echoed through her mind. Finally, with an effort, she turned around to face the wounded, frightened vampire – lying on her couch, perfectly still, as if terrified of being caught disobeying her.

She only hoped that she could make him understand that what she was about to do was not another violation.

This lovely banner was created for me by the amazing Tamakin84!! Thanks so much, love!!!




The moment that Anya left the room, Buffy became acutely aware of the fact that she was once again alone with Spike – and not by any means the Spike that she would have had at least some clue how to deal with, either; but this broken, devastated version of the vampire that now lay on her couch, waiting in trembling apprehension, clearly expecting her to…

…to what?

What exactly was Spike so very afraid that she might do to him?

Buffy was terrified to find out.

“Spike?” she whispered, her voice weak and shaky. She really didn’t want to say anything – but knew better than to leave him unattended, even for a few moments, without at least trying to make him understand. “I need you to stay here for just a minute – okay? I need to get some things – I’ll be right back – okay?”

She did not really expect a response, so she was tremendously surprised – and relieved – when he nodded slowly, keeping his head turned away from her, his sightless eyes tightly shut. She had no idea, really, how much of what she had said he actually understood – but at the moment, she was all too eager to accept his response. She knew it was a terribly selfish reaction, but she simply had to not be there right then.

She made her way quickly up the stairs to the bathroom, where she immediately began going through the medicine cabinet and cupboards, searching for bandages, ointments – whatever first aid equipment she could find. Over the course of her years as the Slayer, she had learned that it was always a good idea to keep as much of such things as possible on hand.

She had a feeling that she was going to need as much as she had for this task – maybe more.

*You can do this, Buffy* she told herself firmly as she gathered her supplied. *It’s just Spike – he doesn’t remember, but he’s still Spike – you know him – you can handle this…*

She had managed to amass an armload of various items -- soft gauze bandages, four or five tubes of antibiotic ointment, among other things – and was just about ready to go back downstairs when she remembered a package of antiseptic wipes in the drawer under the sink, thinking that they would be much less messy and faster than the peroxide she had in her hand.

After a moment’s struggle to rearrange her load of supplies and put the peroxide down on the counter, she managed to get one hand free enough to pull the handle of the drawer – which promptly stuck, refusing to open.

*…but…* her thoughts continued as she tried to shift the load she was carrying enough to gain some extra leverage and force the drawer open, *…*he* doesn’t know *you*…not anymore…he’s scared of you…he’s…he’s scared of *everything*…who in the world could have *done* something like…*

Her final effort to open the drawer proved much stronger than she had intended, as the drawer did indeed come out – but splintered on the way out, so that it and everything in it, including the sought after packet of wipes, went clattering to the bathroom floor. In a useless attempt to catch the contents of the drawer before they fell to the floor, Buffy managed to drop her armload as well.

She stood there for a moment, staring at the floor around her in bleak disbelief. She tried to blink back the tears that threatened to fall again, as her lower lip began to tremble – and then, the torrent of her emotions overwhelmed her all at once, and before she knew it, she was on the floor amidst the mess, on her knees, her body racked with sobs.

It was all just too much.

“Buffy?”

She looked up suddenly, startled by her little sister’s hesitant, anxious voice from the bathroom doorway.

“Dawnie!” she whispered, making a pitiful attempt at a smile, though her voice was raspy and shaky with tears, and she knew her face had to be red and blotchy from crying.

There was no way she was fooling her little sister, who stood there for only a moment longer in the doorway, taking in the scene, her sleepy blue eyes full of concern, her long brown hair sleep-tousled over her Hello Kitty pajamas. In an instant, Dawn was crouched at her sister’s side, putting her hand on Buffy’s shoulder and leaning back a bit so that she could look her over.

“Buffy, are you all right?” Dawn asked her, her eyes quickly scanning for any signs of obvious injuries.

Buffy swallowed back another sob, as she replied with a forced – and in no way convincing – smile, “I’m fine, Dawnie, I just – just spilled – um…”

“Everything in the bathroom?” Dawn guessed, finishing for her dubiously, as she began to help hr sister pick up the various items scattered around the floor. She frowned when she realized that it was all first aid supplies. It was not all that unusual for Buffy to come home from patrol with some sort of injury.

What *was* unusual was for her to lie about it.

“Buffy?” she repeated, more than a little suspicious now. “If you’re not hurt – what are you doing with all these bandages and stuff?”

The trapped, stricken expression in Buffy’s eyes was a dead giveaway – especially considering the fact that she was far too shaken and exhausted at that point to even begin to come up with a convincing story for her sister.

Dawn looked her over again, more closely, running her hands quickly up and down her sides, then her arms – frowning when she saw no trace of blood, no broken bones. She raised her eyes to the Slayer’s face again, narrowed and searching for a moment – before they widened with apprehension.

“Buffy – they’re not for you, are they?” Dawn realized, a look of dread coming over her young face. “Who – who’s hurt?” As she spoke, she rose quickly to her feet, heading for the door – and the hall beyond.

“*No*!” Buffy objected frantically, her voice higher than usual and nearly panicked as she scrambled to get to her feet behind her sister, catching her arm just as she stepped out into the hallway, before she could start down the stairs. “Dawnie, don’t go down there!”

Dawn stared up at her incredulously, surprised by her reaction, glancing anxiously between her sister and the stairs she wanted to descend. “Who is it, Buffy?” she asked, turning fearful eyes to her sister’s face again. “What happened? Is it Xander?”

The fear in Dawn’s eyes tore at Buffy’s heart, and she was reminded again of how much the girl had lost, and how frightening the idea of losing one of the few people she had left must be to her.

“No,” she reassured her, her tone softening with compassion. “No, it’s not Xander…it’s…” Her voice faltered, and she lowered her eyes, realizing that she had no idea how to explain this to Dawn – no idea how to tell her that Spike was alive, not gone for good as they had feared – but he was in such terrible, damaged condition – so broken, just a shell of the person he had once been.

*Oh, Dawnie – how can I ever tell you?*

While Buffy wrestled with the dilemma, Dawn studied her expression, shaking her head slowly in confusion as she tried to figure out what was wrong with her sister. When Buffy finally raised her glimmering emerald eyes to hers again – Dawn let out a soft little gasp, her eyes widening with sudden intuitive understanding.

“You found him,” she whispered, hope rising in her voice. “Buffy, you found him – didn’t you?”

Buffy looked away, swallowing hard, unable to find words to explain what she had found.

Dawn jerked unexpectedly out of her sister’s grip, and Buffy was caught off guard, not prepared for her sudden movement. Dawn was two steps down when Buffy’s anguished, desperate cry stopped her in her tracks.

“Dawnie, *no*!”

Dawn froze, something in her sister’s voice giving her pause, as a cold, creeping sense of dread began to steal over her. She turned slowly, almost warily, not willing to allow her sister to physically stop her from going to Spike – if it was really Spike down there – but at least willing to hear what it was she had to say.

“Why not?” she demanded, her voice trembling, her shining eyes meeting Buffy’s in a challenge. “He’s my friend. Why shouldn’t I go to him?” When Buffy said nothing for a moment, a vague understanding began to rise up in the girl, and she added, her voice softer now, “What’s happened to him?”

“He’s – he’s – different, Dawnie,” Buffy began, her voice halting and trembling with tears, her eyes focused on the floor. “Someone – hurt him…really bad…and…” She raised her eyes suddenly, holding Dawn’s gaze intently as she stated the one fact out of all of this that was still so very difficult to believe – the one thing she thought might help Dawn understand the gravity of the situation.

“He – he doesn’t *know* me, Dawn.”

Dawn found that difficult to comprehend, herself; as long as she had known Spike, it had been obvious that his life had revolved around the Slayer – whether he had been trying to kill her, or in love with her at the time.

“How can he…what’s…what’s wrong with him?” she whispered, taking a step back up the stairs toward her sister.

“Someone – they shot him, Dawnie. They shot him in the head, and he – he doesn’t remember anything…I don’t think he even remembers who *he* is…They shot him, and – and they kept him – they – they hurt him, Dawn – I’m not sure yet – how bad…” Buffy tried to explain, trying to put it as gently as she could.

Dawn was silent for a moment, eyes widening as she slowly came to terms with that concept. “He – needs us to help him,” she said finally, backing down a couple of stairs again. “We have to help him…”

“Dawn.”

Buffy’s voice halted her progress again, and she froze on the stairs, her back to her sister – waiting.

“He – he can’t see. Can’t talk. He – he can hear us, but – but he doesn’t understand what we’re saying, Dawn. His mind – it’s – he’s -- *damaged*, Dawnie.” Buffy’s voice broke over the last few words, and a low sob that she couldn’t hold back filled the stillness that fell after her words.

Dawn stood there for a moment, trying hard to process what Buffy was saying, to reconcile her description with the vampire she had known before, the one with a smart mouth comment for every quip, the one who had defended her boldly against any danger…

She spun around again suddenly, an aching sorrow in her eyes as she looked at Buffy, tears streaming down her cheeks at the plight of her friend. Blind, confused, more utterly helpless than the chip had ever made him – among people who were strangers to him, at their mercy, whether they intended him harm or help…

“He must be – so alone,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Buffy – how could you leave him alone?”

Buffy drew back slightly at the question, shaking her head slowly. “I – I had to – to get…”

Dawn nodded slowly, understanding. Then, after a moment, she declared quietly, “I’m going down there to him.”

“Dawn – wait!” Buffy cried out, following her sister as she made her way decisively down the stairs, the determined set of her jaw clearly visible on Dawn’s face as she followed her – unable to do anything to stop her at this point.

Dawn stopped short at the foot of the stairs, frozen in shock at the sight of her friend – lying on the sofa, shivering uncontrollably with fear, or pain, or cold…there was no way to know for sure. At the sound of their approach, he drew back further against the sofa beneath him, shaking harder, letting out a soft, pleading whimper of fear.

Dawn took a step toward him – stopped by Buffy’s gentle but firm hand on her shoulder behind her.

“Dawn – don’t – don’t scare him,” she whispered. “He’s…”

“…already scared,” Dawn observed, cutting her off, her young voice unyielding as granite as she shook her sister’s hand off her shoulder, though not unkindly. “And he will be – until we give him a reason not to be.”

With slow, even, cautious steps, Dawn made her way from the stairs toward the sofa, her wide eyes taking in the shocking sight of her friend’s battered, bloodied body, starved to the point of death, had he been human.

“Spike?” she whispered, slowly and carefully. “Spike? It’s me – Dawn. Your – your Niblet…” Her voice broke slightly over the word, and fresh tears streamed from her eyes as she approached him. “Do you – do you remember?”

Spike did not respond – did not move…

At all.

As she spoke softly to him, edging nearer to him all the while, Buffy was surprised to see that his shaking seemed to fade away, and he turned his head back to face them, as if seeking for the source of this new voice.

Dawn halted for a moment at the sight of his unfocused eyes, still as blue and piercing as ever – but then continued her steady, cautious progress. “It’s all right, Spike – I’m your friend – I’m not gonna hurt you…” she went on gently, as she reached his side, dropping softly to her knees beside the couch.

“I’m right here – I’m close to you – don’t be afraid,” she went on, stretching out a hand slowly toward his. “I’m – not gonna hurt you, Spike. I’m gonna – touch you – touch your hand, Spike – but I’m not gonna hurt you…never…”

Buffy tensed, stepping automatically toward them, wary of the vampire’s reaction when her little sister touched him, instinct telling her to prevent it – yet fearful of what might happen should she disrupt the almost spell-binding scene in order to do so.

Dawn’s young face held a trust, an innocence, that nearly took Buffy’s breath, as she watched her sister do all that was in her power to reach out to her hurting friend. She knew that he couldn’t see her, understand her, didn’t remember her – and yet it was obvious in her eyes that she still believed, with a firmness of conviction, that somehow her love for him, the friendship they had shared, could transcend all that.

Buffy did not know if it was possible – but she was willing to let Dawn give it a try.

When Dawn’s slender fingers came into contact with Spike’s hand in the lightest breath of a touch, the vampire jumped slightly – but then was still, his trembling all but ceased, his rapid, unnecessary breaths the only thing to give away the terror that still consumed him.

“Spike…you’re safe now…with Buffy and me…we just wanna help you, Spike…we – we love you…we’re not gonna hurt you,” she went on, her eyes focused on Spike, and not noticing her sister’s flinch and the little sob she choked back at the sentiment Dawn had expressed for both of them.

Dawn’s fingers gently stroked the back of Spike’s hand, as she repeated herself again and again, just allowing her soothing, gentle words and touch to reach out to him. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “Spike, it’s okay…you’re safe now…” She looked up through tearful eyes to meet his, searching for any spark of recognition, though not surprised not to find it. Almost mesmerized by the wide, still expressive pools of blue that stared unseeing back at her, Dawn found herself raising a gentle hand toward his bruised cheek.

“Dawnie…” Buffy whispered, her voice a hoarse rasp.

Dawn ignored her.

Buffy took another step forward, uncertain. Spike had made no attempt to strike out at her or Anya, no matter how frightened he had been; she was fairly certain that any violent reaction had been brutally trained out of him.

Still – she couldn’t be completely sure…and with Spike in such a precarious mental state…

Before she could stop her, Dawn had laid her hand to his cheek in a tender caress – and Buffy held her breath, waiting for his reaction.

“I love you, Spike,” Dawn whispered, her voice thick with tears. “I love you…”

The vampire did not move for a moment – did not even breath…

And then – ever so slightly – Dawn felt him press into her touch, as the soft whimpering sound ceased....and a single cool tear slid down the gaunt and bruised face to land against her skin.

“It’s okay, Spike,” she whispered again, allowing her own tears to fall freely. “It’s okay…you’re home.”

This lovely banner was created for me by the amazing Tamakin84!! Thanks so much, love!!!




Spike just lay there, his trembling hand clinging to the soft, small one of the girl kneeling beside the couch, not understanding why he felt the way he did, why he wanted so badly to keep her close to him – only knowing that somehow, her nearness gave him a sense of safety, and warmth, and a sweet relief that he had not known – well, *ever*, as far as he was concerned…as far as he could remember.

He could not explain, or even begin to put words to the emotions that had washed over him at the simple sound of her voice – only knew that before she had entered the room, he had been terrified, aware of nothing but his own helplessness in the hands of the powerful woman who had brought him to this place, and not quite sure yet whether she intended to hurt him or to help him.

And now – he did not know how it was possible – but he felt a sense of security, of trust – as if somewhere deep inside of him, he knew beyond all doubt that this voice could be trusted…this person would not harm him, or allow him to be harmed, if she could help it.

There was a tenderness, a sincerity in her voice, and although he could not understand the words she spoke – for kind words had not been spoken to him at all before this night, that he could remember, anyway – he understood the emotions she was trying to express to him, and knew without question that she meant him no harm.

When he felt the warm, silken touch of her hand against his face, he froze completely, a sudden, instantaneous rush of terror washing over him – because no one had touched him in so long, without the intent to cause him pain – but then relaxed, as the touch proved to be a gentle caress, reassuring and tender and speaking volumes more than her meaningless words.

And in that moment – something within the wounded, devastated creature that he had become, shattered under the incredible power of that soft touch. Spike had not cried in weeks – maybe months – as the last time he had, his tears had been met with threats and violence. He had thought that there was nothing left in him to break – that he was completely destroyed by what had been done to him already.

But with that soft touch to his battered face, clearly seeking to heal the harm that had been done to him – something inside him *did* break…yielding release to the emotions that had been building up inside him for so long.

Somehow, he knew that there would be no punishment for his tears – not this time – not from *her*…yet he still tried to fight them back, so deeply ingrained in him was the knowledge that he did not deserve the luxury of tears – he deserved whatever suffering was handed to him, and therefore hadn’t the right to cry about the horrors he had been through.

Though he tried his hardest to hold it back, he was not accustomed to fighting against the tenderness and compassion that he was being shown in that moment – and despite his best efforts, a single tear slipped down his cheek, sliding down his face to strike the warm hand that rested there.

Spike drew in a sharp, unneeded breath – his unbeating heart suddenly seized in the grip of icy terror.

He had disobeyed.

Broken the rules.

He would surely be punished…

But – he wasn’t.

The gentle hand against his cheek shifted slightly, and he flinched out of habit, expecting to be struck for his infraction – but the girl’s thumb moved gently across his cheek, wiping the single tear away, as she leaned down over him, whispering tenderly, words that he could not understand.

But the meaning came through loud and clear.

He was safe.

She was not going to hurt him.

A powerful wave of gratitude and relief came over him, for somehow he knew that this was not like the cruel games his captor had played with him, leading him to believe that he would be shown mercy, only to punish him more viciously than before. He could sense the sincerity, the genuine compassion, in this girl, and knew that when she promised not to hurt him…

…she *really* wouldn’t hurt him.

And with that powerful realization – the floodgates of Spike’s battered emotions fell open under the onslaught of his pain and fear, and tears streamed down his face, as ragged, breathless sobs tore from his throat.

********************************

Dawn’s eyes widened, stunned, when the vampire broke down completely, tears flooding from his eyes to soak her hand, and the couch beneath him – and the desperate, broken sound of his sobs tore at her heart, causing her own tears to come faster, blurring her vision as she leaned down over him without hesitation, wrapping her arms around him and holding him close to her, heedless of his injuries, or the blood that stained her white pajamas.

She knew that in that moment, no slight physical pain caused by her actions could be greater than the agony he had already been through, and he needed the embrace she offered him more than he needed his wounds to be treated – more than he needed the blood that his body was starving for.

She was vaguely aware as his shaking hands rose tentatively from the sofa, reaching toward her as if to pull her closer to him – but then hesitated, pulling back…not quite daring.

“It’s okay,” she whispered in his ear, reassuring him. “It’s okay, Spike, you can touch me…it’s okay…I’m not gonna hurt you…”

The reassuring tone of her words seemed to encourage him, and he reached his hands up again – only daring so much as to clutch weakly at the sides of her pajamas, holding her to him, in a desperate attempt to hold onto the comfort of her nearness.

Dawn had no intention of going anywhere.

As he hand came gently to rest at the back of his neck, holding him close to her, he flinched slightly, momentarily unnerved by the nearness of her hand to his injured head – and Dawn stilled her hand, remembering what Buffy had said about what had been done to him.

She resisted the impulse to pull back and look at the wound, to see for herself how bad it was – knowing that exactly what she was doing at that moment was so much more important.

“Shhh,” she whispered. “It’s okay…I won’t touch it…won’t hurt you, Spike…trust me…”

The tension slowly seeped out of him with her gentle words, and after a moment, he tilted his head forward slightly, resting his forehead against her shoulder, burying his sobs in her shirt, by now nearly soaked through in spots with his tears. When his tears slowly began to ebb, Dawn cautiously attempted to pull back from him – and he clutched tightly at her clothes, a soft, pleading cry expressing his desperation to keep her there.

“I’m not leaving,” she promised him softly, as she reached down to take his hands and he reluctantly allowed her to gently disentangle them from her clothes. “I’m gonna stay right here, Spike…we’re gonna help you…make you better, okay? Okay, Spike? I’m gonna stay right here.”

She did not know if he understood any of what she had said, but he did seem to relax a bit, releasing his death grip on her pajamas, and allowing her to move away from him enough to turn and face her sister, though she held his hands firmly in her own, reinforcing her promise not to leave his side.

Buffy’s breath was nearly taken away by the stunning look of strength and determination in the brilliant shining eyes of the woman-child kneeling there by the sofa – her long hair disheveled and dampened with tears and blood, her innocent child-like pajamas stained with blood – the evidence of her reckless compassion.

“Go get the stuff from upstairs,” Dawn said softly – and for some reason, in that moment, Buffy thought nothing of accepting the order from her little sister. “I think he’ll be okay for us to clean him up now.”

Buffy hurried up the stairs, her mind racing with what she had just seen over the past few minutes – amazed and awed at the way the vampire had reacted to her sister, wondering how Dawn could manage to have such success in getting through to him, when her every attempt had failed.

*You never were that good at fixing things, Buffy,* she reminded herself harshly, wiping roughly at her tears as she reached the bathroom and crouched down to pick up the abandoned first aid supplies. *Especially broken *people*. No – you’re much better at breaking them in the first place. Hurting – destroying – killing – it’s what you do, isn’t it? You’re the Slayer – you’re an expert at it…*

She shook her head in disgust at herself, as she started back down the stairs, bandages and ointments and antiseptic wipes in tow.

*No wonder he doesn’t trust you – even if he *could* remember you – why in the world would he trust you?*

By the time she reached the living room, Dawn had taken enough charge of the situation to get the blonde vampire sitting up on the couch, and was looking over his injuries with a pensive frown.

“His back’s much worse,” she informed Buffy softly without looking at her.

“It was – against the wall,” Buffy replied flatly, beginning to feel that numb sense of exhaustion that inevitably follows a good cry – except she didn’t really feel as if she’d had a good cry, not yet.

She felt like she still had plenty of tears left to go.

“Why did you have him lying on it? That had to hurt, Buffy…why didn’t you do that first?”

Buffy frowned, feeling guilty and foolish for her thoughtlessness. “I just thought we ought to – make sure he’s not hurt worse – somewhere else…before…”

Dawn’s eyes widened in troubled understanding, and welled with fresh tears as she raised them once again to her friend’s anxious, uncertain face. “Oh,” she said weakly. “I hadn’t…thought of that…”

“But – but you’re right,” Buffy went on, trying hard to sound stronger, to relieve some of the burden Dawn had taken on herself from her little sister’s shoulders. “We should do his back and chest first – and then once that’s all taken care of and bandaged, take care of – the rest…”

Dawn nodded, sitting down beside her friend on the sofa and putting her arm gently around his shoulders in a steadying touch – for which he seemed very grateful, leaning unconsciously into her arm, his face turned slightly toward her, seeking contact.

“And by the time we get through with that – he should understand by then that when we – do the rest -- we’re not gonna do – whatever – whoever did this, did to him…you know?” Dawn pointed out, her young voice trembling slightly over her cautious words.

Buffy’s eyes shot up from the supplies she was laying out on the coffee table, giving her sister a piercing glance, studying her expression – and coming to the conclusion that despite her caution, her attempts to shield Dawn from the worst of her suspicions, the bright young girl had figured it out for herself.

She wanted to say something to soothe Dawn’s fears – the fears she also shared – but knew that if they were proved unfortunately right, it would be of no service to the girl to have given her a false sense of relief beforehand; and if their fears were proven wrong – well, then it wouldn’t matter anymore, anyway.

“Let’s hope it’s not that bad,” she said softly.

Opening the package of antiseptic wipes, Buffy moved carefully over to sit down on the sofa, on Spike’s other side – feeling an unreasonable sense of irritation, which she promptly squashed, when Spike tensed up as he sensed her approach, leaning in closer to Dawn.

*That’s not fair, Buffy,* she told herself sternly. *It’s not his fault that Dawn’s actually given him a *reason* to trust her – and you never have.*

Quickly seeing the problem, Dawn gently tightened her arm around him for just an instant, speaking softly, soothingly to him. “It’s okay…she’s not gonna hurt you, Spike…we’re gonna help you…okay? I’m right here…it’s okay…she just wants to make you better – okay?”

His expression remained uncertain, apprehensive – but he nodded in response to her words…though neither girl was sure whether he really understood, or was just trying to give Dawn the response he thought was expected.

Dawn gently pushed him slightly forward, giving Buffy better access to his torn and bleeding back – and the Slayer, proceeded, as gently as possible, to clean the dried blood and grime from the countless wounds that marred his once flawless skin. The injured vampire winced at the sting of the antiseptic, but did not complain or try to pull away – and Dawn hoped that he genuinely understood that it was for his good, and was not simply accepting what he believed to be more abuse.

It took a long time, but between the two of them, Dawn and Buffy eventually managed to get every last mark on his back and chest cleaned, treated, and bandaged. Buffy found herself sickened at the extent of his injuries – bruises, cuts, various burns, and marks that were clearly whip lashes, layered over his body as evidence of many torturous sessions of suffering and pain – for the sadistic pleasure of whatever human monster had done this to him.

A cautious, gentle probing of his torso resulted in an agonized – though muffled – cry of pain from the vampire, who clung tighter to Dawn, as she tried desperately to reassure him, tears streaming down her face. Thus they discovered that he had at least a couple of broken ribs as well, and Buffy carefully set about wrapping them, as tight as she comfortably could.

As Buffy carefully taped the last of the bandages across his stomach, she let out a weary sigh. “Let’s take a little rest…and then we’ll see to the rest.”

Dawn nodded her acceptance as she cradled the softly weeping vampire’s head against her neck, aware that her sister was more concerned with Spike’s ability to take any more right then than she was with her own. It was for his sake that Buffy wanted to take a break.

Buffy fell back slightly on her knees, resting her head on the coffee table beside her, and Dawn just sat there, comforting her friend. Neither one said a word for a long time, aside from Dawn’s softly murmured shushing sounds, directed at Spike.

Finally, the younger sister asked softly, “Buffy – did you really think you were going to be able to do all this on your own?”

Buffy did not look up at her for a long moment, thinking of Anya, who had really been gone for quite a long time, remembering with regret the way she had spoken to her just before she left.

*It’s not her fault – none of it,* she admitted wearily to herself. *She’s just trying to help – and you bit her head off. Wouldn’t blame her if she doesn’t come back at all…*

At precisely that moment, she heard the quiet click of the front door opening, and turned quickly to see who it was, cursing her own thoughtlessness in leaving it unlocked. Fortunately, it was just Anya, who had chosen not to knock to announce her prescence, for the sake of the rather jumpy vampire that she knew was in the room.

Buffy threw her a tired, grateful smile – which the vengeance demon graciously returned, as she set the paper bags full of plastic bags full of blood down on the coffee table. The Slayer turned to her little sister, who was looking up at Anya in surprise, as she finally answered her question quietly.

“No. I didn’t.”

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Anya and Dawn regarded each other for a moment, equally surprised at each other’s presence in the room.

Not surprisingly, Anya was the first to break the silence.

“So you changed your mind, then?” she asked Buffy as she took a packet of blood – standard hospital issue – from the brown paper bag on the coffee table and headed cautiously closer to the couch, holding it out for Buffy to take it.

“Not exactly,” the Slayer replied flatly, not looking at the vengeance demon or her sister as she spoke.

“Not cold,” Dawn said suddenly, as Buffy took the blood bag from Anya. “Put it in the microwave – 55 seconds on high.”

Buffy turned and looked at her quickly, an expression of surprise on her face, as Anya took the bag back from her and headed for the kitchen without a word.

Dawn shrugged at the unspoken question, replying simply, “Last summer – while you were gone – Spike practically lived here half the time.” She paused, her tone taking on a wistful quality, her eyes softening with tenderness as she looked at Spike again, and added softly, “There’s a lot of little things I still remember.”

Buffy was surprised herself at how easily she accepted that – and she found herself wondering idly why it would have been such a big deal in the first place, had she found out before all this just how close her sister had been to the chipped vampire.

Dawn’s tone did not change, and she did not take her eyes from Spike’s face as she remarked quietly, “So – you weren’t going to tell me.”

Buffy glanced up at her from her spot on the floor, a bit guiltily, before looking down again with a sigh. “Not tonight,” she clarified. “I just – I didn’t want you to see him like this. I knew – it’d be hard. I would have told you in the morning, after I had him all cleaned up and settled and everything – but – if you hadn’t happened to wake up…” Her voice trailed off, as she shrugged again, not quite sure how to finish.

Dawn nodded slowly, looking at her sister thoughtfully. “I get that,” she conceded softly.

There was a moment’s silence between them, each girl lost in her own thoughts, before Buffy spoke again, her voice trembling slightly with a quiet gratitude.

“I’m *glad* you did happen to wake up.”

Before Dawn could respond, Anya reappeared, a large glass of steaming red liquid in her hand. Buffy swallowed back a natural sense of revulsion at the sight of it, giving Anya a questioning look, wondering why she had bypassed the usual choice of a coffee mug for the clear glass which made it all too clear just what was being served to the injured vampire.

Anya shrugged slightly, understanding what Buffy was thinking without her saying a word. “I figured he needed a little more than a mug would hold,” she explained, handing the warm glass to Buffy.

Immediately, Buffy’s disgust melted away in the face of Spike’s obvious need, as she accepted the glass and turned toward the vampire – who had visibly tensed, apparently at the scent of the blood, judging by the odd upward tilt of his head, the way he kept sniffing the air, his eyes wide and disbelieving, as if he could not quite make himself believe that he was actually about to be fed.

“You hungry, Spike?” Dawn asked gently, more for the sake of casual conversation, aimed at making him feel comfortable, than genuinely seeking an answer. She *knew* the answer to that question, beyond all doubt. “We’ve got blood here for you…”

Before she could go on, much to the horror of all three women, Spike had leaned forward, falling from the couch to his knees on the floor, his head bowed low in pleading submission.

Unfortunately, he had no way of seeing what was around him, of knowing what obstacles might be in the way of the gesture that his training in captivity had led him to believe was required of him. Instead of the floor, as he had intended, his face encountered the Slayer’s lap – at which point he scrambled backward, startled, knocking into the coffee table and sending himself into a further panic – not to mention nearly spilling the glass of blood in Buffy’s hand.

Dawn swiftly took the glass from her sister’s hand before it could spill, as Buffy regained her balance, crouching down on the floor between her sister and the cringing, cowering vampire, who was huddled against the couch, not daring to move any further, disoriented and unsure of his surroundings.

“Shhh,” Dawn whispered soothingly, holding out the glass as she dropped to her knees and crawled slowly toward him. “Spike…it’s okay…you don’t have to beg for it, Spike…it’s right here…come here, Spike…”

He hesitated only a moment before starting toward her, his movements halting and uncertain, hanging back slightly as if still expecting to be punished for some nameless mistake – though Buffy could not imagine anything he had done that he might think deserving of punishment.

When he grew close enough to her, Dawn reached out her free hand to close firmly around his, and then rose to her feet. Assisted by Anya, she helped Spike to sit down again on the sofa, and then pressed the warm glass into his trembling free hand.

“Go ahead,” she whispered. “Drink…it’s okay…”

Apparently, that was another command that he was familiar with, because Spike quickly, gratefully raised the glass to his lips, draining it in a matter of seconds, and holding out the empty glass in the vague direction of the girl who had given it to him, his head humbly bowed.

*So fast,* Buffy thought, shaking her head slightly in surprise. *Almost as if – he’s afraid we’re gonna take it away from him…*

She forced herself to take her thoughts from the smoldering anger, ever present in her chest since the moment she had found him, and to focus them on Spike, and what he might need from her in this moment. There would be plenty of time for justice later – and she *would* get justice for Spike, of that she was certain – but for now, she had to focus on helping him get well.

“Do you want more?” Dawn asked softly, taking the glass from him.

He frowned slightly, uncertain.

“More blood? Do you want more, Spike?”

The frown deepened, frustration obvious in his expression, though he made no attempt to respond – he did not understand the question.

“He has to,” Buffy stated quietly, her eyes focused on Spike’s face, her heart breaking at the pitiful struggle clear on his features, to comprehend something that he simply couldn’t, his memories of such simple concepts having been ruthlessly torn from his mind. “He’s starving…he has to need more…”

Anya immediately turned and went back to the kitchen to get more blood, leaving the Summers sisters alone with Spike. Dawn’s eyes narrowed slightly as she sat there on the couch beside him, a contemplative expression on her face.

“What?” Buffy asked her curiously. It was clear that the littlest Summers’ mind was racing with some inkling of an idea.

“I was just thinking – I – I wanna try something…” Dawn replied thoughtfully, as Anya returned to the room with the second glass of blood, this time bypassing Buffy completely and handing the glass to Dawn.

Spike’s free hand – the one that wasn’t clutching Dawn’s for dear life – twitched slightly in his lap with anticipation, but he did not dare so much as to actually reach for the blood that was now in her hand.

“Spike – I have more blood here,” Dawn spoke slowly and clearly, though she was fairly certain he didn’t understand more than one or two of the words. “Do you want more?”

He hesitated, biting his lower lip as a slight frown of concentration furrowed his brow.

Dawn slowly, deliberately placed the glass in his free hand, but still held onto it with her own, holding it down in his lap, not allowing him to raise it to his mouth just yet.

“*More*,” she stated firmly, pressing her hand around his, around the glass. “Do you want more, Spike?”

Buffy held her breath, biting her own lip in anxious anticipation, eyes wide as she waited to see if her sister’s attempt would work – and then felt her heart dance for joy when the vampire slowly, cautiously nodded, as if not quite sure if he had understood what was being asked of him or not.

But he had – he really had!

Dawn’s laugh of joy and relief held an almost musical quality as she released his hand, exulting softly, “Good! Good, Spike! That’s very good! Go ahead, drink it…it’s yours…”

The sightless blue eyes lit up with some emotion that Buffy had been beginning to fear she would never see there again, and his lips quirked just slightly upward in the barest beginnings of a tentative smile, at the simple praise of the young girl.

*God, how long has it been since anyone’s even said a kind word to him?* Buffy wondered, her heart both aching for him and rejoicing for him at the same time.

The second glass of blood was gone as quickly as the first had been, and this time when Dawn asked Spike if he wanted more, he immediately responded with an emphatic nod, much to the immense satisfaction of all three girls.

“Okay,” Anya agreed, a slightly warning note to her voice despite the smile on her face. “But this should be the last one for now. We don’t want to give him too much too fast, or it could end up just coming right back up – and that’s no good for anyone. He won’t get any nourishment from it, and you two will just end up scrubbing blood out of your carpet for hours, so…this should be the last one,” she informed them matter-of-factly. “For now.”

Buffy nodded, a slight grimace of distaste on her face at the thought of the mess that would make, as she agreed, “Just one more.”

When she turned to meet the wide eyes of her little sister, they were shining with a new hope, as she gazed up at her with excitement. “He learned that, Buffy – that quickly! Maybe he can’t remember everything yet – maybe some of it he never will – but – if he could pick that up that quick – then – he’s not stupid, Buffy…he’s not – brain dead. He can learn it all back…”

Buffy nodded slowly, the hope in Dawn’s voice taking root in her heart as she took in the words. She had been secretly wondering if it was possible that Spike would ever recover completely.

He had vampire healing, true, but it seemed that the bullet wound had erased most of his memory, even of the most basic things – and she had no way of knowing if, even when his brain had fully healed, he would have recovered those things, or if the knowledge previously imprinted on his brain would have been lost forever, leaving a sort of blank slate in its place.

“Maybe he won’t remember it,” she echoed softly, thinking it through for herself. “But he can relearn it…”

Dawn nodded slowly, her expression becoming serious as she looked at her friend with a compassion in her eyes that was both sorrowful and hopeful at the same time. Suddenly, she looked up at her sister again, a fire of determination in her sparking blue eyes.

“I want to try to teach him,” she stated firmly.

Buffy hesitated just a moment, concern for her sister coming into play as she thought of all the hard work such an endeavor would require – all the simple, basic concepts, so difficult to describe, that one would have to find a way to explain without the words that so many took for granted – and the emotional toll such a task would take on the teacher, especially one so young, and so close to Spike.

But then – Dawn’s first attempt at teaching Spike had been incredibly successful…

“I only have two days left of school, Buffy – and all my finals are done with,” Dawn continued in her most persuasive voice. “I can do this, Buffy – I know I can!” She paused, her voice trembling slightly with conviction and intense desire as she added, “I *have* to, Buffy – he would do it for me – or you – you *know* he would…”

“Dawn,” Buffy quietly but firmly interrupted her sister’s logical argument, her expression serious, and the younger girl was quiet, an anxious frown on her face.

Buffy’s face suddenly broke into a soft smile, as she pointed out, “I never said you couldn’t.”

Dawn’s brilliant, beaming smile nearly took over her face, as she exulted, “*Yes*!” She turned to Spike, declaring in an excited voice which she kept as soft as she could manage, not wanting to startle him since he could not possibly understand the reasons for her agitation, “You’re gonna get better, Spike! Between all that blood you just drank, and me and Buffy taking care of you – you’re gonna be yourself again, Spike – I promise…”

*And if you’re not,* Buffy added to herself darkly, allowing herself to think about the possibility that Dawn could not bring herself to think about, *I’m going to track down the person who did this – no matter where they try to go – and I’m going to make them pay for doing this to you – for taking you from me…*

As she took the last glass from Anya’s hand and passed it to her sister, the thought crossed her mind, with a cold, grim smile.

*Who am I kidding? – I’m *so* gonna do that anyway…they’re not gonna get away with this, Spike…I’m going to make them pay for hurting you…*

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Spike sat very still on the sofa beside the girl, the one who made him feel safer than he had felt in as long as he could remember, quietly waiting to find out what she and the others had in store for him. All he could do at the moment was just to sit there, clinging to her hand and pressed tight against her side – just trying to process what had just happened.

It seemed impossible to him.

Oh, it was not so very surprising that he had managed to figure out what she was trying to say to him. He might have lost his memory, might have trouble understanding words and concepts that he could not remember hearing before – but he was a very quick learner.

The first thing he had learned during his captivity was that he *had* to be.

His captor had not been nearly as patient with him as these people were being – so far.

If he failed to obey immediately – whether or not he understood the command – his captor would beat him mercilessly, or refuse to feed him that day, or inflict some other cruel form of torture on his body – until he somehow managed to figure out what it was that was required of him, and do it.

Yes – Spike had had very strong motivation to *become* a fast learner.

So, it did not surprise him that he had caught on quickly to what the girl had been trying to ask him.

What *did* surprise him was her response to his meager success.

He had heard the words she had spoken to him, on a few rare occasions before, when he had finally managed to obey his master’s commands – though they had usually been spoken with annoyance or disgust, however, that he had not figured it out sooner.

To be told that he was “good”, and in that gentle voice of pleasure and approval – well, it was a completely new experience for him – and he was not quite sure how to react to it just yet.

He kept getting the anxious, nagging feeling that at any moment, he was going to do something to mess it all up – make some foolish mistake, and cause them to take away this safety, this kindness that was so new and strange to him.

Somehow, there was a certainty in his heart that the new one – the girl who had held him and allowed him to cry in her arms – would not hurt him. He felt safe with her, secure; it was one of those things, rare though they were, that he simply *knew* automatically, though he had no idea how he knew it.

Just like the knowledge of the power and authority that he sensed coming from the other girl, the first to find him and take him away from his prison.

She had been kind to him, thus far – and there was something, deep inside him, that seemed to call out to her, craving her nearness…her attention. Yet, a part of him knew, just as deeply and instinctually, that she was dangerous – powerful, and deadly, should she find a reason to punish him.

He desperately wanted to avoid giving her one – yet he was convinced in is heart that sooner or later…he would.

He was bad.

His captor had made it very clear to him, many times.

No matter how hard he tried, how desperately he attempted to do everything right, to be good and avoid his master’s wrath – he had always managed to do something wrong, to earn more violent punishment, creating his own hell that he had lived in for as long as he could remember.

But tonight – so far – he had managed to avoid the inevitable pain of punishment, for longer than he ever had with his previous captor.

A faint light of hope began to break through in his heart, so small that it barely dared to exist…

Maybe…just maybe…

*Good,* he thought desperately, hopefully. *I can be good…must be good…*

***********************************

“Okay – um – I know nobody wants to hear this right now,” Buffy said softly, her reluctance obvious in her apologetic expression. “It’s not going to be easy, either…but – we have to check – check the rest of his body, for injuries. He was – having trouble walking on his own, earlier. If it’s anywhere near as bad as his back and his chest were, we can’t just leave it – no matter how badly we might want to.”

Dawn and Anya were both quiet, sobered by her words. Dawn felt Spike tense slightly beside her, probably in an instinctive response to the tense air that had fallen over the room, and she instinctively tightened her arm ever so slightly around him in a protective gesture.

She knew very well that her sister was right. Anyone sadistic enough to have torn into the helpless vampire so viciously on the top half of his body, certainly had not left his lower half untouched. But, after the progress they seemed to have made – just then, when Spike seemed to be beginning to feel a little safer with them – she hated to do anything to make him frightened again, as he would certainly be when they tried to take off the filthy, blood-stained jeans he now wore.

He had probably *been* wearing them for the past – however long he had been imprisoned.

Yes – they had to come off. There was no way around it.

“Spike?” Dawn began cautiously, turning slightly to face him more directly. “We need to – to take care of you, Spike – to make sure you’re not – hurt – well…and there’s absolutely no good way to explain this to him, is there?” she sighed, redirecting her attention to her sister. “He’s just not gonna get it…”

“No,” Buffy agreed. “He’s doesn’t understand that much – not yet.”

There was a moment’s heavy silence, before Dawn asked in a small, pleading whimper, “Do we *have* to, Buffy?” She looked between her sister and her friend with troubled eyes, quickly filling with fresh tears.

“Yes,” Anya drew her attention with the simple statement. “We do. Look at his legs, Dawnie – look at the – the blood on those jeans…”

Dawn looked down, sobered by the sight of the dark patches of dried blood that had seeped through the jeans Spike wore – wondering with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach just what sort of wounds might have caused them, and how long those stains had been there.

“He’s going to need new ones,” Anya continued matter-of-factly. “We can’t just put those back on him once you’ve treated his injuries…I’ll go to the store…”

The slight note of hurried discomfort in her voice told Buffy that she was trying to avoid the uncomfortable situation of being there when Spike was undressed – especially after the tense conversation she had had with Buffy earlier that evening, just before she had left to get the blood.

Buffy nodded, appreciative of the gesture, rising from the couch and heading toward the coatrack by the door where her purse hung. “I’ll get some money…”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Anya dismissed the suggestion with a wave of her hand, surprising both sisters, with her uncharacteristic disregard for the expense, as she gently pushed Buffy back toward the couch and headed toward the door.

Anya *never* disregarded an expense.

“I’ll get a receipt,” the vengeance demon added just before leaving – and both the other girls visibly relaxed at the reassurance that all was still normal as far as Anya was concerned.

“Thanks,” Buffy called after her distractedly – already focused on the unpleasant task at hand – one she desperately wished that she could avoid. “Maybe -- *he* can do it? Take them off? Maybe he’d be – more comfortable? Feel less – threatened?” she suggested awkwardly.

She really did not want her little sister to have to be a part of this at all – but then, she knew that Dawn was the only one at the moment that Spike seemed to trust; and if she attempted to send the girl away, even if she *did* succeed, Spike would be too terrified to allow her to help him.

Not that she had any notion that she *would* actually succeed in sending Dawn away.

She knew full well that there was no way the girl would leave his side.

“Spike?” Dawn tried again, softly, her reluctance to do what she knew they had to do clear in her voice. “Trust me – okay? We’re not gonna hurt you – okay, Spike?”

He just looked straight ahead, as usual, swallowing in a nervous reflexive action, but making no attempt to respond to the words that he clearly did not understand.

“Can you – can you take off your jeans, Spike?” Dawn asked, her intensely apologetic voice barely over a whisper, tears streaking her face with the words that she desperately wished she didn’t have to say.

Spike’s reaction did not make it any easier.

He began to tremble under her arm around him, drawing back away from her against the couch, whimpering pitifully, shaking his head in a pleading gesture – making it painfully clear that he understood the words she had spoken…had probably received them as a command all too many times.

“We’re not gonna hurt you,” Dawn repeated tearfully, reaching out a gentle hand to touch his bandaged arm in what she hoped was a reassuring way. “Please, Spike – we just wanna help…”

Buffy felt sick to her stomach, as the shaking, terrified vampire rose from the couch, obedient despite his fear, and began to obey Dawn’s request. With trembling hands he unfastened the jeans, which hung loosely on his skeletal frame, and allowed them to drop to the floor, kicking them off and a couple of feet away from him.

And then – he dropped to his knees on the floor, between the couch and the coffee table, his head bowed low, shaking uncontrollably as he awaited what he had obviously assumed was to be more suffering.

Buffy knew that she should say something – do something, to reassure him and calm his fears – but for a long moment, all she could do was stare in horror at the battered mess that had been made of Spike’s legs.

No wonder he had had trouble walking on his own.

His pitifully thin legs were black and blue, covered back and front with red, angry welts and dark bruises, from his feet all the way to his narrow, trembling hips. Some of the wounds were crusted with dried blood – others that were less healed were oozing slightly, probably due to the rather large amount of blood he had just ingested, after so long on starvation rations.

It was quite obvious to Buffy that the part of Spike’s body usually covered by his jeans had born the brunt of most of the beatings he had received -- and judging by the minimal damage to the jeans themselves, and his response to Dawn’s words, he had most likely been made to remove them for most of those beatings.

And what was worse – his captor had clearly not restricted his brutal blows to Spike’s legs.

As the shock of the sight gradually wore off, Buffy became aware of a soft sobbing sound that took her by surprise – until she looked to the couch, and saw her little sister, crying quietly, shaking her head in a desperate attempt to deny what she had seen, the heartless brutality that had been done to her friend, when he was most helpless to defend himself against it.

With a moment of sharp, almost painful clarity, Buffy realized that this was too much for Dawn, as she had feared – and the job of calming the terrified, trembling vampire on the floor was going to fall to her this time.

Moving slowly toward him, crouching down on the floor in front of him as she neared him, Buffy spoke in a soft, carefully calm voice with just a slight quaver in it. “Spike – Sweetie – you don’t have to do that…”

As he sensed her coming closer to him, he flinched slightly, leaning backward a bit in an unconscious desire for distance.

“It’s okay,” she reassured him, reaching out to gently take his hand. “It’s all right – I’m not gonna hurt you, Spike…come on…get up…”

She took his other hand as well, and cautiously rose to her feet, pulling him gently with her. Obediently he rose from his subservient position on the floor – and Buffy did not miss his wince of pain as he straightened his battered knees, more severely bruised than the rest of his legs, and sat down on the sofa as she directed him.

Buffy found her thoughts darkening again as she thought of what she would like to do to the person who had forced him to spend enough time on his knees on the cold stone of the cave where she had found him, to have caused so much damage to them.

Spike was shaking violently beside her, obviously having no idea what to expect from her, as she continued softly talking to him, reassuring him with her tone, rather than her words, as she gently put her arms around him, running her hand cautiously up and down his bandaged back in a soothing gesture. He flinched slightly at first – but then went still under her tentative embrace, though his back was still rigid with fear.

“Shhh,” she whispered as she felt his shaking start to subside a bit at last. “That’s it…it’s okay, Spike…it’s all right…not gonna hurt you…” Buffy felt tears streaming down her face, falling onto his shoulder, as she held him, whispering near his ear, “I know you’re scared – I know you have to be so confused right now – and you have no reason to trust me at all – but I promise you, Spike, I’m *never* gonna hurt you again…please…please let me help you, Spike…”

She felt him jump slightly, as if startled, and she reluctantly released her hold on him, allowing him to pull back away from her slowly. She frowned, puzzled by his intent gaze, focused forward and downward, seeing nothing, as he raised a hand to his shoulder, bringing his fingertips away wet with her tears.

When he cautiously reached out a hand in the general direction of her face – Buffy understood. A hard lump forming in her throat, as her eyes welled with new tears, she gently took his hand and guided it to her dampened cheek, pressing it gently against her warm skin.

And then – it happened.

The vampire before her, crushed to the point that he bore little resemblance to the one she had known, tilted his head to the side in a speculative way, those piercing blue eyes filled with concern, seeming to see right through her, though she knew he could see nothing at all – not with them. And in that moment, for just the briefest instant, she could see a little spark – just the slightest flicker – of the old Spike, the one she had known, in his expression.

It was enough to draw out the sob she had been holding back, wrenching it from her throat as she bowed her head, crying softly as the vampire instinctively ran his hand down her cheek in a comforting gesture – just as he had done in the cave, when he had realized that she was hurting.

*My Spike,* she thought tenderly, a wave of regret rolling over her. *Always thinking of me – no matter how bad you’re hurting…oh, my Spike…*

Gently, she wrapped her arms around him again, pulling him to her – and he tensed for a moment…but then relaxed within her embrace, lowering his head to her shoulder. And after a moment, Buffy felt a cool moisture soaking through the shoulder of her blouse, felt the heaving of his shoulders as he allowed his own tears to flow again.

She just held onto him, crying, and allowing him to cry, for what felt like moments – but she knew that it was actually longer. When his tears seemed to ebb, Buffy cautiously raised her head, still holding him close to her, to look at her sister, speaking softly as she did.

“Dawnie – this is too much for you, it’s okay, Sweetie – I think I’ve got…”

Her voice trailed off as she looked up, to see that the couch was empty except for herself and Spike – her little sister had already fled the scene.

She hesitated just a moment, concern for Dawn warring with her need to care for Spike – and then decided.

A bit of time alone might be just what Dawn needed at the moment.

And as for Spike – what *he* needed at the moment – was her.

This lovely banner was created for me by the amazing Tamakin84!! Thanks so much, love!!!




Spike really tried to hold it back – tried so hard not to give in to the wave of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him – the tears that painful experience had taught him could only result in more pain and punishment.

But then – his rescuer, this powerful woman now holding him in her arms, seemed to have no intentions of hurting him.

When the other girl had told him to take off his clothes, it had been all he could do to fight off the panic enough to make himself obey – because no matter what, he knew that he had to obey – or things would only get worse for him. Yes, they were being kind to him *now*, but he was certain that it could not last if he dared to defy them.

So, with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he had dropped his jeans to the floor – and dropped to his knees before them, waiting for his punishment, and wondering desperately what he had done wrong this time to deserve it.

*Always deserve it,* he reminded himself miserably. *Bad – always bad…*

And then – she had thrown his world into confusion again, gently urging him up off of his knees, and taking him into her arms, her soft warmth surrounding him, holding him close to her and soothing him gently – making him want to believe, more than anything, that she really would not harm him.

But – she had made him take off his clothes…surely that meant…that *always* meant pain…

The warm moisture he had felt suddenly dropping against his skin took him by surprise, and he drew back from her gentle embrace – immediately sure that she would hurt him for his resistance.

But she did not.

He could smell the salty tang of the moisture on her fingertips – recognized it. He had shed enough tears of his own over the past few months to know the scent of someone else’s sorrow. They only thing he could not figure out was – why. He could smell no blood but his own; she was not hurt, not that he could tell.

He had done everything she had told him to do – so – why was she crying?

When she pressed his outstretched, seeking hand gently against her damp cheek, allowing him to feel for himself what he already knew – Spike felt a strangely familiar sensation run through him – a ghost of an old emotion…and suddenly, all he wanted was just to be able to stop her tears, to make her not be sad – not cry.

His touch seemed rather to make her tears come faster, and she pulled him into her arms again. Spike was terribly confused, uncertain, not sure what he should do; but as she held him close to her, gently caressing his back in a comforting way, speaking to him softly in a tender, reassuring tone…

It suddenly became clear in his mind – with a sense of disbelieving wonder.

Was it possible?

Her tears – were for *him*.

A sense of awe and gratitude came over him, and he found himself leaning into her embrace, resting his head on her shoulder and desperately accepting the comfort she was offering – comfort he knew that he did not deserve…but he could not resist it. It had been so long since he had been treated with any kindness at all – longer than he could remember – and he craved the affection, the warmth of her touch, more than anything – more than blood.

And as she held him close to her, one fact came through to Spike with sharp, blinding clarity.

He would do whatever it took to please her – whatever he had to do to hold onto this sweet tenderness she was offering to him.

He knew that he did not deserve it – but he never wanted to let it go.

************************************

“Okay, Sweetheart,” Buffy sniffed back the last of her tears, reluctantly disentangling herself from the vampire’s desperate, clinging arms. “Let’s go ahead and do this – while I still can, okay?”

Spike reluctantly drew back, though he was still leaning slightly toward her, as if he still wanted to be in her arms.

Despite the emotional pain and confusion of the whole situation, Buffy felt a bittersweet warmth steal through her at the realization.

“It’s okay,” she reassured him, reaching out a hand to gently touch his cheek. “It’s okay, Spike – I’m not going anywhere.”

He flinched automatically as her hand touched his face – and then leaned into the touch, a soft, yearning sound like a sob in his throat – a sound that tore at her heart.

“You must be so exhausted, Sweetie – let’s get you taken care of…so we can all get some rest, okay?” she sighed wearily, as she took him gently by the arms and pushed him slowly backward, guiding him to lie back down on the couch. “It’s okay – lie down, Spike – I’m not going to hurt you, I promise…”

Hesitantly, the wounded vampire obeyed, pulling his trembling legs up onto the couch and lying back. He did not seem anywhere near as panicked by the request as he had been the first time she had made it – though his entire body was taut with tension, and he reached up with a shaking hand, seeking the reassurance of contact with her.

Buffy’s eyes welled with tears as she knelt beside the couch, taking his hand and guiding it to rest on her shoulder. “I’m right here, Spike,” she whispered comfortingly. “It’s okay. I’m going to take care of your – your legs – make you feel better – but I’m gonna be right here beside you. You can – you can touch me, Spike, the whole time – so you know. I’m not gonna leave you.”

Buffy knew that he could not have understood much of what she had said, but he seemed to get the general idea. His cool hand rested weakly on her shoulder, as he made a visible effort to relax.

She carefully gathered her supplied on the floor in front of her, without dislodging his gentle grip on her shoulder, then picked up the package of antiseptic wipes and set to work on his battered legs.

At the first touch to his raw, bleeding flesh, Spike flinched, letting out a soft cry of pain – and Buffy reached a hand up to cover his on her shoulder, murmuring soft words of sympathy and understanding before she went back to work on the rest of his wounds, taking her time, trying very hard not to hurt him any more than she had to.

The worst of it was getting the wounds cleaned – especially the more sensitive ones between his legs – but Spike at least seemed to have some understanding of the fact that she was not trying to hurt him, because he did his best not to cry out, and held tightly to her shoulder, his weak hand occasionally tightening, trembling with the pain of her work, though he bravely kept silent.

As Buffy soothed the sting of the antiseptic with cool healing ointment, and wrapped the wounds carefully with soft white bandages, she eventually felt Spike’s grip on her shoulder gradually relax, and the trembling of his pain-wracked limbs slowly subside with relief. His hand finally slipped from her shoulder entirely – and a moment later, Buffy froze, as she felt the soft caress of his fingers moving lightly through the ends of her hair.

When she stopped moving, Spike immediately withdrew his hand, and she could see him tense up slightly again, visibly drawing away from her – obviously afraid that he had done something wrong, angered her with his surprisingly intimate touch.

Nothing could have been farther from the truth.

There *was* anger building up in the Slayer’s heart – but it was most definitely not directed at Spike. Of course, she was furious with whoever had done this to him, and more determined than ever to track them down and make them pay for causing him so much suffering, for leaving him so broken and fragile that he hardly dared a simple touch without expecting to be punished for it.

But she was also angry at herself – for having done the exact same thing to him, not so very long ago. She could remember countless nights in her crypt, when she had allowed him to do all kinds of things to her body, touching her in ways that no one else could, to bring her to heights of pleasure and help her forget her pain.

But afterwards – in the quiet moments while she caught her breath, he would always reach out to her in tenderness and affection – a slow caress along the bare skin of her arm, graceful fingers playing idly through her hair – and without fail, she would abruptly cut him off. In those instances, Spike had been lucky if she had limited her sharp rebuke to words, and not struck out at him in violence.

She was ashamed to admit – there were times when she had.

*Why did he even keep trying?* she wondered, her throat closing up with the ache in her chest at the memory of that terrible time in her life. *After the first dozen times I hit him, or cut him down, just for trying to treat me like something more than the cheap whore I tried to make him see me as – why didn’t he just give up on me?*

She brushed fresh tears from her eyes for about the hundredth time that evening, her eyes softening on the frightened face of the trembling vampire lying on the couch, waiting for judgment for a single affectionate touch.

Cautiously, not wanting to startle him, she reached out a gentle hand to touch his cheek, ignoring his flinch and lightly running the backs of her fingers down his cheek, as he hesitantly turned his face back toward her, sightless yet stunning blue eyes wide with the desperation to understand her motives, the meaning behind this simplest of actions.

He was so badly damaged, reduced to the mental understanding of a very young child – and a *blind* child at that. Buffy could not help the sinking feeling of uncertainty in her heart, as she wondered just how much recovery would be possible for Spike – whether or not he would ever regain all that he had lost.

And in the next moment, she realized with unshakable certainty…

It didn’t matter.

“I won’t give up on you, Spike,” she whispered softly, allowing her tears to fall as he pressed his bruised cheek into her hand, now cupped against his face. “I won’t. You deserve nothing less than that from me…and I don’t care if you *never* get better – I’m not gonna leave you, or give up on you – ever…”

As she spoke, she took his hand in her own free one, and firmly, deliberately, drew it back to her soft, blonde hair, playing through it for a moment before closing his fingers around the ends gently.

“It’s okay,” she assured him. “You can touch me, Spike…I’m not gonna hurt you for touching me…I’m not gonna punish you for – for reaching out to me…” Her voice broke over the words, as she lowered her head, remorse filling her heart for having done just exactly that to Spike a few months earlier.

She hoped she could make him understand what she was trying to say – and apparently at least the general concept of her gesture got through, because when she removed her own hand, leaving his in her hair, he slowly, tentatively, ran his fingers down through her hair, his cracked, bruised lips turning just slightly up at one corner, a light beginning in his blind eyes that was all too familiar to the Slayer’s memory.

“That’s it,” she whispered, taking her hand from his face and closing it gently around his free hand as she used her other hand to gather up the equipment she had used to treat his wounds, and place the items one by one on the coffee table. She had done all she could for him for the moment, treating every wound she had found on his body.

The head wound, she had not yet touched. From the look of it, it appeared to have healed up on the outside, scar tissue on either side of his head revealing the trajectory of the bullet that had passed through his mind, wreaking such havoc on its way. It bothered her that it still seemed to be sensitive to the touch, but she really did not know what else she could do about that particular wound just now.

*I *really* need Giles,* she thought with a sigh.

Just as she was finishing up, she heard the front door open again, and turned quickly toward it, relieved to see that it was just Anya again. The vengeance demon had a blue plastic Wal-Mart bag in her hand, which she set down on the table next to the first aid supplies.

“Those should be the right size,” she remarked, looking over Buffy’s work appraisingly, nodding slightly in satisfaction. “Much better,” she stated. “He should be able to start healing up now…”

Buffy glanced down to take in the thin frame of the vampire, covered nearly head to toe in bandages. He was still naked, but it did not appear so, due to the huge amount of white cloth bandages that covered every part of his body.

“Let’s save those,” she decided quietly. “They’ll be difficult to get on and off for a while, until some of the wounds on his legs and – until they heal up,” she amended at the last moment, looking down uncomfortably, swallowing back a fresh feeling of rage at Spike’s attacker, before meeting Anya’s eyes bravely again. “I’ll be changing the bandages and stuff quite a bit – so let’s just throw out the old ones, and put those away.”

“Okay,” Anya nodded, accepting the practicality of that plan. After a moment, she asked, “Where’s ‘away’?”

Buffy frowned, biting her lower lip, her hand still gently caressing Spike’s, his hand still running through her hair as she considered the dilemma of where the vampire would be sleeping.

“I wouldn’t recommend leaving him alone,” Anya pointed out. “He might wake up in the middle of the night and be pretty confused. We still don’t have much idea of what’s going on in that head of his beyond the basic instincts like fear and hunger. Who knows what he might do if he woke up all by himself?”

Buffy nodded slowly, acknowledging the accuracy of Anya’s words. There was no way that Spike could be left alone.

“I’ll give him my bed,” she decided finally. “I’ll make a bed on the floor upstairs and sleep beside him. That way if he wakes up, he won’t be alone.”

Anya nodded slowly, a slight frown betraying the fact that there was something she wanted to say, but was not saying – a rare condition for Anya, indeed.

It did not last long.

“Why don’t you just…”

“Because that’s not a good idea right now, Anya,” Buffy cut her off before she could even finish the statement. “I could move in my sleep and hurt him…and besides, I don’t want to cause any – confusion, right now…”

A soft little huff of disbelief drew her eyes to Anya’s incredulous face, as the vengeance demon replied, “Please! Like a little bit more’s gonna make a difference at this point! And besides…” Her voice softened, her expression becoming more serious as she added, “…he’s been kept as a prisoner for who knows how long…doesn’t seem to remember anything else…I would think that a little *positive* human contact could be just the thing for him.”

Buffy looked down again, feeling her cheeks flush with the discomfort of the situation.

Anya’s eyes widened with alarm, as she misinterpreted the Slayer’s reaction. “He’s not – I mean – they didn’t…”

“No,” Buffy quickly assured her, shaking her head emphatically. “No, there was no – it didn’t look like – that – happened.”

“Well, that’s a small mercy,” Anya remarked softly, looking down again at the blonde vampire on the bed, whose hand in Buffy’s hair was gradually stilling, as he succumbed to his utter exhaustion. “One less thing he’ll have to deal with. Good thing.”

“Yeah,” Buffy replied, a strange coldness coming into her voice, as she looked up at Anya with an almost frightening, humorless smile. “Because whoever did this is going to pay for *everything* they did to him – and that’s *really* something I’d rather not do.”

For possibly the first time since her human existence – the vengeance demon was shocked to silence.

Buffy shook her head slightly, shaking herself out of her vengeful thoughts – sighing when she saw the stunned expression on Anya’s face. Turning back to Spike, she gently lifted his still arm from behind her and laid it on the couch at his side.

The only pang of regret she had at the moment had nothing to do with her words to Anya, and everything to do with having to disturb his rest when he had only just managed to fall asleep.

“Come on,” she sighed softly, as she rose to her feet. “Help me get him upstairs.”

This lovely banner was created for me by the amazing Tamakin84!! Thanks so much, love!!!




Spike awoke with a jolt as the voice of his rescuer, his golden angel of mercy, cut through the muddled, dark nightmare that had just started to invade his sleep. A momentary panic seized him, as for a few brief moments, he was unable to distinguish between the dark terror of his dream, and the constant darkness that was his reality.

The only difference was – the voice.

The voice that had haunted his nightmares – and until tonight, his reality as well – was low, menacing, full of hatred and cruel intent.

The voice that woke him from the nightmare was soft, clear, and full of a sweet compassion, though he could not understand the words she spoke to him.

“Shhh, it’s all right…let’s get up…we’re gonna go to bed, okay?”

The only part his mind caught onto was “get up”; those two words he recognized easily, having received that command countless times during his time as a prisoner – usually after having been knocked to the ground by his captor to begin with.

Quickly he tried to sit up, anxious to obey her immediately, to do whatever she wanted him to do – to please her – but the thick layer of bandages that covered most of his body made it awkward and more than a little difficult to do so. He struggled to rise, but found himself falling back down onto the couch; so he tried again, beginning to feel that familiar sense of panic creeping up on him again.

He had already taken far too much time to obey.

Any second now…

“Hey – hey…it’s okay…settle down…”

Her voice was soft, calming, as she put her arm behind his shoulders and gently helped him to sit up. He sat there for a moment, unnecessary breaths coming hard and fast as he struggled against the deeply ingrained fears that threatened to consume him.

“Let me help you, Spike – it’s all right…”

He had no idea what she had said, but her voice was so kind, so sympathetic, that he found fresh tears springing to his eyes. He blinked them back desperately, as she placed a firm but soft hand beneath his elbow behind his back, and stood up, carefully bringing him up with her.

His captor had never helped him – not once.

It did not matter how badly he was hurt, how weakened he was from hunger and abuse – if he was told to get up, there was no option but to *get up*…and as quickly as possible. If he found, as he often did, that he simply could not do it, he would get nothing but another beating, more punishment – which only made it more difficult for him to obey when the command was put to him again.

This careful attention, this concern for his comfort – well, it was completely new to Spike, and he was not quite sure how to respond to it…beyond the grateful tears that spilled down his cheeks, as he instinctively bowed his head to her shoulder beside him, choking back a sob.

*Whatever she wants,* he vowed in his mind. *Whatever she tells me to do – anything to please her…anything…*

**********************************

The ache in Buffy’s heart mirrored Spike’s, as the helpless, devastated vampire rested his head on her shoulder, softly weeping. She had no idea what exactly had brought on this most recent emotional release – though she knew that he certainly had enough to cry about for months, if he felt like it – and she found herself wondering with alarm if he was in that much pain…if it was the sudden movement that had brought on his tears.

“Spike? Are you hurting, Sweetie?” she asked in a tearful whisper, resting her hand against his cheek as she turned her head toward him. “What can I – I mean…” Her voice trailed off, as she remembered again that there was no way for him to understand what she was trying to ask him – or to answer her, if he did.

“Come on,” Anya urged her with a rare gentleness in her voice, as she put her arm around Spike on the other side, taking some of his slight weight from Buffy’s shoulders. “Let’s get him upstairs.”

Between the two of them, they managed to get Spike up the stairs and into Buffy’s bedroom, where Buffy turned to face the sobbing vampire, wrapping her arms around him and holding him close to her, attempting to soothe him, as Anya cleared the display pillows from the bed and pulled the blankets back.

When the bed was ready, Buffy gently maneuvered Spike backward, guiding him to sit down, and then to lie back, on the bed.

The only problem was – he still had not let go of her.

“Spike – Sweetie – let go,” she whispered, her voice hushed and husky with emotion, as she tried to disentangle herself and stand up straight.

The vampire on the bed would have none of it.

She saw him begin to shake with fear as she tried to pull away, as a soft, pleading whimper began from his lips once more. Spike’s weakened grip was still surprisingly strong as his hands fisted in her shirt behind her – and inadvertently, in her long blonde hair as well.

“Ow!” she cried out before she could stop herself. “Spike, don’t! Let go!”

Instantly, Spike released her completely, shying away from her unintentionally sharp tone, his head turned away from her as his heart-breakingly fragile body visibly closed in on itself in his desperate desire to escape.

“Oh, I’m sorry – so sorry, Sweetie,” she whispered immediately, her eyes wide and stricken with shame and regret at her accidental thoughtlessness. “Hey – it’s all right, Spike, I’m not mad…it’s okay…”

“I’ll just – leave this one to you,” Anya remarked softly from beside the bed, causing Buffy to look up at her in surprise. “I think you can take it from here. I’ll let myself out, and lock the door.”

The sad, knowing little smile on her face told Buffy that Anya knew she had been right in her assessment of what the best sleeping arrangements would be – and the Slayer immediately knew the best way to calm the frightened vampire.

Quickly, she removed her shoes, but left the rest of her clothing on for the time being. She ruefully remembered that she had desperately wanted a shower, after the fight with the mysterious goo demons in the cemetery, and taking care of Spike. She just knew she was covered in slime, blood, and sweat.

*Oh well,* she thought with weary resignation. *I’m gonna need to change those sheets in the morning anyway.*

Slowly, careful not to jostle his countless injuries, Buffy climbed into the bed beside Spike, pulling the covers over them both and settling in beside the trembling, apprehensive vampire.

“Shhh,” she whispered again, soothing him with her voice and her touch, as she raised a hand in a feather light, calming caress across his brow.

He flinched at first, clearly expecting a blow – but she did nothing more than to repeat the gesture, again and again, whispering to him as she gently petted him, trying to make him understand that no matter what happened, she was not going to hurt him.

After a minute or two, he began to calm down – but after accidentally hurting her, he made no attempt to draw closer to her, as he had before. He just lay there, his head turned back toward her the only physical sign of his desire for closeness with her, his body taut with anxiety and uncertainty.

Buffy knew that though he could not bring himself to close the gap between them – he desperately needed for it to be closed. Carefully, doing her best not to startle him, she slid across the mattress nearer to him, laying her arm gently across his chest and tugging him gently toward her.

Gratefully, Spike immediately nestled in closer to her, resting his head on her shoulder again, as the last of his quiet tears faded away into soft snuffling sounds – but he did not dare to touch her with his hands.

Buffy wanted him to know that it was okay – she was not angry with him for the slight, accidental pain he had caused her -- but she was afraid any attempt to make him understand that might just confuse him, and she did not want to push him any further – not tonight.

She had all the time in the world to help him understand how much she cared for him.

She just lay there with him, cradling him close to her with her arms around him, soothing him with her presence until he fell asleep again, safe at last in the protective embrace of the one who should have been his enemy.

***********************************

It took Buffy a few hazy moments to figure out why her arm was asleep, when she woke up in the late hours of the next morning. She finally managed to open her sleep-weighted eyes, and glance around her shadowed room, only barely lit by the few refracted rays of light that filtered through the drawn curtains.

Her eyes widened in momentary surprise, as she looked to her side and saw the reason for the tingling pins and needles in her right arm – the dead weight of the sleeping vampire whose head was resting on her shoulder…and cutting off the circulation to the rest of her arm. Her left arm was still resting lightly across his torso, holding him close to her as he slept.

She simply stared at him for a long time, wondering at the peaceful beauty of him, at rest – not shaking and cringing and wracked with the confusion and pain of the night before. It was a relief to see him actually getting some rest, not afraid and uncertain as to what was going to happen next in his unlife that had been wrested from his control and thrust into the hands of others…even if this time, the “others” wanted to help and protect him, rather than to abuse him.

What she had no way of knowing was that this was the first night since he had regained the ability to dream that had not been filled with nightmares to rival the torment of his waking hours.

She took her time, now, to study the face that she had thought was lost to her, for all those months, in the dim, hazy light that shrouded her room. She frowned as she took in the cruel changes, as her arm across him rose to tenderly trace along the full, flawless lips, now cracked and bruised by someone’s fist – that angelic face over flawless cheekbones, beaten and bloodied by abuse…

*I’ll kill them, Spike,* she promised silently, as she removed her hand and laid her arm around him again protectively. *I’ll find the people who did this to you – and I’ll make them pay for it. I won’t let them get away with this. I promise.*

She looked down, frowning to see that some of the bandages from the night before were stained through with blood. He had needed the blood they had given him desperately – and would need plenty more – but getting so much blood in him after going so long without had resulted in starting some of the wounds flowing much more than they had been before.

*He’ll need a shower…it was too much for him last night…but he’ll need to be thoroughly cleaned up…who knows…it might help him…*

Her thoughts cut off abruptly, her breath stolen away in an instant, as his thick, dark lashes fluttered twice…before his eyelids opened wide, revealing two deep pools of crystal blue that stunned her, and smote her heart with an exquisite pain at the sheer beauty of that familiar gaze.

“Hey,” she whispered, her voice raspy with sleep – but she made herself speak, now that she knew he was awake, wanting to do her best to ground him, to remind him where he was before he had the chance to panic. “Good morning, Spike…how you doing, Sweetie?”

She did not expect a response, just wanted to calm him with her voice.

His clear blue eyes blinked once, wide open and staring, and her heart ached with loss.

*Oh, Spike, I wish you could see me,* she thought desperately, forcing her own tears back as she reached a gentle hand toward his face to offer a reassuring caress.

And Spike flinched slightly, his eyes darting toward the movement of her hand with instinctive fear.

Buffy froze, her eyes widening in wondering disbelief.

*But – it’s only been one night…*

Was it possible?

“It’s all right,” she reassured him in a whisper, moving her hand slowly forward again. “I’m not gonna hurt you, Spike…not gonna hurt you…”

Once again, his sapphire gaze followed the movement warily, but he did not pull away from her as she laid her hand on his cheek in a soothing caress. His eyes fluttered wonderingly back to her face, a slight frown creasing his brow as he focused on her lips intently for a long moment.

Despite his clear anxiety and confusion over this new development, Buffy could not help the rush of warmth and hope that flooded her at the implications of a few simple eye movements. They did not only show a tremendous progress in and of themselves, but they gave her hope that with enough nourishment and care, Spike might eventually regain so much more of what he had lost.

Buffy felt a flood of joy flow through her when she saw his eyes widen slightly, trailing uncertainly back and forth between her mouth and her eyes – and a light of excited understanding shone forth in his gaze, as he made the connection between the sounds reaching his ears, and the concurrent movements of her lips.

Buffy laughed quietly, tears of relief flooding her eyes at the same time.

“You can see me!” she exulted softly, running the backs of her fingers down his cheek affectionately. “Oh, Spike, you can see! You’re gonna be all right, Spike! I know it – I’m gonna make sure, Spike, I’m gonna take care of you, and help you – and you’re gonna be all right!”

This lovely banner was created for me by the amazing Tamakin84!! Thanks so much, love!!!




The new world of color and light, shape and form, that met Spike’s wide eyes upon waking took him completely by surprise – he had not seen anything in as long as he could remember – and yet, it was not as alarming as one might have thought that it would be.

It felt like a distant, barely remembered dream – like something he had experienced a very long time ago – foreign and not quite familiar – and yet, somehow…*right*. He sensed on an instinctual level that this new world of light was as it was supposed to be; and the darkness he had spent so long lost in was something that had been forced upon him – unnatural, and incomplete.

Still, it was next to impossible at first for Spike to make any sense of the blurred, vague images before his eyes – having no point of reference in his memory with which to compare them. They were nothing more than random splotches of color, without meaning to his new sight.

Until one of those splotches moved suddenly toward his face, in what habit told him had to be a threat.

After all – anytime anyone moved to touch him, it was a threat – right?

He flinched – but then, her gentle, soothing voice steadied him…grounded him…drew him back, flooding his mind with the sweet memories of the night before, and how she had cared for him, comforted him, allowed him the tears and the sorrow that he had always been punished for before…how she had held him gently as he had fallen asleep in her arms…

And when the soft, indistinct image reached his face – and he felt the warm tenderness of her reassuring touch – something clicked in his mind. He glanced slowly back and forth between the hand at his cheek, and the movement he could just barely make out about a foot in front of his face.

The second connection came a couple of moments later, when he realized that the motion in front of his face coincided exactly with the sound of her musical voice – and he realized what the soft blurring of colors, gold and pink and emerald green (though he could not have named them) really was.

*Her*.

As the realization slowly sank in, and his still-fragile mind – now seeming so much more clear, after the large meal he had had the night before – managed to put all the pieces together, he found himself mesmerized by the smooth, rhythmic motions of her lips, the soft vibrations of her breath as she spoke softly to him.

Another shape entered his line of vision, edging cautiously toward those moving lips, trembling slightly, uncertain – and it took him a moment to realize that it was his own hand, tentatively edging toward her face. The moment he *did* realize it, he jerked his hand back with sudden panic, unable to believe that he had almost been so bold as to touch her so freely.

Whenever he had even accidentally managed to touch his captor, he had been struck down ruthlessly, punished and reminded in scathing tones of disgust and anger just how worthless and vile and low he was – certainly not deserving to put his hand on a human being – not ever.

He drew back slightly, averting his eyes, trembling – and froze, when he felt the soft warmth of her hand closing gently around his, her gentle words never ceasing as she slowly raised his hand in hers, bringing it back into his line of sight.

Spike stared at their joined hands, uncomprehending at first, as she held them there firmly, her other hand moving to gently caress his cheek again in a reassuring manner. Then, she slowly raised his hand in hers, bringing it up to the lips he had longed to touch, and pressing it lightly but deliberately against them.

“It’s okay,” she whispered softly – and although he could not have defined the words, he was beginning to understand what they meant.

Security – safety – mercy – those two simple words she spoke so frequently seemed to mean that in a situation where before, he could have expected only pain – there would be none. She would not hurt him.

He desperately hoped that he had not misunderstood.

“It’s okay, Spike…you can touch me…it’s okay,” she continued, pressing his fingers against her lips gently once more, before lowering her own hand – leaving his there.

He stared at her, wide-eyed with wonder as he felt the gentle movement of her silken lips under his trembling fingertips – and a sort of awe stole over him, at what to him seemed a tremendous privilege…just to be allowed to touch, to *feel* her so closely.

And the adoration in the heart of the broken, fragile vampire grew just a bit deeper, more intense, for the golden beauty who had freed him, and captured him, all at the same time.

***********************************

Buffy stared across the bed at the beautiful creature lying beside her, her breath literally stolen away by those wide, piercing blue eyes, drinking her in as if for the very first time…

*It *is* the first time,* she reminded herself, blinking back tears – though she could not have said if sorrow or joy had provoked them. *For him – it’s like he’s never seen me before…faces…colors…the most basic things, he’s going to have to learn – all over again…*

Not for the first time since finding him in that dark cave, Buffy felt an overwhelming sense of responsibility, of obligation, roll over her, with the reminder of just how much Spike was going to need from her.

She was more than willing to provide it.

“Come on, Sweetie,” she whispered, reaching to take his shaking hand from her lips, holding it in hers again as she sat up slowly – his indescribably blue gaze following her every movement, though he did not move himself. “Can you sit up a little?”

She did not want to rush him, or to cause him any pain – but if he could already see again, after just one night, surely the rest of his injuries had improved as well? It made her wonder just how long he had gone without nourishment, and how long he had been down in that cave in the first place.

Her heart went out to the injured vampire as he struggled to obey her, letting out a little whimper of pain as the effort tugged at the bandages that covered his body.

“Okay, wait,” she hurriedly broke in, reaching over to help him sit up, silently cursing her own thoughtlessness. “Bad idea, Buffy – obviously not so much improvement yet, huh, Sweetie? I’m sorry,” she talked to him in a casual, light tone as she carefully helped him to shift to a sitting position, bracing his back with a couple of soft pillows behind him. “Still need a little more blood before you’re gonna be doing much on your own, right? Stupid Slayer…if you were yourself right now – well, I mean, I know you’re *yourself*, but if you could remember – you’d be calling me a ‘daft bint’ about now, and cussing me out in British, wouldn’t you? I almost – wish you would…”

Her voice trailed off as she swallowed back a hard lump that had arisen in her throat, swiping quickly at the tears that had formed in her eyes.

“Shut up, Buffy,” she muttered quietly, lowering her gaze to the mattress between them for a moment, before looking back up at him to gauge his reaction to her rather pointless monologue – pointless, as he certainly could not understand much of it.

Spike was watching her closely, a slight frown of confusion furrowing his brow, his head tilted just slightly to the side as he obviously tried to puzzle out what it was she was trying to say to him – what she was expecting of him in response.

“It’s okay,” she repeated gently. “Don’t worry about it…I’m just rambling…and I guess anything I say right now is gonna be rambling to you, isn’t it? Since you don’t understand me – and – here I go again,” she sighed, looking down between them again before giving him a reassuring smile, and moving to rise from the bed.

“I’m gonna get you some blood,” she explained as she turned her back to him to get up – completely missing the look of panic that came over his face when he saw that she seemed to be leaving. “You hungry?”

Before she could turn to catch his response, if there was one – the door to her bedroom flew open, so hard that it banged against the wall with a violent crash, as Dawn came rushing into the room.

The younger girl’s hair was disheveled and her pajamas were rumpled from sleep, but her eyes were wide and alert with fear as she cried out in a trembling voice, “Buffy, he’s gone! Spike’s…” Her voice trailed off as she caught sight of the vampire sitting up in the bed, and she added softly, surprise in her voice, and relief at finding him safe and sound, “…right…here.”

But the damage was already done.

At her abrupt entrance, Spike had scrambled backward away from her, startled into a further panic – and, not realizing how near he was to the edge of the bed, tumbled over the edge onto the floor. Confused and disoriented by the fall, he let out a pained whimper as his injuries were jarred by the impact, and crawled weakly back against the wall, his eyes shut, his thin, battered arms raised to protectively cover his head.

“Shoot,” Dawn muttered, self-disgust clear in her voice as she made her way around the bed toward her terrified friend, Buffy right behind her. “Spike – it’s me, it’s okay…you’re okay…”

“Dawn,” Buffy whispered, as her sister crouched down in front of him, holding out a cautious hand as one might do in an attempt to reassure an injured pet. “Careful, Dawnie – he – he can see you now…”

Just as she spoke, the blonde vampire reluctantly raised his head, in response to the familiar voice, blue eyes locking onto blue eyes, as he stared at Dawn, trying to reconcile her voice with the unfamiliar image of her.

“*What*?” Dawn whirled around momentarily to face her sister, before turning quickly to meet Spike’s eyes again, a new excitement in her voice as she edged nearer to him. “Spike – it’s okay – I know this is weird, but it’s me – you weren’t scared of me last night – right? I’m still okay – still not gonna hurt you…”

As Dawn gently spoke to him, trying to calm him, Buffy silently slipped up beside him, though she was careful never to leave his line of vision. Still, he jumped slightly as she crouched down beside him and gently put her arm around him. But then, he settled back against her, trembling, yet obviously grateful for her nearness – though his eyes never left Dawn’s face.

Once Buffy was seated beside him, her arms around him steadying and, if necessary, restraining the disoriented vampire, Dawn slowly closed the rest of the distance between herself and Spike, reaching out a hand to take his.

“See? It’s okay,” she repeated with an affectionate smile. “Just me.” She paused for a moment, winking at him as she added in a slightly teasing voice, “Told ya.”

Spike did not quite return the smile, his expression still a bit uncertain – but he seemed a lot calmer now than he had been only moments before, encircled by the safety of these two young women who had become his rescuers, his protectors – as once again, the sense of trust he was developing for them was strengthened by the reassurance that they would not hurt him.

“Well,” Dawn said softly after a moment, addressing her words to her sister, though she maintained eye contact with Spike. “This is gonna make the whole teaching thing a *lot* easier. I wasn’t looking forward to the whole ‘Miracle Worker’ routine.”

Buffy frowned for a moment, not sure what she was talking about – then her eyes widened in surprise as she remembered the story Dawn was referring to, and she raised one eyebrow in a look that was half skeptical, half impressed.

“What?” Dawn retorted, a bit defensively. “I read!”

********************************

“I need to speak to Rupert Giles, please.”

There was a short paused, before a clipped, just barely polite English voice replied, “And who might I tell him is calling, Miss?”

“Anya,” the vengeance demon replied shortly, trying to repress her mounting frustrations by vigorously dusting a few newly stocked shelves while she paced up and down through the currently closed shop, the phone pressed between her shoulder and her ear. “His business partner? Hello!”

“Just a moment, please, I’ll see if he’s available,” the crisp voice replied, sounding just the slightest bit offended by her tone.

*Let her get offended,* Anya thought to herself, sighing impatiently as she waited for Giles to come on the line. *She’s lucky I’m just throwing not subtle, impolite comments her way and not eviscerating her stuffy, probably very unattractive frail human body!*

“Hello?”

“Giles!” she exclaimed, her relief evident in her voice. “You need to come back.”

There was a moment’s silence on the line, before the Watcher replied in a tone of mild disbelief, “Excuse me?”

“Buffy needs you. You need to come back,” she repeated firmly, as if no further explanation should be necessary.

“What is it, Anya? Another apocalypse?” he guessed, and she could almost hear the frown in his voice, with the note of concern that he could never quite conceal when it came to his Slayer.

“Could be – if she doesn’t get some help. She’s in *way* over her head this time, Giles. You just – need to get back here, as soon as you can,” Anya replied, more than a little evasive.

It was absolutely true that Buffy needed her Watcher’s help with this situation.

It was almost just as true that if he knew what the situation *was*, he would not be likely to want to help.

“Really, Anya,” he retorted with obvious exasperation. “I need a bit more information than that before I can just take off, traipsing across continents and overseas without knowing what I’m going into. Just what exactly is…”

But before he could get any farther, Anya interrupted, “Overseas calls are expensive, Giles. Can’t afford to talk anymore. See you soon.”

And she promptly hung up, before the Watcher could press her any further on the reasons for the necessary return to the States.

Very satisfied with herself, Anya glanced at the calendar behind the counter, before glancing at her watch and heading for the front doors of the shop to unlock them and turn the sign over to declare the shop “open”.

“He’ll be here by the end of the week.”

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“Do you think he *can* talk? Like, physically?” Dawn mused thoughtfully from where she lay across the foot of Buffy’s bed. “I mean – he probably doesn’t remember how right now…or know what the words mean – but do you think we could teach him?”

Buffy smiled patiently at her little sister from her seat at the head of the bed, beside a very sleepy vampire, having just consumed another three bags of blood from the stock that Anya had brought. Now he was snuggled comfortably against Buffy’s side, her arm wrapped protectively around his slight frame, his head bobbing slightly every few moments as he tried not to fall asleep.

“I think that if he was more awake – and really himself right now – he’d be ticked off to hear you talking about him as if he’s not here,” she remarked lightly, deliberately avoiding the question to which she had no answer.

Spike’s head drooped sharply, and he sat up with a little start, glancing at her with anxious eyes – before immediately calming a bit when his gaze fell on her gentle, reassuring smile.

“Come here,” she murmured, affection obvious in her voice as she scooted just a little away from him across the mattress, and guided his head down to rest in her lap. “Go ahead, you can sleep, Spike…”

The exhaustion of the ordeal he had been through was not something she expected him to get over completely with one night of undisturbed rest.

Wonder and uncertainty giving way to a shy sort of gratitude in his wide blue eyes, Spike obediently rested his head on her thighs, slowly relaxing as sleep overtook him again.

Several hours had passed since they had awakened that morning to the pleasant surprise of his restored sight – and neither Slayer nor vampire had moved from the spot yet. Buffy had called in to the Doublemeat from the phone beside the bed, claiming a “family emergency” – and with Dawn right there to hear her do it, it had been next to impossible at that point to convince the girl that the same excuse would not work to excuse her from school for the day.

“If Spike’s qualifies as *your* family, then he’s *my* family too!” she had insisted. “In fact – he’s more my family than he is yours. At least I hope so – because if Spike’s really like family to you, Buffy, then *ewww* to what you two were doing all last year!”

Buffy had given in and called the school – just to shut her little sister up.

And besides – though she would not have admitted it to Dawn just yet – she wasn’t quite sure that she could face the day ahead, taking care of the fragile, injured vampire in her arms, all by herself.

Dawn had proven her helpfulness shortly after that, going downstairs to get Spike’s blood, and Buffy had stayed with him in the bed, holding him close to her, doing all she could to reassure him that everything was okay, that he was safe here, in her home, and she and Dawn cared about him, and would not allow anyone to hurt him.

Dawn had joined them on the bed as soon as Spike’s blood had warmed – and none of them had left the room since. The Summers’ sisters spent the remainder of the morning just talking quietly – some to Spike, but mostly to each other, knowing that the effect was almost the same for Spike, either way. It was the calming, steady rhythms of their voices that seemed to mean the most to him right now.

Dawn raised up on one elbow and looked thoughtfully at the sleepy vampire for a moment, before asking her sister, “How much do you think he really understands right now?”

Buffy shrugged slightly, once again feeling as if the question was not one she was qualified to answer.

“No way of knowing, really,” she finally replied, when Dawn kept looking at her expectantly. “I mean – he knows a few words already – and he learned a few more just in a few minutes last night. I think it’s just – like – he has to start from scratch – you know? The only things he knows are things he’s been told enough times for him to finally get what they mean – *since* the gunshot.”

“Since way past that,” Dawn corrected, shaking her head with a frown of dismay. “Because it had to have taken a while to even recover enough to function at all.”

Both girls were silent, Buffy slowly nodding her acceptance of her sister’s point, as she gazed down at Spike’s head in her lap with troubled eyes, running her fingers gently through the disheveled blonde curls, but carefully avoiding the tender site of the wound that had caused so much damage.

“And who knows how much better he’d be doing already, if he’d been getting enough to eat all along?” Dawn’s voice darkened with anger at the thought of the person who had starved and tortured her vibrant, confident friend, eventually replacing him with the broken creature she now saw in his place.

“That’s over now,” Buffy murmured, her own voice sounding sleepy and relaxed, a soft smile on her lips as she looked down at Spike’s peaceful expression in sleep. “He’s with us now – and he’s gonna be fine.”

After a moment, Dawn asked, almost managing to mask the impatience in her voice, “So – when do you think he’s gonna wake up? I wanna start trying to teach him some things…”

“It might be a little while, Dawnie,” Buffy cut her off, a mild reprimand in her voice. “He’s been through – through an awful lot, Honey. He needs to rest, and more than anything, he just needs to feel like he’s safe. I think for a little while, a few days anyway – we should just let him get used to us…let him learn to trust us…”

“He *does* trust us!” Dawn objected, slightly indignant.

“Yeah – as long as we don’t make any sudden moves, and he knows where we are at all times,” Buffy countered dubiously. Then she sighed. “Not like we can blame him. All he remembers is being hurt, Dawn. It’s gonna take a little while for him to feel truly safe – even with you.”

Dawn nodded slowly, taking in her words. Then she frowned, the last of those words suddenly registering with her. “With *us*, Buffy,” she corrected softly. “With us.”

Buffy was silent for a moment, before letting out a heavy sigh. “No,” she confessed quietly. “I said what I meant, Dawn. It’ll take a while for him to trust *you*.” She paused before adding in a tone of deep resignation, “The other – for me – it’ll probably take – a lot longer…”

Dawn was clearly still a bit confused – but Buffy had no intention of enlightening her.

The truth was hard enough to accept herself.

It would not take long for Spike to be able to place his full trust in Dawn, judging by how quickly he had taken to her the night before. There seemed to be some sort of an instinctive knowledge in his broken mind, some trace of memory that told him that Dawn was safe – that she never had hurt him, and he could trust her not to hurt him now.

Buffy knew that if he had any such instinctive memories of *her* -- they would in no way inspire such absolute trust. Tears welled in her eyes, as she traced her fingertips lightly along his bruised brow.

*I’ll make it up to you, Spike,* she vowed silently. *I will – I promise.*

*************************************

Sunset fell over Sunnydale – signaling the end of the daylight hours, when it was safe for the oblivious, and primarily good-intentioned citizens to be out and about; and marking the hours of the night that belonged to the monsters – both otherworldly, and those of the more human variety.

One such monster made his way swiftly through the dark woods just outside Restfield Cemetery, watching carefully around him as he went, without slowing his pace, as he headed toward his destination. He had spent enough time aware of the dark creatures that others did not know even existed, to know to keep an eye out for danger.

As he stole quietly into the dark tunnels where the Initiative had once reigned, he slowed his pace a bit, and tightened his grip on the stake he had tucked into his dark pants. In the darkness of these caves, anything could be hiding – lying in wait – though he liked to think that most of Sunnydale’s nasties would know better than to mess with him by now – if for no other reason than his close association with the Slayer.

Or perhaps, because of the bound, broken vampire he was here to see – actual physical evidence of what he was capable of visiting upon any demon foolish enough to cross him.

It had been a tough night.

He could feel the tension that had been building up in him all day, intensifying, as he thought of all the frustrations of the past couple of days – the rising sense of inadequacy that he could never quite escape – and the fact that even now, with his unworthy competition out of the way, she *still* refused to choose him – to *see* him.

*Time to work off some of those frustrations.*

He smiled darkly at the thought as he quickened his pace, just as the entrance to the room where his prize was kept came into view.

*I’ll teach that little freak to think he can take her from me!*

“Oh, Spike…” he softly mocked his prisoner in a slow, lilting sing-song, still outside the door. “I’m back…” His voice hardened as he ordered sharply, “And you’d better be on your knees when I walk through this door!”

He enjoyed a private smirk at the thought of the chained, helpless creature, unable to obey the command, yet scrambling and struggling desperately to assume the required position, despite the bonds at his wrists that prevented it.

The smile faded when nothing but total silence met his order, rather than the expected clattering of the chains that usually would have been heard as the little vampire made the useless attempt to obey him. Irritation filled him at the thought that Spike might be unconscious at the moment – and his sadistic mockery wasted. Or perhaps, he thought, cheering up a bit, the vampire *was* conscious, but just to weak to respond at all to the command.

*I *did* forget to feed him last time – last *couple* times,* he reminded himself with a carelessly malicious grin, and a slight shrug. *Oh, well – I know how to make him jump when I say so!*

“Uh-oh,” he taunted in a low, ominous tone, as he stepped into the doorway. “Not quite quick…enough…” The last word died on his lips, as he froze in shock at the unexpected sight that met his eyes.

The chains hung loose against the wall of the cave – empty.

Spike was gone.

*********************************

At some point during the afternoon, Dawn had brought the small television from the spare bedroom up and plugged it in – and so it was that just before sunset that evening, the girls and Spike were all three huddled comfortably at the head of the bed, watching some melodramatic movie on Lifetime.

“Spike would kill us if he knew,” Dawn giggled, affectionately squeezing his shoulders from her spot on the side of him that was not currently occupied by Buffy.

“Yeah,” Buffy smiled wistfully, looking down at the rapt expression of interest on the vampire’s face as he stared at the moving colors on the screen – certainly too small and distant, on the dresser across the room, for him to make sense of them. Still, the screen and the voices emanating from it managed to hold his attention.

A low chuckle of nostalgic amusement rose in Buffy’s throat, as she shook her head slightly, and murmured, “Some things never change.” In an impulsive display of affection, before she even thought about what she was doing, she dropped a brief, tender kiss on his temple.

And suddenly – he didn’t seem to find the television so interesting anymore.

In fact – neither did Dawn.

Buffy began to feel uncomfortable under the startled stares of both of them – Spike’s expression wondering and unsure, as if he was not really sure what had just happened; and Dawn’s expression a mixture of disbelief – and pleased satisfaction.

Before anyone could say a word – the sound of the doorbell was heard downstairs.

*Thank God,* Buffy thought with a desperate wave of relief, as she gently disentangled herself from the vampire leaning on her and gave her sister a sheepish smile. “Gotta get the door,” she explained weakly.

“Uh-huh,” Dawn muttered. “You do that. Run, Buffy.”

She rolled her eyes, as she set about reassuring a slightly nervous Spike, who was staring after Buffy with wide, longing eyes, a slight whimper rising in his throat as he reached out a tentative hand toward the spot where she had been.

“It’s okay,” she assured him gently, pulling him toward her – though she knew already that she was going to be a poor substitute for what her sister was already coming to mean to the broken vampire.

*You’re right, Buffy,* she thought with a bittersweet smile. *Some things never change.*

*********************************

Buffy strode impatiently toward the front door, finding that despite her need to escape the situation she had accidentally just created upstairs – she already was longing to get back. Whoever it was at the door was going to have to just come back later, she decided as she reached for the handle. It couldn’t be *that* important – not in comparison to what she had to deal with at the moment.

She opened the door – and froze in surprise.

Her eyes widened, and her hand fell from the doorknob as she just stood there, silent for a long moment.

Finally, a hoarse whisper left her lips, confusion evident in her voice.

“*Angel*.”

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Buffy stood there in the doorway for a long moment, staring at the face of her former lover, unsure how to react – what to think, or feel. And then, as the memory of their last conversation, and the way he had spoken to her in front of his crew, came back to her – she decided on a feeling.

Anger.

“What are you doing here?” she said finally, a hard edge to her voice that obviously took Angel by surprise, judging by the startled look he gave her.

“I – I wanted to apologize,” he replied, his voice slightly uncertain, his eyes imploring. “For – for the way I talked to you. It was – rude, and – and I just wasn’t thinking about the way it must have – must have…”

“Humiliated me?” she finished for him, a flat sort of smile on her lips that did not reach her eyes. “No. I’d say you weren’t.”

“Buffy!” he hurried to stop her before she could close the door. “Buffy, please – just hear me out, okay?” As he spoke, he quickly positioned himself in the path of the door, preventing her from shutting him out.

A little grimace of annoyance came over Buffy’s face as she took in his literal foot in the door, and muttered flippantly, “I knew I should have done something about that open invitation of yours.”

“Buffy.”

The hurt in Angel’s voice was so obvious that Buffy found herself meeting his eyes, reluctantly – and her heart smitten with guilt at the sight of the wounded look she saw there. She sighed heavily, looking down again as she stepped back, opening the door wider, shaking her head as she relented, “Fine. Come in. Speak your piece.”

Angel ducked his head slightly as he stepped through the doorway into the house, his hands in his pockets in the manner of a reprimanded little boy.

“I’m sorry, Buffy,” he repeated insistently, as she quietly closed the door and moved into the living room, sitting down on the edge of the couch, her arms crossed tightly over her shoulder, her eyes firmly focused on the wall, refusing to look at him.

“You said that,” she reminded him coolly.

“Look – it was just – hard, you know? Hearing you – talk about – Spike, as if – as if he was – well, I mean…after what we had – and what he did…and you just…”

“Angel – it’s been years since we’ve had anything – or since he’s *done* anything, for that matter,” Buffy pointed out, finally looking up at him as she cut off his awkward rambling. “You don’t know me anymore – and I think it’s probably safe to say you don’t know *him* anymore, either. It was so – so unfair for you to just go off on me like that – in front of all those people…”

“I know – I was wrong, and I’m sorry, Buffy – I just – want you to understand *why* I did,” Angel explained, his voice quiet and subdued. “You – you will always mean a lot to me, and – and it’s obvious that – that Spike – means something to you now. I don’t know how, or what…but I just – had a hard time dealing with that…”

Buffy was surprised, and a bit impressed in spite of herself – both with Angel’s perception in figuring out that there was something going on between her and Spike; and also with his honesty in admitting how he felt about it.

*Maybe I don’t know *him* so well anymore, either,* he admitted to herself silently, regarding him thoughtfully.

“It’s okay, Angel,” she relented finally with a weary sigh. The truth was, at the moment, she had much more to worry about than her issues with Angel. “It just – hurt, that’s all. I thought you – had more respect for me than that.”

“I do,” Angel assured her quietly. “I do, Buffy – that’s why I’m here. I – I knew I owed you an apology, and – and I couldn’t just let it go. You deserved to hear it from me in person.”

Buffy nodded silently, not having any response for that. After a long moment of silence, she replied simply, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Another awkward moment of silence passed before Buffy sighed, leaning forward and placing her head in her hands, as she muttered more to herself than to Angel, “Why does this always have to be so freakin’ hard?”

Angel’s vampire hearing allowed him to hear the words, and he shook his head, his sigh matching hers as he sank down on the arm of the chair across from the sofa, his head bowed as he replied softly, “I don’t know, Buffy. I guess it’s just – something we have to deal with. The whole – wanting to be together – when it’s just not possible…”

Buffy looked up at him, quietly incredulous – though he missed the look, his eyes still downcast – as she realized that Angel still believed that she was in love with him.

And in the same moment, Buffy realized for the first time, that she really and truly was not.

“Well,” she said finally, after another interminable silence, as she stood up and headed toward the door. “Thank you for coming, Angel – for making things right. I appreciate it – and I hate to be so brief, but – you really have no idea how much stress I’m under right now. I’m – so unbelievably busy right now, and I really need to…” Her voice trailed off, as she realized that she really did not want to inform Angel as to what it was that she had to do.

“Anything I can help with?” he asked casually as he made his way toward the door, not quite meeting her eyes.

“No,” she sighed. “I don’t think so…I think I need to handle this myself.”

There was a pause, as Angel stopped in the doorway, turning to face her with a level, piercing gaze. “Sure about that?” he asked quietly. “I mean – there might be – something I could do…”

Buffy stared at him for a long moment, a frown forming on her brow as she tried to read his expression – and then fading into an incredulous, indignant look as understanding came to her.

“How did you – you *knew* when you came here what was going on, and you didn’t tell me!” she accused him angrily, suddenly pushing him away from the doorway, back into the house, and closing the door hard. “You put on the whole big apology act, and all the while you knew already and…”

“No – I really did want to apologize to you, Buffy…”

“But that’s not why you came here…”

“It’s *part* of why I came here…”

“And what’s the other part?” she demanded, arms folded once again over her chest, only this time in a challenge rather than a defense. “Why are you here, Angel?”

“Because he’s family!” he snapped back suddenly – taking them both by surprise with the vehemence and conviction in his voice.

After a moment of shocked silence, both yielded from the fierce stare down taking place between them, at the same time, as the steam seemed to go out of their anger.

“That’s how you knew, isn’t it?” Buffy realized, her voice more subdued now. “Because you’re his sire, or grandsire or whatever? It’s some – freaky vampire bond thing?”

“Sire,” Angel corrected simply, before replying with a small smirk of mild amusement, “and yes, it’s a ‘freaky vampire bond thing’. He’s family,” he repeated firmly, holding her gaze intently. “I’d – I’d been feeling it for a while, when you came to see me.”

Her eyes snapped back up to his in shock at that admission – and he had to look away, ashamed.

“I just – I was understandably pretty mad at him, Buffy. I told you about the last time I saw him – I’m sure you can understand why I wasn’t exactly eager to run out and rush to his rescue,” Angel pointed out, more than a little defensive. He was silent for a long moment, before he added, his voice softer now, “But – by now – I am. You can’t resist the call of family – not for long.”

“It was long enough,” Buffy bit off the words, full of accusation as she glared at him. “Too long.”

Angel winced slightly, his eyes apologetic. “How bad is he?”

“Much worse than he would have been if you’d tried to find him when you first knew he was in trouble,” she shot back, her eyebrows raised in a challenge. “But you had to just ignore it – and you should see him now, Angel! I hope you’re happy with what you allowed to happen…”

“Where is he?” Angel asked, his eyes softening with concern as he glanced around the room and then up the stairs, taking a step in that direction.

“*No*,” Buffy snapped, her voice low and every bit the Slayer, as she smoothly stepped between Angel and the stairs, a look of steely determination in her glittering emerald eyes.

Angel stopped, sighing heavily and lowering his head for a moment.

“I’m sorry, Buffy. I’m sorry I didn’t help you to begin with – but please – please let me help now. I *want* to help – and I’m his sire. I *can*.”

Buffy studied his expression for a moment, her eyes intent and troubled as she tried to decide.

Her mental deliberations were cut off by the ringing of the doorbell.

Frowning, she turned toward it, pausing to reiterate firmly, “Don’t, Angel – not until I’ve had a chance to talk to you. You need to know what to expect – he’s not – not the same…”

Angel nodded silently, a worried frown creasing his brow as she moved to answer the door. He glanced almost compulsively up the stairs again – but made no move toward them.

Buffy opened the door – and could hardly suppress her irritated sigh.

“Hi, Riley – I’m – kind of busy right…now…”

Her weak protest trailed off as the ex-soldier strode past her into the house, shrugging off her words. “Anything I can help with?”

“No,” she replied emphatically, a slight tremble of ironic laughter in her voice. She wasn’t sure yet whether she was going to tell Riley about Spike at all – let alone enlist his help in caring for him.

As if he would be willing to help at all, anyway – once he knew what it was that she was doing.

The tension level in the room rose immediately as her two exes caught sight of each other, and fell into a stony silence weighted with the unspoken challenge that lay unfinished between them.

“Riley – you remember Angel,” she said flatly, and completely unnecessarily.

“Yeah,” Riley replied slowly, his attention focused on Angel. “What’s he doing here?”

“Riley!” Buffy’s eyes widened in surprise.

“I have every right to be here,” Angel countered, turning around and stepping toward Riley with unmistakable menace in his stance. “What are *you* doing here, boy?”

“Um, hello?” Buffy broke in, rolling her eyes as she stepped deliberately between the two posturing males and placed a hand on each of their chests, pushing them back away from each other with just enough force to remind them that they were dealing with the Slayer.

“Remember me? The one who actually *lives* here, and gets to decide who’s allowed to be here?” she asked pointedly, looking back and forth between them. “And since I let both of you in, I’d say this whole discussion is pointless.” Satisfied that there would be no immediate outbreak of violence, she turned away from them, shaking her head as she muttered resentfully, “Though why I did, I’m really not sure…”

“Hey!” Angel objected, offended.

“What?” Riley frowned, his human hearing not having picked up her words.

Before she could be pressed to explain, or intervene in another tense showdown between the two – Buffy was frustrated and surprised to hear her doorbell ring yet again.

“Grand Central Station around here, and I really don’t have time for this!” she snapped at no one in particular, as she turned and opened the door again. Her expression softened somewhat at the disarming smile on the face of the new person at the door, and she sighed, a resigned smile coming to her lips as she remembered that *this* person was actually *supposed* to be here tonight, for the weekly movie night that he shared with her and Dawn.

Neither she or Dawn had thought to call and cancel for the evening.

“Hey, Xand,” she sighed wearily. “Come on in. Join the party.”

He stepped through the door, his smile fading as he saw who was already gathered there. The three men looked back and forth among themselves for a few tense moments, before Xander remarked flatly, “Wow. Some party.”

Buffy drew in a deep breath, wondering how her evening had spun out of her control so quickly, when all she really wanted to do was to spend it the same way she had spent her day – cuddled up in her bed with her sister and Spike, watching television and bonding with the man she had thought that she had lost forever.

She quickly came to terms with the fact that before that could happen, an explanation was going to be necessary.

Or – perhaps not.

A sudden sound on the stairs drew Buffy’s attention – and the attention of the others – as Buffy’s heart dropped into her stomach with a sudden sick sense of apprehension. Dawn’s voice was clearly heard from the top of the stairs.

“Come on – that’s it – you can do it…*Buffy*!” she called down the stairs excitedly. “Come look at this, look at how much better he’s doing! He’s walking on his own!”

“Who is?” Xander asked, curious, as he ambled toward the bottom of the stairs.

“Dawn…” Buffy objected, wanting to stop her sister – but then realizing that if she stopped Dawn, it would look as if she was trying to hide Spike from the others…and *that* would certainly not tend to make them see the situation in any sort of positive light. “Dawnie, Honey, wait…”

But Dawn was too excited to pay attention to her, as she backed slowly down the stairs, her hands held out in front of her, an encouraging smile on her face. As she reached the middle of the stairs, the group in the living room could see the hands that she held in hers, as she guided her charge carefully down the stairs.

When they came low enough that they could see who the person was -- near pandemonium broke out as everyone began to speak at once.

“What is *he* doing here?” Riley snapped, disgust clear in his voice.

“Um – Buffy – you and Evil Dead here aren’t…?”

“Xander!” she cut him off sharply, giving him a warning look that reminded him that the history he was about to refer to was not exactly common knowledge.

As for Angel, his intent gaze had not left the open, slightly lost expression on the face of his childe. When the others began to speak, he took a step toward the staircase, holding out a warning hand toward the others as he addressed his question to the Slayer.

“My God, Buffy – what happened to him?”

Spike was on about the fourth step, when he suddenly froze, his eyes wide with shock, his body rigid with terror.

“Spike?” Dawn frowned with concern, the first to notice his reaction. “Spike – what…?”

The blonde vampire made no attempt to respond, just began slowly shaking his head, as he jerked his hands out of Dawn’s and back-pedaled rapidly – the only problem being that he was on the stairs, and in so doing, only managed to fall backward onto his rear on the stairs.

Panicked, he drew back against the banister beside him, a high-pitched keening sound, somewhere between a sob and a wail, rising in his throat as he drew his arms up over his head in a pitiful attempt at self-defense against some unknown foe.

Buffy’s eyes widened in alarm as she rushed without hesitation toward the stairs, joining her sister, who was attempting to put her arm around the fearful, resistant vampire, as she whispered reassuringly to him.

“Spike – Honey, what is it?” Buffy murmured, sitting down on the stairs beside him, taking his hands firmly in hers and pulling them gently but insistently down away from his face. “Spike – it’s okay, Spike – calm down, Sweetheart…”

“Sweetheart?” Riley scoffed, his eyebrows raised in skeptical derision.

“Buffy?” Xander’s voice was cautious, full of concern, though Buffy knew that the concern was for her, not Spike. “What’s going on? Can I help?”

Buffy’s outstretched hand toward him, though she did not look at him, halted him where he was. He knew better than to move any closer, but he stayed near in case Buffy should need him to do anything.

Angel ignored the unspoken order, slowly approaching his trembling, terrified childe, who seemed to be attempting to burrow into the Slayer’s side, as she held him close to her, trying to soothe him – with little success.

“Spike?”

The smaller vampire flinched visibly at the low, soft sound of his sire’s voice, freezing momentarily, before pulling back further against Buffy, a pleading whimper in his throat as he clung to her, wordlessly begging for her protection.

“Angel!” she said sharply, her voice hoarse with tears that she had not realized she was shedding until that moment. “Angel, don’t!”

He ignored her, taking another slow cautious step toward the little group huddled on the stairs. “Spike – look at me, Spike,” he said softly, calmly, his dark eyes focused on him intently.

“He doesn’t even know what you’re saying,” Dawn snapped through angry, frustrated tears. “Just back off, Angel!”

A slight frown of annoyance passed across his brow, and then was gone, as Angel resolutely ignored her as well as Buffy, advancing further – and though Buffy was apprehensive about what he was doing, unsure how he could possibly help…something in his face kept her from taking any further action to stop him.

That – and the fact that beside her, Spike had gone completely still.

He still clung to her, his eyes screwed tightly shut, his trembling hands clutching desperately at her blouse – but his shaking had lessened, and his head was tilted slightly toward the older vampire, as he appeared to be listening to his soft, almost hypnotic words.

Angel stopped his advance a few yards from the foot of the stairs. “Spike,” he repeated, a note of authority in his voice – which then softened, as he tried again, more gently.

“*William*…”

Spike went completely still all at once – and then suddenly, withdrew from Buffy, pushing weakly past a stunned, dumbfounded Dawn to stumble blindly down the few remaining stairs – assuming a horrifyingly familiar subservient position at the feet of his sire, who immediately crouched down beside him, reaching out to gently touch his shoulder in a reassuring gesture of comfort.

Though his eyes were solemn with grim dismay at the horrible abuse that had obviously been done to Spike, a slight smile formed on Angel’s face at the considerable success of his attempt. He looked up at Buffy, his lips parted to speak – and froze, at the look of stunned, disgusted accusation on the faces of both girls.

“Angel,” Buffy whispered, her eyes wide and stricken with horror, as she shook her head in a sheer refusal to believe what her eyes were telling her. “My God, Angel – what have you done?”

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“Wait a second!” Angel objected quickly, his voice trembling slightly and his eyes wide with alarm as the stunned look on the Slayer’s face shifted before his eyes into a mask of sheer fury. “Buffy – you’ve got this all wrong! I haven’t…”

“Do I?” she countered, standing up from where she sat on the stairs, coming down the last few and stepping past the kneeling blonde vampire to stand in front of Angel – who swiftly rose to his feet when he saw her approaching.

He hoped to be able to convince her that he was telling the truth – but at any rate, he knew that it would be best for him to be on his feet when she reached him, to at least have a chance at defending himself physically – should it come to that.

It was really beginning to look like it might.

“Let’s just do a brief recap, then, shall we?” Buffy went on, giving the larger vampire a rough shove backward – away from Spike. “I go to you for help to find him – and you practically bite my head off and refuse to help…and then for some reason, the very *day* after I find him in that – that torture chamber – you just ‘happen’ to decide that all of a sudden, you wanna do the right thing?”

“Buffy – I should have come sooner, I know – but that doesn’t mean…”

“*Something* sure freaked him out just then! I try to tell you guys to all just back off – but big surprise -- *you* think you know what’s best, better than I do!” Buffy rolled her eyes, and her scathing tone made Angel wince, as she advanced on him, backing him into the living room and away from the trembling, cowering vampire still on his knees behind them.

Once both Angel and Buffy had moved away, Spike began shaking again, whimpering – apparently not daring to move from the position he had assumed, and yet terrified by the angry sounds around him, having no way of knowing what was going on or what to expect.

While both Xander and Riley just stood there near the stairs, watching the confrontation between Buffy and the former love of her life with a certain amount of pleasure in their gleeful expressions, Dawn chose to focus her attention on her friend, as she hurried down the last few steps and knelt beside him, putting her arms around him and gently trying to coax him up out of that awful, subservient position that made her stomach hurt just looking at it.

“Spike,” she whispered, “it’s okay…Buffy’s not gonna let Angel hurt you – I promise…you’re safe, it’s okay, I don’t care what he told you but you don’t have to do this! Come on, Spike, get up…get up, Spike…” she urged him.

But he absolutely refused to move; it was as if she was not even speaking to him. She was relieved to feel him leaning slightly toward her, as if seeking the comfort that she offered – but something had him convinced that he was supposed to be on his face before Angel – and he seemed determined to stay that way, for the moment.

“Buffy,” Angel continued to defend himself the moment that Buffy stopped to take a breath – something that he did not have to do – “you don’t understand. It’s a vampire thing – I’m his sire! Naturally, he’s going to sense my authority…”

“He doesn’t even remember his own *name* for all we know!” Buffy snapped, the rage in her voice clearly not all because of the single incident that had just happened. “If he does, he can’t tell us! He doesn’t remember us from before – how in the world would he react like that to *you* unless you’re the one who’s…”

“I’m not!” Angel insisted, raising his voice in frustration as his back hit the wall beside the couch, and for the first time he became actually a little bit afraid for his safety. “Buffy, I’m his sire! His demon is going to be aware of that in some way, no matter what’s happened! He’s going to sense the authority of the bond, and remember…”

“Remember what?” Buffy cut him off again, and he flinched at the clear threat in her darkened jade eyes as she moved in closer to him menacingly. “Is that how you used to treat him before? When you were his sire? Because if it is…”

“I’m *still* his sire!” Angel suddenly exploded, his game face coming to the forefront as he stepped forward, a challenge in his blazing golden eyes. He didn’t touch Buffy – but she still found herself stumbling back a step or two at his sudden movement. “I always will be his sire! *Nothing* can change that!”

The intensity of his trembling voice, the defensive rage for his childe that, if not sincere, was terribly convincing, halted Buffy’s continued attack, for the moment. She swallowed hard as she fought for control of her own voice, her emotions, before she finally replied in a low, trembling voice of anger and accusation.

“Really? Because I sure thought you felt differently a couple of weeks ago!”

Angel winced slightly at the very deserved condemnation of her words – and his game face slowly faded back into his human guise, as he drew in a deep, settling breath, before meeting her eyes again.

“I’m sorry, Buffy. I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. But I’m here *now* -- and I’m here to help – because he needs me – not to hurt him. I’m not the one that did this to him, Buffy – I didn’t hurt him. I swear it.”

Buffy studied his expression for a long moment, and found herself, almost against her will, desperately wanting to believe him. After all – this was *Angel*…and while she no longer had the feelings for him that she once had, she hated to think that he was capable of committing such horrible acts as had been done to Spike.

*He is,* a traitorous voice in her mind reminded her. *Or at least – he was…*

“Then why did he freak out the second he came downstairs?” she asked – though the question was more troubled and thoughtful than angry and accusing.

Angel shrugged, a grim expression on his face as he looked past her to the terrified blonde vampire, still shaking violently despite Dawn’s attempts to comfort him. “I don’t know,” he replied. Then, his eyes narrowed as he raised his eyes to take in the other two men in the room, where they stood a few yards away.

“But I’m not the only new factor in this equation for Spike, Buffy,” he pointed out – and there was a low, dark edge to his voice that sent a little shiver down her spine, though she knew the emotions she heard there were not directed at her.

She stared up at him suddenly, startled, as she realized what it was that he was suggesting.

“You mean – you think…?”

“Hey,” Xander objected, his eyes wide with surprise, an edge of disgust to his voice at the very idea of what Angel was insinuating. “I’m no friend of Spike’s – we all know that – but I haven’t seen him in months. And if I was gonna do anything at all to him, I’d stake him – not – turn him into a retard or whatever the heck happened to him,” he remarked with a dismissive sort of wave in the direction of the kneeling, whimpering creature.

“Don’t look at me,” Riley snorted when everyone did. “Hey – I just got back in town.”

“And it could be something else entirely,” Angel admitted quietly, though he seemed reluctant to detract from any suspicions she might be developing toward the other two. “I mean – he’s not exactly coherent. We really have no way of knowing *what* it was that set him off.”

Buffy felt as if the breath – and the steam she had been running on during the confrontation with Angel – had just been knocked out of her, as she glanced between the three men in confusion and uncertainty.

Finally, she let out a weary sigh and said quietly, “We’re going to have to sit down – I’ll explain to you guys what’s going on, and we’ll see if we can figure this out. But first – I need to take care of Spike. Everybody just – go. Sit down. In the living room. And – try not to kill each other…”

“Buffy,” Angel began hesitantly. “I can…”

“Just go sit down, Angel,” she cut him off sharply. “I can handle this – and until we know what’s going on here, I think it’s best if you stay out of it.”

Angel opened his mouth as if to protest, but then seemed to think better of it, and forced himself to walk past his childe and into the living room, leaving Spike’s care to Buffy for the moment.

The Slayer knelt at the side of the traumatized vampire, who immediately turned toward her, grasping desperately at her skirt as he rested his head on her knees, sobbing softly with fear and confusion.

“Shhh,” she whispered soothingly, reaching a hand down to gently touch his cheek, while her other hand went to his shoulder in an attempt to push him up to a sitting position, to get him to face her. “Spike – it’s all right – get up, Sweetie. Get up.”

At her gentle command, he flinched slightly – and though she hated to think that he still thought he *had* to do it, just because she had said so…she could not quite bring herself to take the words back. She wanted very badly for him to understand that he was not her prisoner or slave or whatever it was that he had been made to see himself as – but until she could convince him of that, his need to please *did* make certain situations a little easier to deal with.

The sense of guilt she felt at that very thought was overwhelming – but she pushed it back, focusing on Spike and what he needed from her right then.

As he raised tear-soaked, reddened eyes to hers – her breath was nearly stolen away by the stark pain and panic in his gaze, wild and darting around the room, no doubt searching for whatever threat had thrown him into such a panic in the first place.

“It’s all right,” she assured him, gently running her fingers down his cheek in a soothing, repetitive motion which gradually drew his focus back in to her face. “It’s okay, Spike, nobody is going to hurt you. *Nobody* -- I promise. I want you to go upstairs – okay? You and Dawn?”

His immediate glance toward the girl at his other side startled her – and thrilled her – but there was no time to exult in this most recent small sign of progress, not right then.

“Dawn?” she repeated quietly, nodding in a leading manner, pleased when he once more glanced at the younger girl before meeting her eyes again. “Go with Dawn…okay?”

Spike nodded emphatically, and Buffy smiled. It was very clear that leaving the room was exactly what he wanted at that point – to retreat back to the safety of the upstairs bedroom where they had spent the day.

If only she could do the same – but she couldn’t. Not yet.

There was a very important conversation – or three – to be had first.

*********************************

Spike was so terribly confused, utterly terror-stricken, could not seem to think past the panic of recognition that had come over him at the sound of that awful, familiar voice – the one that he had fooled himself into thinking could not find him here, not as long as he was in this warm, safe place – with *her*.

But that voice *had* found him.

In his haste to escape, he only managed to stumble and collapse on the unfamiliar obstacle behind him – the one that the younger girl had wanted him to attempt to manage – and could not hold back the sobs of desperation and despair, at the realization that there was no way he would be able to get away – not before *he* got to him.

The girl had tried to soothe him, her soft voice telling him lies that he knew could not be possible. She could try all she wanted to make him believe that he was safe, that he would not be punished – but as long as that voice was there, in the background as she spoke, there was no way that he could believe it.

And then -- *she* was there, with her arms around him, holding him close to her and reassuring him…and though he did not understand much about his current situation at the moment, there was one thing that he sensed on an instinctive level, through his panic and confusion.

If there was anyone that could protect him from his tormentor – it was her.

He had clung to her, his mind racing in the frantic, useless attempt to find words for his desperation, for the plea he wanted to make for her mercy, her protection.

*Please,* his mind echoed again and again, though he could not make the thought come out in words. *Please, please, don’t let him, don’t let him hurt me, please!*

Her soothing voice as she held him close to her seemed to suggest that she understood.

But then – another voice had entered his hearing – oddly familiar – and full of a power that he could not quite understand – and yet…it *called* to him…

He froze within her embrace, trying to understand…as that soft, powerful voice went on and on…

“*William*…”

Something electrifyingly powerful – some flash of recognition, there only for an instant…and then gone – flew through his mind at the sound of the word that he *knew* -- he just could not remember how…

And suddenly, a new knowledge entered his mind.

This one before him, speaking to him, held the power of life and death over him. Something deep within him recognized the authority in that voice, in the softly spoken command as he was ordered, “Come here…”

And he could do nothing – but to come.

Even as he obeyed, falling at the feet of this new – and yet so very old – power, as he knew was required of him – he felt an anxious uncertainty at the thought of the girl who had been holding him only moments before – the girl who had rescued him from his torment and been so kind to him…

…the girl whose power, whose protective anger he could feel even from here…

And suddenly – he had no idea whose command to obey.

He simply stayed there, trembling, on his face, not daring to move at all, as voices were raised in the sounds of a violent confrontation – and he knew, again instinctively, that whatever they were saying, the battle of wills was over *him*, and his fate.

And he had no idea who he wanted to win.

He simply waited in humble submission – to him – to her – to them both – until the outburst seemed to have passed…and then, she was back, on her knees beside him, drawing him back into her arms.

He had no idea what had happened – all he knew was that he wanted so desperately to be right there, with her – no where else – and was terrified of being taken from her. Still, in spite of that desire, he could feel the powerful pull of the other one, the one whom he sensed should mean so much to him.

And all the while, in the background, the terrifying presence of the one who had broken him so thoroughly.

*Please, please don’t let him take me…please…please…please…*

When she told him to get up, and he knew that she wanted him to look at her, it was all he could do to obey. All he wanted right then was to hide away forever from the confusion, the tearing of his heart between these two desires – but he obeyed.

When she told him to “go with Dawn” glancing as she did at the other girl beside them – his mind made a new connection, between the dark-haired girl staring up at him with concern, and the word that the other girl seemed to use so frequently around her – or rather – to *refer* to her…

It clicked in his mind, like the few other random pieces of information he had managed to put together since being here.

It was her name.

*Dawn*.

He could feel the older girl’s approval at his understanding, and his wounded spirit reveled in the warmth and joy of knowing that he had pleased her. When she asked him again to go with Dawn upstairs, he eagerly agreed, wanting to escape the confusion and terror of the scene, the horrible presence of his enemy – but more than anything, wanting to please *her* again.

Trusting to her judgment, leaving her fate in his hands – Spike obediently followed Dawn up the stairs.

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Silent, her arms crossed over her chest in a determined stance, Buffy walked slowly, purposefully, into the living room, where Angel, Riley, and Xander were all waiting for her.

None of the three even looked at each other; each seemed intent on completely ignoring the presence of the others.

All eyes were on her, as she looked thoughtfully from one to the other, her fierce, piercing gaze every bit the Slayer that she was.

“Okay – we are going to get to the bottom of this – no matter how long it takes.”

“Okay,” Xander replied without hesitation, but in a very calm, nonconfrontational voice, “before we do that…don’t you think most of us should know what ‘this’ is?”

After a long moment of silence, Buffy let out a weary sigh, as she sat down on the arm of the one chair in the room that no one was sitting in, covering her face with her hands for a moment. When she raised her eyes to look around the room again, some of the anger seemed to have left her expression.

“Buffy – I know you were looking for Spike a couple of weeks ago,” Angel began cautiously, obviously a bit wary of arousing her anger again. “Why don’t you just start by telling us about – when you found him? What happened to him, Buffy?”

The genuine concern she heard in his voice for Spike was the only thing that kept Buffy from being irritated by his usual tendency to try to take charge of the situation. That – and her total exhaustion and weariness of having to be the one in charge of the situation.

“I’m still trying to figure that out,” she replied, her gaze still traveling from one of the men sitting in front of her to the next, again and again, trying to gauge their reactions, to determine how much each knew, and whether or not they were hiding anything. “He hasn’t been able to talk since I found him, so – I haven’t got much to go on besides assumptions.”

“Why can’t he talk?” Riley frowned in confusion, though his interest seemed grudging, as if he somehow felt he was lowering himself even to ask about the vampire’s welfare.

Buffy had the sudden urge to throw him bodily out of her home.

“You were looking for Spike? Even after…” Xander’s incredulous voice broke off abruptly, and he suddenly averted his gaze, as if all at once deciding that he did not really want to bring up the painful history that he had been thinking of, not in front of Riley and Angel anyway.

“Yes, I was looking for Spike,” Buffy replied pointedly, a warning in her glittering green eyes as she returned her best friend’s slightly accusing look boldly. “I was worried about him. I’m sorry if that bothers some of you, but you have a relationship with someone and they just drop off the face of the earth – you’re pretty much gonna worry. Period. Can we move on now?”

“Oh, so it was a relationship, now,” Xander muttered, rolling his eyes as he looked away from her sullenly. “Last I heard it was a mistake.”

Choosing her battles carefully, considering the gravity of the situation, Buffy allowed that comment to pass unanswered, as she instead launched into her explanation, such as it was. She really did not know that much more than anyone else in the room about what had happened to Spike, as far as she knew.

“Riley,” she began, “the other night when we were patrolling, and we broke up that sacrifice? You know, the slime demons? When I chased that one, he led me down into the old Initiative caves.” She held his gaze intently for a moment, searching for a reaction – which she did not find – before looking at the others in turn as well.

“Spike was there,” she went on simply, her voice quiet but full of intense emotion, as she forced herself to stay calm enough to get the entire story out. “Chained up in those caves. He – he couldn’t see. He didn’t know me. He was – scared of me. He thought I was going to hurt him every time I touched him…”

The slight, almost inaudible growl that rose in Angel’s throat took her by surprise, and she looked at him sharply, one eyebrow raised in a silent question.

His eyes widened when he became aware of the unintentional reaction, and he abruptly stopped growling, looking away from Buffy as he asked in a tone that was suddenly all business, “Any idea why he was like that? What happened?”

Without revealing her source of the information – for some reason feeling that it was probably best to leave Anya’s involvement out of the story for now, as long as Xander was around – Buffy replied tersely, “He’d been shot. In the head.”

A long moment of intense silence followed that announcement, as she took in the stunned expression of Xander, who looked as if even his known hatred of Spike could not dull the shock of such an act; followed by Riley’s surprised, but not particularly upset, look, reminding her that he had probably seen, and accepted, much worse acts done to vampires than a relatively “simple” bullet to the head.

As she turned to Angel, she jumped slightly, startled to see him in game face – and apparently unaware of it. He was making a visible effort to control his anger, not making a sound, though his golden eyes blazed with fury.

She quickly looked away from him, directing her attention to the other two, in an attempt to hold their focus, as she went on, “They had him chained up down there – I have no idea how long – they’d been starving him, and – and beating him – and worse. He’d been tortured. Very, very badly. That’s why he – he was so scared…”

She paused, swallowing back a sob, blinking back tears as she tried to regain enough control of her emotions to go on. Finally, she managed to continue, “It – it changed him. He can’t remember – anything, I think. Anyone. He didn’t remember me or Dawn – even very basic things – there’s only a few words he knew when I found him, and that was only because – whoever had him down there – had said them to him before…”

She lowered her eyes, unable to meet their questioning gazes as she thought of the way Spike had reacted to her when she had first found him, pleading and terrified and desperately submissive – obeying without hesitation anything that even remotely resembled a command.

“What words?” Angel’s sudden, softly spoken question drew her attention.

But she could not respond.

“Buffy – what words?” he pressed her, and she could hear the growl beginning in the back of his throat again.

“If he was that bad,” Riley broke in impatiently, a look of undisguised disgust on his face, “why didn’t you just stake him? Put the poor thing out of his misery? Seems to me that’d be kinder than letting him go on like that…”

Buffy fought back a wave of anger and resentment, fully aware that Riley’s concern had nothing to do with Spike’s welfare, and everything to do with his own jealousy and hatred of the blonde vampire who had eventually succeeded in winning his ex-girlfriend’s affections. She reminded herself that in a way, it was a valid question, considering the extent of Spike’s injuries – injuries that, had he been human, he would probably never have recovered from.

But – Spike was *not* human.

“I can’t, Riley,” she replied, trying very hard to keep the impatience and anger from her voice. “Not as long as – as long as there’s a chance that he can…can get better…and he already *has* gotten better…”

“Buffy – no offense here,” Xander said with a sigh, his dark eyes meeting hers with concern and a bit of an apology for what he was about to say, “but – don’t you think it’d be better for everyone involved? I mean – sure, maybe, in like, *years*, Spike could recover from those injuries – but are you just gonna focus all your time on helping him get well? What about the slaying? Do you really think that *Spike* deserves so much of your time and attention?”

Buffy was silent for a long moment, her mind backtracking over the past couple of years – playing over scenes in her mind…Spike’s bruised and tortured form, sitting on the sarcophagus in his crypt after taking a truly hellish beating for refusing to betray Dawn to Glory…Spike’s earnest promise to protect her little sister “to the end of the world”, which he had faithfully kept, even after her own death…Spike’s giving her everything he had to give the previous year, when she had been so full of pain and brokenness that it was all she ever offered him…his bruised and bloodied face in the alley that night, behind the police station…

…and there was only one answer that she could honestly give.

“Yes.”

Xander studied her expression for a long moment – and wisely seemed to decide that arguing with her would be, at the very least, useless. He simply sighed and looked thoughtfully down at the arm of the couch on which his fingers were idly drumming.

“He’s got a point, though, Buffy,” Riley pressed – not possessing anywhere near the sort of instincts that Xander did when it came to the Slayer and her moods and emotions. “I mean – you have so much you’re responsible to do – how can you justify spending so much time on helping a *vampire* get well?” The incredulous note of disgust to his voice was impossible to miss.

“I’m not going to let anything else go to take care of Spike,” Buffy insisted, the tension rising in her voice with her frustrations. “It’s amazing how much he’s recovered just with one night of getting enough to eat. He’s already getting his sight back. I know I’ll be able to handle it – and I’ve got Dawn to help…”

“And me,” Angel interrupted firmly, his dark eyes challenging either of the other males to question the statement. “I’ll help.”

“Look,” Buffy went on, a tired note to her voice, which nevertheless held a certainty that allowed for no argument. “I know neither of you – none of you, really,” she added with a glance at Angel, “are all that thrilled about my relationship with Spike. But at the very least, he’s earned my friendship – and I’m *going* to help him. That’s not up for debate. If you absolutely cannot handle that – then there’s the door,” she concluded with an admittedly over-dramatic gesture of her arm toward the front door.

No one moved.

“Fine,” Buffy continued with a slight nod of satisfaction. “Then what I’m really wondering about, is what just happened in here a few minutes ago. Spike was doing a lot better – calming down some and starting to feel safer – then he came down those stairs, and bam! Instant freak out. What’s up with that?”

Although Angel had done his best to explain Spike’s earlier reaction to him, and Buffy really wanted to trust him, she still found herself turning her questioning eyes to the dark vampire as she spoke.

Angel let out a sigh of restrained frustration at her continued suspicion, as he repeated intently, “Buffy, I told you – I have no idea what made him freak out like that – but I did *not* do that to him!”

“Then why the instant obedience thing?” she frowned, puzzled, and still a bit suspicious in spite of herself. “You said come here, and he immediately went to you.” There was just the barest hint of accusation in her voice, and the words she had not said were still clear to Angel’s mind.

*…and left *me*…*

“It’s a vampire thing, Buffy. I’m Spike’s sire. He was freaking out, I wanted to calm him down – I used my sire voice with him,” Angel finally admitted, his eyes momentarily downcast, before looking back up at hers a bit anxiously, for her reaction.

“Sire voice?” she echoed, one eyebrow raised in expectation of further clarification.

“A childe can’t resist his sire’s voice, when it’s used a certain way. He had to obey…”

“Oh, that’s just great!” Buffy cut him off, her voice full of venom as she whirled around to face him, throwing her hands up momentarily in an “I give up!” sort of gesture. “He’s just been through probably months of torture and being forced to do whatever he’s told – and just when I’m starting to get through to him *you* come along and start forcing him to…”

“No, Buffy, it’s not like that!” Angel urgently tried to explain. “I don’t expect you to understand, because you’re not a vampire – but it’s not a – a scary or abusive kind of thing – at least – not the way I used it that time. The way I used it – it can actually be comforting. I tried to make him feel safer – protected.”

Buffy was silent, taking that in – and she had to admit as she played the scene over in her head, that Spike had not really seemed *afraid* of Angel in that moment, but had rather seemed to be seeking the same sort of defense and protection that he had been seeking from her only moments before Angel had spoken.

*I was doing just fine,* the slightly resentful thought crossed her mind unbidden.

Her eyes widened, startled and slightly embarrassed at the sudden self-revelation that followed the thought. *Oh, come on, Buffy,* she chided herself. *You getting jealous over who he needs more is not going to help Spike at all!*

Suddenly, something Angel had said registered with her, and she latched onto it with subconscious relief, as the idea distracted her from her self-reflection.

“This time?” she repeated the words that had caught her attention, her eyes narrowing on her one-time lover in anger. “As opposed to the other times when you *did* use the sire voice thingy to hurt him?”

Angel’s expression took on a trapped quality, his eyes widening with guilt, just before he looked away from her. “Not in a – a very long time, Buffy,” he assured her nervously. “I swear it, Buffy – I haven’t done anything to hurt him in – in years.”

Buffy maintained her searching gaze, tilting her head slightly as she thought the situation through carefully. “So – even though he doesn’t remember anything – he somehow sensed that Dawn was safe – and he somehow recognizes you as his sire – so the whole submissive bowing thing – is *that* a throwback to his old memories, too? Did you used to make him do that, before?”

She knew it really wasn’t relevant – not after so much time had passed – but she somehow couldn’t stop herself from asking. She had to know.

Angel was silent for a moment, still not looking up at her, apparently accepting her scathing questions as no less than his due. “No,” he replied quietly. “It’s not. I could never make him do that…” He paused, suddenly looking up to meet her eyes with an arresting gaze, as he finished in a firm, unflinching voice, “…even when I tried to.”

Buffy did not back down, holding his gaze firmly, her eyes blazing with a righteous vindication and indignation on Spike’s behalf which, in all fairness, was not really all aimed at Angel – but she did not say a word, sensing that he was not quite through yet.

“No – I think that he instinctively recognized the authority in the sire voice,” he went on slowly, thinking it through carefully as he went along, “he had to have recognized it, because he *did* respond to it – but the – the bowing thing…that’s – I think it’s – the way he’s learned to respond to someone – in authority. Since his injury.”

Buffy’s expression darkened as she thought back to Spike’s initial reaction to her in the caves, his immediate response when she and Dawn had tried to feed him – and Angel’s educated guesses seemed to ring true. One thought echoed in her mind as she tried to force the painful images to the back of her thoughts again.

*Someone is going to pay…*

“Whoever did this – whatever they did,” Angel continued, his eyes flashing golden at the thought of the damage that had been done to his childe, “they managed to break him in a way that I as Angelus, at my worst, never did. And for that – they *will* pay.”

In his mind, Angel added intently, though he had no intention of further agitating Buffy with the sentiment,

*Because *nobody* touches my boy – but *me*!*

“Oh, yes, they will,” Buffy agreed, a subtle challenge in her blazing emerald gaze.

*Because *nobody* hurts *my* vampire and gets away with it!*

And in that instant, as the eyes of the master vampire and the powerful Slayer locked on each other, a silent challenge was passed between them, a single thought that each held in certainty, in regard to the helpless, broken vampire in the upstairs bedroom.

*Mine*!

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The Slayer and the master vampire stood there for a long moment, glaring daggers at each other over the unspoken challenge that lay between them, before they seemed to simultaneously come to a decision.

They both cared about Spike, and he had been through a terrible ordeal. He was going to need a lot of support and caring and protection – and he was not necessarily completely out of danger yet, as long as the person who had done those things to him was still out there free.

For the moment – each decided that the other was not exactly the person they needed to be fighting.

“So – I still don’t get why he freaked out when he came down the stairs,” Buffy sighed, breaking the intense gaze she had been sharing with Angel and looking at the two men seated on the couch. “I mean – what could have caused that?”

“Vampires have very acute senses of smell, Buffy,” Angel pointed out thoughtfully, his own dark eyes fastened on Riley and Xander as well – but with a much greater suspicion in his gaze. “He hadn’t even looked this way when it happened – so my guess would be he either smelled something familiar – or heard a familiar voice – that frightened him.”

Buffy frowned, puzzled for a moment – and then her eyes widened with obvious dismay as she looked at Angel again. “You’re not saying that you think it was someone here who…”

“Five minutes ago it didn’t seem so strange to you,” the vampire muttered, rolling his eyes as he turned slightly away from her, obviously still a bit offended by her earlier suspicion.

Buffy deliberately ignored his behavior, which bordered on pouting, and replied instead, “But – I don’t think…”

“Or, it’s possible that he just heard the sound of an *unfamiliar* male voice,” Angel suggested, an odd look in his eyes as he held Buffy’s gaze. “Or smelled that there were men here – because men smell different than women, you know…and if it was a man that did it to him…it could have been enough…”

Buffy nodded slowly, not quite catching on to Angel’s attempt at wordless communication. “He’s only been with women since we found him. Just me and Dawn and – me and Dawn…so…maybe that’s all it was…”

Angel nodded, seemingly satisfied. “That’s probably all it was,” he agreed.

Buffy let out a weary sigh – which changed to a yawn halfway through – before smiling apologetically at her friends. “Hey, guys, I’m not trying to be rude – but it’s been a really long day, and I really think I ought to check on Spike. I just think it might be best if everybody just went home for now – okay?”

Xander looked troubled, glancing up the stairs before meeting Buffy’s eyes with resignation. “Okay, Buffy. Whatever you think is best,” he agreed quietly.

Seeing the concern on his face, Buffy stifled her annoyance at his obvious – and typical – suspicions. “Xander – he can barely walk down the stairs on his own…he’s not dangerous.”

“Did I say he was dangerous?” Xander retorted mildly, giving her a conciliatory smile of resignation as he headed for the door. “You owe me a rein check on movie night, Buffy,” he reminded her as he left the house.

“I don’t know, Buffy,” Riley said, stopping at the base of the stairs on his way to the door, glancing up them with undisguised distrust. “I know you don’t think he’s dangerous – but he’s like a wounded animal, Buffy. Totally unpredictable. Are you sure you don’t want me to…?”

“I’ll stay if Buffy needs someone to stay,” Angel cut him off coldly, glaring at the ex-soldier with clear disdain.

Buffy had no intention of Angel’s staying, either – but if it would help to get Riley to leave…

“See?” she smiled up at him with false gratitude. “Thank you, Riley – but I’m okay, really. You can go.” Silently, in her head, she added, **Please* go!*

As soon as Riley had reluctantly shut the door behind him, Buffy turned to face Angel.

“Please go,” she stated firmly, giving him a serious look. “I mean – I appreciate this, Angel, I really do – but I think it’d be better if it was just us right now…”

Angel was silent for a long moment, taking in her expression, obviously wanting to argue. Like the other two before him, he glanced uncertainly up the stairs – but the look in his eyes was one of compassion and worry, rather than hatred and suspicion.

“Buffy,” he said finally, meeting her eyes again. “I really wish you’d let me stay. I think I can help. But – if you won’t…at least listen to what I have to say.”

Buffy was silent, her expression not changing, as she waited for him to go on.

“I don’t think you should trust those guys…”

“Xander and Riley?” she said incredulously. “Angel, you can’t be serious! Do you honestly think that one of them could have done something so horrible?”

“Yes,” he stated simply.

She stared at him for a moment, before shaking her head emphatically. “No,” she argued insistently. “No, Angel, I *know* them – and I know that they’re not capable of…”

“You *never* know what someone is capable of,” he pointed out intently, his dark eyes blazing with a fierce, passionate need to make her see the danger that he could see. “Until they get the reason and the means to do it – you never know what someone can do.”

Buffy lowered her eyes, having no argument for what he was saying, besides her faith in her friends. “You said it could have just been…”

“I know what I said,” Angel cut her off gently. “And I wasn’t lying. But – it’s much more likely that it was a *specific* scent or sound, to set him off that badly. I just – didn’t want to give too much away…if it *was* one of them, and they know that you’re starting to suspect them – well – they’re around here a lot – it might not be…*safe*. For Spike.”

Buffy stared at him blankly for a moment, before what he was saying became clear in her mind.

“Are you saying that whoever did this might try to hurt him? To shut him up, before he can recover enough to tell me who did this?”

Angel’s silent gaze was answer enough.

“Okay, first of all – it couldn’t have been Xander or Riley who did this. And secondly, I don’t care if they *did* do this, *nothing* is going to happen to Spike while he’s here with me! I’m going to make sure that he’s safe – and at least until he’s gotten a *lot* better, there is no freakin’ way that I’m letting him out of mine and Dawnie’s sight!”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Angel answered after a moment’s silence as he considered her words. “Please be sure that you don’t.” He turned and opened the door, pausing just before stepping out into the night, looking at her pensively over his shoulder, “This is my childe we’re talking about here, Buffy. The last thing I want is to see him hurt any worse.”

Buffy was quiet for a moment, considering what to say – and then replied with an unmistakable note of reproof to her quiet, calm voice, “Nice of you to come to that conclusion -- *now*.”

Stung by her harsh words, Angel turned to go.

“Angel.”

He stopped on the porch, without turning, not wanting her to see the tears of guilt and hurt in his dark eyes.

“Please – don’t leave town.”

Surprised, he turned to face her, wanting to see the expression in her eyes – which immediately softened as she saw the unmistakable emotion in his eyes.

“I – we might need you. I’m *sure* we’ll need you,” she relented softly. “It’s just – for tonight – I want some time with him. To make sure he’s – calm – and feels safe…reassured. Okay?”

“Okay,” Angel agreed simply, as he turned and headed off into town, to find an available room for the next few nights…or weeks…

**********************************

Dawn was lying on the bed next to a badly shaken Spike, who was just starting to calm down a little, at the same time that Buffy and Angel were arguing about his fate downstairs. As the sound of raised voices reached their ears – and Dawn realized that he must have heard them long before she did – Spike flinched slightly, burying his face in her shoulder with a soft little whining sound.

“It’s all right, Spike,” she whispered soothingly, her slender arms holding the physically larger creature close to her – though at the moment he hardly seemed larger at all. Maybe a bit taller – but he had lost so much weight (and so much confidence) that he hardly seemed the greater of the two of them at the moment. “Me and Buffy aren’t gonna let anything bad happen to you, ever again…okay? I promise,” she whispered.

The way that her friend clung to her – the way his soft, pleading sounds seemed to die away as she held him and spoke softly to him – seemed to suggest that he understood at least a little of what she was saying…and Dawn suddenly remembered what had happened on the stairs just before they had come up to the bedroom, with a little thrill of excitement at the thought.

A sudden inspiration hit her, as she heard her sister’s angry voice raised again, and felt Spike flinch against her again. His keen vampire hearing did not seem to be allowing him to relax, no matter how hard she tried to get him to. Every angry word drifting up from downstairs seemed to make him tense up again, obviously reminding him of the abuse he had suffered, making him instinctively expect to experience more of the same.

What they needed was a major distraction – and fast.

She sat up suddenly, gently pulling Spike up with her, and placing a few soft pillows between his back and the headboard, before guiding him back to settle against them. He was watching her intently, a silent question in his luminous blue eyes. They were so clear, his gaze so piercingly expressive – Dawn found herself wondering if the second meal he had had that morning was already kicking in, and his vision had improved even since then.

His eyes *did* seem to be more focused on her, darting to follow her every movement as she shifted to sit cross-legged on the bed facing him.

“Wanna play a game?” she asked with a bright, encouraging smile.

**********************************

As Buffy trudged wearily up the stairs to her room, she found herself almost dreading what she might face when she walked through her bedroom door. Judging by how terrified Spike had been when she had sent him upstairs, and having only her little sister and her very limited experience in the realm of comfort…

Well, she did not expect it to be pretty.

Cautiously, she edged the door open, glancing inside before entering – not just throwing the door open as Dawn had done earlier. She did not want to do anything to frighten Spike unnecessarily.

Dawn did not seem to have heard her yet – but Spike was sitting on the bed, facing the door, very still as he looked intently toward it…and Buffy remembered what Angel had said about scent. Even if he could not quite see her through the crack in the door, it was likely that Spike already knew she was there.

*That’s a good thing, in this case,* she thought gratefully. *No surprises. He doesn’t need any more surprises right now…*

Satisfied that she would not be causing another major freak out by doing so, she opened the door and slipped quietly inside – finally alerting her sister to her presence, as well as Spike. Dawn turned around on the bed, beaming up at her with excitement.

“Buffy, you’ve gotta see this!” she announced exultantly. “Come sit over here and watch what Spike can do!”

“You’ve been teaching him already?” Buffy was surprised – and pleased.

“I thought it might be a good time to start,” Dawn said softly – and the look in her eyes made her reasoning clear to her older sister.

Buffy was *very* impressed.

Dawn just kept surprising her with the way she was handling this situation. She couldn’t say that she would have thought of it herself – but judging by Spike’s state of relative calm at the moment, Dawn’s attempt at distracting the nervous vampire seemed to have worked.

At least – until Buffy got close enough for him to catch the slight scent of the guys on her from downstairs.

He flinched slightly, pulling back against the headboard, looking at her, and around the room, over and over in confusion – as if he could not understand why he could smell what he perceived to be his enemy, and yet could not see him anywhere in the room.

“It’s okay,” Buffy soothed him gently, moving up to the head of the bed and carefully sitting down beside him, wrapping her arms around him and allowing him to nestle into her warmth, resting his head on her shoulder. “It’s just me – nobody here but just us…okay? Nobody’s going to hurt you, Spike…”

He seemed grateful for her nearness, desperate for the security that he was coming to associate with her – and yet still very confused by the scent that he could not quite place.

Noticing his obvious discomfort, Dawn decided to take charge of distracting him once more.

“Watch this, Buffy,” she repeated, meeting her sister’s eyes with a knowing look. “Spike is such a fast learner. I’m so proud of him!”

Though he could not understand all of the words, Spike glanced up at her at the sound of his name – a fact Buffy noticed with a thrill of joy, at this new and vital progress – and then smiled cautiously at the sound of approval and pride in her voice as she looked at him, talked about him.

“Spike,” Dawn said clearly, and he raised his head to look at her expectantly. “Where’s the *bed*, Spike?”

He hesitated just a moment, before lowering a hand to softly pat the mattress beside him, his eyes watching hers uncertainly for her response.

“Good!” Dawn exulted – and the vampire’s shy little smile grew just a tiny bit wider. “Now where’s the floor?”

Spike’s hesitant hand pointed in the correct direction seemed a cause for genuine celebration for the Summers’ girls. The new words he had learned seemed so simple, so basic – and yet, each new success gave them a fresh hope, with the reassurance that he *could* learn again – could eventually regain all that he had lost.

Because while he had had all his knowledge taken from him – he was *not* stupid.

“You’re doing good, Spike,” Buffy whispered to him, running a tender hand through his hair, careful to keep her touch to the top of his head. “Good – very good, Spike…”

She felt a little tremor go through him at her words, and tilted her head slightly forward to search his expression with concern – and was thrilled to see the beaming smile on his face as he gazed up at her with adoration in his hopeful blue eyes, as he thirstily soaked up the praise and affirmation that had been withheld from him for so long.

“Spike,” Dawn continued, drawing his gaze back to hers, this time with obvious excitement in his eyes to continue the game. “Who’s Dawn?” Her sapphire eyes twinkled playfully as she raised her hands in an exaggerated shrug, as if to suggest that she did not know.

He gave her a knowing look that resembled a look the old Spike might have given her, had she ever treated him so patronizingly, as he reached out a hesitant hand to briefly touch hers, before quickly drawing it away with a shy, uncertain tuck of his head as he leaned it back on Buffy’s shoulder.

“Good,” both girls said almost at once, as Buffy cuddled in closer to him, more than content just to sit there and hold him, for as long as he wanted. She glanced up at Dawn with a grateful smile. “Dawnie, honey, you’re doing so good too,” she informed her. “He’s picking up so much – and you’re really helping him a lot.”

“We need to teach him your name next,” Dawn stated with a self-satisfied grin.

“He may already know it,” Buffy observed softly, glancing down at him. “He already knew yours before you started teaching him. He recognized that I was talking about you downstairs.”

“Spike,” Dawn tried to get his attention again, though it was obvious that he was beginning to drift off to sleep in the Slayer’s warm embrace.

He had had a very traumatic little experience that evening, following a relatively long day, and was ready to rest again.

Still, he dutifully opened his sleepy eyes and looked at her again, waiting for her cue.

“Buffy – where’s Buffy, Spike?”

He was perfectly still for a moment, not moving at all – before he slowly looked up at her, his face nuzzling in close to her neck in a sort of primitive gesture of recognition and affection.

“I think he gets it,” Dawn muttered good-naturedly, rolling her eyes. “Good,” she said to Spike. “Buffy. Good.”

And then – Buffy heard it.

A soft, barely audible sound that was barely more than a vibration against her throat. It might have been no more than a breath of air expelled by the vampire’s dead lungs.

But somehow – she knew it was more.

Gently she pulled back from him a little, and he looked up at her uncertainly, but immediately reassured by the affectionate, encouraging smile on her face.

“Buffy – what?” Dawn had not caught it, and she frowned, puzzled.

“Shh,” Buffy gently instructed her, her eyes focused on Spike. “It’s okay, Spike – try it again…”

Dawn’s eyes widened, as the vampire’s lips just barely moved, and she realized what was happening.

“Come on, Spike – you can do it…try it again…” Buffy gently urged him, running a hand gently across his cheek and tilting his head slightly upward, causing his mouth to open just a bit wider. “Come on…”

A barely audible sound left his lips once more, as he struggled to do as he knew she wanted him to do.

“B-bu…”

“Good – that’s good, Spike…you can do it…*Buf-fy…come on…”

“Buf…Bu…”

“Buf – fy…come on, Spike,” she gently pressed him, speaking her own name slowly and clearly, trying to show him how to form the sounds.

Spike was indeed a *very* fast learner.

In the next moment, after months of enforced silence, forbidden and unable to speak a word – Spike finally spoke, a word that had meant more to him in the years that he now could not remember, possibly than any other.

“Buffy.”

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He was back there -- in that place.

The cold, empty darkness, where all he could feel was the unyielding iron at his raw, bleeding wrists, and the coarse stone that tore against the wounds that covered his back. He could not see, could not move -- all he could do was wait in terror for the one that he knew was coming.

He could already feel him, making his way toward his underground prison -- could smell the acrid, oppressive scent of his body -- could hear his taunting voice in the distance...and a desperate sense of panic began to steal over him as he fought uselessly to escape his bonds.

"You've been very bad, Spike," that dark, menacing voice informed him. "For a very long time..."

Spike trembled under the condemnation of that voice, though he could not make out all of the words.

One was enough.

*Bad*.

He was bad.

He deserved what was happening to him, and no better. His fragile, wounded heart shattered again under the weight of his own shame and lonely misery, and he longed to call out for the one who had rescued him from all of this...

*Buffy...*

His heart ached with the longing to cry out for her -- to call for her to come and save him, before his enemy could reach him. But -- something kept him silent. He couldn't seem to make his trembling lips form her name as they had the night before.

And suddenly, before he even had time to prepare himself -- as if he *could* have prepared himself -- his tormentor was right there, in his face. He couldn't see him, but he could feel the terrifying nearness of him, feel the heat radiating off of his body, as the man trapped him tightly between the wall and himself.

"She won't help you, Spike," he said softly, tauntingly. "You don't deserve it. You think she doesn't see how disgusting and worthless you are? She's not stupid, Spike..." His captor's voice lowered even further, speaking again, so close to his ear that Spike could feel his hot, damp breath against his skin, and shuddered at the feeling of it, but moreso at the words, as he sneered,

"Why do you think you're back here in the first place?"

A sick feeling of terror washed over him, as Spike felt his entire body trembling; he shook his head, desperately attempting to deny what his captor was saying -- though he still could not seem to form any words. There was really nothing new about that; but after the triumph of the night before, the sweetness of her name on his lips -- this forced silence, this inability to even call out to her, was terrifying, paralyzing...

"You don't deserve to be free, Spike," his captor informed him coldly. "All you deserve is pain and suffering -- in fact, it'd take longer than your unnaturally long life for you to really pay for all that you've done." He could hear the cruel smile in his voice, as he added softly, "But don't worry -- I've got plenty of time..."

Spike's heart sank with despair, and the realization that his torment was not at an end, as he had hoped. He was helpless, alone, at the mercy of his tormentor -- and all he could do was to silently cry out in the prison of his own mind...

*Buffy -- Buffy, please -- please, *help me*!*

**********************************

The panicked, pleading cries of the terrified vampire beside her pulled Buffy from the safety of her own dreams -- and into the horror that was Spike's dream world. Automatically she glanced at the clock before turning her full attention to the traumatized creature in her bed.

3:32 A.M.

"Buffy -- Buffy," he gasped out pleadingly, without waking. The despair in his hoarse, tearful voice tore at her heart as he cried out her name, and nothing else, "*Buffy*!"

"Spike -- wake up! Wake up, Spike, it's okay! Wake up!" She caught the weakly struggling vampire by the arms, holding him in place easily -- and as gently as possible, so as not to jar the injuries that still covered his body. "Spike -- *wake up*!"

Startled, anguished blue eyes opened on hers suddenly -- taking her breath away with the sheer agony of terror in his gaze, as he stared at her in confusion for a long moment, apparently not sure whether or not she was even real. His body was painfully tense, shaking under her carefully restraining hands; and he kept whispering her name breathlessly, even after he was fully awake.

It was heartbreaking.

"I'm right here," she reassured him gently, turning onto her side and pulling him into her welcoming embrace. "It's all right -- I'm right here...I've got you, Sweetheart, you're okay..."

His breathless whispers broke down into desperate sobs, as he clung to her, shaking with the lingering terror of his nightmare.

"Shhh," she whispered, one hand cupping the back of his head gently, and holding him to her, pressing his face gently against her shoulder. "It's all right, Spike -- you're safe now -- it's okay..."

Gradually his sobs subsided a bit, and Buffy felt a sense of relief as he seemed to calm down -- until he suddenly pulled away from her, weakly resisting her comforting arms around him. She immediately let him go, not wanting him to misunderstand her intentions for even a moment; she would not touch him if he did not want to be touched.

The Slayer watched in dismay as the fragile, wounded vampire -- appearing so much smaller than she remembered him -- literally folded in on himself, his head tucked against his chest, turned away from her in an obvious attempt to hide his face, as his sobs renewed with fresh intensity.

This time -- he made no attempt to say her name...just lay there, pitiful, broken sobs torn from his throat as he tried to make himself as invisible as possible.

"Well, this can't be good," she muttered, almost under her breath -- but Spike heard her.

He shook his head emphatically, trembling as she edged closer to him, scooting just slightly away from her across the bed. Buffy stopped moving toward him, remembering how he had blindly fallen off of the bed the other morning, when Dawn had unexpectedly entered the room.

"What is it, Spike?" she asked him in a soft, soothing voice. "Man, I really wish that you could tell me!" She reached out a cautious hand to touch his arm -- cringing slightly when he flinched at her touch. "I'm not gonna hurt you, Spike," she assured him, her voice barely over a whisper as she fought the impulse to immediately remove her hand, and instead closed her hand gently around his painfully thin forearm. "Come here -- come talk to me, okay?"

Obedient as always, although he did not seem to want to be, Spike edged across the bed toward her, not pulling away this time as she put her hands on his arms and tried to get him to face her.

"Spike, Sweetie -- look at me," she urged him gently. "Come on, Spike -- what is it?"

He glanced up at her, giving her a single glimpse of tormented sapphire eyes shining with tears, before lowering his head again, in a gesture that, to Buffy, looked disturbingly like -- *shame*.

"Hey -- no -- look at me, Spike," she pressed him, a frown of concern on her face. "Look at me."

A pleading look of anguish crossed his face, as if he wanted to beg her not to make him -- but Buffy did not relent, as he hesitantly raised his eyes to hers again, his pale, bruised cheeks streaked with his tears.

"What is it?" she asked in a gentle whisper of compassion, holding his gaze intently as she reached a slow, cautious hand up to wipe the tears from his face. "Spike -- are you afraid of me?"

Somehow he seemed to understand that question, as recognition and surprise showed in his eyes, before he lowered them again, though he obediently kept his head turned toward her. He shook his head slowly, swallowing back a fresh sob of misery.

Then, he seemed to change his mind, and hesitantly nodded, his eyes closed tight for a moment as he choked back his tears.

Buffy felt her heart lurch within her with sorrow at his response. "Do you think I’m going to hurt you, Spike?”

He did not respond, and for a moment Buffy thought that he probably did not understand what she was saying. But after a brief hesitation, he shook his head again, still not looking up at her.

Buffy frowned, confused.

“Then – why are you afraid of me, Spike?” she asked him cautiously, her hands running up and down his arms in a comforting, grounding sort of gesture. “What do you think is going to happen?”

He did not respond at all for a very long time – did not move, made no attempt to speak or any indication that he had even heard her at all. And then – he glanced up at her uncertainly, before focusing his tear-filled eyes on the mattress beneath him, and opening his mouth to try to respond.

“B-ba…” He frowned with frustrated concentration as he tried to make the word come out of his mouth as he heard it in his head.

“Buffy?” the Slayer suggested, puzzled. That was her suggestion only because it was the only word he had spoken so far.

But Spike had something different in mind this time.

“B-ba-bad,” he whispered, closing his eyes tightly again, his head lowered in a clear attempt to close himself off from her.

Buffy’s eyes widened when she realized that Spike had just spoken his second word since his injury – and a word that she *knew* she and Dawn had not taught him. Was it possible that he was beginning to regain some old memories, at least basic ones? But then, her eyes widened further with alarm when she realized what the word that he had spoken was…though the context still did not quite make sense to her.

“Bad?” she echoed, confused. “Is that what you said? Bad?”

Spike nodded without looking up, his body shaking slightly under her hands.

Buffy glanced away thoughtfully for a moment, trying to figure out what he meant. “*I’m* bad?” she suggested after a moment. “Is that why you’re scared of me? Because I’m bad?”

Spike’s eyes shot up to hers immediately, startled – and she immediately knew that her guess had been wrong. He shook his head emphatically, looking a bit bewildered by the very idea that he might have been talking about her.

“Then – what’s bad, Spike? I’m sorry – I don’t understand…” Buffy earnestly but gently pushed him, truly wanting to understand, and not sure quite how to communicate with him.

He made it easy for her.

Spike looked down again, swallowing hard, his features contorting as he fought back his tears, and raised a single trembling hand to his own white-bandaged chest.

“Bad,” he whispered again with a heartrending certainty. “Bad…h-h-hurt…bad,” he nodded emphatically – and suddenly, the shame in his expression made an awful, painful sense to Buffy.

She didn’t even realize that her own face was streaked with tears as she struggled to speak past the aching knot in her own throat. “You think I’m gonna hurt you – because you’re bad?”

The expression on Spike’s face told her that she was partially right, but he was lost as to how to correct whatever detail she had wrong.

“Wait – you said – you *didn’t* think I was gonna hurt you…but…” Buffy frowned, shaking her head slightly as she tried to figure it out.

Spike looked up at her, a terribly sad, resigned sort of look on his face as he reached out a slow, hesitant hand to touch her shoulder, and shook his head firmly.

“Not me?” she guessed, biting her lower lip and furrowing her brow further with frustration. “Wait – you don’t think *I’m* gonna hurt you – but…you don’t think…” A sick feeling of horror started in the pit of her stomach, as with a flash of insight she suddenly understood.

“You think I’d send you back there – because – because you’re bad?” the last, awful words came out in a whispered question, as she pressed a gentle hand to his cheek and softly but firmly turned his face back toward her.

He still refused to look at her, but he nodded, his face crumpling as his sobs overtook him again, and he desperately leaned into her touch, wordlessly pleading for her not to do as he feared – not to turn him back over to the nightmare figure in his dream that had told him that she would.

Buffy could not speak for a long time, struggling against the sobs that rose up within her. She gently caressed his cheek in silent comfort, putting her other arm around him and pulling him closer to her.

“Spike,” she finally whispered in a low, husky voice that trembled with tears. “Look at me, Sweetheart…”

He obeyed, raising wide, painfully expressive eyes to hers – and in those deep blue eyes, she could see all too clearly the resignation, the acceptance of whatever she might decide to do with him, mingled with his obvious terror.

“I would never do that, Spike,” she assured him, speaking slowly and emphatically as she held his gaze firmly. “*Never*. The person – the *monster* who did this to you is never going to get his hands on you again, I promise! I would never, ever let him touch you! Do you understand?”

Spike looked terribly confused, uncertain. He glanced down again and again, seemingly unable to maintain eye contact with her for long due to the undeserved shame that filled his heart.

“Bad,” he repeated again, a certain stubbornness to his soft voice, as if he was determined to somehow make her understand that he did not deserve her promise. “Bad.”

“No!” Buffy said, a little more sharply than she had intended, though her anger was certainly not directed at Spike. She softened her voice when he flinched, and she realized that he could not possibly know that he was not the one who had angered her. “No,” she repeated gently. “No, you’re not bad, Spike. You’re good. *Good*. Okay?”

He looked up at her, a soft light of hope beginning to show just behind the fear and confusion in his eyes. He shook his head slightly, not quite ready to believe it yet. He had been told so many times how bad and worthless and evil he was; it was very difficult to believe the opposite now.

But Buffy believed it – completely.

The Spike she had known might have done many terrible things during his time before the chip – but there was not the slightest doubt in Buffy’s mind that this helpless, fragile creature before her now was in no way accountable for them. Spike’s mind had been shattered, and was slowly being rebuilt – brand new.

He was as close to an actual innocent as anyone she knew.

“Spike – you’re good,” she repeated softly, encouraged by the faint light in his eyes at the words. “I’m not going to hurt you, or punish you – you haven’t done anything to be punished *for*, Sweetie! You are *safe* here – safe – do you know what that means?”

He hesitated a moment, and then nodded, his eyes focused downward on the mattress, wide and a little startled, as if he could hardly make himself comprehend what she was telling him, it seemed so unbelievable to him, so incongruent with everything he had learned since his injury.

“I’m here to protect you, Spike – to keep you safe…not to ever hurt you…okay?” she explained softly. “And I will *never* -- *never* let anybody else hurt you again, either…okay?”

He nodded slowly, his wide eyes rising slowly to meet hers again, and she could see that they were brimming with tears of relief, joy, and absolute adoration. When she gently pulled him just slightly closer to her, he willingly moved into her embrace, resting his head on her shoulder. His thin body shook with the release of his tears, as she held him there gently until he fell back to sleep.

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By the next morning, Spike was feeling strong enough to come downstairs again – although only with Buffy’s repeated reassurance that the house was empty except for Dawn and the two of them. Even then, he kept glancing around anxiously for any sign that someone might have slipped into the house while she wasn’t looking.

He was getting better, much more quickly than Buffy had expected him to – at least, physically. It seemed that the relatively small amount of blood he had had in the last few days had done wonders. But the speed with which a normal, steady diet had accelerated his healing, only served to emphasize how terribly starved he had been in the first place; and emotionally, mentally, Spike was still clearly very far from okay.

He was very nervous most of the time, panicking at the odd unexpected sound or movement near him, and though he clung to both girls – but especially Buffy – with a desperate need for reassurance and affection, there still seemed to be a deeply ingrained fear in him, an expectation that if he did not do just what they wanted, just as they wanted him to do it, at all times – eventually, he would be punished again.

Buffy knew better than to think that telling him a single time that that could never happen would be enough to completely allay his fears. He had been in those caves for months, with nothing but torment and abuse to define his re-developing sense of himself, and the world, and what he could expect from those around him.

Certainly, she could expect it to take at least as long to tear down those damaging ideas as it had taken to place them in his mind in the first place.

Of course, Buffy really had no way of knowing exactly how long he had been kept there in the Initiative caves, but she had a feeling that it had been a *very* long time – certainly almost as long as he had been gone at all. Before she had known what had happened to him, she had assumed that Spike had simply taken off, unable to deal with the situation involving himself and Anya.

Now that she had him back, albeit a vague semblance of the vampire he had once been, Buffy remembered – running away had never been his style.

*No,* she reminded herself a bit harshly. *That was always *your* thing, Buffy.*

*Not anymore,* she firmly told herself, as she took a freshly warmed mug of blood from the microwave and took it to the island, where Spike was perched a bit awkwardly on one of the barstool style seats that surrounded it. *This time, you’re staying put, woman – for as long as he needs you.*

Spike had been gazing around the dimly shaded kitchen with wide eyes, taking in surroundings that should have been familiar to him -- but had been forgotten, like everything else he had ever known – with a sort of awe in his wide, impossibly innocent blue eyes.

When Buffy set the mug down beside him, automatically brushing her fingertips against his shoulder in a casual gesture of affection as she did – he startled violently with a frightened yelp, and would have fallen right off the back of the stool, had she not swiftly moved in behind him, steadying him with gentle hands at his sides.

“Shhh,” she murmured, as she felt him lean back against her, turning his head to nuzzle his face against her shoulder in obvious relief, seeking the comfort of her nearness. “It’s all right – just me…”

She had time to think that, although he was understandably still very nervous, the time between freaking out and calming down was getting less and less with each small scare – before suddenly, rational thought was momentarily stolen away from her, with the familiar touch of his cool, slightly roughened hands covering hers at his sides, in a touch that was nothing more than an instinctive need for reassurance and security.

Buffy’s body seemed to feel differently about that touch.

The electric tingles of sensation seemed to flow out from the place where their hands touched, flowing through her entire body, and reawakening within her a need that she had long since forcefully repressed – thinking that she would never have occasion to have that need fulfilled again.

She had told herself that she would never *allow* herself to fill that need again, even if he *did* come back…

But now – he *was* back – and all she could think of in that moment was…

*No!* she sharply reprimanded herself, stunned and horrified at the direction her thoughts were taking. *That’s the last thing he needs to worry about right now! God, Buffy, he’s like a *child*!*

She fought the impulse to snatch her hands away from his – to abruptly end the disturbing sensations caused by his cool hands on hers – and instead very slowly, gently, took his hands in hers and guided them to close around either side of the warm mug on the table.

She could not allow herself to even be tempted to take advantage of his vulnerability, his need – but she knew that if she pulled away from him suddenly, the rejection and loss would be too much for him, especially just now when he seemed to need connection with her so desperately.

Although she was sure to keep her movements slow and gentle, making her reasons for every motion clear to him, Spike still turned slightly on the stool, glancing up at her with uncertainty in his anxious blue eyes – an uncertainty that did not seem to be eased by the reassuring smile she gave him as she spoke gently to him.

“Go on, Spike. Drink up.”

As she spoke she casually moved away from behind him, moving to the other side of the island to busy herself with wiping a counter that she had just wiped not five minutes ago – keeping her eyes studiously averted from his the entire time, trying to give him the impression that nothing was wrong.

She failed miserably.

The first sign that alerted her to Spike’s distress was a soft, shuddering little breath from across the table – and she reluctantly looked up to see that his wide eyes were downcast, staring into the untouched mug in his hand, and his mouth was trembling slightly, as if he was on the verge of tears.

Despite her best efforts to appear natural and normal about moving away from him, the amazingly perceptive vampire had still managed to pick up on the fact that for some reason, she didn’t *want* to touch him.

“Spike – what is it?” she asked although she already knew the answer, trying to keep the note of impatience from her voice – and then flooded with guilt for that impatience, which was only there because she hated the fact that she’d accidentally hurt him by taking her hands off of him when she *had* to take her hands off of him, because if she didn’t she didn’t trust herself not to take things further than he needed them to go right now, and all she really wanted to do was to throw her arms around him and hold him close to her and make all his pain and confusion and that childlike, trusting, terrified look on his face just *go away*!

But it *wouldn’t* go away.

Not until he was really sure that he was safe, and protected, and not in danger of any further suffering for some small, imagined mistake on his part.

*And how can he be sure of that, if I won’t even touch him?* she finally gave in, swallowing hard and setting her jaw with determination as she made her way back around the island and put her arms gently around him.

*Nurturing-Buffy has to stay around,* she reminded herself firmly. *Because he needs me. Nothing else matters right now.*

As Spike turned on the barstool and gratefully leaned his head against her chest, his trembling hands coming to rest on her hips as he held her to him with near desperation, Buffy sighed in defeat.

*Nympho-Buffy will just have to exercise a little self-restraint.*

At that moment, Dawn made her way down the stairs, dressed in a thick, soft, baby blue bathrobe, her hair up in a towel, following a much-needed long, hot shower. She paused in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the doorframe, frowning in concern at the scene before her.

“What happened?” she asked quietly, not wanting to startle Spike.

It was obvious that something had happened to upset him, by the way he was clinging to her sister, and the way her usually brusque sister was gently soothing him, holding him to her with one arm around his back, her other hand playing gently through his hair.

“Nothing much,” Buffy sighed. “Just a Stupid-Buffy moment.” She looked up at her sister, her eyes glittering with unshed tears that expressed a myriad of confused emotions that she could not have put into words if she tried. “He can’t remember his own freakin’ name,” she said softly, “but he still remembers how to read me like a book.”

Dawn did not really understand what Buffy was talking about, but she got the impression that she really didn’t need to – so she just gave her sister a sympathetic smile as she went on into the kitchen to open the refrigerator.

After a couple of comfortably silent moments passed, Spike pushed lightly away from Buffy, raising his head to look at her, his own blue eyes damp with tears – but there was no mistaking the stubborn, slightly offended set of his jaw, or the determined, proud gleam in those shining eyes that was there for just a moment…

So much like the old Spike, that Buffy found herself breathless, as she gazed down at him in wonder.

“S-s…” he began, his brow furrowing with concentration as he tried to get his uncooperative mouth to form the word he wanted to say. “Sp-spike,” he finally stated emphatically, gazing up into her eyes with a brief look of elation at his success. “Spike!” And there was something in his smile in that moment that just barely hinted at the smirk that had once been second nature to him.

Dawn’s smirk was fully formed as she came to sit beside them at the counter, setting her glass of orange juice down.

“Doesn’t remember his own name, my butt!” she remarked with mild indignation to match what Buffy had seen in Spike’s eyes a few moments before. “I don’t think he liked you saying that, Buffy!”

Buffy stared at him, her mouth agape in amazement, her eyes lighting up with joy at what he had said. “Spike, that’s *wonderful*!” she told him, her voice rising in excitement.

She lowered her hand from his hair to his cheek – and he flinched slightly, his eyes suddenly anxious as they darted between her hand and her eyes. As always, his emotions were all too clear in his expressive gaze.

He had been determined, intent on showing her that he *did* remember his name – but now, after the moment had passed, was realizing how much assertion and boldness he had just shown. After being forbidden to attempt to argue back, to make a sound of protest – to in any way stand up to his tormentor – for so long, the sudden realization of his own rising courage was not only surprising to him.

It was terrifying.

But Buffy was so very proud to see it.

She ignored the flinch, knowing that it would take time for him to really understand that he would not be punished simply for speaking without permission, or even arguing with her – but given enough time, that fear would no longer be such a part of him. Whether or not it would ever truly go away completely, she had no way of knowing – but this small progress was definitely encouraging.

And for now – it was enough.

“Very, very good, Spike,” she whispered as she gently caressed his cheek, smiling down into his eyes with warmth and reassurance in her gaze. “I’m so proud of you…you’re doing so good, Sweetheart…”

His eyes widened slightly in surprise at her unexpected praise – and then lit up, as that soft, shy smile that melted her heart every time she saw it appeared on his face again. He dropped his gaze for a moment before looking up at her again through worshipful dark blue eyes.

Buffy felt her heart quicken with desire, and swallowed hard, but did not look away from him or stop touching him. She knew that he needed her much too much for her to take the selfishly easy way out of this situation and run away from him as she had always done before.

Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a sharp series of quick raps on the front door.

Spike jumped under her hands, his eyes flying toward the doorway that led out into the living room, in the general direction of the front door, as Dawn silently got up and went to answer it. Buffy wondered thoughtfully at the fact that he seemed to understand what the sound meant, though no one had knocked at her door, when he was around anyway, since she had found him. Could it be another memory returning to him?

As she studied his expression, she could almost see the thought process turning around in his injured mind.

Knocking sound equals person at the door…

Closed door and walls between him and the door equals *unknown* person at the door.

Unknown person at the door equals…

*Crap*.

“Spike,” she said softly, her hand at his cheek drawing his wild, panicked attention from the doorway back up to her eyes. “Sweetie, listen. You remember what I told you last night?”

He frowned slightly, looking away, and she could see his frustration, his confusion as he struggled against the panic to remember what she was talking about. His breath was coming in harsh, ragged gasps, and his body was shaken with tremors of fear as his wide-eyed gaze darted back and forth between her face and the still empty doorway.

“Spike – look at me, Sweetheart – I’m not going to ever let anyone hurt you – okay?” she reminded him, keeping her voice calm and intent, trying to hold his focus.

It was starting to work.

He hesitated, uncertain, and then nodded shakily, before lowering his head to her breast again, his shaking hands fisted in the end of her untucked shirt, as he clung to her, gasping for breath as he waged his own personal war with panic. Under his breath, Buffy thought she could hear him whispering something, though she could not tell what it was.

She heard a familiar male voice in the hallway – and felt her stomach drop with a combination of relief – and a certain amount of fear…the sort of fear that a child feels when they know their parent is about to hear from someone else about something that they did, before they will get the opportunity to explain.

She turned automatically toward the doorway as the two voices – Dawn’s and the other – grew nearer; and Spike clutched at her, drawing in a sharp gasp of panic when he thought she would move away from him, his voice rising slightly so that she could hear his words – and Buffy immediately felt her heart ache at the desperate, beseeching tone of his voice as he begged her simply.

“*Please – please – please…*”

“Shhh, it’s okay…he’s safe…he won’t hurt you…he’s okay, Spike…it’s okay,” she assured him, turning back toward him and wrapping both arms around him protectively.

She knew very well that it didn’t look appropriate to the eyes of the man who was suddenly standing in the doorway to the kitchen – could tell by the startled gasp of dismay that left his lips at the sight of them, that he would not approve – but it did not really matter to her at the moment.

Spike needed her reassurance.

And Giles would just have to get over it.

What was he even doing here, anyway?

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“Oh dear.”

Buffy took a deep breath, fighting the instinctive desire to pull away from Spike and immediately begin explaining herself to her Watcher. She knew the effect that such an action would have on Spike, who was still trembling in her arms, clinging to her as if she was the only thing standing between him and horrible death.

*He probably thinks I am,* she reminded herself, and then swallowed hard with the grim realization, *He’s probably right. Just – not about that horrible death coming in the form of any random guy who shows up at the door. Namely Giles.*

Still not even acknowledging her Watcher, Buffy leaned down closer to Spike, running her fingers through his hair in a soothing motion as she whispered in his ear, her words barely over a breath – but she knew that he could clearly hear her.

“You’re safe,” she promised him. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. Do you believe me?”

Spike did not respond at all for a long moment; then, without raising his head from where it was buried in her blouse, he nodded weakly, a soft whimpering sound muffled against her.

“That’s good,” she reassured him softly. “That’s good, Sweetheart. Trust me…*trust* me, okay? I’m right here. Okay?”

Spike nodded again, a little more firmly.

He was trying so hard to be brave.

“Okay,” she went on softly. “Now I want you to look up, Spike. I want you to get up, and turn around and look at my friend – okay? He’s a friend. He’s not gonna hurt you.”

She felt the little shudder of apprehension that went through Spike at the gentle words that he no doubt still heard as an order; but he obeyed, reluctantly releasing his death grip on her blouse, lifting his head – though he still kept his eyes closed, as he slid off of the stool he was sitting on and stood beside her, facing Giles.

He lowered his head, opening his eyes but still unable to bring himself to look at the man in the doorway, trembling uncontrollably under Buffy’s protective arm around his pitifully slender waist.

Buffy herself finally ventured a look at her Watcher’s face.

“Hi, Giles,” she said meekly, a little grimace on her face as she took in his expression of shock and dismay.

Shock and dismay – gradually giving way to blind fury.

The Watcher’s eyes narrowed as he took a menacing step forward, all of his attention focused in on the vampire at his Slayer’s side, being embraced by her no less, and bearing a downcast expression of what Giles could only suppose to be the chagrin of being caught on his face.

“You foul, filthy creature!” the Englishman spat out angrily, and Spike flinched back against Buffy.

Giles, in his anger, did not notice how very unlike the Spike he had known was that gesture.

“I warned you to stay away from her, Spike, after the last time you tried to force your perverted affections on her -- not to attempt to worm your way into her affections again! She’s too kind – too generous to slay you as you deserved, but I warned you that I would not be -- and yet the moment I leave, you go back to your old deceptions, and manage to fool her into believing that you are more than the disgusting, evil thing that you are! Had I been able to find you when last I was in town, know that you would be dust already! I had thought that Buffy had come to her senses and ended her foolish affair with you, but then I come back to find that you have somehow managed to convince her to start it up again! Spike, this is it, this is the last straw!”

As he spoke, he closed the distance between himself and Spike, his voice rising, trembling with fury. Spike was cowering back against the counter behind them, his thin, ravaged back shaking violently as he pressed back against Buffy’s arm in an attempt to withdraw from the larger, and at the moment stronger, man.

He could not come anywhere close to understanding most of what the man was saying – but a few words stood out clearly, words he had heard so many times before, and always followed by vicious torment.

*Evil!*

*Disgusting!*

*Filthy thing!*

And the menace in the man’s voice spoke for itself.

Buffy, for her part, was too stunned by the rage her Watcher was displaying to move for a moment.

But *only* for a moment.

Her own eyes narrowed dangerously as she moved away from Spike, only to step firmly between him and Giles, her arms crossed firmly over her chest as she spoke in a sharp, commanding voice of barely restrained anger.

“Giles, *stop*!”

Giles took a step backward, but only because he had no choice as the Slayer stepped very deliberately into his space. His angry attention was necessarily diverted to her for the moment, instead of the cowering vampire behind her, as he protested indignantly,

“Buffy, I cannot believe that after the disaster of your first relationship with a vampire, you would take up with a second vampire – and one without the dubious benefit of a soul, for that matter! This is the same creature that chained you up in his crypt and threatened to allow you to be killed, to prove his ‘love’ for you! And now you’re…”

*Wait…*cowering*? Since when does Spike cower to anyone?*

Giles suddenly stopped, mid-rant, glancing around the determined Slayer at Spike, finally slowing down enough to take in the remnants of bruises on his face, the bandages that covered his bare torso, and appeared to continue under the loose-fitting jeans he wore – and most surprising of all, the absolutely terror-stricken demeanor of the beaten, wounded creature.

His view lasted only a moment, before Buffy pointedly stepped into his line of vision, meeting his eyes with a steely, warning gaze. The Watcher studied her expression for a long moment; it was impossible to miss the fiercely protective gleam in her bright, emerald eyes.

He was quiet for a moment, glancing down at the floor, composing himself before he spoke again, much more calmly, “Perhaps you had best explain to me what has happened in my absence.”

Buffy’s lips twisted upward into a sarcastic smile, as she nodded curtly. “Yeah, *perhaps* you should have asked that first, before you went into attack mode. We’ve had more than enough of that around here lately.”

This time, when Giles shifted to look past Buffy at Spike, she did not move into his way, though she did watch him carefully for any sign that he might strike out at the vulnerable vampire again, with words or blows.

“What happened to him?” Giles asked softly, a frown that seemed more curious than concerned creasing his brow as he studied Spike calmly, puzzled by the way he cringed back against the counter behind Buffy, his eyes tightly shut, clearly on the verge of panic.

Buffy was still very angry that Giles had managed to undo her careful efforts to calm Spike, with a few careless, cruel words – but she kept her voice calm and steady, for Spike’s benefit, as she replied slowly and clearly.

“Let’s go into the living room – the three of us – and I’ll explain everything to you.”

Giles stared at Spike for a moment longer, before meeting Buffy’s eyes again, nodding in cautious satisfaction, as he turned toward the living room.

“But if you talk to him like that again,” Buffy’s words of soft steel froze him in the kitchen doorway, “if you raise your hand or your voice to him even once – you will not be welcome in this house.”

Giles turned suddenly, his eyes wide and stunned at her words.

“Spike has been through a very traumatic ordeal – and it’s all I can do right now to convince him that I’m not going to take a switch to his legs until he can’t walk every time he opens his mouth – or turn him over to someone else who will. The last thing I need is someone – even you – coming in here trying to *help* me, and undoing all the progress we’ve made…which isn’t really much, yet,” Buffy explained, her tone holding a bit more patience now, but no less certainty.

Giles stared at her for a moment, still startled at her vehemence, and a bit troubled at where her priorities seemed to be placed – but accepting her terms with a solemn nod.

There was really nothing else he could do under the circumstances.

Buffy nodded her own satisfaction at his acceptance. “Just give us a minute. Go ahead into the living room, I’ll be right there,” she instructed quietly, waiting until Giles had gone on through the doorway to turn back toward Spike.

The terrified, confused vampire was cowering back against the counter, having gradually sunk lower and lower in an attempt to make himself as small and invisible as possible, until now he was crouched almost down to his knees, huddled against the counter, a soft, pleading whine reverberating in his throat. His eyes were closed tight, his arms raised up almost over his face – as if he wanted to shield his head from the blows he feared, but had learned better than to dare try to defend himself, even in such a small way.

“Spike,” she whispered, her voice thick with tears, as she knelt on the floor beside him, reaching out gentle hands to pull him toward her. “Come here, Baby…”

A visible tremor ran through him at the gentle touch, and though he did not open his eyes, he leaned forward suddenly, pressing his face against her lap in a subservient gesture of supplication. Two words fell from his lips in a trembling, desperate whisper, a litany of pure terror.

“Please, please, Buffy, please, Buffy, please…” he sobbed, no other words coming.

Tears streaked Buffy’s face, dropping down onto the back of his neck as she leaned down to embrace him, whispering, “It’s okay, Spike…it’s okay…come on, look at me, Sweetie…”

Spike immediately raised his wide, tearful eyes to focus on hers, trusting and obedient, despite his obvious fear.

“I told you I wasn’t going to let him hurt you – didn’t I?” she reminded him softly, holding his gaze with a leading nod.

He nodded slowly in response, understanding in his eyes – but there was still a vast uncertainty there. “H-hurt,” he whispered, glancing toward the living room. “Bad – hurt…”

Although several words were missing, Buffy could clearly understand what he was trying to say. He had guessed – and quite accurately, actually – that Giles wanted to hurt him, thought he was “bad” and wanted to punish him.

“I won’t let him,” she assured him softly. “I won’t, Spike. You’re safe with me. Okay?”

Spike seemed to consider her words for a moment, studying the silent promise in her eyes – before his jaw set with a courageous determination, and he nodded firmly. “S-safe,” he whispered, nodding. “Buffy – safe…”

Fresh tears sprang to the Slayer’s eyes, and she nodded in agreement as she ran her hand down his cheek in a gesture of affection – and for once, he did not flinch or pull away, even for a moment, choosing instead to lean into the caress, closing his eyes with a sort of yearning in his expression, as he relished the gentle touch – so rare and beautiful to him still.

“So – will you come in the living room with me?” Buffy asked him cautiously, as she rose to her feet, holding out her hands to help him up as well.

He was pitifully easy to pull to his feet, as he glanced anxiously toward the living room, and then back into her eyes – and nodded firmly. “Y-yes,” he whispered. “Yes, Buffy…”

The beaming smile she gave him was as encouraging as anything she had said to him, as she put her arm around him and started toward the living room, praising him quietly, “Very good, Spike – you’re learning so fast! I’m very proud of you, Spike!”

Giles was seated in the armchair across from the sofa, watching them with solemn eyes as they entered – much closer to each other than he liked – and sat down on the couch together, Buffy’s arm still a reassuring presence around Spike’s shoulders, as he instinctively shrank in closer to her. As hard as he was trying to be brave, to trust her, he could not help being just a little bit afraid of this angry man who had yelled at him and threatened him.

The Watcher’s anger quickly evaporated into his curiosity, as he took in Spike’s vastly changed manner once more.

“He hardly seems the same creature, Buffy,” he remarked quietly. “What happened?”

“He’s not,” she informed him, keeping her tone soft and mild, in sharp contrast to what she actually felt. She did not want to further upset Spike with her tone. She took a deep breath before answering Giles’ question, telling him all that she knew about what had happened to Spike, the condition he had been in when she had found him.

As she spoke, the anger and condemnation seemed to fade from her Watcher’s eyes, replaced with a grudging understanding. It was still apparent from the guarded expression on his face that he was not quite sure she was doing the right thing – but he at least understood *why* she was doing it.

Mingled with the concern in his eyes – all for Buffy, she was sure, not for the injured vampire beside her – was a light of curiosity, a certain fascination with the condition of the creature. It was obvious that Giles had never seen a vampire with brain damage before, and was very interested in learning more about the effects it might have had on him.

She supposed it was just part of being a Watcher, that made him so clinical and unfeeling at times – but at the moment, it made her furious.

“So – he doesn’t remember anything?” he asked, his eyes focused in on Spike as he addressed his question to Buffy.

Spike was clearly uncomfortable under the scrutiny of his stare, as he couldn’t seem to stay still beside Buffy, shifting and looking around the room with darting eyes that desperately avoided the piercing blue gaze focused on him.

“I really don’t know how much he remembers,” Buffy said shortly. “And we won’t, until he gets to where he can talk a little more. But he’s learning already – getting a little better every day – so it shouldn’t be long.” She paused, waiting for Giles to look away from Spike and meet her eyes before she added firmly, “But if he talks to anyone but me about what happened – it will be his choice. I’m not going to have you treating him like – like some kind of science experiment.”

Giles looked a bit offended by her words, as he protested quietly, “Really, Buffy, I don’t mean any harm to him. But surely you must understand that such information could be very useful to the Council, and the Slayers. The effects of a gunshot on a vampire…”

“…are much less effective and less humane than a good old-fashioned stake to the heart,” she finished for him, a warning flashing in her eyes. “Giles – I know you don’t approve. I know you think he’s not – not even a person – not worth saving. But – you don’t know what it was like.”

She hesitated, looking down and getting a rein on her emotions before going on – and Giles was quiet, waiting for her to go on.

“Last year – it was so – so hard. No one understood. No one – except Spike. And you can say all you want that he’s a monster and he doesn’t deserve my help – but he’s the one who was there for me, when no one else was. He’s the one who looked out for me, and let me – let me just be me. Even when that meant letting me be as bad a monster as he ever was – letting me beat the crap out of him, and never lifting a finger against me.”

She met her Watcher’s eyes, giving him a moment for the shock of that statement to sink in. “Is that the way a monster would respond if he was being beaten on? If he *could* defend himself against me – and he could!”

Giles had no answer for that, his eyes widening as he simply struggled to make that new information mesh with his own world view.

“Long before that, Giles – he took torture. For me and Dawn. He fought with us – even when I was – gone. I think the least he deserves is my help – my protection – now when he’s more defenseless, and less responsible for his past crimes, than ever before.”

Giles still did not respond at all, his eyes intent and focused on some point just past her, his brow furrowed in a pensive frown.

“I know maybe you don’t want to help me with this – and I can understand that. But – don’t try to stop me. And don’t get in the way. You know you are like a father to me, Giles – but right now, Spike is my priority.”

Buffy finally said all she had to say, and fell silent, waiting for some response from her Watcher. After a long pause – she got it.

“I’m not quite sure that he should be, Buffy,” he told her frankly. “Though I must say I understand why you feel the way you do. And honestly, Spike is by no means *my* priority.” He paused, before going on slowly, almost reluctantly, “However – I am willing to help you, in any capacity you want me to, my dear. Because although Spike is not my priority -- *you* most certainly are, and always will be.”

Buffy felt a certain warmth and reassurance flood through her at the gentle sincerity she heard in Giles’ voice, as well as at his honesty. She knew that although he might have his doubts about what she was doing, he would do his best to support her in any way that he could – insofar as he could do so without compromising his own integrity.

And she could ask for nothing more.

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“You could have at least told me you were going to call him.”

“You would have told me not to.”

Anya’s simple, matter-of-fact explanation put a momentary end to the discussion – that, and the customer who had just approached the counter with an armload of candles and incense. The vengeance demon put on her brightest smile and explained to the customer how his items were to be used – and how they were most definitely *not* supposed to be used – and happily took his money.

When the customer had been successfully serviced and satisfied, and was on his way out the door, Anya turned her attention back to the Slayer, who was still standing by the counter with her arms crossed over her chest, giving Anya a death glare…

…which was not exactly a comforting look for a vengeance demon to be getting from a Slayer.

“I just thought he might be able to help you. I thought he probably wouldn’t, if he knew why I’d called him,” she explained with a careless shrug.

“Well, you’re right about that, anyway!” Buffy retorted, leaning back against the counter with a sigh. “I just wish he’d had a *little* warning – or I had, for that matter – or something, Anya. He screamed at Spike before I could explain anything to him. He was terrified.”

“Keyword ‘was’,” Anya pointed out; she had already heard this part of the story once. “At least it gave you the chance to prove to Spike that you really meant what you’ve been telling him – right? That he’s safe with you and you’re not gonna let anybody hurt him?”

Buffy gave her a dark, dubious look for a long moment – before relenting with a sigh. “Yes, it did,” she admitted.

“So it turned out all right in the end,” Anya concluded, satisfaction in her tone.

“We are no where even remotely close to the end,” Buffy informed her with a weary sigh of resignation.

Anya finally stopped whatever it was she was doing in the cash register for a moment, turning her full attention on the Slayer with genuine sympathy in her eyes. “Giles loves you, Buffy,” she reminded her. “He’ll do anything he can to help you. And you have to admit – you *do* need the help.”

“I’ve got Dawn – and you – and heck, even Angel if I want his help – which I’m still not really sure if I do or not,” Buffy frowned thoughtfully, then shook her head and looked back up at Anya. “I just don’t see any reason for you to have called Giles all the way from England to come here and help someone he pretty much hates…”

“He doesn’t hate you, Buffy…”

“*Spike*, Anya!” Buffy clarified, irritation in her voice. “Giles hates Spike – or at least, he did, before he found out there’s not much of what he hated left in him right now. Yes, he says he wants to help me, but I’m just not so sure how much he can do when – when his heart’s not really in the cause, you know?”

Anya was quiet for a moment, her eyes back on the cash register, before she closed it completely, and leaned on the counter, looking Buffy in the eye.

“Dawn wants to help – but she’s just a child, Buffy. There’s only so much she can take. And I want to help you, but the truth is -- my expertise is more in dealing out this kind of suffering than in knowing how to heal it. Honestly, Buffy -- Angel and Giles are probably going to be able to help you more than anyone -- at least until you find out who did this."

Anya stood up straight again, smiling brightly as another customer approached the register. "Then," she continued to Buffy in a calm, casual tone of voice, as if they had been discussing something much less crucial than blood vengeance, "I'm your girl."

Buffy waited until the customer had left, her questions brewing in her mind the entire time, to look up at Anya with a puzzled frown.

"Can't you do it anyway?" she asked her. "Even before I know who did it? Like, can't I wish for their crimes to be revealed, and then for them to have to pay for them, or something like that, and then -- *make* them pay for them? You wouldn’t even have to do the vengeance yourself – just tell me who needs vengeancing.”

“Vengeancing? Is that a word?” Anya asked, one eyebrow raised dubiously.

“I don’t know. I don’t care. Can you do it?”

“No,” Anya answered simply, sorting through the bills in the stack she had just added to in the register. “I can’t just exact vengeance on someone without knowing who they are. It’s kind of a legal protective clause that D’Hoffryn writes into all of our contracts. You know, so that if someone comes up to me and says, ‘I wish for the person who ruined my life to have their eyeballs rot out of their skull, I don’t accidentally – you know – put my own eyes out,” she shrugged with a sheepish smile. “I can only grant a wish if it’s specifically vengeance – and I can only do vengeance if I know who the target is.”

She paused, then added with a grim little smile, “But let me know when you find out who it is. I’d love to take some creative liberties with this one!”

“I’d love to let you,” Buffy replied without hesitation. “Whoever did this to Spike needs to pay – and they’re *going* to pay!”

Anya gave her a sharp look of alarm, unnoticed by the Slayer, whose eyes were focused on the wall across from her, and whose thoughts were consumed with avenging what had been done to her vampire lover. The vengeance demon wisely decided not to bring up the issue, not just now when it was still so fresh and strong in the Slayer’s emotions.

But as she closed the register and moved away from the counter to help a beckoning customer, she muttered to herself under her breath,

“Don’t know what she thinks she needs *me* for – I think the Slayer’s got this vengeance gig down already. She better be careful – or she just might get herself recruited!”

************************************

Spike could not quite place the new emotion that was growing in his fragile heart, playing teasingly about the edges of his mind, elusive and nameless and barely daring to even exist – yet – but if he could have remembered the word for what he was beginning to feel, it would have been…*happy*.

The house was empty that morning when he woke up, except for him and Dawn.

He would have panicked at not seeing Buffy – until he had awakened enough to become aware of the soft, slender arm draped across his waist…and the sleeping teenage girl it was attached to. He had taken a moment to regroup, to get his bearings – and had then settled back down into the bed to sleep for a couple more hours, content that he would be safe while he did so.

Dawn was not exactly Buffy – but she was the next best thing.

When next he had awakened, it had been to a gentle nudging on his shoulder, and a kind voice calling his name repeatedly.

A little louder than he would have liked – but still kind.

Almost immediately, he had looked at her, asking his question in the only way he knew how, his eyes anxious and searching as he said simply, “Buffy?”

Dawn’s smile had almost seemed a little sad for just an instant, before she had replied, “She’s at work. She has to – she’s gonna be out for a little while today. It’s just us!”

Spike had frowned, puzzled, and frustrated with himself for once again having very little idea what she was trying to tell him. He understood from her words that the two of them would be alone for a while today – but that was all. As for “work”, he had no idea what the word meant.

*So stupid,* the words of his tormentor echoed in his mind, as he thought again how true the words had been. *Don’t know anything – so stupid…*

He and Dawn had gone downstairs, where she had fixed him breakfast. He found himself fascinated – and a little awed – by her quick, natural movements as she put the blood in the heating machine, pushed several buttons in rapid succession, and a few moments later, took out a perfectly heated mug of breakfast for him.

When she saw him watching her, Spike had quickly looked away, feeling presumptuous in staring at her – but Dawn had not been in the least upset. In fact, she had motioned him over to join her at the strange machine, and had actually gone so far as to show him how to use it!

He had shaken his head, looking down a bit bashfully, not quite sure how to tell her that there was no way he could possibly comprehend it. He knew that he was very stupid – not anywhere near as smart and capable as she and Buffy were. He knew, by the way the words seemed to come so easily to them, while he struggled just to understand and speak the few that he could.

But Dawn had pressed him, insisting that he watch her again, and then try to do as she had done.

A sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, sure that he was about to disappoint her, Spike had done his best to imitate her actions with a second mug of blood – and to his amazement, it had come out perfectly!

It had been a wonderful start to his lessons for the day.

Dawn would point out various items in the house and say the name for them, and then tell him to try to say them himself. It was easy enough to repeat after her, to say what she had just said only moments before, but Spike was certain that he would never remember it all later.

Until she went over every last one of them again – and he *did* remember.

“What’s this, Spike?” she asked him with an encouraging smile, patting the large piece of furniture they were seated at.

“Table,” he replied slowly and carefully, struggling a bit with the sound on the end, but getting the word out, and looking up at her hopefully for her reaction.

Her reaction was to be absolutely thrilled.

“Good!” she exulted. “Spike, you are so smart!”

He looked away from her, his smile fading slightly with his uncertainty, as he shook his head a bit bashfully. “No,” he replied softly.

“Yes, you are!” Dawn insisted. “Look how fast you’re getting all this! How quickly you’re learning! Buffy is going to be so proud of you when she gets home!”

Spike looked up at her, his eyes widening with excited interest, his smile slowly spreading as he considered what she had said. A warm, comfortable sort of feeling spread through his stomach at the thought of pleasing her – of Buffy coming home from wherever she had gone to find out how much he had learned.

And suddenly – he could not learn fast enough.

He immediately rose from the chair he was seated in and went to the device she had used to heat his blood. Patting the top of it awkwardly, he looked at Dawn and asked slowly but very clearly, “What’s…this?” echoing the question she had posed to him over and over during their session.

Dawn’s eyes lit up with pleased surprise at his initiative and anxious desire to learn – but then widened slightly as she took a deep breath and said, “Spike – that’s a tough one – okay? Microwave – it’s a microwave.”

Spike looked away from her, frowning thoughtfully at the interesting contraption with the difficult name – the difficult name that a few seconds later, he managed to say, if not perfectly, definitely recognizably.

Dawn’s elated response was all the encouragement he needed to go rushing from the kitchen into the next room. Dawn hurriedly followed him, momentarily alarmed – until she found him in the living room, asking his same question about the television set.

“This one’s harder,” she warned him gently.

But it might as well have been the simplest word ever, for the relative ease with which Spike managed it. He tore through the room from one spot to another, rapid fire questions seeking out the answers for everything he could lay his hands on – and then making another trip around the room, repeating what she had taught him, his wide blue eyes seeking out hers for affirmation that he had spoken the right answers.

Every single time – he had.

“Spike – you’re a genius, you know that?” Dawn laughed as she took his hands and pulled him down on the couch beside her, wanting a few moments to catch her breath from the intensive learning session they had just had.

Spike just tilted his head to the side slightly, frowning in confusion.

“Smart,” she clarified. “You’re very smart, Spike.”

This time, he did not try to deny it. His smile was still a bit shy, and he tucked his head awkwardly at her praise – but he knew that she was telling the truth, not just trying to make him feel better.

He could not remember the last time he had felt this happy – had felt any emotion, in fact, that was not tinged with the terror of knowing that at any moment, he was going to do some bad thing to earn pain.

He settled back on the couch beside her as she reached for the remote control to the television, thinking that this must be what it felt like to do something *good* for a change.

The knock at the door shattered that fragile security in an instant – and Spike was immediately, automatically, trembling as he pulled back against the far corner of the couch, his eyes focused in terror on the door.

“It’s okay,” Dawn said softly, putting her hand to his cheek to turn his face to meet her eyes. “It’s okay, Spike. I’m gonna see who that is, okay? It’s all right. You’re safe – okay?”

Spike nodded, only because he knew that it was the response she wanted – but he could feel the black, consuming terror filling him up again, as he huddled back into the corner of the sofa, one single thought filling his mind.

*Buffy’s not here…Buffy’s not here…he can hurt us…Buffy’s not here…*

When Dawn opened the door, he recognized a slightly familiar scent – the scent of the man Buffy had talked to the night before…the man who had wanted to hurt him.

But – he *hadn’t* hurt him.

Giles had stepped cautiously into the living room, regarding him for a moment without raising his voice or moving toward him at all – and Spike had found some of his fears abating with the realization that this man did not seem inclined to hurt him just at the moment.

He felt a swell of pride for his beautiful protector, his wonderful Buffy who had rescued him, as his mind reached the only logical conclusion for how he could be in the presence of someone he knew wanted to hurt him, and yet not be in pain.

*He must be afraid of Buffy – she told him not to hurt me.*

That comforting thought gave him the courage to at least look up at the man, though he could not quite hold the piercing sapphire gaze that was, yet again, studying him -- though not unkindly.

Dawn stood uncertainly between the two. Buffy had told her about Giles' previous visit, so she was not really afraid that he might try to hurt Spike, but she knew that any sudden, unexpected move on his part might terrify the vampire, and she wanted to do everything she could to make sure that Spike felt safe.

At the look in Spike's expressive eyes, both fearful and brave at the same time, the guarded interest in Giles' eyes seemed to soften a bit. After a moment, he spoke softly.

"Hello, Spike."

Spike just stared at him, recognizing his name, but not the other word, and unsure how to respond.

"He really has been brain damaged, hasn't he?" the Watcher observed, though there was no cruelty in his voice -- just shock, at seeing Spike so different from how he remembered him. He had seen it before, a day ago -- but it was no less stunning the second time.

Defensively, Dawn hurried to inform him, "Yes -- but he's not stupid, Giles. He's learning a lot! Just today he's learned so many new words...Spike!" She turned to him expectantly, determination in her eyes to prove Spike's ability to Giles. "What's that?" She pointed at the television.

Dutifully Spike responded, stating the word very clearly and precisely.

"Dear Lord," Giles said under his breath, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

"See?" Dawn retorted, gratified, and pointed out the couch, the floor, and several other items, all of which Spike correctly identified. "Isn't that awesome?" she asked Giles, giving him a pointed look that clearly said that the wrong answer just might result in his slow, painful death.

"It's bloody dreadful's what it is," the Watcher replied, a quiet indignation in his voice, though to his credit, he was careful to keep it calm and nonthreatening.

"What?" Dawn's indignation matched his. "How can you say that?"

"Because vampire or no, he's bloody English, Dawn! And you and Buffy've got him butchering the language as horribly as you do!" He heaved a weary sigh as he sat down slowly on the opposite end of the couch, taking in the wary, but calm, vampire with appaising eyes as he spoke again.

"I believe I may have found the way in which I can help in this situation."

Dawn still seemed a bit puzzled by his last statement, frowning uncertainly.

"Well, if he's going to learn to speak English," Giles explained with mild exasperation, and a solemn resignation, "he'd best learn it from someone who's actually -- well, *English*!"

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When she walked through the front door that evening at the end of her shift, Buffy was very surprised by the unexpected sight that met her eyes.

Giles was seated on the sofa, turned slightly toward Spike, who was seated on the other end of the sofa, expectant blue eyes focused on the to-all-appearances older man. The fact that Giles wore an encouraging smile on his face as he looked at the vampire took Buffy by surprise – but even more startling was the fact that Spike did not seem to be afraid.

Of course, that probably had a great deal to do with her little sister, seated comfortably on the floor between the sofa and the coffee table, one arm resting casually across Spike’s knees – the easy touch obviously a great comfort to him. He was watching Giles warily, but without a trace of the utter terror with which he had viewed the man the day before – but his hand was holding tightly to the smaller hand of the girl beside him, as if to keep her there, between him and Giles.

Of course – Giles had made no move to touch him, and Spike certainly did not seem inclined to get any closer to him. The way he kept glancing anxiously toward Dawn every few seconds made Buffy think that if the younger girl had not been there, he probably could not have stayed in the same room with the Watcher.

But Dawn *was* there – and for the moment, Spike seemed to be okay.

When Buffy stepped into the living room, Spike looked up at her in surprise. She felt a moment of jealousy that he had been so caught up in whatever was going on that he had not noticed her come in – as brief and fleeting as it was childish and unreasonable – that instantly faded when his eyes lit up at the sight of her.

Dawn grinned up at her sister with amused anticipation as she nudged Spike’s leg and prompted in a stage whisper, “Go on – say it!”

Buffy’s slow, even progress toward the vampire was halted in stunned pleasure, at the two simple words he spoke next – so very ordinary and easy for anyone else to say, but such a tremendous step of progress for Spike.

“Hello, Buffy.”

Almost against her will – definitely against her better judgment – Buffy savored the little tremor that ran through her stomach, and lower, at the sound of that low, deep voice – so familiar, and yet so changed from the voice she remembered. Spike spoke with a certain soft shyness that was not exactly new to him. She had heard him say the same exact words in exactly the same way, many times before – though then, the fear and uncertainty in his voice had been more for his fragile heart than for his physical safety.

Perhaps it still was.

Buffy’s eyes welled with tears as her mind filled with the unbidden image of Spike as he had been a year ago, looking a her with those same vulnerable, pleading eyes, desperate for her acceptance, her approval – just to have his feelings for her acknowledged as being as real and deep and lasting as they were.

And she had ruthlessly denied him even that.

She brought an encouraging smile to her face now, through her tears, for Spike’s sake, as she sat down on the couch between Spike and Giles, putting her arm around him and pulling him gently against her side, taking his free hand in hers as she replied softly, “Hello, Spike. That’s so good, Sweetie – I’m so proud of you.”

“Buffy, you should hear all the words he’s learned today; he’s talking so much better now!” Dawn put in happily. “And Giles is going to help us!”

Buffy looked in expectant surprise at her Watcher – who just cleared his throat and looked away with a slightly sheepish smile – before returning her questioning gaze to her sister.

“He’s going to make sure that as Spike learns to talk English again, it’ll actually be -- *English*, you know? That he’ll still sound like Spike!” Dawn continued, a wide smile of satisfaction on her face.

Buffy looked back at Giles, her eyes widening, as he just continued to avoid eye contact, a reluctant smile of mild embarrassment on his face. “Really?’ she said, obviously pleased. “That’s great!” She paused before quirking a slightly suspicious eyebrow at him. “What brought on this sudden change of heart?”

“I already told you I would help in any way you needed me to, Buffy!” Giles reminded her indignantly, meeting her eyes at last. “I’d hardly call it a change of heart.”

When Buffy said nothing, just continued looking at him with a slowly widening smirk, he went on in a tone of defensive exasperation, “Well, he *is* British, Buffy. We can hardly have him speaking the mangled version of American English that you two speak, now can we?”

“No – it’s much better if he talks just like *you*!” Buffy retorted, sticking her tongue out at her Watcher in an impulsive display of good-natured immaturity.

“Close enough,” Dawn pointed out with a shrug. “Giles talks more like Spike used to than we do, that’s for sure.”

Buffy silently nodded her acceptance of the situation, agreeing that a British accent -- *any* British accent – would certainly suit Spike better than the California girl speech that she and Dawn had both adopted.

Spike, for his part, seemed a bit lost by the whole conversation, glancing uncertainly between the three of them, a slight, puzzled frown creasing his brow.

“So,” she said with an expectant, teasing wink as she turned her attention back to him and squeezed his hand gently, “why don’t you show me what you’ve learned while I was gone?”

A bit shyly, Spike went through the rather impressive list of items he was now able to identify to Buffy, whose lavish, enthusiastic praise brought a beaming smile to his face. He tucked his head slightly, a bit uncomfortable with the enigma of receiving affection and affirmation, when he had been led to believe for so long that those were things he would never deserve, never receive from anyone.

“Things are easy for him to learn,” Dawn remarked thoughtfully after a few minutes. “But – it might be a little tougher for him to get *ideas* -- verbs and stuff, you know?”

“He’s smart,” Buffy assured her, thrilling at the way his brilliant blue eyes softened with grateful adoration at her words. She raised a hand to tenderly run through his hair, as she added, “He’ll get it – he’s a very quick learner.”

The ring of the doorbell drew her attention away from him for a moment, but she could feel his body tense under her arm at the sound, the sound he had come to associate with new people coming onto the scene.

And as much progress as he had made, Spike was not quite comfortable with new people just yet.

“It’s okay,” she reassured him gently, squeezing his hand and his shoulder protectively, as she watched Dawn go toward the door. “Nothing and no one’s gonna hurt you, remember? I’m gonna keep you safe – right?”

Buffy was pleased to see that Spike obviously understood every bit of what she had said this time, and she smiled her approval as his jaw set with determination, and he nodded slowly, making a conscious decision to accept her promise at face value. She could read his emotions easily in his expressive sapphire gaze.

Buffy had kept her word to keep him safe so far – so he would trust her to do it again.

“Good boy,” she whispered tenderly, taking the opportunity of the moment when Giles and Dawn were both focused toward the front door to press a soft kiss to his forehead, marveling at the warmth of affection that flooded her for him as she did.

*Stupid Buffy,* she chided herself silently, *why is it so easy when no one’s looking, but if you’re not alone with him…*

Her thoughts were cut off in an instant, as wide, soft blue eyes focused on hers in a stunning mixture of startled pleasure, and awe, that she had deigned to touch him in such a way. There was something akin to worship in his gaze, as a tentative, vulnerable smile began to cross his lips, and he instinctively leaned in closer to her, his eyes focusing on her lips – and then suddenly looking back up at her, breathtaking blue through thick, lush lashes.

The sudden tightening she felt low in her abdomen caught her off guard, stealing her breath, as the desire she had been consciously holding at bay began to quicken within her again. Even as she told herself she had to pull away – had to stop before she did something she might regret – she felt her body leaning slightly toward him, in response to his own forward motion.

His sudden slight wince, and downward glance to their joined hands in his lap, drew her attention – mercifully – out of the drowning depths of his eyes, and she looked down to see that unknowingly, she was tightly clenching his hand in hers – almost painfully tight.

She immediately loosened her grip, without taking her hand away completely, as she looked back up at him with an apologetic smile.

“Spike,” she whispered, shaking her head slightly – falling silent as she realized that she had no idea how to explain to him what had just happened between them…or if it even needed explanation.

There were so many things that he could not remember, yet still seemed to sense on a basic, instinctive level. He could still read her like an open book; she realized that there was a good chance he already knew exactly what she was feeling, without any attempt on her part at useless words.

The entire exchange had taken place in a few brief moments, that had seemed to last a lifetime – but the power of the moment was shattered in an instant, swallowed up in an entirely different, more sinister sort of intensity, as Dawn opened the front door.

Immediately, Spike froze completely, his eyes widening and darting toward the doorway.

“What is it?” she asked him softly, glancing toward the doorway as a familiar figure stepped inside, then back at Spike, concern in her eyes. “What’s the matter, Sweetie?”

Spike’s eyes shot to hers, full of panic, and he shook his head frantically, scrambling back away from her against the far end of the couch, his arms wrapped around his knees, his eyes darting wildly about, before he lowered his head to rest on his knees, shaking uncontrollably.

“Spike – Honey,” she urgently tried to gain his attention, rising to her knees on the sofa and scooting towards him, taking his arms and trying to get him to look up at her. “What’s the matter, Sweetheart? It’s okay – he’s my friend. He’s not going to hurt you, Baby, I promise! He’s my friend!”

His wild, panicked eyes shot up to hers – and she lost her breath at the look of shock in his eyes.

No – it was more than shock.

It was -- *betrayal*.

“No,” he whispered pleadingly, shaking his head and drawing back away from her. “Please – no – please – Buffy, no…”

His desperation was clear in his soft, trembling voice, as he begged her, pleaded with her, for safety and protection that he could feel swiftly slipping away from him with the unexpected, unprepared-for presence of the person in the doorway – the person that his protector had just declared to be her *friend*.

“It’s okay,” she insisted softly, reaching a hand out to touch his cheek in a gentle, soothing gesture. “I promise, Spike, it’s okay…” She paused, a firm hand under his chin tilting his head up to meet her determined gaze. “You were afraid when Giles came, right? But I told you he wasn’t going to hurt you – and he didn’t,” she reminded him. “This is just the same. You just have to learn, Spike, not every stranger that you meet wants to treat you like whoever did this to you.”

Spike shook his head desperately, in his panic unable to find words to even attempt to explain the reason for it. And in his mind, as he tried desperately to make sense of the terrified ramblings echoing over and over, one thought was clear.

This was *not* just the same. This was different from Giles – in a way that he could not begin to make her understand, in his current panicked, incoherent state.

“Please,” he gasped for breath, barely able to get the words out. “B-Buffy, please – please, please, n-no…” he sobbed, as she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close to her reassuringly.

“It’s okay, Spike,” she promised him softly, her lips against his ear. “I’m going to protect you…I promise, okay?”

A sense of relief flooded over him, and he nodded against her shoulder, tears streaking his face, trembling uncontrollably with the release of knowing that somehow, she understood – that she would not let this happen.

Except – she did.

Spike’s heart sank in terror and disbelieving despair – as the Slayer gently disentangled herself from him, standing and turning toward his tormentor, now standing in the doorway…

…and, calmly smiling, invited him inside.

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As Buffy casually beckoned the man who had spent the last few months torturing him closer to where he huddled on the couch, Spike desperately pressed back as hard as he could against the upholstery behind him, sobbing softly, wishing that he could just disappear, to somewhere far away, where the young man now staring at him with veiled menace would never find him.

But he had already found him.

He was here – in the one place where Spike had just begun to feel safe.

And Buffy – Buffy *wanted* him here.

“Spike – Spike, it’s okay!” Dawn’s urgent voice insisted, and Spike felt her arms slide around him as she came to sit beside him on the couch. “It’s all right, he’s okay – he won’t hurt you…”

Spike raised wide, panicked eyes to hers in incredulous disbelief, shaking his head slightly. How could she possibly say that? How could she think that it was *safe* to have this man here, after what he had done to him? But as he studied the young, innocent face of the girl who had already come to mean so much to him, Spike suddenly saw the truth in her crystal blue eyes.

She didn’t know.

The idea had not even crossed his mind. He had just assumed that of *course* Buffy and Dawn knew who had done this to him; it seemed that they knew *everything* he knew, and so much that he did not. In their wisdom, through the awestruck eyes with which he viewed them, he could not imagine that there was any truth that was hidden from Dawn – and Buffy.

Spike raised his eyes to the Slayer’s face – calm and friendly and inviting, as she met the eyes of his former captor – and suddenly, it all made sense.

They trusted this man – thought he was safe – because they *did not know* what he had done – that this was the person who had hurt him so badly.

But as Spike watched the easy manner that Buffy had with the man, he found himself wondering with a sinking heart, if it would matter at all. This was Buffy’s friend – and he had been taught over and over that he was nothing more than a monster, an animal. How could she possibly take his side over the side of someone that she cared about, someone she was close to?

Something deep within him was insisting that he had to try to make her understand – but he wasn’t sure if he had the courage. If he told her…and she took the side of his abuser – it would *kill* him. There was no way that he could stand the pain, the rejection, if that were to happen.

A part of him thought it would be better to never even know.

“Spike?” Dawn whispered, trying to catch his gaze again – but he was looking past her, toward Buffy, who was standing on the other side of the coffee table, smiling at the young man – who had just come into Spike’s line of vision.

Dark, penetrating eyes full of barely concealed malice met his – and Spike instantly dropped his gaze. True, he had never seen those eyes before, even in his nightmares – had never seen the face of his attacker clearly, until this day.

But the scent – the voice – were terrifyingly familiar; and the hatred in those eyes was unmistakable.

“B-Buffy,” he whispered, his voice little more than a soft breath, as he gasped for air that he did not really need, fighting off the panic of knowing that his enemy was so very near – near enough to reach out and touch him if he wanted to.

And he *knew* that he wanted to – could feel the malicious desire rolling off of the young man in waves – could see his hands at his sides twitching slightly in anticipation of what he would do when he managed to get his hand on Spike again.

Spike swallowed back a sob of anguished terror. He *had* to try – he *had* to!

“Buffy – please,” he whispered in a trembling, desperate voice. “Please – please don’t…”

Buffy turned her concerned eyes on him again, motioning for her friend to stay where he was as she moved around the coffee table and knelt down on the floor in front of Spike, taking his hands gently in hers and pulling them away from his tear-streaked face.

He wished that she wouldn’t; he felt so terribly vulnerable, exposed, helpless before the cruel scrutiny of his oppressor’s eyes.

“Spike – Sweetie, it’s all right – I’m right here. What is it, Sweetie? Why are you so scared?” Buffy softly pressed him, trying to calm him, a frown creasing her brow as she obviously wondered what could possibly have him this upset, so much more frightened than he had been even when Giles had threatened him the day before.

She released one of his hands – which he promptly raised to his eyes, in an attempt to shield himself from the piercing, menacing gaze of his enemy – and reached up to gently but firmly redirect his gaze from the man across from them, back up to her face…

…but not before Spike saw him put one finger to his lips in a gesture he had already learned from Dawn – a gesture that was a silent instruction to keep his mouth shut. Dawn and Giles were both focused on Spike as well; so it was that none of them noticed the subtle, silent movement of the young man’s hand.

But Spike could not help but notice it. The menace in those dark eyes was clear, as the young man slightly, almost imperceptibly, shook his head in a warning way. It could not have been more obvious; without saying a word, he was delivering a powerful threat to the traumatized, broken vampire.

*Open your mouth one more time, you little nothing, and I’ll rip that tongue of yours right out of it! Do you understand me?*

Spike shuddered under the weight of powerful memories of past torments – past torments that could be present again, if he made the wrong choice. His panicked gaze met Buffy’s searching, worried eyes, in a moment of desperate indecision.

She was right there in front of him, giving him her undivided attention, patiently waiting for him to calm down enough to tell her what was wrong – and he knew that he *could* tell her. Even if he was not able to find all the words, all it would take was a few – a simple pointed finger, indicating the man who had broken him.

Except – that man was right there, in front of him, glaring at him with a frightening intensity, behind the backs of the attentive little group focused on Spike.

And that man was Buffy’s *friend*.

Spike knew very well what that word meant; it was another new thing that Dawn had taught him. “Friend” was what Dawn was to him – what *Buffy* was to him.

And this man was that to *Buffy*.

He lowered his eyes in despair, full of fresh tears, shaking his head in miserable silence. He could not tell her – not now, with this man right here, watching him, ready to punish him if he disobeyed and opened his mouth. He wanted to hurt him; the only thing holding him back was the fact that Buffy was protecting him.

For now.

Because she had no idea who it was that had hurt him.

If Buffy knew that the one who had done so much damage to him was her own friend – would she still protect Spike from him? Or would she apologize to her friend for her mistake, and turn him back over to him, to be punished for daring to hope for freedom and safety?

Perhaps she would.

Perhaps she would not.

But it was not a chance Spike was prepared to take.

“Spike?” Buffy whispered tenderly, urging him with a gentle hand to look back up at her – but he could not quite bring himself to meet her eyes.

He allowed her to tilt his head back up toward her face, but kept his own face turned slightly away, his eyes closed, swallowing back a fresh sob of anguished despair, just shaking his head slightly in refusal to speak.

“Spike? Come on, Sweetheart, talk to me!” she pushed him, a slight note of impatience entering her voice, that was not unkind, but spoke of her frustration at not being able to figure out what was wrong.

“Maybe I should go,” the young man spoke up – and Buffy turned her eyes to look at him, just in time to miss the flinch of Spike’s shaking shoulders at the sound of his voice. “I mean – this is obviously upsetting him…is he scared of everybody like this – or is it just me?” The anxious, apologetic sound of his voice was very convincing.

*Oh, he’s good – very, very good…* Spike realized, his heart sinking lower in his chest. *She’ll never believe me – never…*

“It’s pretty much everybody,” Buffy assured him, frowning as she looked back at Spike. “At least – all guys, apparently. It must have been a guy that did this to him. But – this seems different. He’s really freaked out. I – I don’t get it.”

*Please, please see it!* Spike thought desperately, his eyes still tightly shut against the panic of the situation he had found himself in. *Please see it, and *care*, Buffy – please!*

But he knew already that she would not. Even if her friendship with this person would not prevent her from keeping her promise to protect him – it *did* prevent her from seeing the truth about her friend. It was obvious that she simply could not even conceive of the idea that someone so close to her could have done such a terrible thing.

“I’ll go,” the young man repeated decisively. “I don’t wanna – make this harder for you guys. I mean – you know I’m not all about this whole thing, anyway, but – if this is what you need to do, Buffy – I don’t wanna make him, like – regress, or something, ya know? I’ll just – go on, and you just – call me when it’s okay for me to come over again. Like, in a few weeks, or…”

“No,” Buffy said firmly, taking a deep breath as she turned her eyes back to Spike – full of compassion, but determination as well. “No, you’re a friend of this family, and I’m not going to have you basically kicked out over this – even if it’s temporary. Spike needs to adjust to normal life – and our normal life around here includes you. Don’t go. Let’s see if we can get this worked out.”

“If you say so,” the young man sighed, his tone making it clear that he was not so sure that her idea was a good one. “Just let me know if you want me to go, Buffy.”

“I could just take him upstairs,” Dawn interjected from her place beside Spike, her sheltering arms still wrapped tightly around him, a pleading look in her troubled eyes. She was not so sure she liked Buffy’s idea, either. “I mean, Buffy, look at him! You guys can talk while I just get him out of here for a while – okay?”

Buffy took in the terrified, panicked expression on the vampire’s face, the way his entire body was shaking with fear, and swallowed back the sick feeling that rose in her throat.

“No, Dawnie,” she insisted, a bit sadly. “He can’t go on like this. He has to know that he’s gonna be safe, no matter who comes and goes around here – that we’re not gonna let anybody hurt him. And I think the only way he’s really gonna get that – is to see it for himself. To *be here*, when someone’s around that he’s a little scared of, and get through it, and realize that he’s okay – you know?”

“Um – this may be a really bad idea, so stop me if I’m out of line here,” the young man spoke up, his voice convincingly hesitant and uncertain. “But – what if we just kind of – *prove* to him that I’m safe. Like – just give me a few minutes with him, just to let him see that I’m not gonna hurt him…”

“Unh-uh,” Dawn immediately protesting, as Spike froze completely beside her, not even breathing for a few moments with the terror inspired by that suggestion. “He’d totally freak out. We can’t…”

“Yeah, he’d freak out – for all of like, two minutes, before you guys came back in the room,” the young man continued his suggestion, apparently thinking it through as he went along, enthusiasm and optimism rising in his voice as he looked at Buffy for her reaction. “And then, obviously, nothing would have happened, and he’d have to know that I don’t want to hurt him – because if I wanted to hurt him, obviously I’d do it while I was alone with him – right?”

The room was silent for a long moment, as Buffy frowned thoughtfully, turning her eyes back to Spike – who was suddenly staring at her, wide-eyed in panic, searching her gaze for what her response would be.

He could not wait to hear her answer.

“*No*!” he could not hold back the desperate, pleading whimper that tore from his throat, as he leaned forward, clutching at Buffy’s arms and dropping his head to her shoulder, begging for her protection in a breathless, sobbing whisper, “No, no, please, Buffy, please, no!”

Startled by the vehemence of his reaction – though she knew that she shouldn’t have been – Buffy wrapped her arms around him, holding him to her as she gently whispered to him, trying to soothe him.

“Um – sorry,” she said aloud, glancing up at her friend over Spike’s trembling shoulders. “Bad idea.”

“Okay,” the young man quietly accepted the verdict with a nod. “Just a thought.”

“Spike,” Buffy said quietly. “He’s *not* going to hurt you. I promise. But we’re not going to make you do that, Sweetheart, okay? I’m not gonna leave you alone for a second if you don’t want me to – okay?”

His entire body shook with relief, as he nodded his head against her shoulder, sobbing openly now as he clung to her.

“Shhh,” she whispered, running her fingers soothingly through his hair, rocking slightly as she just held him. “It’s okay – it’s okay…you wanna go upstairs with Dawn for a little while, Sweetie? Okay!”

Spike hesitated just a moment, craving the safety and security of knowing that Buffy was near; and yet, wanting desperately to be *away* from this man who had wrought such destruction in his life, and clearly was seeking a way to do so again. And if Buffy was down here with her friend…then…upstairs with Dawn should be perfectly safe…

He shakily raised his head, meeting Buffy’s eyes for just a moment before looking down again, ashamed of his own fear and helplessness. He nodded slowly, before looking up at her again through grateful tears.

“Th-thank you,” he whispered, displaying another small bit of knowledge he had gained that day, that Buffy had not yet been aware of.

Tears filled her own eyes as she gave him one more quick, gentle hug, and released him, allowing Dawn to lead him hurriedly toward the stairs.

As they passed the young man – whose gaze never left Spike; he could *feel* it, hot and angry and violent, boring into his back – Spike felt the almost unbearable compulsion to fall to the floor on his face before him. He had never been allowed to stand in this young man’s presence before, not that he could remember.

Only his compulsion to escape was stronger, as he obediently followed Dawn up the stairs, clinging to her hand.

And as she called back over her shoulder with an apologetic smile to the young man who was a friend to her and Buffy – but in no way a friend to Spike – the vampire finally learned the name of his tormentor.

“Sorry about all this – even if it doesn’t look like it, we kinda miss you around here.”

The dark-haired young man grinned up disarmingly at Dawn, a warm affection in his eyes and voice as he replied without hesitation, “Oh, well. Movie night – right?”

Dawn smiled back at him, and Spike kept his eyes downcast, feeling more like an outsider than he had felt since being brought here, as he listened to the girl’s light-hearted response.

“Right. Movie night. See you then, Xander.”

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“I wonder what that was all about,” Buffy murmured slowly, her eyes and tone troubled as she gazed up the stairs at the place where Spike and Dawn had disappeared from sight.

“Well, I should think it’s rather obvious,” Giles remarked, and two sets of eyes focused on his – one with concerned interest, and the other with barely concealed fear and suspicion – though neither of the other two seemed to notice, as Giles was focused on Buffy, and Buffy on Giles.

“It is?” Buffy prompted, frowning, still confused.

Xander said nothing, just swallowed hard and stared at the Watcher, waiting for his explanation.

“Of course. He’s been through a traumatic ordeal, from what you’ve described to me, Buffy. Held captive and tortured by the only person in his world, until only two days ago – and a person that he’s never seen before, at that. All he has to go by to remember the person who held him captive is scent, and voice…and both the scent and voice of any man are going to be quite obviously different from those of a woman – and in some ways, similar to those of any other man,” Giles explained his position, slowly and thoughtfully.

“Which would explain why he was basically okay with me, and Dawn right away – but totally freaked out when he came downstairs the other night to a living room full of guy voice and guy smell. No offense, Xan,” she added as an afterthought, not quite meeting her friend’s eyes.

She wasn’t really sure why she felt the need to *not* mention Anya’s involvement – but she did.

That did not mean that she was exactly comfortable with keeping that secret from her best friend.

“None taken,” he replied easily, sitting down on the sofa in the spot where Spike had sat, releasing a heavy sigh that was not obviously a sound of relief. “So – it’s not just me then…’cause that would be a little – um, disturbing.”

“No,” Buffy reassured him, giving him a sympathetic smile. “He reacted almost the same way to Giles when he came in yesterday.”

“Okay,” Xander accepted her words, this time with obvious relief. “Man, Buff,” he added, shaking his head as he met her eyes with compassion. “Looks like you’ve really got your hands full.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” she countered with a sad little laugh.

“Look,” Xander began again, a bit reluctantly, “I think maybe I was – a little unreasonable the other day. I mean – I’ve never really trusted Spike – never really had a reason to – and you know how I feel about – well, about your history with him. But…this is different. *He’s* different now – you know?”

“I *really* do,” Buffy replied without hesitation, her eyes wide and solemn as they focused on the coffee table in front of her, her mind replaying the image of Spike when she had found him in the cave, over and over again.

“So – I can see why you feel the need to – look after him, you know? I mean – all things considered…” Xander continued.

There was a moment of awkward silence, all three of them well aware of just what “all things” Xander was talking about, though he hadn’t specifically said that he was referring to the secret relationship that had left such a dramatic mark on Buffy’s first year of life after her death.

“Well, anyway – I guess what I’m trying to say is – if you need my help, I’m here, Buffy,” Xander finally finished, meeting her eyes with his own chocolate brown gaze full of sincerity and compassion. “I’ll do whatever you need me to do…keep Dawn occupied every now and then, or – or give you a break once in a while…you know, once he’s not scared to death every time he sees me – or smells me – or whatever.”

“Thanks, Xander,” Buffy gave him a smile that was both apologetic and appreciative at once, as she sighed wearily, leaning her head against the back of the couch and raising her arms to press her palms against her eyes. “I appreciate that. Though, I have to say, the way things went today, it’ll probably be a while before that’s a possibility.”

“I know,” he replied quietly. “I’m relieved that it’s not just me that he reacts to like that – and at the same time, I feel a little guilty for feeling relieved,” he admitted with a sheepish little smile. “Just let me know though; I’ll do whatever I can.”

“I must say,” Giles spoke up suddenly, a pensive frown on his face. “Although Spike does seem a bit skittish around *all* males – something *did* seem a bit different about his reaction today – don’t you think so, Buffy?”

Buffy nodded slowly, a bit ruefully, as if she had been thinking the same thing but had not really wanted to bring it up. “Yeah. This was – worse. And yesterday, you were all threatening him and in his face and everything…and it *still* wasn’t this bad…”

A slightly uncomfortable silence fell over the room, each of the three in their own private thoughts, though only one of them even considered the true explanation for what Giles had pointed out.

After a few moments, Xander spoke up again, his tone reluctant. “Um, Buffy – I really hate to bring this up, but I just had a thought.”

“What kind of thought?” Buffy asked, one eyebrow raised as she looked up to study her friend’s face. “Because if it has anything to do with ‘putting Spike out of his misery’ you’d best keep that thought to yourself!”

“No, no,” Xander objected, shaking his head. “Nothing like that. I just – I had a thought as to why Spike might have reacted like he just did. I mean – you saw the way he reacted to Angel the other night – all freaked out and bowing at his feet and everything?”

“Uh-huh,” Buffy replied slowly, cautiously, suddenly sure that she was not going to like what her friend had to say. “But Angel said…”

“Just – hear me out,” Xander broke in again with quiet urgency, holding up a hand in a request for silence. “Vampires have this like, freaky good sense of smell, right? Like they can smell if you’ve been around someone recently, stuff like that?”

“Yes,” Giles nodded thoughtfully, giving the boy a questioning look.

“Well – I bet you’ll never guess who I ran into on my way over here…”

************************************

Dawn did not have the first idea what to do to help her friend.

Spike had dutifully followed her up the stairs to Buffy’s room, clinging to her hand the whole way – but once they had reached the room, the moment Dawn had turned her back to firmly shut the door, Spike had released her hand, moving away from her.

When she had turned back around to find him, her eyes widened with dismay, at the sight of the terrified, desperate vampire, huddled on the far side of the bed, on the floor against the wall, his knees drawn up to his chest, shaking and sobbing softly.

Silently, Dawn crossed the room and sat down on the floor beside him, putting her arm around him and nestling in close to him, when he resisted her gentle attempts to pull him to her side. He did not respond to her touch at all, just kept crying, his entire body shaking violently as he apparently tried to hide within himself, closing himself away from her as much as he could.

“Spike – it’s okay. You’re safe here – it’s all right,” she repeated the reassuring words that seemed automatic to her by now, her fingers rising to run through his hair in a gesture of affection and comfort. “Buffy and me – we won’t let anything happen to you,” she promised him, her soft voice earnest and determined. “No matter what.”

Spike finally raised his red, tear-filled eyes to hers, full of an unspeakable anguish and hopelessness, as he just shook his head, unable to find the words to explain to her why the words that had been so comforting before, now meant nothing to him.

“What, Spike?” she pressed him urgently. “What is it? What are you so afraid of?”

*Stupid question, Dawnie,* she thought immediately, cringing slightly at her own thoughtlessness.

But this *was* different; she was not imagining that. Something had freaked Spike out, badly – beyond the general sort of fear she had seen in him over the past few days. The trembling vampire stared up at her, panic and confusion evident in his eyes, and she wondered for a moment if *he* even understood what it was that had thrown him into such a fit of terror.

Then, Spike just shook his head, lowering it back to rest on his knees, despair in every aspect of his expression, his demeanor – as if to say that he knew there was no way he could ever make her understand.

“Spike,” Dawn insisted, moving around to face him and placing her hands gently but firmly on his knees, trying to gain his attention, “you can tell me. *Anything*. Please tell me, Spike – what happened down there?”

“C-can’t,” he finally sobbed out a response, without looking up – though one thin, trembling hand reached out to clutch hers desperately. “H-hurt – can’t t-tell…”

“Wait -- *what*?” Dawn gasped, her eyes widening as she reached her free hand up to his face, tilting it slightly up toward hers. “Spike – no! No one’s gonna hurt you if you tell us what happened! I don’t know what that creep did to you, but we’re not going to hurt you just for telling us why you’re feeling this way! You can tell me and Buffy anything – you have to know that! We would *never* hurt you!”

Spike looked up at her suddenly, confused and startled by her words – before understanding dawned in his eyes, as he realized her mistake. “No,” he whispered, the misery of loneliness and utter hopelessness in his eyes, before he looked away again. “Not – not you. Not Buffy. Bad – h-hurt – me…”

Dawn’s chest hurt, a physical ache in her heart that brought tears to her eyes, at the pain and terror in those deep, tearful blue eyes – and the fact that she had no idea how to ease it. “Spike – I’m sorry – I don’t understand. I’m not going to hurt you. *No one* is going to hurt you! You’re not bad, Spike, you’re *not*! You have to stop thinking that you’re…”

“No,” he whispered, shaking his head in obvious frustration, though he did not raise it from his knees. “N-not me…”

At that moment, the door to the bedroom opened, and Spike flinched at the sudden sound, the bright light that flooded the room from the hallway, looking up with panicked eyes to see who had entered his place of fragile safety.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Dawn soothed him, looking up to the doorway, and then back at his face with an attempt at a reassuring smile. “It’s just Buffy – Buffy’s here, Spike…”

What neither girl could know was that due to an apparently impulsive – and very touching – supportive hug Xander had given Buffy on her way up the stairs – she was covered in the scent of Spike’s torturer – an instantaneous reminder to the vampire of just how close his savior was to his abuser.

Any thoughts Spike had momentarily entertained of telling them everything, in spite of Xander’s silent threats, immediately vanished in a fresh flood of panic.

“Spike? Honey, what…?” Buffy hurried to his side, crouching down in front of him, surprised and dismayed to see him still so very frightened. She had assumed that once he was upstairs, alone with Dawn, he would quickly calm down.

She was even more startled and dismayed when he shrank back away from her in fear, with a soft pleading whimper.

“D-don’t – don’t…” he sobbed, flinching when she reached out to touch his arm – and her hand froze, inches away from his shaking body. “Please…don’t…touch…don’t…”

Buffy swallowed back her hurt and surprise, glancing up at her sister in bewilderment – but Dawn seemed just as dumbfounded by Spike’s unexpected behavior. Buffy slowly stood up, staring down at the terrified vampire, unsure how to react. All she had wanted was to take him in her arms, to do as she had done for two nights now, and hold him in her arms until the tears and trembling faded away into comfort.

But every instinct told her that at this moment, for some inexplicable reason, her comfort would appear as a threat to Spike – so she did not make any further move to touch him.

“I won’t, Spike,” she promised him softly. “I won’t touch you, if you don’t want me to.”

“Buffy…” Dawn looked up at her with sympathy in her crystal blue eyes, shaking her head, her mouth open to offer some reassurance that at the moment, Buffy *really* did not want to hear.

“Don’t worry about it, Dawnie,” she cut her off gently, forcing a weak smile. “I – I have to go, anyway…”

“Go?” Dawn echoed in disbelief. “Go where?”

“There’s someone I need to talk to,” Buffy answered vaguely, but the slight hardening of her expression told Dawn that whatever conversation she was going to have was definitely related to what had happened to Spike. “Giles and Xander are going to stay – downstairs. They won’t bother you two; they’ll just be here – you know, just in case…”

Dawn nodded, satisfied with that arrangement. Neither Giles nor Xander made her feel quite as safe as her sister did, but they were the next best thing to a father and a brother to both girls, and she felt much better knowing that they would be there, if Buffy would not.

Amidst his desperate sobs, neither girl noticed the slight hitching of Spike’s breath, the way his body went still for a moment, though he did not raise his head or make a sound.

As Buffy turned to walk out the bedroom door, Dawn’s clear, slightly higher than usual voice stopped her in her tracks. “Buffy?”

“Yes.” The Slayer’s voice was barely audible, thick with unshed tears, and she did not turn around.

“Whoever you’re going to talk to – if he did this…” Dawn began, her youthful voice soft and earnest – and full of a deadly chill. “…don’t kill him too quickly.”

Buffy’s eyes widened, though she still did not turn around – and the shock of Dawn’s words was fleeting. After all, especially at this moment, with Spike’s quiet, desperate sobs still audible behind her – she understood her little sister’s sentiments perfectly. They were only an echo of her own feelings.

“Don’t worry,” she assured her sister flatly. “I won’t.”

And with those coldly spoken words, she was out the door, and out of the house in the next few moments – headed across town toward the place where Xander had told her she would find the person she sought.

And as she made her way across town, intent on finding out who was responsible for the wreckage that had been made of her former lover, Buffy was completely unaware that in her upstairs bedroom, the fragile heart of said former lover shattered just a bit more with her exit.

The scent that surrounded her had made him sure that had she touched him right in that moment, he would have been physically sick. He could not bear the thought of havin that scent on his own body again, a physical reminder of the torments he had been through.

But that did not mean that he wanted her gone – especially not with his tormentor in the house.

And as the Slayer abruptly walked out, Spike was firmly convinced that once again he had done something wrong, had driven her away with his tears, his panic, caused her to walk away from him, leaving him here at the mercy of his enemy.

And despite Dawn’s best efforts to soothe him – his bitter tears of heartache and despair flowed on, as the Slayer made her way out her front door, and across town into the night.

This beautiful banner was created for me by the wonderful artist The_Space_Between!!! Thanks, love!!!



As Buffy rose to her feet and walked away, Spike felt the darkness, the terror, closing in on him – and he wanted nothing more than to rise from the floor where he was huddled against the wall, and fall at her feet in her path and beg her not to go.

The thought of her leaving him here – even with Dawn – was terrifying, when he could still smell the scent of his former captor in the air…still here the muffled strains of his voice drifting up the stairs. He knew that there was no one but Buffy who stood a chance of protecting him – and she was leaving.

He had made her *want* to leave.

*Stupid – bad – don’t deserve her,* he berated himself. *No wonder she’s leaving you with him!*

It was a long time after Buffy had gone downstairs before Spike was even aware of Dawn’s continued presence beside him, her warm arm wrapped around his shoulders, her gentle, soothing hand stroking slowly up and down his back in an attempt to calm him.

“Spike,” she whispered softly. “Shhh…it’s okay…come on, Spike, let’s get you to bed, Sweetie, okay? You’ll feel better after you get some rest…come on, Spike…”

It was only the deeply ingrained habit of obedience that drew him to his feet, as she rose and took his hands, patiently leading him toward the bed. He was wearing the clothes he had worn all day – the black t-shirt and jeans that Buffy had bought for him – but neither of them thought anything of it as Dawn made him lie down and covered him with the soft blankets, then climbed in beside him, only kicking off her shoes before she settled in with her arms protectively wrapped around him.

His sobs had subsided – mostly because he had just about cried himself out – but his fears had not, as he nestled in close to the girl, his head on her shoulder, his eyes tightly shut against the terror of the one he knew waited for him downstairs – waiting for the opportunity to strike again.

“I don’t know what’s the matter, Spike,” Dawn murmured softly as she held him close to her. “I mean – I don’t know what’s got you so panicked right now – but no one’s going to hurt you. I promise. Buffy’s not going to let them. She’s gone right now to look for the person who did this to you, Spike. She’s going to make sure they never get the chance to touch you again.”

Spike did not respond at all – no movement or sound even to indicate that he had heard her at all.

His heart sank at the thought of Buffy out there, looking for his attacker, when his attacker was right here under her own roof the whole time. A part of him wanted to tell Dawn the truth, to let her know that Buffy’s effort at the moment was a waste of time, when the true threat was much closer than she realized – but the greater part of him was too terrified of what might happen if he dared to tell the secret.

After all, he thought – what good would it do?

The silent threats of the young man downstairs were still clear in his mind, and he knew that Buffy would have a hard time believing that someone she was obviously so close to was the one who had hurt him. What if he told, and Buffy did not believe him – and he only succeeded in making his enemy angrier? He would be no safer than he was now; in fact, he would be in even greater danger than before.

And worst of all, he thought, a cold, empty feeling of fear creeping over him at the idea…

What if he lost the love, the friendship and support, of these two girls who had come to mean so much to him?

What if they hated him for his accusation, and turned him away – leaving him helpless in the hands of his abuser?

No, he decided. It was better to keep his mouth shut, to keep the truth to himself, than to risk losing the fragile sense of security and comfort he had found in the love of Buffy and Dawn. His attacker had wanted him to keep quiet – so apparently, it *did* matter to him whether or not the girls knew of what he had done. So – he was not likely to try anything when Dawn or Buffy were around…

Right?

*Buffy,* he thought, his trembling hands clinging desperately to the younger girl who was not quite a substitute for the gentle strength of the Slayer, *please…please come back…I’m so sorry…please don’t leave me…not with him…*

**********************************

With a force she had formerly reserved only for Spike’s crypt door, Buffy slammed the door to the old mansion open with a powerful kick, storming inside. Angel looked up at her in surprise from where he sat in a dilapidated old armchair, near the dark, empty fireplace. He had been staring into it as if at an imaginary fire when she had walked in.

Brooding, no doubt.

*About what he did to Spike?* she wondered, her eyes narrowing in fury as she stalked toward him. *Good – I’ll give him something more to brood about!*

Before he even had time to get up, her fist shot out, slamming into his face, knocking him back into the chair, and he shook his head, dazed by the force of the blow. She followed it up with a second one, before yanking the much larger vampire up out of the chair and throwing him to the floor, several yards away.

“I’ll kill you,” she declared, her voice trembling with rage. “I’ll freakin’ kill you, Angel…”

“Wait,” he mumbled, trying to drag himself to his feet through the haze that still filled his head – somehow understanding, although he could barely think straight yet, that if he did not *move*, *now*, he was going to be dust before he had the opportunity to defend himself. “Buffy, wait – what…”

A single vicious kick to his ribcage cut off his attempt, and he was sure that he was about to be dust.

“How could you do it, Angel?” He could hear the tremor of tears in her voice now, as she simply stood over him, glaring down at him through emerald eyes glimmering with emotion. “How could you do that to your own *family*? How could you *lie* to me and pretend that you actually *cared* about him? That you were here to help? How could you?”

Her rapid fire questions, spoken too quickly to allow for answers, seemed to build her fury up again, because as she finished the last of them, he heard and felt the swift rush of air accompanying her foot as it sped toward his face.

He caught it in his hand, yanking it out from under her and sending her to the floor on her back, knocking the wind from her with the unexpected impact. In the next moment, Angel was on his feet – only a bare instant before the Slayer, who somehow now had her stake in her hand.

“Buffy, hold on!” he insisted, his own voice shaking a bit as he circled warily with her, his eyes darting back and forth between her face and her upraised stake-wielding hand. “Slow down a second and tell me what you’re talking about!”

“Spike!” Buffy practically spat the word at him, outrage in her eyes. “Remember him? Your *childe*? The one you’ve reduced to the level of a helpless, harmless baby?”

Confused, Angel shook his head, frowning. “Buffy – we talked about this! I told you, I never touched him! Well – not recently,” he amended with a little grimace, his eyes widening on hers as he realized that that last comment was not exactly a wise one, considering her current frame of mind.

“Yeah? So why does he absolutely freak out every time he smells *you*?” she demanded, her eyes blazing with accusation – but she *did* stay her hand long enough to hear his answer this time.

“What?” he shook his head again, more confused than ever. “I haven’t been anywhere near Spike, not since *you* told me to stay away unless you asked for me! So that’s exactly *one* freak out, and I’m not completely convinced that that one was because of me! Remember?” Defensive anger made his words come out a bit faster and shakier than he intended.

Or maybe that was the stake in her increasingly unsteady hand.

“Xander came by tonight. After running into you earlier this evening.” Buffy stopped at that, as if expecting him to understand based on that alone.

He didn’t.

At his blank expression, the slight shake of his head to indicate that he didn’t get it, Buffy let out a weary sigh, lowering her stake slightly and rolling her eyes before fastening her piercing gaze on him again.

“When Xander walked in – Spike completely lost it. Kind of like he did the other night, with you. Come to find out after a few minutes – Xander ran into *you* tonight, before he came by,” Buffy explained, her voice and eyes hard as she studied her former lover for any sign, any subtle clue as to his guilt.

Angel was silent, staring at her in disbelief. Finally, he seemed to find his voice again.

“And so – you just *assume* that means it’s *me* that he’s scared of?”

Buffy looked at him blankly this time, obviously not quite sure what he was getting at.

“Why me?” Angel demanded, anger in his voice. “Why not Xander? Xander was there the last time Spike freaked out, too, wasn’t he?”

Buffy was so startled by the accusation, that she completely missed the dangerous glint in Angel’s eyes at the mention of her friend, and his possible involvement in what had happened to Spike.

“Xander?” she echoed in disbelief. “You don’t honestly expect me to think that *Xander* is capable of the kind of torture that Spike’s been through – do you?”

Angel shrugged carelessly, but his dark eyes were somehow cold, and yet hot with anger at the same time. “You better hope not – for his sake. Because if he *did* do it – he’s going to pay, human or not.”

Buffy blinked, her eyes widening at his blunt statement – and suddenly, gazing into the eyes of the vampire that at one time she had known better than any other…she knew.

Angel could not have done it.

“Then how else do you explain it?” she said, her voice softening, taking on a quality of dull discouragement as she lowered her stake. “What set him off like that? Because I know it wasn’t Xander. It couldn’t have been. He’s just – he’s not capable of something like that.”

Angel did not respond for a moment, sensing that at the moment, bringing up his own opinion of the boy’s capability of torture and violence was not exactly a good idea. Finally, he shrugged again, looking away for a moment.

“Could be anything, Buffy. I highly doubt that I’m the only person Xander saw today – the only one he bumped into on the sidewalk, or stopped to talk to for a minute…”

“Giles said it could just be because he’s a male,” Buffy offered flatly, sitting down in the armchair Angel had been in when she had walked in, all her energy swiftly leaving her.

Angel considered that for a moment, nodding noncommittally. “It’s possible. But – not likely. There are enough differences in human scents – he could most likely tell the difference between one guy and the next.”

Relieved that the confrontation – and evident threat to his unlife – had passed, Angel sank down in the chair across from her, watching her thoughtfully, waiting for her response. She was obviously thinking the whole thing through, trying to make the troublesome events of the past few days reconcile with her understanding of the way her world was.

“Then – I just don’t understand,” she said finally, shaking her head before leaning forward and resting it in her hand with a sigh. “I mean – it’s not possible that it’s Xander. It’s just – it’s not…” she insisted – but the tone of her voice made it clear that she was finally considering the possibility.

“So – Xander – he said he thought it was me?” Angel asked after a moment, a guarded sound to his voice.

Buffy looked up at him, her expression pensive as she replayed the events of the evening in her mind. “Yeah,” she admitted. “He – he came in, and – and Spike completely freaked out. He was terrified, like he thought somebody was gonna…” Her voice trailed off, and she shook her head, closing her eyes as she swallowed back the pain of seeing him in such terror.

“Dawn took him upstairs – and we…me and Giles and Xander…were trying to figure out why he reacted that strongly this time – not like the other times,” Buffy continued, thinking it through as she went along.

“And let me guess -- *that’s* when Xander came up with his little theory that I *shot* my childe in the head,” Angel broke in, disgust in his voice at the very suggestion that he might have done such a cowardly thing, “something only a human would really do, Buffy – and then held him captive and tortured him for months…right?”

Buffy’s expression took on a strange wariness, as she met his eyes again, nodding slowly. “Yeah,” she said softly. “That’s right.”

They were both quiet for a moment.

“Buffy?” Angel asked quietly, drawing her attention with the quiet urgency of his tone. “Xander left before you did – right?”

********************************

It was hilariously easy to convince the old man to leave Dawn and Spike under his watchful eyes.

For the past half hour, Giles had been nodding off in front of the television – and when Xander suggested thoughfully that he go home and get some rest, leaving him there to wait for Buffy’s return – the Watcher had offered little to no resistance to the suggestion.

With the rather unnecessary reminder not to invite anyone in until Buffy returned, Giles had headed home for the evening – and Xander had headed up the stairs.

The door to Dawn’s bedroom was open – and the room was empty; the bathroom was empty as well.

That left only one option – and the very thought of it made the boy’s blood boil.

His eyes narrowed, darkening with rage, as he turned his attention to Buffy’s closed bedroom door. He approached it, his hand hovering over the handle for a long moment, considering what would be his best approach. In the darkness of the hallway, he could see that the lights were off inside.

It was already after 11:00.

Was Dawn still awake?

After a moment’s hesitation, he knocked softly on the door. If Dawn was awake, he could always say that he had just come up to check on her, make sure they were both okay.

She would buy it – if she came to the door.

Which she didn’t.

Slowly, cautiously, Xander eased the bedroom door open, pausing in the darkened doorway for a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the darker room. A slow smile spread over his face at the sight that met his eyes, illuminated faintly by the glow of the television screen.

Dawn was fast asleep, her face turned slightly toward him, one arm draped lightly over the vampire at her side.

The vampire was most definitely not asleep. He was shaking violently, wide sapphire eyes focused on the doorway, though he dared not move or make a sound. Xander smirked to himself, satisfied that his simple warning had remained effective.

He was unafraid that his soft voice might wake Buffy’s little sister when he spoke; Dawn had always slept – well -- *more* soundly than the dead, apparently. His voice was barely over a chillingly soft whisper, anyway, as he smiled at the terrified creature in the bed, meeting his eyes with sadistic menace.

“Hello, Spike.”

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“Get up. And come over here.”

Spike heard the frighteningly soft command, but could not quite bring himself to move. All he really wanted to do was to wake up Dawn, to alert her to the presence of her friend in the doorway, and try to make her aware of the threat he posed.

But – would she believe him?

He could see the scene playing out in his head – and somehow, he could not see it ending in any other way than with Dawn trying to calm him and reassure him that he had just misunderstood, that Xander was not dangerous, he was just confused, because of all that he’d been through…and going right back to sleep.

At which point, Xander would be free to work out his increased aggressions on Spike.

His hesitation was immediately overcome with fear at the next whispered words out of the young man’s mouth – barely audible, to anyone but Spike, and certainly not loud enough to disturb Dawn’s sleep.

“If you wake her up – I’ll have to hurt her, Spike. And I know you don’t want me to do that.”

Spike froze, a soft pleading whimper rising in his throat, as he closed his eyes, shaking his head in desperate denial of what was happening.

Xander did not allow it for long.

“I won’t tell you again, Spike. Get your pathetic, worthless butt over here, *now*.” The softness, the calm tone of his voice made the menacing words all the more chilling.

Helplessly, Spike eased his body out from under the light weight of Dawn’s arm, sliding across the mattress until she was no longer touching him -- careful not to disturb her at all.

If something happened to her because of his own stupidity – he would never forgive himself.

The moment Spike’s feet hit the floor – he dropped to his knees, his head lowered submissively, as he crawled obediently toward the young man across the room, in the way that he had been made to time and again during his captivity.

“That’s it,” Xander softly encouraged him, “that’s a good boy, Spike…” He spoke to him as if he was an often-beaten dog, which might flee if he spoke too harshly to him – but Spike knew that the gentle tone was a deception.

He *wanted* to flee – he just knew that it would do no good.

He knew it now, beyond all doubt – there *was* no escape.

The moment he came within Xander’s reach, the boy grabbed him by the hair, jerking him up to his feet, and Spike bit back the cry of pain that rose to his lips – aware that too much noise on his part would only serve to place Dawn in danger. Still, Xander clamped a hand tightly over his mouth as he dragged the shaking, unresisting vampire out into the hallway, closing the bedroom door quietly behind them.

He continued into Dawn’s bedroom across the hall, closing the door before shoving Spike forcefully up against the wall, leaning into his face with a smug smile of menace as his big hands fisted in the fabric of Spike’s t-shirt.

“Well – guess you thought you’d really pulled one over on me, didn’t you, Fangless?” he sneered.

Spike just shook his head, desperately, helplessly, his trembling hands raised in front of his stomach between them, a futile, instinctive gesture of self-defense.

“Thought you’d got away? Thought I wouldn’t find you?” He slammed him against the wall again, leaning in closer to him to snarl, “No such luck, Spike. I told you – you’ll *never* get away from me!”

Spike just shook his head, tears falling from his tightly shut eyes, much to his dismay. “Please,” he whispered, the word barely audible over the harsh, angry breath of his attacker. “Please…please don’t…”

Xander had never allowed him the luxury of tears. When things had been at their worst in the caves where he had been held prisoner, and Spike could not hold back the tears of agony and despair – those tears had only served to infuriate the boy further, and bring about more pain and punishment. Spike was nothing more than a monster, Xander had insisted. Not human – no real feelings – and not deserving of the right to complain about anything that was done to him, in any way.

But the past few days – the powerful release of emotions that had been held back for so long, and mercifully allowed by Buffy and Dawn – had left Spike with very little control over the emotions that consumed him now. His resistance was weakened, and the tears seemed determined to streak his face, no matter how hard he tried to stop them.

But apparently, at the moment, the tears were the least of Xander’s concerns.

“Well, look at you!” he smirked, with a falsely impressed tone. “Aren’t you just coming along so well! Talking and everything! You’re getting pretty smart, arentcha, Spike?”

The leading nod of the boy’s head prompted the petrified creature, nearly beside himself with terror, to nod quickly in response, choking back a sob as he whispered, “Yes…yes…”

“*No*!” Xander snapped, a vicious fury in his voice as he shoved Spike into the wall again, and the vampire flinched at the violence of his reaction. “No, you’re not, Spike! You are *stupid*! Nothing but a stupid, worthless monster – and I’ve told you more than once to keep your stupid mouth *shut*! So what I’m wondering is – why you’re talking at all, you little idiot? Huh?”

Spike shook his head desperately, simply responding to Xander’s actions, not having the first idea what was expected of him, how to appease this monster in front of him – simply wanting to go along with whatever he said, to somehow keep from angering him any further.

As the boy visibly reined in his rage, making an effort to regain his control before going on, Spike felt his knees weaken beneath him at the power of the hatred rolling off of the young man – the seemingly harmless boy who had held him in his power for as long as he could remember.

“Sorry about that,” Xander chuckled softly, shaking his head in self-deprecating amusement. “I’d better keep it down – or I might wake up Dawn – and I *really* don’t want to hurt her, Spike – I really don’t – it’s just that if you weren’t so freakin’ *stupid*,” he hissed, slamming his fist suddenly into the wall in a restrained show of anger, inches from Spike’s face, “then I wouldn’t get so freakin’ *angry* -- you know?”

He smiled as Spike flinched away from him, and he grabbed his hair, jerking his head backward and twisting his hand cruelly in the unruly golden curls.

“S-sorry!” the vampire stammered out in a whisper, tears streaming from his eyes. “Sorry – please!”

“See, that’s what I’m talking about, Spike – stupid!” Xander shook his head in mock sympathy, tightening his grip on Spike’s hair, pulling mercilessly at the wound on the back of his head that had not quite healed yet. “ ‘Cause I already told you very clearly to *shut up*!”

In a misery of confusion and terror, desperate to appease his captor, yet forbidden even to apologize, or plead for mercy, Spike felt the old impulse to fall to his knees on the floor at Xander’s feet – tried to, in fact – but Xander’s strong hands gripped his arms and pulled him back up straight.

“Unh-uh, Spikey,” he sneered, shaking his head with a deceptively kind smile. “it’s way too late for that. See – we’ve got a little problem here. Back when you were nothing but a pathetic little retard – couldn’t see – or talk – or even tell anybody what I look like – I didn’t have to worry about you running your mouth – telling Buffy things I *really* don’t want her to know…”

“W-won’t,” Spike desperately promised, his eyes wide and pleading. “Won’t tell – please…”

Xander’s hand immediately drew back in preparation for a punishing blow across his face, and Spike flinched.

“Sorry – sorry,” he whispered, one hand raised in a weak, instinctive attempt to shield his face from the threatened blow.

“You’re not *too* sorry, are you, Spike?” Xander snarled, grabbing his wrist and wrenching it down to his side, moving in closer to his face, just to emphasize how helpless he really was. “ ‘Cause you’re still running your mouth! Guess you’re still just a little retard after all, aren’t you?”

Spike shook his head frantically, though he dared not say a word, trembling violently at the terrifying nearness of his tormentor, pressed so close to him that the heat from his furious body was searing against his thinly covered skin.

“You are – if I say you are – aren’t you?” Xander demanded, raising his hand again.

Realizing that he had given the wrong answer, Spike quickly corrected, nodding obediently, this time not daring to raise his own hand in self-protection.

“So you expect me to believe that a little idiot like you is just gonna keep his mouth shut? Just because I tell you to?”

Again Spike nodded desperately, tears streaming down his face. *Please – please don’t hurt me – please don’t – I’ll never tell…*

“Well – I don’t think I believe you, honestly, Spike,” Xander went on with a smirk. “Personally – I think you’re gonna go running to Buffy to tell her everything the first chance you get – aren’t you?”

Desperately, Spike shook his head, keeping it lowered in submission, his eyes closed as the silent plea circled through his head again and again. *No – won’t tell – please…*

“Little liar,” Xander snarled, slamming Spike back against the wall and raising his fist this time – but once again, stopping is hand before delivering the blow. “No – I’d better be careful, huh, Spike? Wouldn’t wanna leave any marks, would I? At least, not anywhere she’ll notice…”

One hand tangled viciously in Spike’s hair again, as Xander reached his other fist around behind the vampire’s back, driving it relentlessly into his kidneys – eliciting a startled cry of fear and pain.

“Shut *up*!” Xander demanded – and Spike obediently stifled the sound, biting down hard on his lip, until he tasted his own blood in his mouth.

“See, she’ll never know anything even happened, this way, will she?” the boy went on, satisfaction in his cruelly smug voice. “And you’re not gonna tell her, either – are you?”

Spike shook his head pleadingly, not even bothering to fight the tears of pain that flowed down his face – not anymore.

“No, you’re not,” Xander agreed, “you’re not gonna say a word – and do you know why, Spike?”

Another pitiful shake of his head; Spike’s face was streaked with tears that had fallen down to soak his shirt.

“Because if you do – I’m not just gonna kill *you*,” Xander warned him softly. “I’m gonna kill Dawn – and Buffy, too. I can do it, no matter how strong she is – because they’d never see it coming. They trust me, Spike. They’d never believe you anyway. You know that.”

Sobbing softly, defeated, Spike nodded.

“Now, if you keep your mouth shut, there’s no reason why I should have to hurt you, Spike,” Xander reasoned patiently, though his relentless fist in Spike’s back was anything but gentle. “You can go on doing reasonably okay, you know?” he shrugged. “Dawn and Buffy will be safe – and I won’t bother you – but – if you don’t think you can keep your mouth shut…”

Spike frantically shook his head, terrified at the soft menace in the boy’s voice, the terrible things he had threatened to do.

He would do *anything* to protect Buffy and Dawn.

“You can’t?” Xander deliberately misunderstood. “That’s what I thought…” Shaking his head sadly, he released Spike, taking the same gun he had used to shoot Spike in the first place from his jacket pocket, and turning back toward Buffy’s bedroom, where Dawn lay sleeping, innocently oblivious to the scene that was taking place in her own room.

“*No*!” Spike cried out desperately, dropping to his knees on the floor, one hand reaching out instinctively to catch the boy’s ankle in a weak, trembling grasp that was more imploring than restrictive.

Xander stopped, looking down expectantly at the vampire, now leaning forward, his face to the floor in supplication, sobbing and shaking his head in a silent plea to spare the girl who already felt like his own family.

Xander just stared down at him coldly for a moment, before jerking free of his weak grasp, a contemptuous look in his dark, hate-filled eyes – smiling secretly to himself with satisfaction.

He would never have laid a hand on Dawn.

But fortunately for him – Spike did not know that.

“You’re gonna keep your mouth shut?” he asked in a coldly skeptical voice.

Spike nodded, his trembling lips still pressed to the floor, but not daring to make a sound.

After an excruciatingly long pause, Xander finally nodded, crouching down beside him. “Okay. We have a deal then,” he declared softly. “But if you say a word, Spike…” He reached down suddenly and jerked him up by the hair, forcing him to meet his eyes. “…Dawn’s going to be the first to go. You’ll be last – and I’ll make it last a good long time, Spike, you got that?”

Spike nodded, swallowing back a fresh sob of despair – and Xander released him, leaving him kneeling on the floor as he stood up straight, glancing at his watch.

“Buffy should be home soon,” he remarked. “You’d better go crawl back into her bed like a good little whore.”

Spike could not remember the meaning of the word that Xander had just called him – but the seething disgust in his voice was clear. He started to rise on trembling legs, but Xander’s heavy hand on his shoulder shoved him back to his knees. He looked up through wide, fearful eyes, uncertain of what exactly he had done wrong – surprised to see that Xander was still calm and smiling.

He didn’t know whether to be relieved or terrified.

“I said crawl, didn’t I?” Xander smirked as he released him, his eyebrows raised in a subtle challenge.

At the moment, there was no challenge that Spike felt up to. His heart numb with the shame, pain, and fear of the past half hour, he dropped down on trembling hands and knees, and made his way down the hall back to Buffy’s bed – waiting hopelessly for her return, with nothing to think about except his own isolation of helplessness.

********************************

“You’re wrong, Angel,” Buffy gasped for breath as she slowed her pace, when she and Angel reached her driveway. “It’s not Xander – it can’t be.”

“I thought you said Giles was here.”

Buffy frowned at the empty spot in the driveway where Giles’ car had been. “He was.”

Without another word, Angel rushed toward the door – and if only to spare her front door the fate of being smashed to pieces by the frantic vampire, Buffy hurried to beat him there – trying her best to fight back the rising sick feeling of apprehension in the pit of her stomach.

*Not Xander – can’t be Xander – he could never…*

“Wait!” she snapped at Angel, fumbling with her key before finally managing to unlock the door. “Everything’s gonna be just fine in there, Angel, you’ll see…”

The moment the door was open, Angel rushed past her inside, stopping short in the entry, staring into the living room. Feeling her heart drop into her stomach, Buffy moved quickly past him to see what he was looking at – only Xander, asleep on her living room sofa.

“See?” she said pointedly – but her shoulders sagged with visible relief. “Everything’s fine. Xander didn’t do anything…”

Angel was silent for a moment, a deep frown creasing his brow as he scented the air. A low growl rose in his throat suddenly as he snarled, “Oh, yeah? Then how come I can smell my childe all over him?”

Before Buffy could recover from the shock of that statement – or even begin to think of trying to stop him – Angel had crossed to the couch, gripping the sleeping boy’s shirt and hauling up off the couch with both hands.

“Angel, stop it!” Buffy cried out with alarm, following him and pulling him away from a startled, sleepy Xander. “Are you crazy?”

“What the…” Xander mumbled, eyes suddenly wide and fearful on the vampire’s menacing game face. “Buffy!”

“Angel, back off!” Buffy warned him, stepping between them protectively, her voice trembling and taut with emotion.

“He’s been with Spike, Buffy – recently. And Spike was *terrified*! I can smell his fear all over this creep!” Angel informed her, his furious golden eyes focused on Xander’s face.

Buffy turned wary eyes to her friend, frowning. “Xander?”

“Yeah, of course I was with Spike!” he exclaimed, his own wide brown eyes darting to Buffy occasionally, as he kept his own gaze focused nervously on the master vampire who very obviously wanted to hurt him. “He was freaking out – I could hear him. Had some kind of nightmare or something. I thought Dawnie’d calm him down, but it just kept on – so I went up there. That girl sleeps like the dead, you know that?”

Buffy felt herself relaxing at the nervous, disarming smile that was so – so *Xander* -- felt herself beginning to let go of the fearful suspicions that Angel had placed in her mind. She nodded encouragingly, waiting for Xander to go on.

“Dawn didn’t wake up, so – I had to do my best to calm him down myself,” Xander explained. “And let me tell you, it wasn’t easy! But Buffy – I think he got it. He calmed down, went back to sleep.” He smiled at his friend warmly as he added, “I think he’ll actually be okay with me now, Buffy.” He paused, a slightly apologetic look in his soft brown eyes as he admitted, “I *couldn’t* leave it like it was, Buffy. I know me and Spike were never friends – but I just *couldn’t* let him be so – so scared of me, you know?”

Angel was not in the least affected by Xander’s easy, gentle manner.

“Buffy, don’t you *dare* leave Spike alone with him!” he snapped, blazing golden eyes focused on Xander’s false smile.

Buffy turned challenging eyes on Angel, one eyebrow raised. “Excuse me?” she said, turning toward him and crossing her arms over her chest. “Last time I checked this was *my* house…”

“And Spike’s my childe,” Angel interrupted sharply, still glaring at Xander. “And I’m telling you, do *not* let him near him!”

Buffy’s eyes flashed indignantly as she turned completely on her former lover and declared, “That decision is up to me and Spike – no one else. I know you want to protect him, but it looks to me like you’re getting suspicious of the wrong person…”

“I’m not…”

“Angel, just stop it,” Buffy snapped, her voice suddenly weary as well as angry. “You almost had me convinced that my own…” She stopped abruptly, glancing at Xander, suddenly remembering that as yet, he was not aware of her suspicions. “You almost caused a lot of trouble tonight. Just – just go home, Angel…”

“Fine,” Angel replied tersely. “After him.”

With a heavy sigh, Buffy said, “Look – I just want to go check on Spike and go to bed. It’s really time for *both* of you to go – but Angel – Xander’s *not* the one who did this! You really need to just let this go, before someone else gets hurt…”

“Look, Buffy…I’m gonna go ahead and go home,” Xander said quietly, glancing uncertainly at Angel as he touched her arm briefly before heading for the door.

“Okay,” she nodded, smiling warmly and apologetically at him as he walked out. “Good night.”

Angel followed, an ominously purposeful weight to his step – but Buffy caught his arm, pulling him back.

“If you touch him,” she warned him flatly. “I *will* stake you, Angel. I don’t care what you think – he’s my best friend.”

Angel stared at her, disbelief, and something upsettingly like disappointment in his eyes, as he shook his head slowly, pulling his arm away from her gently.

“No, Buffy,” he informed her as he turned and walked out the door. “He’s really not.”

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Closing the door firmly behind Xander and Angel – only after watching to be sure that Xander got to his car unhindered by the angry vampire – Buffy sighed wearily, closing her eyes and resting her head against the door for a moment. Again and again, Xander’s explanation played over in her head, as she tried to reassure herself with the simple reason of his words.

*He was telling the truth…he would never…he *had* to be telling the truth…*

If there were questions in her subconscious about Xander’s disturbingly convenient explanation for what Angel had smelled on him – she did not allow them to surface. She *couldn’t*. She simply could not allow herself to consider the possibility that her best friend could have committed the horrors that had been done to Spike.

*Spike!*

Her eyes widened with startled memory. Feeling suddenly ashamed of her momentarily lapse – becoming too caught up in her own troublesome thoughts to even remember the traumatized vampire upstairs – Buffy turned and headed quickly up the stairs. If Spike had had some sort of nightmare, and neither she or Dawn had been available to comfort him, it was possible that he was sill awake upstairs – alone, afraid…waiting for he.

Quietly, she edged the door open, peering inside – not wanting to wake Spike if he had fallen asleep.

Much to her relief, he was perfectly still, appearing to be sound asleep next to her sleeping little sister.

Closing the door again, Buffy made her way down the hall to the bathroom, more than ready to take a long, hot shower, and wash away the tension and confusion and heartsick feeling that would not seem to leave her, even now that her suspicions about her friend had been laid to rest by his explanation.

They *had* been laid to rest – hadn’t they?

She stayed under the hot water, waiting for the tension to ease out of her sore, weary body.

She stayed until the water was cold – but the tension remained.

**********************************

Spike heard her on the stairs before she ever reached the door – and immediately, with an effort, ceased the rapid, panicked breaths he had been taking in, closing his eyes and feigning sleep, waiting fearfully for her to either come in, or go away.

Fearfully – because he knew that if she walked in that room at that moment, there would be no way that he could hope to keep the secret.

Once Buffy closed the door, Spike struggled to genuinely compose himself – aware that eventually, she *would* come in to go to bed, and that when she did, he had to convince her that he was all right…or he would be putting her and Dawn in terrible danger, as well as himself.

He forced himself to focus on taking slow, steady breaths – somehow remembering that this would help to calm himself down – and forced the terrifying images that filled his thoughts away, to the back of his mind, to be taken out at another time, a time when he was alone with his fears.

If only he could keep them at bay that lon.

By the time Buffy returned to the room, filling it with light from the doorway, and a sweet fragrance of floral body wash and vanilla shampoo and the fresh, steamy heat of her shower-warmed body – Spike was calm.

At least – he thought he was.

He lay there, listening to her movements as she dressed herself in her pajamas, but not daring to open his eyes or do anything to give her any idea that he was still awake. He did not see the frown of concern on her face as she stopped at the side of the bed – was not even aware that he was still visibly shaking.

Dawn was sleeping on the far end of the bed, and Spike was as close as he could get to her without actually touching her (which seemed more than a little odd to Buffy in itself; why *wasn’t* he touching her, nestled close in his usual quest for reassurance?), so there was plenty of room for her to slide into the bed beside him.

Spike’s back was turned to her as she lay down, pulling the covers over them both again – enveloping him in the combined warmth of he body and her sister’s – and almost in spite of himself, Spike felt the tension in the taut muscles of his back begin to ease a bit.

Until she touched him.

Spike’s raw, violated nerves could not handle the unexpected touch of her soft, warm hand on his arm, or the cautious closeness of her body as she pressed in close behind him. Without meaning to, he flinched, his body going rigid under her hand, as he quickly suppressed a soft, panicked cry.

“Shhh,” Buffy whispered, not moving her hand from his arm, just gently stroking up and down in a soothing motion. “It’s okay – just me, Spike…it’s all right…”

He hesitated, his stomach roiling with the sickness of terror and confusion, trembling violently with fear of the consequences of allowing her to see his fear – and yet…he just could not help it.

He *needed* her – her arms around him, her soft, affectionate promises of protection.

He was terrified – and he needed her.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Spike suddenly turned in her arms, his head pressed to her breast, his hands at her sides, desperately clutching her to him, choking back sobs in a pitifully futile attempt to control his overwhelming emotions.

“It’s okay,” Buffy whispered, wrapping her arms around him and drawing him closer into her embrace. “I’m here, Spike – you’re safe…I’m right here…”

Her words only made him cry harder, knowing that he was *not* safe; his tormentor knew where he was – knew how to get him alone – and if he wanted to, he could hurt him again, any time he wanted.

And Buffy had no idea.

But she was holding him.

She cared about him, wanted to soothe his fears and give him the affection and care that he had desperately needed for so long – and at the moment, there was nothing he could do but to thirstily drink it in, clinging to her, his only lifeline in a terrifyingly hopeless situation.

“Spike – Baby,” she whispered, her gentle hand on his face tilting his head up to face her – though he could not bring himself to meet her eyes. “Sweetie, what is it? Did you have a bad dream?”

Raising his eyes to meet hers at last, only because he knew that she wanted him to, Spike could tell by the knowing look in her soft emerald eyes, the unquestioning tone of her question, that this was the story that Xander had told her – and he had no choice but to stick to it.

He lowered his eyes again, feeling guilty for the lie, as he nodded and whispered, “Y-yes…b-bad dream…”

Buffy’s lips gently brushed across his brow, as she shifted her body closer to him, surrounding him with her warmth, her support and compassion. She gently pressed his head back down against her chest, deliberately relieving him of the burden of making eye contact, as she whispered softly, “Wanna tell me about it?”

The tender invitation in her words, without demand or force, brought fresh tears to Spike’s eyes, and a tight ache to his chest, as he swallowed back the truth, that he was so desperate to spill out to her. He wanted to badly to tell her everything, to pour out the whole terrible story as best he could, and beg for her protection – but he knew that if he did, this sweet comfort would come to an end.

She would not believe him.

She would *hate* him.

She would give him back to *him* -- if *he* didn’t kill her first.

But – if she thought the source of his trembling and tears was some dark dream that had broken into his slumber – as long as he *kept* her thinking that – he could tell her *some* of what had happened – couldn’t he? There was no harm in that – and the secret, painful truth was ripping him to shreds inside. He simply *had* to let some of it out.

“Found me,” he whispered, his cool tears slowly soaking through her pajama top. “*Him*. He – found me. H-hurt me…” He hesitated, his trembling hands clutching at her weakly as he added in a soft, barely audible voice, “Hurt *you* -- D-dawn…”

Buffy’s breath caught in her throat at the stark pain and terror in his voice – driven by fear and desperation to speak more words at a time than she had heard from him yet. “Spike – Baby, no,” she assured him, dismayed by the content of those words, and what they revealed about his secret fears. “No, he can never find you here – never hurt you again! I’ll protect you, Sweetie, I promise!”

She had no way to know that her promise had already been broken.

But as the wounded vampire shook with a fresh tremor of fear in her arms, holding onto her for dear life, his tears still soaking through her shirt as he just shook his head slowly in silent misery – Buffy had to wonder again. She had told herself that she was through with wondering that – but she *had* to.

“Spike?” she whispered, pulling back from him a little and reaching down to tilt his face back up toward her. “Hey, look at me…”

Reluctantly he obeyed, tearful blue eyes focused on hers with apprehension.

“Spike – did something – did – anything else happen? Tonight?” she asked him cautiously, searching his gaze for any sign of some painful truth he might be trying to hide. “Did – did you see anyone – talk to anyone – besides me and Dawn?”

Spike’s eyes widened slightly, and he quickly averted his gaze, shaking his head rapidly. “No,” he whispered. “N-no…”

“It’s okay if you did,” she quickly assured him, her soothing hands running slowly up and down his arms, though she did not force him to look at her again. “I mean – you had a really bad nightmare, and – and Xander and Giles were both here for a while...did you – did you see either of them tonight?”

Spike’s mind raced with panic, terrified, having no idea what was the right answer to her questions – the one and only answer that would not, in the end, result in the destruction of himself and all those he cared about.

“Did – did anyone come up here?” Buffy pressed gently, seeking his downcast gaze. “I mean – while you were…dreaming?”

Spike raised his eyes back to hers, searching too, desperate for some sort of clue. Her slight leading nod – probably completely unintentional – revealed to him that this was the story she had been told, and he nodded firmly, holding her gaze.

“Who?” she asked softly.

“X-Xa…” he stumbled over the unfamiliar word, the word that represented his darkest fears.

“Xander?”

He nodded again, gratefully, with an effort suppressing the shudder that rose in him at the name.

Buffy was silent for a long moment, and when she spoke, her voice was slightly breathless, and weighted with dread.

“Did he – did he hurt you, Spike?”

Forcing himself not to look away, remembering enough of human communication to know that that would immediately give the truth away, Spike shook his head slowly. “N-no,” he whispered. “No h-hurt me.”

The relief and happiness in Buffy’s eyes at those words was almost worth the pain of keeping his secret, as she visibly relaxed, pulling him closer to her and replying softly, “I didn’t think so. I just – just wanted to be sure…”

As she spoke, she reached a tender hand up to cup the back of his head, running gently through his hair…and Spike could not hold back the startled little yelp of pain and fear, as her fingertips caught on a mat of blood that had formed not too long ago, unintentionally yanking at the freshly torn wound on the back of his head.

“Sorry!” she gasped automatically, withdrawing her hand and turning his head down in an attempt to examine the spot, though she could really see nothing in the dark. “Spike, I didn’t mean to, Sweetie…I thought that spot was almost healed!”

*It was,* he thought with an ominous feeling as she pulled away from him, rolling on her side to turn on the bedside lamp.

“Come here,” she instructed gently but firmly, as she pulled herself up to a sitting position on the bed, and pushed his shoulder so that he was leaning his head over her lap.

“P-please,” he whimpered, shaking again as the worst of his injuries was made vulnerable, exposed to her scrutiny, her touch, whatever she might choose to do to it.

“Shhh,” she soothed him gently, her eyes widening with alarm as she saw the spot where the barely healing flesh had torn open again, leaving a mat of caked blood in his soft, blonde curls. “Oh, Spike…what happened?”

Spike closed his eyes, his breath quickening with panic, as he struggled to come up with a convincing explanation.

*So stupid,* he cursed himself with vicious frustration. *If only I wasn’t so *stupid*!*

“N-nightmare,” he whispered, the words coming out without conscious thought. “Hit – hit the t-table…please…please…”

Buffy frowned for a moment, puzzled, before glancing to her side at the nightstand, and realizing that it must be what he was talking about. And it *did* make sense; if he had been in the throes of a nightmare, he very well might have knocked his head into the nightstand accidentally, and reopened his wound.

“Okay,” she said softly, being careful to keep her voice calm, since he obviously seemed to expect her to be angry, for some reason, judging by the way he was shaking, pleading, tears falling from his eyes once more. “It’s okay, Spike…you didn’t do anything wrong…it’s okay, Sweetheart…”

She pulled him gently up to face her – though he still refused to – and led him up out of the bed and to the bathroom, where she carefully and thoroughly bandaged the spot, to protect it from any further damage during the night. Washing the blood from his hair would have to wait until the morning, she decided. For now – they were both much too exhausted.

“Come on, Baby,” she murmured as she put her arm gently around him and led him back towards her room. “Let’s go back to bed…it’s been a long day…”

Relieved that she had accepted his explanations, and sheerly exhausted from the trauma and suffering of this painful night, Spike rested his aching, weary head on her shoulder, and simply accepted her gentle embrace – the only small comfort he could count on.

But he had no idea how long it would last.

He only knew that he would do anything – even keep his enemy’s secret – to hold onto it for as long as he possibly could.

*I won’t tell,* he assured himself again as he nestled down into the Slayer’s embrace in her bed, and tried to fall asleep. *No matter what, won’t -- *can’t* -- tell…*

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By the time Xander parked his car outside his apartment building, Angel had already been waiting in the hallway outside his door for five minutes.

He smirked to himself, well aware that the boy would have had no idea that he could have outrun his car, and beat him here.

But he was about to find out.

When Xander started down the hallway toward his apartment, only to see a still-very-angry Angel pacing the hall, waiting for him -- he abruptly changed direction, breaking into a run as he turned the corner to the left in an attempt to avoid the ensouled, but very dangerous, master vampire.

Angel was much too fast for him.

In a matter of moments, he had dragged Xander back down the hallway and held him pinned against his own door, one hand pressed over his mouth to keep him from screaming for help, and simultaneously tilting his head to the side, giving the glistening fangs poised at his throat much easier access.

Golden eyes met fearful yet defiant brown ones for a moment, before Angel withdrew, a cold, predatory smile on his face.

"How's it feel to be helpless, boy?" he snarled menacingly, shifting his hand from Xander's mouth to his throat, squeezing just hard enough to prevent the boy from calling out too loudly, but loosely enough to allow him to respond.

"Buffy's gonna kill you," Xander rasped out, his hatred flashing in his dark eyes. "You can't get away with hurting me, Angel -- she's gonna know it's you -- after that scene at her house -- you can't do this..."
“See, that’s the thing,” Angel sneered quietly, very close to Xander’s face. “Maybe you’ve both pushed me too far tonight – you coming after Spike like that…her refusing to listen to reason about it...maybe I don’t *care* what Buffy wants anymore!”

“Yeah,” Xander laughed defiantly, though his dark eyes flashed with fear as the vampire tightened his grip on his throat just slightly. “You really expect me to believe that? You and Spike are both the same – you’ll *always* be obsessed with Buffy, no matter what happens!”

“Then I guess that makes us three of a kind – doesn’t it, boy?”

Xander was struck silent by that comment, a trapped sort of expression in his dark eyes as they suddenly met the gleaming golden gaze of the vampire.

“What? You thought I didn’t notice?” Angel smirked, but his eyes were flashing fury. “It’s obvious – and the same way I could smell Spike all over you – knew you’d been with him, and you’d scared him to a second death – I know what you’re thinking every single time you’re around Buffy, too!”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Xander insisted, struggling uselessly in the stronger man’s grip. “Buffy’s my friend – that’s all…”

“Damn right, that’s all!” Angel snarled. “And you’d better get that through your head, boy, before someone else gets hurt! What’s gonna happen when you decide that she’s spending too much time with someone else? If she starts dating someone – or heck, if she starts spending too much time with *Dawn*? You gonna try to take them out of the picture, too?”

“Of course not!” Xander retorted, his eyes widening with horror. “I’d *never* hurt Dawnie – and Buffy has the right to be with anybody she wants to…”

“You say it,” Angel shook his head, a tight smile on his lips, though his eyes were deadly serious. “But I really don’t think you mean it…”

“I do!” Xander insisted. “And besides, Spike was already out of the picture by the time…” His words cut off abruptly as he realized what he had almost said, and he looked back up at Angel, a trapped expression in his dark eyes.

“By the time what?” Angel demanded, latching onto the slip and refusing to let it go. “By the time you did what, Xander?”

“Nothing!” Xander’s voice was higher than usual now, and shaking slightly as he answered in a defensive tone. “I didn’t do anything, Angel! You’re wrong!”

Angel’s eyes narrowed with furious frustration, and he released the boy – only to draw back his fist and slam it down across Xander’s face, knocking his head back against the wall. The boy crumpled to the floor with a groan, his head lolling slightly as he struggled to remain conscious – and then, weakly, to pull himself back to his feet.

“Need some help with that, lad?” Angel asked him with a false cheer, his voice slipping just slightly into a long lost accent, as he reached down and dragged Xander back to his feet by the collar of his shirt.

It was just the slightest edge of an accent – but it set off an alarm in Angel’s mind, a quiet warning of just how close he was to losing control completely. Suddenly he wondered – was a single moment of happiness the *only* thing that could cause him to lose his soul? Because at the moment, blinding rage seemed to be bringing him very close.

Or perhaps – he had just never realized just how badly he could want to hurt someone – to *torture* them – to literally tear their weak, human body to pieces with his bare hands and fangs…and still have his soul intact.

“Let me go,” Xander slurred, shaking his head slightly as he gradually regained his senses from the powerful blow. “I’m gonna…”

“What?” Angel sneered. “What are you gonna do, Xander? A whole lot of nothing, boy, ‘cause that’s all you’re capable of at the moment!” His voice softened, taking on a chilling menace, as he leaned in closer and snarled, “You’re not dealing with a broken, brain damaged vampire now, boy – and I *don’t* have a chip in my head – so what. Are you going. To *do*?”

Xander flinched slightly at the dark threat in Angel’s words, but did not respond, his eyes darting to the sides as if looking for some means of escape.

“Maybe I should take you back down to those caves where Buffy found Spike. You know – the ones you’d already managed to scrub clean by the time I got there?” Angel’s dark gaze was piercing, finding things in Xander’s expression that the young man had thought were well-hidden. “You know – Lysol *does* eliminate 99.9% of odors -- *if* you happen to be human!”

Again, Xander had no response, his eyes widening further as he realized that there really was no way that he could have completely concealed his involvement in what had happened to Spike – not from Angel, who could smell even the faintest traces of scent left behind.

“You were there. And so was he. He was terrified – and you,” Angel’s voice darkened, lowered and trembling with outraged fury, as he finished dangerously, “you were getting off on it.”

“No,” Xander objected, shaking his head desperately. “You’re wrong…I wasn’t…”

“Quit *lying* to me, boy!” Angel practically roared, losing the fragile grip he held on his anger and slamming Xander forcefully against the wall behind him, eliciting a groan of pain from his lips.

Unfortunately, that was not the only reaction that Angel’s momentary loss of temper drew.

The door to an apartment a few yards down the hall opened abruptly, a middle aged man in a ragged blue bathrobe stepping out into the hallway, already complaining as he did.

“Keep it down out here! People are trying to…”

His voice broke off suddenly, his eyes widening with fear as he took in the monster that was pinning the young man to the wall a few yards down -- and as he watched, golden glowing eyes turned on him over wickedly grinning fangs...only the creature wasn't grinning....

He was growling.

"I'm calling security!" the man yelped, backpedalling toward his door again, wide eyes locked onto the surreal scene in the hallway. "No -- the police -- I'm calling the police!" he warned them, the door to his apartment slamming behind him, followed by the audible clicks of a lock and a deadbolt.

Angel barely had time to register the fact that he was going to have to either wrap things up, or take Xander elsewhere, before the police showed up – before Xander was suddenly tumbling backward, through the front door of his apartment, which he had managed to get open while Angel was distracted by his now very freaked out neighbor.

With a snarl of frustration, Angel slammed his fist against the invisible barrier that kept him from going after the nervously laughing young man, staggering to his feet with gleeful triumph in his dark eyes.

“No invite for you, Deadboy! Go push somebody else around!” Xander crowed – but he still took a hasty step backward when Angel let out an animalistic roar of rage, slamming both fists against the barrier again, as if he could break it down by sheer force of will.

Which of course – he could not.

“Fine!” Angel snarled. “Stay in there! I don’t care if you *never* come out of there! But I’m warning you, whatever you do – you stay *away* from my childe, boy! Do you hear me? If I see you – hear of you -- *smell* you anywhere near Spike, ever again, Xander – I’m gonna rip you apart, boy. Very – very -- *slowly*, do you understand me?”

“Don’t you think you ought to get out of here?” Xander smirked, not even acknowledging his threats – though Angel took a small amount of satisfaction from the fact that the boy was still wiping blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. “I mean – the police will be here any minute…and unless you wanna have to hurt a human…though, gotta say, that probably wouldn’t bother you much right now…”

“Not if it’s you,” Angel replied without hesitation, through teeth gritted with frustration.

“Who knows, we might even get lucky. If the cops have any idea of what a threat you really are – you might just get to experience a gunshot to the head yourself – see what it’s like for poor little Spike,” Xander sneered, an exaggerated pout of false sympathy on his face, though his eyes were dancing with cruel laughter.

Angel couldn’t help one more useless attempt to get at the boy, although the barrier, of course, held firm.

“I meant what I said, Xander,” he ground out the words, his voice low and dark and filled with the frustration of not being able to make the boy pay for his pitiless mockery of his childe – for *everything* he had done to his childe. “Don’t come near Spike. Ever. If you do – I *will* kill you.”

**********************************

When Spike awakened the next morning, there was a blissful few seconds in which all he was aware of was the warmth and closeness of his two protectors – Dawn on the one side, and Buffy on the other – surrounding him with a sense of safety and affection, making him feel as if all was right in his world, and nothing could harm him.

Until a slight shift of his head pulled at the bandage on the back of it, causing a twinge of pain which was really not that bad – but served to remind him of the truth.

*Nothing* was right.

And his tormentor definitely *could* harm him.

He glanced to the side at Buffy, wondering how long he had before he had to take up the act again, pretend to her that he was okay – relatively speaking – and found to his dismay that he had no time at all.

She was awake, and gazing at him with a warm, sleepy smile of tender concern.

“Good morning, Spike,” she murmured, just the hint of a frown creasing her brow as she raised a hand to stroke down his taut, fearful face. “You okay, Sweetie?”

Spike nodded, his wide eyes focused on hers, much more solemn than he wanted them to be.

“You sure?” she asked him gently.

He nodded again automatically, though he knew that he could not be in the least bit convincing. Buffy studied his expression thoughtfully for a long moment – and then, apparently, decided to let it go for the moment.

“Okay,” she whispered, touching her lips to his brow in a gentle show of affection that sent a little thrill through him, despite his fears. “You hungry?”

Finally – a question that he could answer honestly.

He nodded again, more enthusiastically, as he felt Dawn begin to stir on his other side.

Buffy laughed quietly, as she rolled over and sat up on the edge of the bed, gaining her first-thing-in-the-morning bearings before getting up to go prepare breakfast for all of them.

“You wanna come downstairs with me, or you wanna stay here and rest some more?” she asked him over her shoulder, as she rose from the bed and pulled her soft, bright pink robe on over her pajamas.

Although by now, Spike understood most of the words she had spoken – understood most of what she said most of the time, actually, at least enough to get by – he did not respond at first.

He was simply not used to being given an option.

Also – he had no idea which option he wanted.

He wanted to be near Buffy; even though she had failed to protect him from her friend, not knowing that he was the one who had hurt him to begin with – he knew that she was very powerful, and she seemed to genuinely care for him, at least a little. But, if he did go downstairs with her, he would have to be careful so as not to do anything to arouse her suspicions, as he had done last night.

He was so very stupid, he thought with a sense of shame, just as Xander had said; he did not seem to be able to keep up a convincing act for long.

But he *had* to – the lives of the girls depended on it.

Just – not yet.

“Rest,” he replied softly, his voice quiet and hesitant, as he suddenly wondered what *Buffy* would have preferred that he do. “Please? Please rest?”

Buffy turned to face him, her expression softening with compassion at the anxious uncertainty in his voice. “Of course, Spike, that’s fine…you just rest a little while longer, I’ll come get you when your breakfast is ready.”

It was a strange combination of emotions – the relaxing sensation of relief as she walked out the bedroom door, combined with the desire to follow after her, or plead with her not to go.

He wanted to be with her – and yet he was terrified to be, afraid of giving some vital something away.

A few minutes after Buffy left the room, Dawn woke up. After giving Spike a warm greeting, she excused herself to her own room to get dressed, leaving him in quiet solitude, which would have actually been nice, for a change – had it not given his increasingly capable (if still a bit weak) mind that much more time to build upon the fears circling through it, shark-like, devouring any shred of hope he might dare to cling to.

But as he lay there, thinking about the situation he found himself in now – the events of the night before, and Buffy’s reaction to what little she knew – he began to form the beginnings of a fledgling plan in his mind.

He just had to hide his fear, when Xander was around – treat him just as he treated Buffy, or Dawn, or the older man that Buffy had said was a friend – the one who had yelled at him and frightened him, but actually seemed to be all right, now that he was used to him. If he made no difference in the way he behaved around Xander, then there was no way that Buffy could guess the truth about her friend…

…and no reason for the boy to hurt her or Dawn.

But apparently – Xander didn’t *need* a reason to hurt *him*.

*Just stay close to Buffy,* Spike thought, as he felt the tremors building in his stomach at the sickeningly dreadful thought of having to be alone with Xander again. *He won’t hurt you in front of her – he doesn’t want her to know – just stay close – and no one will ever have to know – and you’ll be safe – and *they’ll* be safe…it’ll be okay…*

He had almost managed to convince himself that Dawn and Buffy and the secret protecting them were all safe, when Dawn returned to the room – fully dressed, but with a troubled expression on her face, as she sat back down on the edge of the bed, and faced him full on, her wide blue eyes searching his with apprehension.

“Spike,” she said softly, her knowing, heavy tone sending a fresh wave of sick fear through him, “is there something you want to tell me?”

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“Spike? Is there something you want to tell me?”

Spike just stared at the girl, wide-eyed, feeling completely trapped – and having absolutely no idea how she could possibly know – but -- *did she*?

He shook his head, too emphatically, looking away from her quickly before she could see the sudden intensifying of the ever-present fear in his eyes. “N-no,” he whispered, edging slightly away from her across the mattress, without even realizing he was doing it.

Dawn was young – but she had never been stupid.

It was immediately obvious to her that Spike was hiding something.

“Um – okay,” she began slowly, taking a deep breath as she tried to think of a way to get past Spike’s fear and get him to be honest with her – and came up with nothing. She looked up at him, her piercing blue gaze boring into him until he felt no choice but to meet it again. “Spike – no one’s gonna hurt you. I promise. I just want you to – to tell me what happened, okay?”

“N-nothing,” Spike insisted, his voice trembling as he shook his head, drawing back further against the headboard. “Nothing – h-happen. Please…”

Dawn felt a surge of anger fill her at Spike’s repeated reversion to pleading, as if she would hurt him just for not giving her the answer she apparently wanted – but it was not directed at the frightened, shaking vampire who seemed to be trying to press himself physically into the headboard in an attempt to get away from her.

*If I ever get my hands on whoever did this,* she vowed silently. *I’ll tear them apart myself. I don’t care if they’re ten times as strong as me – I’ll kill them…*

A troubled, sick feeling came over her at the thoughts that followed that one, but she shook her head slightly, trying to clear them for the moment.

Right now – she had to focus on Spike.

And the alarming bloodstain she had just found on her bedroom wall.

“Spike,” she said, making her voice firm as well as gentle, as she purposefully turned onto her knees on the bed, crawling across it to close the distance between them and placing her hands on his shoulders, deliberately ignoring the way he flinched away from her as she went on, “Look at me.”

He winced slightly, obviously not wanting to obey – but unable to do anything else.

Holding his gaze, Dawn shook her head slightly as she reminded him intently, “Spike – you *know* I’m not going to hurt you – no matter what. You know that. So you don’t have to be afraid to tell me the truth. What happened?”

Spike stared at her, his emotional anguish showing clearly in his eyes. He shook his head pleadingly, aching to make her understand – and terrified that she would understand too much. “N-not afraid – not *you*,” he struggled to explain.

Dawn’s eyes widened slightly, as she realized what he was saying.

He wasn’t afraid to tell her because of what *she* might do.

But – if he wasn’t afraid of *her* -- then…who…?

A sick, fearful feeling came over her, as she thought again of the bloodstain on her wall – and wondered again how it had come to be there. Something deep inside her whispered insistently that she already had a very good idea – but the rest of her quickly silenced that part, desperately not wanting to believe it.

She opened her mouth, ready to tell him that he was safe here – that nobody could hurt him – that it was okay to tell the truth.

But -- *was* he safe?

The blood on her bedroom wall made her wonder.

“Good,” she answered simply at last. “Just so you know that.”

She gave him a sad, reassuring smile as she leaned in close to give him a gentle hug, which he gratefully sank into, holding onto her desperately for a few long moments, until Dawn slowly pulled away, looking him in the eye again.

“I’m gonna go down and see if Buffy needs any help with breakfast. It kinda sounds like she’s – tearing up the kitchen. Or – maybe some daylight demon broke in, and she’s trying to keep *it* from tearing up the kitchen,” she shrugged playfully as she rose and started toward the door. “Either way – she could probably use some help.”

Spike hesitated a moment, and then started to rise to go with her, his eyes focused on hers uncertainly for some cue as to what he was to do.

Dawn held up a hand, shaking her head slightly. “Wait – you just wait here, okay, Spike? I’ll come get you when your breakfast is ready – okay?”

Spike nodded, though he still looked very anxious as he studied her expression, still obviously afraid that he had said or done something wrong. She reached down and took his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze, before turning and heading out the door.

She knew by the slight edge of panic she saw in his eyes that Spike would rather have gone with her, and she felt guilty for deliberately leaving him behind – but she had to talk to her sister, and she really felt that it would be better for Spike not to be there when she did.

If Spike wouldn’t talk to her – maybe Buffy would.

***********************************

Ten minutes later, Buffy and Dawn were both standing in Dawn’s bedroom, frowning at the disturbing spot of dried blood on her wall. Buffy’s eyes were wide and troubled, as she reached a hand slowly toward it, without actually touching it, shaking her head slightly before turning questioning eyes on Dawn.

“You don’t know how it got there?”

“No idea,” Dawn confirmed, staring at the spot. “It was there this morning when I came in here to get dressed.”

Buffy’s mind immediately went to the mysterious re-opening of the wound on the back of Spike’s head – and the telling fact that the spot on the wall seemed to be at the precise height where Spike’s head would have had to have been, if the blood was indeed from that very wound.

“Any ideas?” Dawn asked her sister, her voice low and grim.

“One or two,” Buffy replied without hesitation, glancing toward the doorway. “Spike – um – Spike hurt his head last night. He said he hit it on the nightstand – but – I’m kinda thinking not.”

“Does he seem – like, really, *really* freaked out this morning to you?”

Buffy nodded silently, looking away with a troubled, thoughtful expression on her face. “Yeah. Something – something happened last night that he’s not telling us about.”

“How?” Dawn asked, confused. “I mean – nobody was here last night but us – and Giles, and – and Xander…” Her voice trailed off in an oddly hesitant way that drew Buffy’s eyes back up to hers, and brought fears back to her mind that she had tried her best to forget.

“Buffy – you don’t think…?”

“Don’t.” Buffy cut her sister off sharply, before she could voice those fears. “Dawnie – don’t say it…you know it’s not possible…Xander wouldn’t have – couldn’t…”

“How did you know I was going to say Xander?”

Dawn’s voice was still, clear, as she turned sharp, crystal blue eyes on her sister’s face in a puzzled question – and Buffy did not want to answer the question, though she understood why Dawn was asking it. Dawn had fallen asleep while she was gone, and Xander and Giles were sitting in her living room, and had not awakened since then – so she had no way of knowing about all that had happened between Buffy, Angel, and Xander when Buffy had gotten home.

But – there was still a question in Buffy’s mind, as she looked up at her younger but taller sister again.

“Why *were* you going to say Xander?”

Dawn looked down again, suddenly self-conscious. “I – I don’t know, really. I – I had a dream…I mean…I *thought* it was a dream…I thought it *had* to be a dream…” She found herself stumbling over the words, words that she really did not want to allow to come out – because once she had voiced the terrible things in her head – didn’t that make them real?

And what she was thinking *couldn’t* be real – could it?

“What was it?” Buffy pressed her, visibly steeling herself to hear what her sister had to say – no more eager to hear it than Dawn was to say it. “What was your dream?”

“It was – so vivid. One of those dreams that you think is real while it’s happening – like *really* real – I don’t know…maybe it *was*…”

“Just tell me,” Buffy cut her off, her voice shaking dangerously, her eyes glittering with tears that took her by surprise, and that she could not explain.

She had a terrified, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach – as if her subconscious already knew what she was still avoiding consciously accepting…that her entire world was about to be tilted on its axis and spun into disorder.

“Well – I dreamed that – Xander came into the room while I was sleeping, only – only it wasn’t Xander,” Dawn shook her head, frowning in dismay as she remembered. “It *couldn’t* have been…he was so – so *mean*, Buffy – so – threatening…he made Spike go to him, and he – he hurt him – I know because in my dream – I heard Spike make this – this awful sound, like he was – hurt – and then – they were both gone…that’s all…it was – it was just a dream…I know it was just a dream…”

When Dawn looked back at her sister, her own eyes were welling with tears, desperate, seeking for some reassurance, a refuting of her fears, as she whispered shakily, “It *was* just a dream – wasn’t it?”

“It had to be,” Buffy whispered – but the response was clearly automatic. “It could have just been because of the way Spike reacted to Xander last night before you went to sleep. Except…”

“Except what?” Dawn prompted her, breathless with her dread of hearing the rest of the statement.

“Xander told me he’d run into Angel last night – and that’s why Spike freaked out when he saw him – except…when I got to Angel’s…he – he got me thinking…” Buffy hesitated before adding slowly, “Angel thinks Xander did it. He thinks he shot Spike.”

Dawn swallowed hard, visibly forcing herself to consider the possibility that was so very repugnant to her. “Which – would explain Spike’s reaction to Xander…”

Buffy nodded slowly. “And then – when we got back here – Angel said he could – smell Spike all over Xander. Like Xander’d been around him recently. I didn’t believe him – I made them both leave…but…when I came up to check on Spike…he was totally freaked, still…not asleep. And – the wound on his head had re-opened.”

“And there’s blood on my wall,” Dawn observed, her voice low and troubled. “As if someone – took him in there – and hurt him…”

“He said no one hurt him. He said he *did* see Xander – he said he was having a nightmare – but no one – actually hurt him.”

Dawn grasped at that eagerly, desperately wanting some reason to doubt the terrible theory taking shape in both of their minds. “Well, if he said no one…”

“I think he lied.”

Dawn was silent for a long moment. Finally, she sighed deeply and replied, “Yeah. Like if someone *did* hurt him, he’d actually tell us. If they went to all the trouble to hurt him -- *whoever* it was – they’d certainly do their best to be sure he wasn’t gonna tell anyone.”

“He was scared to death last night, Dawnie,” Buffy told her, her voice soft and heavy with sorrow. “And this morning.”

“Buffy – do you really think - *Xander*…”

“I hope not, Dawnie. I really hope not. But – we really can’t be totally sure, can we?” Buffy finally admitted – and just that relatively small admission was incredibly difficult for her. “I mean – Xander never really liked Spike…”

“Yeah,” Dawn agreed, a slight note of anger beginning in her voice, her eyes narrowing, sending the tears in her eyes rolling down her face. “And I mean – Spike’s just a vampire, right? As far as Xander’s concerned, a non-person – right? Why would he have any problem hurting him?”

Bothered by the bitter sound of her voice, Buffy frowned, reminding her cautiously, “We don’t know for sure, Dawnie. I asked Spike specifically if Xander hurt him – and he said no. I mean – it’s possible he lied, but – we just – have to consider it,” she sighed. “I don’t want to – but we have to.”

“So – what do we do?” Dawn asked, her voice softening as she looked to her older sister for direction, the situation seeming just far too much for her to deal with on her own. “I mean – if Xander *didn’t* do it…he’s our friend, Buffy…but…if he did…”

“We just have to be careful,” Buffy said softly. “Not let him around Spike alone for a while – at least until we know for sure…”

Dawn nodded. “And we have to figure out who did it as soon as we can. So – if it’s *not* Xander – we can stop worrying about it.”

“Right,” Buffy nodded. “But until then – we don’t need to leave Spike alone with *anyone*. If Xander’s a suspect…” She shook her head, her eyes wide with the horror of even attempting to accept that idea, “…then *everyone’s* a suspect, Dawn.”

Dawn nodded her agreement to that plan, relief in her eyes. “Good. That way at least we know he’s safe.”

A silent moment passed between them, before Dawn’s brow creased in a frown, and she quirked a brow at her sister. “Um – Buffy – in that case – shouldn’t someone be with him right *now*?”

“Well,” Buffy thought for a moment. “When it’s just us in the house, I think sometimes he’s going to need a little space, you know? I mean – he’s going through a lot of stuff we don’t necessarily understand, Dawnie -- *he* probably doesn’t even understand it – and he’s gonna need some just-Spike-time to work through it sometimes…but when anybody else is in this house…or we’re out somewhere…we can never leave him alone…”

Dawn nodded her silent acceptance.

“Still,” Buffy added with a slightly sheepish smile, “he’s probably getting hungry. Let’s go get Spike, and go have breakfast.”

******************************
In the end, Dawn went downstairs to finish preparing breakfast, while Buffy made her way into the bedroom to talk to Spike.

He immediately knew by the look on her face that she *knew*.

His eyes widened in panic and he shook his head as he instinctively backed away from her, fearful of her reaction to his lie – and Xander’s reaction to the revealed truth. “Please,” he whispered tremulously. “Please, Buffy – sorry…”

“Spike,” Buffy said gently but firmly, moving swiftly across the room and onto the bed, taking him by the arms before he could withdraw too far – wanting to head off his fear before it could really begin. “It’s okay – I’m not mad at you – it’s okay, Spike…”

“Sorry,” he repeated, shaking his head, his eyes closed in denial of the situation, though he did not try to pull away from her – perhaps he did not dare. “Sorry…”

“Spike – you have nothing to be sorry for,” Buffy reassured him. “Look at me, Spike.”

He winced slightly, obviously not wanting to obey – though he could do nothing else.

But – all he saw in her expression was compassion.

“I know somebody hurt you last night,” she informed him softly, holding his gaze and not letting go. “Don’t try to tell me they didn’t – because I *know*…”

Spike’s shaking intensified, and he *did* try to pull away, his eyes averted in a panicked attempt to keep her from seeing the truth – though his sinking heart already knew that she was telling the truth.

“What I don’t know,” Buffy went on cautiously, gently, leaning back against the headboard and putting her arm around him, trying to get him to relax a little, “is who.” Despite the immediate tension she felt in his body, the instinctive resistance against her arm around him, Buffy just held onto him, turning his face back toward her with her free hand, as she asked him plainly, “Who hurt you, Spike?”

He shook his head emphatically, his eyes pleading with her as he whispered, “No one – no one hurt…no…please…Buffy, please, no…” Unable to pull away from her gently restraining arms, seeing the unyielding expression in her eyes that told him she was not believing him at all – Spike completely broke down. “Please, Buffy – please no…” he sobbed, shaking his head as he bowed it between them, unable to look at her.

“Shh,” she whispered, soothing him as she relented with a pang of guilt for pushing him at all. “It’s okay – I know you’re scared, Spike – and of course you are. Whoever hurt you did it again last night – right here in my house – after I’d promised to protect you. I’m so sorry, Spike…”

He shook his head slowly, a desperate ache in his chest – utterly beyond words.

“I won’t make you tell me, Spike,” she assured him gently. “I won’t make you do anything you’re scared to do – I just want you to know that from now on – you *will* be safe. I promise…look at me, Sweetie…”

He allowed her to tilt his chin up to look at her, though his eyes were full of fear and shame.

“I don’t know who did this – and you don’t wanna tell me – so until I *do* know – I’m not going to let anybody be alone with you, Spike. *No one*. Just me and Dawnie – how does that sound?”

Spike’s eyes widened with surprise – shining with a sudden spark of hope, as he realized what she was saying.

“Does that sound good?” she asked him, tenderly running the backs of her fingertips down his tear-streaked face.

He hesitated just a moment, thinking about it, before a small, hesitant smile rose to his lips – and he nodded eagerly. “Yes,” he whispered. “Yes, please, Buffy…yes…”

“Okay,” she decided with a nod. “If it’s just us – then we *know* no one can hurt you. That’s it. You’re safe – okay?”

Spike nodded again, inexplicably breaking down for the second time. But this time, as he let his tears flow, resting his head on Buffy’s shoulder, allowing her to hold him and soothe away his fears – his tears were tears of joy and relief.

“Now,” Buffy said at last, pulling back and smiling warmly into his eyes. “Let’s go get something to eat. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving!”

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Reassured by Buffy’s promise not to allow anyone to be alone with him, Spike found himself relaxing bit by bit, gradually throughout the course of the day.

He was still firmly convinced that he could not allow Buffy to know that it was Xander who had hurt him. The boy’s vicious threats still echoed in his ears, louder than all the promises he had heard from Buffy and Dawn during the past couple of days. No matter how strongly Buffy insisted that she would protect him, Xander was obviously too close to her.

If it came down to a choice – Spike was certain that Buffy would choose Xander over him.

Most likely, she would not even believe him at all.

And if she did – she and Dawn would be in danger.

He knew that he had to keep the secret that had been forced upon him; but the knowledge that Buffy was not going to leave him alone was very reassuring. Xander would not like it, he knew – but as long as Buffy was there, what could he do about it?

Cautiously, Spike began to allow himself to feel at least a little bit safe again.

Breakfast was pleasant. Spike drank two large mugs of blood, while Buffy and Dawn filled their plates with pancakes and sausage. Curious, Spike asked Dawn to identify the unfamiliar items on her plate, and she gladly obliged, willing to do whatever she could to help her friend readjust to the world around him.

Then, remembering how much Spike used to like human food – something she had learned about him during that long, painful summer following Buffy’s death, when Spike had practically lived at the Summers’ house – Dawn had offered him a bite of her pancakes.

Spike hesitated a moment, though it was obvious that he *wanted* to taste them.

“Come on, Spike – it’s okay, you can try it. You’ll like it.”

In the end – Spike’s breakfast had consisted of two large mugs of blood, seven pancakes, and five sausage patties…all washed down with two generous glasses of orange juice.

Buffy had asked for the day off from the Doublemeat Palace, and Dawn’s school year had just come to a close, so the three of them spent the afternoon relaxing at home, using the television as an educational tool for Spike. They did their best to explain anything he saw that seemed to confuse him; and although at times it was almost a game of charades, trying to explain certain things for which he did not yet have the words – most of it seemed to get through.

Of course, when Giles arrived late that afternoon to help with Spike’s education – he was utterly horrified. He happened to walk in right in the middle of a particularly violent episode of the Jerry Springer show. Buffy and Dawn were exchanging looks, obviously trying not to laugh out loud and hurt the feelings of the entranced vampire who was staring, fascinated, at the screen where the tiny people yelled unintelligible beeping sounds and hurled chairs at each other.

Had they been life-sized, he would certainly have been thrown into a panic – but those tiny people in the television were clearly too small to pose any threat to him. He found their frenetic movements and energetic speech enthralling; and in an odd way, the violence of it all – violence, for once, *not* directed at him – called to him, bringing back the memory of feelings, emotions, without the specific memories of the events that had caused those feelings.

Although Buffy had not really thought about it when she turned the television on, she was beginning to think, watching Spike’s reactions, that the tacky talk show might actually be a benefit to him.

Giles, apparently, felt differently about it.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered as he closed the door behind him and made his way slowly into the living room.

Spike jumped a mile, his attention immediately shifting from the television to the man who had just entered the room, his body automatically pressing back against the back of the couch, and Buffy’s arm across it. He reminded himself that this man had not hurt him, that Buffy had said that he could trust Giles – Giles wouldn’t hurt him.

*She said that about Xander, too,* a treacherous voice in his head pointed out, and he glanced anxiously up at the Slayer, a questioning look in his wide blue eyes.

Buffy almost automatically reacted to his fear, wrapping her arm casually around his shoulders and squeezing gently, reassuringly, while giving her Watcher a sheepish smile.

“Fight scenes,” she stated by way of explanation. “Eventually he’s gonna have to know how to fight again, right? I mean, this *is* still a Hellmouth.”

“And tawdry, exploitative talk programs showcasing the worst examples of humanity’s moral values are the proper way of teaching him how to fight?” Giles raised a single eyebrow, his ice blue eyes piercing, and vaguely amused over a faint smirk.

Buffy shrugged, her own amusement matching his, as she glanced at Spike with affection, and then back to the television screen. “Whatever works.”

Spike tensed slightly, watching Giles warily as he proceeded into the living room and sat down in the armchair across from the couch. Dawn sensed his anxiety – which wasn’t exactly difficult to see – and reached over to take his hand in hers, offering him her silent support.

Spike immediately felt better, surrounded by the protective love of his girls – and within minutes, he was too caught up in the fascinating game that Buffy, Dawn, and Giles made of his learning to even think about being scared, for the time being – which was saying a lot.

Buffy was thrilled with how quickly Spike was learning. Since the moment when he had regained his sight, he seemed to be picking up new things every minute – and now, although he was not quite able to vocalize everything just yet, it was rare that he would not understand the basic idea of what was being said when someone spoke to him.

Still, he seemed to tire easily, still weak from months of starvation and abuse. After about an hour or so of working with his three well-intentioned teachers, Spike began to look a little lost, a little confused – and they decided that their accomplishments were more than enough for the day.

That was when Buffy took Giles aside into the kitchen, leaving Spike with Dawn, while she took the opportunity to fill him in on the events of the past couple of days.

He was understandably upset.

“Buffy,” he impatiently argued, shaking his head incredulously, “you cannot mean to tell me that you actually believe that *Xander* could have been the one who…”

“No,” Buffy hurried to interrupt him, her own eyes showing something akin to panic at his voicing her worst fears aloud. “I mean – I don’t think – I don’t *know*, Giles!” she finally admitted, misery in her eyes as they wordlessly pleaded with her surrogate father to make everything make sense again. “I mean – I don’t *want* to think that – but…so far, Xander’s the one that seems to make Spike more scared than anyone! You saw how he acted the other night…”

“Yes, but you said that he has behaved that way with all men thus far, correct?” Giles reminded her. “Even myself.”

“You know it was different.” Buffy’s voice was quiet, heavy with a grim knowledge that her heart wanted her mind to reject. “The way he acted with Xander, and the way he acted with you. You have to know that.”

Giles was silent for the moment, unable to deny it.

“There has to be another explanation,” he said at last.

“I really, really hope there is,” Buffy nodded slowly, her expression grim as she met her Watcher’s eyes. “But until we know -- *everyone’s* a suspect, you know? *Nobody* but me and Dawn will be alone with Spike, ever. No one’s gonna get the chance to hurt him again. Someone already did, right here in my own house – but it *won’t* happen again!”

Giles’ tone was guarded, cautious – still very resistant to seeing the boy he regarded like a son in the light of the vicious, sadistic torturer who had so broken Spike – as he replied with a nod of acceptance, “That does seem to be the wisest course, Buffy…at least, until Spike feels safe enough to confide in you the identity of his abuser – if he even knows it.”

Buffy felt a dark, sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that told her that there was no doubt in her mind as to whether or not Spike knew the identity of his abuser.

But *she* did not know it; she didn’t *want* to. Not yet.

*Not ever,* her heart pleaded, desperate to avoid the pain of the truth that she could not quite make herself accept – yet.

It was at that moment that Buffy heard the doorbell ring again.

“Wow,” she muttered as she headed toward the living room, Giles behind her. “Bring one wounded, brain damaged vampire into your house, and suddenly everyone wants to visit all the time. What’s up with that?”

She received no answer, as she had expected none, as she made her way to the door and opened it – and her breath caught in her throat, at the sudden, unexpected sensation of guilt that accompanied the sight of Angel’s serious, searching gaze.

And why should she feel guilty? she demanded of herself, feeling a sense of defensive irritation. It wasn’t as if she *knew* for a fact that Angel had been right the night before – he very well could have been totally wrong.

But she *did* feel guilty, just the same, for dismissing his claims so easily, threatening him and turning him out.

Because someone *had* hurt Spike that night – and he had tried to tell her that the younger vampire was in danger.

But she had not wanted to hear it.

“Hey, Buffy,” he said simply, his perpetually sad smile holding no trace of accusation.

She sighed wearily, meeting his eyes with resignation, and a hint of a silent apology, as she stood back from the door and replied, “Hey, Angel – come on in.”

The moment the dark vampire had stepped through the door, Buffy took his hand without a word and led him toward the kitchen she had just come from. He followed without a word, surprised, but trusting that there was a reason for her behavior, and that he would soon find out what it was.

He just hoped that Xander had not been here before him, and that her purpose for taking him to the relative privacy of the kitchen was not to shove a wooden spoon through his heart.

Once the kitchen door had swung shut behind them, Buffy released Angel’s hand and turned to face him, her arms crossed over her chest, as she stared at him with a solemn resignation. For a moment she was silent, the look in her eyes telling him that she had yet to decide what she wanted to say. When she *did* speak, her words took him by surprise.

“Someone hurt Spike last night.”

Angel’s eyes widened – and then narrowed again, a low growl rising in his throat.

“Hold up, Papa Bear,” she said dryly, “we have no idea who did it. But – but – I’m ready to face the facts when we find out – no matter *who* it is.”

Angel frowned slightly, momentarily confused, before his eyes widened as he realized what she was saying. “So you believe me? Finally! Buffy, I’m so…”

“I didn’t say that,” she cut him off warningly, meeting his eyes with just a hint of irritation – but mostly a heartsick sort of fear – in her own. “I mean – I’m not saying I *don’t* believe you – I mean – you *could* be right. I just – don’t know yet. You know? I’m not letting anyone near Spike without me or Dawn there, so we’ll know that he’s safe, at least, until we figure this out. I just – I just don’t know, Angel.”

He was silent for a moment, studying her expression, and she could see the slight disappointment in his eyes – but also the greater relief.

“Well – that’s something,” he nodded, releasing a deep breath. “At least that way no one can hurt him. But I’m telling you, Buffy – I know who did it. There’s not a doubt in my mind…”

“Angel, don’t…”

“He was in the Initiative caves. Where you found Spike.”

Buffy was silent, stunned by his sudden revelation, her stricken emerald gaze focused on him in startled dismay. “How do you…”

“I smelled him there, Buffy. It was very faint – and he’d tried to clean up the place, eliminate any remaining traces of scent there – but he couldn’t quite do it. I could still tell that he’d been there…”

“Xander’s been in those caves before,” Buffy pointed out, a defensive note in her voice. “Many times. It could have just been a faint trace…”

“No, Buffy – I could tell the difference if that was the case. And it had to be someone that knew I was here – because otherwise why would they have gone to the trouble to try to wipe out scents that no human could even tell were there?” Angel argued quietly.

Buffy had no answer for that. The only people she knew of who knew that Angel was in town were herself, Dawn, Anya, Xander and Riley.

*Riley…maybe…* she thought – and then suddenly wondered if it was wrong of her to actually *hope* that it was her ex-boyfriend who had committed the terrible acts against Spike, if only it would clear her best friend.

“Spike won’t say anything?” Angel said softly after a moment, recognizing that Buffy was not quite ready to accept the truth yet. “He won’t tell you who it was?”

Buffy shook her head sadly. “No. He’s pretty freaked out, still. He’s scared to death, really – and I’m not going to force him to do anything. He’ll tell me, in his own time, once he knows that I’m going to protect him – and that might take a while, after last night.”

“I want to help you protect him, Buffy,” Angel informed her, a quiet certainty to his voice and his dark, pleading brown eyes. “I want to – to help him get well. I know I can, Buffy. I’m his sire. I know you might not get that, but it *means* something. I’d – I’d really like to see him…”

Buffy hesitated, her mind going back to the other night, and Spike’s strange reaction to Angel. She tended to believe the older vampire’s explanation – and yet, the entire thing just did not quite sit right with her. Maybe it was the hints of past domination that the whole thing brought to mind – or her Slayer side’s dislike of the intense relationship between the two vampires….

…or her *human* side’s dislike of the intense relationship between the two vampires…

Before she could even begin to formulate an answer, the doorbell rang yet again – and beside her, Angel tensed visibly.

“What?” she asked, her eyes widening with alarm.

“It’s Xander.”

Buffy frowned, puzzled. “You can smell him from here? That’s gross…”

“No,” Angel corrected her, his dark eyes smoldering with fury. “I can’t. But Spike can, from the living room. And he’s terrified. I can *feel* it from here.”

“He gets scared whenever the doorbell rings,” Buffy argued, but her voice was trembling slightly as she headed back toward the living room – hoping against hope that when she opened the door, it would not be her best friend on the other side.

But it was.

“Hey, Buffy,” Xander smiled disarmingly as he walked in the door, shooting Angel a dirty look as he made his way into the living room, seemingly unaware of the distrustful, uncomfortable expressions on the faces of the others in the room.

Except for Spike.

His reaction was impossible to miss.

The blonde vampire panicked – jerking free of Dawn’s gentle embrace, and fleeing up the stairs.

And Buffy’s heart sank just a little more under the dreadful weight of the truth, as she invited her best friend inside.

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Even as he fled the room, Spike’s mind was warning him that he had just made a terrible mistake. He should have just done as he had originally planned, and acted completely normal with Xander – made sure that Buffy did not suspect anything – done his best to keep the secret.

But in that moment, when the safety of that warm, pleasant, reassuring day he had just had was suddenly threatened by the intrusion of his feared enemy – Spike had forgotten what he was supposed to do, what Xander had ordered him to do. All he had known in that moment was that he could not stay in that room with Xander a moment longer.

Once he was upstairs, the bedroom door firmly shut behind him, his panic subsided into a sort of sick, heavy dread.

He had failed.

Buffy and Dawn had to suspect something now – he just knew it! They had to wonder about his rather consistent reaction to the boy’s presence – and worse, Xander had to know that they were wondering. Oh, certainly the boy would find a way to explain away Spike’s momentary lapse of control, to convince the girls that his reaction was not really about *Xander* personally, so much as a general result of the trauma he had been through.

And then, once he had soothed their suspicions, he would find a way to get Spike alone – and punish him.

When the door swung open only a few minutes later, Spike leapt up from the bed where he was sitting – backing quickly away a few steps, his glimmering blue eyes wide with terror – absolutely certain, in that moment, that it was Xander.

But it was Dawn.

The soft concern and compassion in her searching blue eyes brought him to tears, as she swiftly crossed the room to take his trembling hands in hers. “Spike – what’s wrong? What happened?”

He immediately looked away, swallowing back the desperate, wild impulse he suddenly had to simply tell her everything, to throw himself on the tender mercies of her and her sister, to just pour out the whole painful story and beg them to believe him, and protect him from Xander’s abuse…

…but…

“Spike – why are you so scared of Xander?” the girl asked simply, her blue eyes open and seeking – but her voice was full of a heartsick kind of ache, and those wide eyes shimmered with tears of apprehension and fear of what his answer might be.

*Can’t tell her,* he reminded himself. *Wouldn’t believe it – it’d hurt her – he’d *kill* her – can’t tell her…*

He broke eye contact with her again, afraid that she would see enough of the truth in his eyes to make his false answers meaningless. Shaking his head, he whispered in a soft, hollow voice, “Don’t know. Just – just scares me.”

Dawn was quiet for a moment, studying his cautiously guarded expression – and suddenly found herself wondering when he had regained the ability to guard his reactions – to be deceptive at all.

Had it happened the night before – when someone had stolen his safe haven from him and shattered his fragile, newborn sense of trust in her and her sister?

“Spike.” Dawn was as surprised as he was by the sudden hardness in her voice. “Look at me.”

Obedience was immediate, and Spike found himself needing to repeat the words again and again in his head, *Won’t hurt me – she wouldn’t – won’t hurt me…*

Her gaze was intense, piercing, as she asked in a tone of demand, “Did Xander do this to you?”

Panicked by the bluntly stated question, Spike looked away, shaking his head, backing away from her.

She did not allow it, moving in swiftly, a step for every one he retreated, her eyes seeking his as she spoke severely, “*No*! Spike, look at me! *Look at me!*”

His back hit the wall, and he raised his hands defensively, breaking down as he shook his head in pleading desperation. Dawn’s hands on his arms kept him from pushing past her and fleeing again, as she relentlessly sought his desperately averted gaze.

“*Tell me*!” She was crying herself by now, her voice low and shaking with frustration. “Spike, just tell me! Did he do this?”

Spike was sobbing by now, with fear and despair and confusion – though his fear was not of this slender girl in front of him, who loved him, he knew, regardless of the angry, taut emotions in her voice in this moment. She was his friend, and he knew on a deep, instinctual level that she would never hurt him; in fact, he was aware that in some way, he was hurting *her* by withholding the truth. He longed to pour it out to her – but he did not dare.

The truth could kill her – and Buffy.

He instinctively tried to withdraw further, but the wall at his back prevented it. All he wanted was just to get away, before her tears and her fury dragged the answer from him against his will – but there was nowhere to go…but down.

And as Spike slowly crumpled to his knees on the floor, shaking his head pleadingly, holding his hands up as if to ward off a blow, low, choked sobs escaping his throat – Dawn’s anger melted away into a flood of sorrow, and no little shame, for making him feel this way.

“Oh, Spike,” she whispered, relenting as she crouched down beside him and without hesitation, threw her arms around him. “Spike, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! It’s okay…it’s okay…”

“Please,” he whispered tearfully, clinging to her, grateful for the dearly needed affection, but with his eyes still tightly shut, refusing to face the intensity of her gaze, still afraid that he was dangerously close to breaking down and telling her everything. “Please don’t – don’t make me…please…”

“Don’t make you what, Spike?” Dawn frowned, confused, her face streaked with tears. “Tell me? I only want to help you, Spike – but I can’t -- *we* can’t – if we don’t know who did this to you! Tell us – and we’ll make sure they never hurt you again -- *never* -- but you *have* to tell us!”

When her attempt at gentle explanation failed to produce in anything but more tears and deeper sobs – Dawn gave up, releasing a heavy sigh of resignation as she just held Spike closer to her, allowing her own tears to flow freely.

“Okay,” she whispered her acceptance, running her fingers lightly through his hair. “Okay…don’t worry about it. You don’t have to say anything…I understand…it’s okay…”

Her next words took him by surprise, and Spike was not sure whether to be relieved or apprehensive, at the implications of them.

“If he scares you – for *whatever* reason – we won’t let Xander near you, I promise…”

**********************************

While Dawn was doing her best to calm Spike upstairs – Buffy was dealing with a much larger job – keeping the peace among the emotionally volatile group gathered in the living room.

It was quite a tall order, considering that she was feeling especially volatile herself at the moment.

When Spike disappeared up the stairs, followed quickly by Dawn, Buffy turned her full attention on her friend, staring at him dubiously for a long moment.

“What?” Xander finally asked, shaking his head slightly in innocent confusion.

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Buffy replied, her voice carefully calm. “Why every single time Spike sees you, he acts like we’re about to tie him down and torture him.”

“Now I *wonder* where he’d get an idea like that,” Angel snarled sarcastically, his fury barely controlled as he took a couple of menacing steps toward the boy.

Buffy held out an arm to stop him, as Xander hastily took a backward step – but she said nothing in the boy’s defense, and kept her somber, questioning eyes focused on him – waiting.

“Now wait just a second here,” Xander protested slowly, a slight note of alarm in his voice as he recognized the suspicion on the faces of everyone in the room. “What exactly is this? Deadboy here starts running his mouth, saying how he thinks I did something to Spike – and you all just automatically believe him?”

“Not automatically,” Giles spoke up, his voice soft and controlled, as he rose from the couch and stepped cautiously toward the tense stand off taking place in the foyer. “I assure you, Xander – no one in this room *wants* to think that you could possibly have done such a thing. It would come as a terrible surprise to all of us to find that…”

“Speak for yourself,” Angel snapped. “I’m not surprised – not at all! He’s always hated Spike…”

“I didn’t do anything!” Xander exclaimed, outrage in his voice, wide-eyed as he turned to Buffy. “Buffy, you can’t actually believe this!”

Buffy finally looked away from the wounded expression in his deep brown eyes. “I – I don’t want to, Xan…I don’t. But – but there’s just so many things…”

“Like what?” Xander challenged, crossing his arms over his chest defensively, though his tone was bold and confident.

“Like the way that Spike acts around you, when he doesn’t act that scared around *anyone* else…” Angel pointed out before the Slayer could speak.

“Like the fact that you and Giles were the only ones here last night – you even admit to seeing him – and last night Spike got hurt,” Buffy said quietly, her eyes searching her friend’s face for the truth.

“I told you, he had a nightmare!” Xander said incredulously. “He was thrashing around everywhere! He must have hit his head on something…”

“He was ‘thrashing around everywhere’, and he didn’t manage to wake up Dawn?” Buffy countered, her voice rising with frustration. “How is that even possible?”

“I don’t know, to tell you the truth, Buffy!” Xander retorted in a voice full of wounded indignation. “But it happened! I can’t believe you’d think that of me – after everything we’ve been through…”

“Oh, don’t even try to pull that with her!” Angel snarled, pushing forward against Buffy’s restraining arm in an effort to get at the boy. “I know you were there, in those caves where you kept him prisoner and *tortured* him – I could smell you there, boy! I know what you did to him! And to have the nerve to *pretend* like you’re Buffy’s friend, when all this time you’re lying to her to her face…”

“Angel,” Buffy softly spoke up, trying to silence him. “Please…”

“No!” Angel snapped, turning on her for a moment. “I can’t believe you’re going to let him get away with this again!”

“Me?” Xander laughed bitterly. “What about you? Did you ask him what *he* was doing last night, after we left here?” he turned to Buffy. “He attacked me in my building last night! He would have killed me if someone hadn’t come out and threatened to call the police!”

Buffy turned wide, startled eyes on Angel, who just stared at her with a stubborn boldness that said that Xander’s words were true, and no, he was not the least bit sorry.

She looked away from him, shaking her head and letting out a weary sigh. “Look – I’m not accusing anyone,” she said softly. “Not yet. We just – don’t have enough to go on to know who did this yet. But – I’m *going* to find out. And when I do – no matter *who* it is – they’re going to pay for what they did to Spike.”

As she spoke, she looked around the room at each of the three men in turn, finally bringing her eyes back to rest on Xander. “And in the mean time – I know you meant well last night, but it’s only complicated matters, Xander. No one, and I mean *no one* is going to be alone with Spike besides me or Dawn. That way, no one can say…”

“I don’t believe this!” Xander threw up his hands in outrage, turning away for a moment before looking Buffy in the eye, his own blazing with fury. “I was actually making progress with him last night – you should be *happy* about that…and now you’re still practically accusing me of…”

“Yeah. Lots of progress,” Angel sneered, but his eyes were dark with anger at what had been done to his childe. “We could see that so well when you came in tonight…”

“No one’s accusing you, Xander,” Buffy began, her voice tired and weak.

“Oh, yeah? But you think I did it – don’t you?” he challenged her, his eyebrows raised in a question.

Buffy did not answer for a long moment, as each of the three men waited for her all-important response. Finally, she answered softly, “No. I don’t. Xander, I know you – I don’t think you could do a thing like that, to anyone – but don’t you see? We have to do this right – keep *everyone* away from him – to know for sure…you know?”

“*What*?” Angel’s voice was low and deadly, as he regarded her with incredulous eyes.

“Don’t,” Buffy stopped him sharply, her tone warning – her solemn eyes never leaving Xander’s face.

Xander studied her expression for a long moment, before letting out a sigh. “Okay,” he said quietly. He paused before adding, “I guess I understand, Buffy. I mean, I guess it *did* look kind of bad,” he let out a sad laugh, nodding toward the stairs where Spike had disappeared.

His expression darkened as he glanced derisively at Angel. “Just – keep him away from me.” A humorless smirk formed on his lips as he added, “I’m going home, anyway…it’s probably better right now, all things considered – do me a favor and keep him here until I have time to get there, ‘kay?”

Buffy nodded without smiling, glancing at Angel. “Yeah – we’re definitely going to talk about that before he goes *anywhere*.”

“Buffy – you can’t…” Angel began.

“Yes, I can,” she cut him off, glaring at him warningly. “Just – stay out of this, Angel. This is between me and Xander…”

“No, this is between *me* and Xander,” he objected.

Buffy stepped quickly between them, her arms crossed over her chest as she attempted to stare her ex-lover down.

He would not be stared down – not over this.

“Later, Buffy…” Xander said simply as he headed back out the door, shutting it firmly behind him – but only after casting Angel a smug smile over her shoulder.

A heavy silence fell over the room in his absence, Angel and Buffy staring at each other, Giles watching them closely for any sign of actual physical conflict.

“I can’t believe that you fell for him,” Angel finally spoke slowly, his rage and frustration barely restrained, his eyes flames of fury boring into hers.

Buffy did not respond for a long moment. Finally, she sighed, looking away, relaxing as she leaned back against the door, raising her hands to her eyes in a gesture of exhaustion.

“I didn’t,” she replied at last.

Angel blinked, startled, before saying slowly, “Come again?”

“I didn’t believe him,” Buffy clarified, a note of painful disbelief in her voice as she looked up at him through stricken eyes. “He did it. I know he did it.”

“How can you be sure?” Giles asked cautiously, stepping forward with a frown.

Buffy looked at him for a moment, blinking back tears, as she finally answered, “Because I never told him that Spike hit his *head*.”

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“No. That’s a terrible idea. I won’t let you do it.”

Dawn’s voice was surprisingly calm, but her eyes were narrowed dangerously, and her arms were crossed firmly over her chest, as she tried her best to stare down her older but shorter sister.

She knew that Buffy meant well – but she had just made a promise to Spike, a promise that very well might have been the only thing that was allowing him to sleep right now, and she was determined to keep it, no matter what Buffy’s reasons might be for breaking it.

Spike had cried in her arms on the floor, until he had so thoroughly exhausted himself that he seemed about to pass out right there; so Dawn had helped him to the bed, and lain on top of the covers beside him, until he had fallen asleep, and long after – until Buffy had come upstairs from her confrontation with Xander.

Angel had been with her; Buffy had agreed to his earnest request to spend some time with his childe, to see if he could help him. When they had found him asleep, the older vampire had resigned himself to waiting, recognizing that the traumatized younger vampire most likely needed every moment of rest that he could get.

He had moved as if to leave, but Buffy had stopped him, motioning Dawn away from the bed and out into the hall. Once the three of them and Giles were assembled in the living room, Buffy had gone about describing the fledgling, make-shift sort of plan she had been formulating for only the past few minutes – the plan she had had no intention of getting into without her sister present.

Dawn was as much a part of this as she was, she knew.

And now, Dawn was doing her best to keep the plan from being carried out.

“It’s only so that we can keep him safe in the long run,” Buffy argued, a bit impatiently, though she really understood why Dawn did not want to do it. “Just so we’ll have proof positive, no way of getting around it…”

“You *already* have proof positive,” Dawn pointed out, a stoic air to her as she stared at her sister, unwavering. “You know he did it.”

“And if I confront him, he’ll find some logical explanation for why…”

“And you’ll *believe* him? Just like that?” Dawn’s tone was angry now, as her stare became a glare. “Buffy, I can’t believe…”

“No, I won’t believe him!” Buffy cut her off sharply, a bit offended by Dawn’s words. “But others might. Willow. Anya. Anyone who might potentially be involved in this, and who hasn’t seen all the signs we’ve seen.”

“Honestly, Dawn,” Giles spoke up softly, casting apologetic glances toward her, and Angel in turn, “I must confess that I’m not quite positive myself that the boy is guilty. It certainly does appear that way – but Xander’s…well…”

“It’s *Xander*, Dawn,” Buffy broke in, her voice tired and heavy with sorrow. “He’s been like – like *family* for so long! I almost feel like – we have to know beyond any shadow of a doubt, *ever*. Can you see that? I mean – if there’s even the slightest fragment of doubt, and we…I just think it’s best if we make sure that we know for a fact – and eyewitnesses are the best proof there is…”

“*No*!” Dawn snapped. “I promised him, Buffy – and so did you! I don’t care why, you can’t *deliberately* put him in a situation like that!”

“I’m sorry, Buffy, but I have to agree,” Angel said quietly, his dark gaze intent on hers. “He’s progressing, from what you’ve told me – and you don’t want to set him back again. Something like what you’re suggesting…after you’ve promised to protect him…even if we *do* make sure that that boy can’t ever touch him again – it’d be a good long while before Spike would believe it!”

There was a moment’s silence, as Buffy took in the common sense truth of their arguments. Finally, she looked up again, her eyes wide with inspiration.

“What if we ask him first?” she suggested. “Make sure it’s okay with him? So he knows what’s going on beforehand…that way it might have a *positive* effect on him, in the long run.” When no one responded for a long moment, she looked between them, her expectant expression becoming uncertain, as she asked hesitantly, “What do you think?”

“I think that we’ll have to convince him that it’s safe to admit it’s Xander at all, before we even think of anything like that,” Dawn replied without hesitation. “Buffy, whatever he did to him last night – Spike is terrified. He absolutely refuses to admit that it was Xander…”

“Well, then,” Giles suggested cautiously. “Perhaps – it *wasn’t*…”

“It was.”

The Slayer’s hard tone brooked no argument, her dark green gaze focused on the wall just beyond her sister, as she thought carefully about the situation. “There has to be some way to get him to admit it – we just have to convince him that we’re not going to let anything happen to him…”

“Easier said than done, when we already did!” Dawn pointed out grimly.

Buffy shook her head, refusing to accept the hopeless look on her sister’s face that said the plan was doomed to failure. “I’ll just have to find a way,” she insisted. “I’ll have to make him see that it’s okay to tell the truth – that we won’t let Xander hurt him again…”

As she spoke, she headed resolutely toward the stairs, determination in her gaze despite her sister’s protests of alarm. But it was not Dawn’s voice that stopped her at the foot of the stairs, a sudden sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, and uncertainty in her eyes, at the thought of attempting to convince Spike that she was capable of protecting him, when she knew she had already failed him more than once.

She turned around abruptly at the foot of the stairs, a sheepish expression in her eyes as she faced her friends and sister.

“I’ll talk to him,” she stated firmly. “When he wakes up.”

*******************************

Giles was heading for the door an hour later, after thoroughly discussing Buffy’s idea with her and Angel. Dawn’s protective instincts had driven her upstairs, back to Spike’s side – that, and her utter disapproval of Buffy’s plan, her desire to have nothing to do with it.

Buffy was troubled by how strongly Dawn opposed the idea, but she really felt that it was the only way. She was sure that she could convince Spike to go along with it, and as long as he knew that he would be perfectly safe -- what was the harm? For some reason, it was very important to her that Xander have no excuse whatsoever when she confronted him.

And maybe -- just maybe, she barely admitted to herself -- *she* needed that last little bit of absolutely irrefutable proof -- needed to see the truth with her own eyes, once and for all, in order to make herself accept what she was now all but certain was the terrible truth about the young man she had thought was her best friend.

“Call me when you’re ready to put this plan into action, Buffy,” Giles said, looking at her as he reached for the door handle. “I am in agreement with you completely – I feel that we must know for certain before we make any rash actions.”

He opened the door and moved to step out onto the porch – coming up short immediately at the sight of a very startled, wide-eyed Anya standing directly in his path, a trapped, deer-in-the-headlights sort of look in her green eyes.

Both Buffy and Giles stared at her for a moment, unsure what to say, or why she had been standing there on the porch, not knocking – just standing there.

“Um – hi,” the vengeance demon said in an uncharacteristically quiet, uncertain voice, glancing nervously between the Slayer and her Watcher. “I was – just about to knock. I certainly wasn’t just standing there trying to *decide* whether or not I should knock – I’d definitely already decided to knock. Because even though I slept with your sort of, not quite boyfriend a few months ago, and my sort of, not quite fiancé at the time tried to kill him, and it was a whole big thing – and now your ex-sort-of-not-quite boyfriend is living here with you, and there’s a good chance that you don’t really want me around at the moment doesn’t mean that I feel awkward around you at all. I don’t. I don’t feel the least bit awkward. So I have no problem whatsoever just walking right up and knocking at your door, like any friend would do. Because – we’re friends. So – no awkwardness here.”

Anya paused for a deep breath, and then added simply, looking Buffy in the eyes, “And besides – Spike is my friend. He’s always been nice to me, and never treated me like a freak because I wasn’t born human – and he tried his best to comfort me when my heart had just been shattered into a million pieces…so I really don’t care if it’s awkward or not…” She shrugged, a sort of strange little half-smile on her face as she finished, “I’m here to help.”

There was a long moment of silence as both Giles and Buffy struggled to process all that she had just said in that long, breathless speech.

“Nope,” Buffy remarked dryly. “No awkwardness here.” She smiled apologetically at Anya as she said in a deliberate and completely sincere voice, “Come in, Anya. You are more than welcome. We need as much help as we can get around here lately.”

And as she and Giles both stepped aside, allowing Anya to walk into the house, Giles’ pointedly expectant look at her gave her a sudden realization – and an unexpected queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“Oh,” Anya remarked with surprise at the sight of Angel, seated on the sofa, his brow furrowed in deep thought, as he went over Buffy’s idea again in his head – an idea he was not exactly pleased with. “Angel. Hello – are you evil?” Anya asked bluntly, with a stiff, artificially pleasant smile.

Buffy was too troubled by the unspoken question in Giles’ eyes to even think about her houseful of unexpected guests at the moment.

*Oh, God,* she thought, her eyes widening with dismay. *How am I going to tell Anya?*

********************************

In the end, Buffy put off the decision, deciding that it would be best to wait to say anything to Anya until they were *absolutely* sure. She ignored the severe expression on her Watcher’s face, saying clearly that he knew she was just being a coward.

If she was honest with herself, she *knew* deep down in her heart that Xander was guilty – she was just desperately hoping for some last ditch piece of evidence to come hurtling out of the blue and prove beyond all doubt that it could not have been him. And if she could not quite admit it to herself just yet – how could she possibly bring herself to tell Anya?

Giles pulled her aside, while Angel was trying to make polite conversation with Anya, in spite of his current state of distraction.

“Buffy – you *must* tell her!” he told her urgently. “We’re discussing the situation – deciding on a course of action – she needs to know.”

“I can’t, Giles,” she refused, her jaw set stubbornly. “You want her to know so bad? You tell her. I’m going to go check on Spike and Dawn.”

And with no further explanation or opportunity for argument, she turned and flounced up the stairs.

As she opened the door to her room, her tumultuous thoughts were immediately distracted by the heart-rending sight of her little sister, lying on the bed beside Spike, raised up on one elbow and gazing down at him through tear-filled eyes. He was sound asleep, completely unaware of the tears that streaked her face, and the gentle, trembling hand that ran slowly, tenderly, through his hair.

When Dawn noticed Buffy in the doorway, her eyes visibly hardened, still glittering with tears, but suddenly blazing with resentful indignation.

“Don’t you dare wake him up,” she ordered in a slightly sullen voice, looking back down at Spike, rather than meeting her sister’s eyes. “He’s been through enough for one day – for longer,” she corrected. “If you’re going to do this to him, you can do it when he wakes up on his own.”

Buffy knew very well that if she really wanted to wake Spike now, there was nothing Dawn could do to stop her.

She also knew that her little sister *needed*, deep down, to protect her friend – so she did not object to the cold, commanding tone Dawn had taken with her. She did not say anything for a moment, as she sat down slowly and carefully on the edge of the bed.

“Don’t worry,” she said finally, a slightly sheepish and completely humorless smile on her face as she looked up at Dawn through serious, sympathetic eyes. “I don’t have any intention of waking him up.”

Something in Buffy’s voice drew Dawn’s attention, and she looked up at her older sister speculatively. Studying the Slayer’s nervous, averted eyes for a long moment, Dawn’s lips slowly turned up into a smirk.

“Chicken,” she accused softly.

“What?” Buffy frowned at her, startled by the word.

“Chicken,” Dawn repeated matter-of-factly. “You’re just not waking him up because you’re scared to. You’re determined to do this, but you don’t want to be the bad guy. You’re afraid of his reaction.” She paused before adding slowly and decisively, “You’re a chicken. You’re nothing but a great big chicken Slayer.”

Buffy’s surprise faded, and she returned her sister’s gaze, as she replied with a completely straight face, “I have never slayed a chicken in my life.”

Dawn visibly fought the smile that wanted to rise on her face – then let out a weary sigh of defeat, laughing softly – and Buffy laughed with her, though both girls were careful to be quiet enough that they did not disturb the sleeping vampire beside them. The soft laughter died away, and both girls stared down at Spike, rather than each other, lost in their own thoughts.

“You really think this is the right thing to do?” Dawn asked, a slightly incredulous sound to her voice as she finally looked up at Buffy.

“I hope so,” the Slayer responded honestly. “I mean – Dawn – I have to know for sure – you know? Because – if Xander really did this…he can’t be a part of our lives anymore, and – and he needs to pay for what he’s done. And – I can’t – do that – make that happen – unless I know for absolutely sure – you know?”

Dawn was quiet, considering what she had said, before nodding her grudging acceptance. “I *do* know for absolutely sure,” she informed her sister. “Xander did it.”

Buffy frowned, surprised at the words, as Dawn had not been present to hear Xander’s little slip downstairs. “How do you know?” she asked her.

“You should have seen him up here a little while ago, Buffy,” Dawn explained after a moment, her voice thick with tears. “He was scared out of his mind – I asked him if Xander did it – and he wouldn’t say so – he was too afraid to – but I *knew*. If you’d seen him – you’d know.”

Buffy was quiet for a long moment, before she conceded quietly, “I’m going to talk to him when he wakes up, Dawn. I’m going to make sure he knows that we – we already know. And I’m going to be sure that he understands what we’re going to do.” She paused, before deciding only as she said the words aloud, “And I’ll only go through with it if he’s okay with it – okay?”

Dawn’s eyes widened, shining with relief and hope at Buffy’s promise. “Really?”

“Really,” Buffy confirmed with a decisive nod. “I don’t want to – to put him through any more pain. But – as long as the person who did this to him is still out there, able to get to him – he’s not gonna stop hurting. And – if that person is Xander – we have to know for sure.”

Dawn nodded, recognizing the truth in her sister’s words.

As Buffy rose from the bed and headed back toward the stairs, satisfied that she had both appeased her little sister, and come to a final decision about her plan, Dawn smiled down at Spike, sleeping on, blissfully unaware of said plan.

“It’s okay,” she whispered the words she had spoken a hundred times since Spike had come home to them, though this time he did not actually hear them. “It’s okay…we know who did this to you, Spike – and we’re going to stop him for good. Soon – it’s all gonna be over – and no one will ever hurt you again.”

This beautiful banner was created for me by the wonderful artist The_Space_Between!!! Thanks, love!!!




Spike’s sleep was restless and troubled, filled with confused, disjointed nightmare images…

Xander standing over him as he knelt helpless, not daring to plead for mercy, knowing that the boy was going to punish him for his failure to keep the secret…Dawn and Buffy, bleeding and broken, their flesh broken by the bullets from Xander’s gun, their wide, pain-filled eyes focused on him in betrayal and accusation…knowing that their precious lives were ebbing away, as Xander grabbed him and dragged him forcefully back to the caves where he had been held prisoner – never to be free again…

He felt a warm touch, like liquid fire on his cool arm – and he jerked back to wakefulness, his crystal blue eyes wide and panicked, in the moment before they came to rest on a pair of round, blinking emerald eyes full of anxious concern.

“Buffy,” he whispered with relief, as he realized that he had only been dreaming.

And in the next moment, his relief faded into a sick feeling of fear, as he remembered that the dream was only a single misstep away from becoming reality.

A single misstep that he just might have already made.

“Hey,” she said softly, an affectionate smile on her lips as she sat down beside him on the bed where he lay, gently pushing him over a bit so that she could rest beside him. “Sleep good, Sweetie?”

He glanced around the room, wondering briefly where Dawn had gotten off to, before meeting her eyes again and nodding silently – a silent lie.

The troubled frown that creased her brow told him that he had not convinced her – and once again, he cursed his own stupidity and uselessness, which he was certain was going to end up getting Buffy and Dawn killed.

“Spike – I need to talk to you,” Buffy said with a heavy sigh of resignation. “It’s – really important. Okay?”

The sick feeling in his stomach intensified, and he looked up at her anxiously again, studying her expression intently for any clue of what she was about to say. Judging by Dawn’s frighteningly knowing reaction to his attempts to convince her that it was *not* Xander who had hurt him – he had a pretty good idea that he knew at least the general idea of what Buffy wanted to talk to him about.

Still, having really no other choice, he nodded hesitantly in response to her words.

“Okay,” she repeated, taking a deep breath – and then saying nothing. Clearly, this conversation was not one that she particularly wanted to have, either.

“Spike,” she tried again after an awkward silence. “I – I know who hurt you.”

Spike felt a sense of rising panic building up inside him, closing off his throat until he could not speak, could not even breathe – forgetting that he did not need to. He looked away from her, shaking his head slightly, trying to pull away.

Buffy did not let him.

“Spike,” she said firmly, turning halfway to face him directly. “Look at me, Sweetie.”

He did not want to, but there was a gentle command in her voice, and he felt that he had no choice. His apprehensive, tearful gaze reluctantly met hers, as he swallowed convulsively, his breathing beginning again, ragged and uneven.

“Please,” he gasped out hoarsely. “Buffy – please…no…”

Buffy winced visibly at the desperate, pleading tone of his words, but she bravely held his gaze, as she went on firmly, “Spike – I wish I *could* just let this go – but I can’t. I have to protect you, Spike – and – I’ve already failed to do that once. I won’t let you down again – and if I pretend like this isn’t happening, like I don’t know who did this to you – that’s what I’d be doing.”

“No,” he objected, frowning with confusion as he tried to understand some of the more difficult parts of what she was saying. “No, Buffy – please don’t – don’t wanna – talk about – this…please…”

“Spike – Xander hurt you. He held you prisoner and tortured you for months – and then, he came up here last night, and told you not to say anything to me – didn’t he?” Buffy’s tone was resolute, slightly warning – leaving no room for argument. “Look at me,” she repeated sharply when he could not hold her gaze.

There was a panicked, terrified expression in his wide blue eyes when he dragged them back up to hers, his fast, uneven breath nearly a sob in his throat. “Please,” he whispered, unable to deny her words, in the face of her clear knowledge – and unable to bring himself to admit the truth. “Please, Buffy – please don’t…”

“Spike,” she whispered, her voice softening as she raised a gentle hand to his cheek, her expression sorrowful when he could not help the instinctive flinch at her touch. “I won’t let him hurt you again – I promise…you’re going to be safe…you just have to trust me…” She paused, looking down for a moment before going on sadly, “I know that’s hard right now – because I let him get to you. And I’m so, *so* sorry…but it *won’t* happen again, Spike. I promise.”

“It – it wasn’t – he didn’t…” Spike tried – really tried – to tell her that she was wrong about her friend…but his shaking, tearful voice broke off immediately the moment he met her eyes.

His heart sank at the certainty he saw in her gaze – the reluctant but unwavering knowledge that she was right in her assumption that Xander was his abuser. His mind was screaming at him to deny it, convince her that she was wrong, for her sake and for Dawn’s, even if not for his own.

His heart already knew that it would not be possible.

The tender sympathy, the understanding that he had not expected to see in her eyes at this moment, when faced with the choice between him and Xander, was more than enough to break through the fragile defenses of his unwilling lies – and Spike broke down, staring down at the mattress between them, tears streaming from his eyes, his shoulders shaking with sobs of relief – terror – confusion…

He really had no idea *what* he was feeling at this point.

It didn’t matter to Buffy, as she reached her soft arms around him, pulling him toward her, one hand pressing his head gently to her chest, as she whispered soothing sounds in his ear, promising him again and again that everything was going to be all right, that she would protect him, that she would not let Xander or anyone else hurt him.

Spike felt an almost overwhelming despair, at the truth resonating in his heart.

She had no idea that his fear had very little to do with Xander’s hurting *him*.

“Buffy,” he whispered breathlessly, struggling briefly against her gentle arms, until she almost immediately released him, his wide, startled gaze focused on hers intently, urgently. “B-Buffy – you – he – he s-said…” He hesitated, searching for the right words, which seemed to elude him in his panic.

Patiently, she waited for him to go on, searching his gaze with affectionate eyes, her hand resting at his cheek, her thumb moving up and down in a tender caress. “What is it, Sweetie?” she asked him finally. “What are you trying to tell me?”

“He – s-said – you…D-dawn…no tell…o-or…he h-hurt you…*kill* you…”

Buffy’s eyes widened in horror, her head shaking slightly in desperate disbelief. “No,” she whispered, her mind rejecting the only possible meaning of his words. “He couldn’t have…he didn’t really mean…”

“Please,” Spike sobbed softly, bowing his head, his hands clinging to her arms, as his worst fears seemed to close in on him – that Buffy would not believe him, would think he was lying, and leave him at the mercy of his enemy. But it was too late to turn back now; he had made his decision, told her everything – and there was no way to take it back, although at that moment he desperately wanted to. “Please – b-believe me – please…”

“I do,” Buffy whispered, almost automatically – but it was the truth. “I do believe you, Spike – it’s just – I wish – I wish it wasn’t true…oh God…” She shook her head, with an effort bringing her eyes back to his and trying her best to focus on him and what he was feeling.

“Spike – he can’t hurt me…not if I know he’s planning on it – you see? I’m much stronger than he is…and if I know he’s gonna try something, I can stop him – do you understand?” she tried to explain.

Spike’s brow was creased with concentration as he tried to follow her explanation. He nodded slowly as he understood – and then his eyes widened in a stricken expression as the unspoken implications hit him – and he realized that he had made a terrible mistake which could have cost them all their lives.

He had been keeping silence out of a desire to protect Buffy and Dawn – but in reality, his silence had almost caused them to be in more danger. Now, it all made sense; Buffy was only able to protect any of them if she *knew* who her enemy was – to watch out for him, and to be on her guard.

His fear had left her at the mercy of that enemy – the man she had thought was her friend.

“M-my fault,” he whispered, shaking his head, his eyes staring up at her in stricken shame. “My fault – sorry…should have told…”

“No,” she reassured him, “no, Baby, it’s not your fault…you’re okay…you didn’t know…you were trying your best to protect us, Sweetie…it’s okay…”

Spike was trembling violently, still clinging to her arms for support, as a spreading weakness had come over him, and he felt as if he might pass out. It was all just so overwhelming – so very much to take in, to comprehend and fit into his rather limited frame of thought.

Suddenly, a frightening thought occurred to him, and he made himself look up at her again. “B-buffy,” he whispered urgently, holding her gaze intently. “G-gun…he has…gun…sh-shoot you…”

Buffy’s face paled, her eyes widening, as she began to look a little sick. “He won’t,” she assured him in a voice barely over a whisper. “No, Spike, I won’t let him…I’ll watch out for the gun…I promise…”

Relieved, and utterly exhausted from this brief yet all-important conversation, Spike leaned forward, resting his head on her shoulder as Buffy did her best to comfort him, holding him close to her and reiterating her promises of protection and understanding – and Spike tried as hard as he could to accept it, to believe that she could keep those promises.

But safety, peace, comfort – all were concepts that were still very new to him. He had made incredible strides just in the past few days, the only days he remembered being free from torment and bondage – but his painful time in captivity was still very fresh in his mind, and he found it difficult to accept that it was really over, that Xander really could not get to him again.

*Can’t hurt me – she’ll protect me – can’t get to me – won’t let him be alone with me…*

He repeated the words, a desperate chant to reassure himself that it was true, that he could safely accept this new life – until the mantra was interrupted by Buffy’s soft, uncertain voice at his ear, her arms around him trembling slightly with some emotion unknown to him.

“Spike – there’s just – one thing…I – I need to ask you…”

******************************

“I can’t believe he said that.”

Dawn’s voice was low and stunned, trembling with hurt, as she sat on the living room sofa beside her sister, her blue eyes wide and unseeing as she stared at the coffee table. “He really said he’d – he’d shoot us? *Xander* said he’d shoot me and you?”

Buffy nodded slowly, her expression grim, as she studied her sister’s face with concern. She was hurting too, taken completely off guard by Spike’s revelation – but she was trying to hold it together for the sake of her sister.

Fortunately, they had their privacy to deal with the shock. Giles had taken Anya out, under the guise of discussing business matters regarding the shop – but Buffy suspected that the outing was really to break the news to her gently regarding their suspicions about Xander.

Now that Spike had reluctantly admitted Xander’s guilt, there was no reason to keep Spike isolated from everyone besides her and Dawn. So, Buffy had taken Angel upstairs, granting his request to spend some time with his childe – and when Spike’s reaction had been one of wonder, and perhaps a bit of awe…but not the least bit of fear…she had reluctantly left them alone in the upstairs bedroom, forcing her own jealous fears out of her mind and trying her best to focus on her sister.

Once she started to actually explain, focusing on Dawn’s feelings was not hard.

Her own feelings were much the same.

“I didn’t want to believe it, either, Dawnie,” she said with soft sympathy. “But it’s true. Spike wouldn’t make it up – probably couldn’t. And he certainly couldn’t fake his feelings. He was terrified – for *us*. He wasn’t even so worried about what Xander might do to *him* -- he was keeping his mouth shut because Xander said he’d kill *us* if Spike told the truth about what happened to him.”

Dawn was quiet for a long moment – and when she spoke again, her voice was alarmingly low, and dark with fury.

“I want to kill him.”

Buffy looked up at her sister sharply, concern in her eyes. She completely understood Dawn’s feelings – wanted to kill Xander herself – but the hatred shining out from her little sister’s eyes was chilling.

“Dawnie,” she warned her quietly, “we have to be careful…we have to…”

“We have to make him pay for what he did to Spike,” Dawn finished for her, meeting her eyes with a challenge blazing in her own. “We have to make sure that Spike is safe from him for good.”

“I know,” Buffy said simply, giving up on whatever she had been about to say; she really could not remember what it was going to be, anyway.

“So – did you talk to Spike about the plan?” Dawn asked after a long moment of silence.

“I did.”

When Buffy did not volunteer any further information, Dawn prompted her impatiently, “And? What did he say? Did he understand what you were asking him to do?”

“He did,” Buffy answered simply with a nod, not looking at her sister. “And – he said yes.” She met Dawn’s eyes with a determined gaze, her jaw set as she thought of how they were going to prove beyond all doubt just what Xander was capable of, what he had done – beyond any capability he might have to deny it. A slight, grim smile rose to her lips as she finished quietly.

“We’re going to do it. Tomorrow. And then – Xander’s going to pay.”

This beautiful banner was created for me by the wonderful artist The_Space_Between!!! Thanks, love!!!




Angel stood still in the doorway, staring at the fragile, broken shell that had once been his vibrant, defiant childe. Spike crouched on the bed, watching him with wide, wondering eyes – watchful, but unafraid.

Angel had felt relieved, but very surprised, when Buffy had asked Spike whether or not he would be all right if she left the room, and Angel stayed. He had been even more surprised when Spike had taken only a few seconds to consider her words, before nodding firmly, his piercing blue gaze studying Angel’s face with unmasked curiosity – and something almost resembling…recognition.

Now, Buffy had disappeared down the stairs a minute or two before – and Angel still stood in the doorway, unable to move closer to his childe, for fear of startling him, shattering this intuitive sort of trust Spike seemed to have in him; and unable to make his mouth form words to speak.

Amazingly – Spike found the words first.

Or rather – one word…the only one he needed.

“S-sire?”

Angel’s eyes widened as he raised his eyes to Spike’s face again, taking in the slight tilt of his head, the wide blue eyes, studying him intently, with a faint glimmer of – was that memory he saw in the younger vampire’s gaze? Did he really recognize him?

It did not matter.

The single word pulled Angel irresistibly to the side of the bed, where he crouched down beside it, bringing himself just slightly below eye level with Spike, whose questioning gaze followed his every movement, his head tilting slightly to the side, his eyes widened in surprise.

The expression on Spike’s face was what first let Angel know that his face had shifted without his knowledge, in response to that single, powerful word from his childe’s lips. As the younger vampire reached out a cautious but steady hand toward his ridged face, Angel could not help but smile at the memories that cautious touch, those strangely innocent eyes, brought back.

*It wasn’t *all* bad,* he reminded himself a bit wistfully.

“Spike,” he said softly, yet with a low growl in his voice that was completely unintentional, “do you – do you know what that word means – childe?”

Spike’s smile faded slightly in concentration, as he seriously thought about the answer to the question, and then nodded slowly, uncertainly. “You?” he guessed cautiously, meeting Angel’s gleaming golden eyes with his own, guileless and questioning and brilliant crystal blue.

A low rumbling laugh, made almost a growl by the fiercer features of Angel’s vampiric face, left his lips, as he smiled with warmth and affection at his childe. “Yes, m’boy,” he replied gently with a nod. “That’s exactly right.”

Spike’s clear blue gaze was still questioning, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Angel’s face, wondering how he had known that, and what exactly that strangely familiar word he had known meant. Yes, he knew somehow that “sire” referred to this man crouched beside him – but what exactly *was* “sire”? Not this person’s name – he already knew that his name was Angel.

So – why did he somehow instinctively know him as sire?

Sensing, feeling the questions as he reached out cautiously through their bond, Angel took a deep breath, preparing to try to explain the concept of “sire” to Spike – completely unsure as to whether or not he was even capable of comprehending it yet.

“I’m your sire,” he began quietly, holding Spike’s gaze intently. “I – I made you – what you are…no…I made you…so much *more* than – than what he – what that *monster* made you, Spike…” Angel stopped for a moment when he realized that his voice was trembling with rage, pausing to compose himself, shaking his head slightly before he went on.

When he looked back up at Spike, he was dismayed to see a vague fear and uncertainty in his eyes at the mention of the person who had hurt him, as well as a sort of uneasy shame, as if he almost felt that it was *his* fault that Angel was upset – his fault that he was no longer what he had once been.

“It’s not your fault, Spike,” Angel assured him firmly. “You – you used to be strong – powerful – until he hurt you.”

But in spite of his good intentions, his desire to make things right again for his childe, an insistent voice reminded Angel in his head, *But that’s not completely true. He was never powerful, never truly his own – not until he got away from *you*…and he still would be, if you’d done your duty and gone to him when you heard his call…*

Angel suppressed a flinch at the painful truth, forcing himself to focus completely on the needs of his childe.

“You can’t help what happened, Spike,” he went on softly. “And as much as I want to – neither can I. But – I *can* help it get better. I’m your sire – and that’s a very powerful thing. But – you have to listen to me, Spike, and do as I say…all right?”

Spike’s intense gaze never faltered during Angel’s slightly rambling explanation, which the elder vampire could not help but feel was sadly lacking – but Spike seemed to accept it with very little question, although there was still some confusion in his eyes.

“All right,” Angel nodded, taking another deep breath as he rose up to sit on the bed beside his childe. “First of all – I need you to change…”

Spike frowned, tilting his head slightly, obviously puzzled by the command.

Angel’s eyes widened, as he suddenly realized that since Buffy had found Spike, in the admittedly limited occasions in which he had seen him, he had not once seen the younger vampire change into his game face.

“Spike,” he asked softly, his voice hushed and wondering, “do you – do you even *know* that you’re – a *vampire*?”

Spike looked away from him, his expressive blue eyes troubled, as he clearly did not understand the question – and Angel suddenly realized the startling truth. In all the teaching he had been given by the well-meaning humans in Buffy’s household – not once had any of them even mentioned the word “vampire”.

A sense of mild disgust came over him, and he shook his head in disbelief, as he muttered more to himself than to Spike, “It’s a good thing she decided to let me see you. Otherwise you’d have had the world’s worst panic attack whenever your lessons get around to basic human biology.”

Realizing that his musings were doing nothing to reassure Spike, or answer his questions, Angel did his best to focus.

“You – you’re like me,” he told him, raising a hand to touch his own roughened vampire features, and then pointing between himself and Spike. “Vampire. I’m a vampire. And so are you – like me.”

Spike frowned, clearly troubled by something, as he leaned cautiously closer to his sire, a hand outstretched to cautiously touch his ridged cheek. “Vampire?” he asked thoughtfully.

“Yes,” Angel replied, nodding his encouragement. “That’s right.”

Spike removed his hand, glancing down at the floor, still frowning with confusion, as he raised his hand to his own smooth cheek, before meeting Angel’s eyes again. “No vampire,” he said softly, shaking his head, a question in his gaze. “You – vampire. N-not – not me…”

Angel laughed out loud when he realized what the trouble was – and then quickly suppressed the laugh at the slight spark of annoyance he saw in his childe’s eyes – felt through their bond.

It both surprised and thrilled him to see that indignant look in Spike’s eyes, even if he could not quite bring himself to express it more fully, not yet, anyway. For now, it was enough for Angel that he was feeling it at all, after all he had been through, all the painful conditioning that had had him believing that he was stupid, worthless, deserving of mockery and derision.

“No,” Angel began to explain, shaking his head, his own expression carefully serious. “Look.” Holding Spike’s gaze, he deliberately shifted his features, back and forth, human to vampire and back again – while the younger vampire’s eyes widened in stunned amazement.

Stopping in his human guise, Angel reached one hand up to his own cheek, and the other up to gently touch Spike’s face. Spike did not flinch, just stayed focused in wonder on Angel’s face, as Angel said softly, “You – and me – we’re *both* vampires, Spike. We can look human – but we’re not. You can change your face, too…”

Spike drew back from his hand, blinking in shock at that statement, and then shaking his head vigorously – more than certain that Angel was mistaken, he could not!

“Yes, you can,” the elder vampire insisted patiently. “Go ahead – try, Spike…try it…”

Spike gave him a dubious look, but he took a deep breath and concentrated hard – trying his best to make his face look like Angel’s had looked.

Nothing happened.

“I figured as much,” Angel sighed, his own face shifting back from human to vampire. “Okay – maybe this will help…”

As Spike watched in surprise, and a little fear, Angel raised his own wrist, tearing the flesh there slightly against his fangs until a thin trickle of blood flowed from the wound – and then held it out to Spike, an expectant expression on his face, as he rose to his feet, standing over the younger vampire with an almost regal air suddenly coming upon him.

“You can smell it, can’t you, Spike?” he said in a voice that was hushed, intense. “More than that – you can *feel* it…my blood – is *your* blood, m’boy…and some part of you still knows it. You *want* it – don’t you…”

His wide crystal blue eyes locked unwavering onto the dark red stream trickling down Angel’s wrist into his hand, unaware that his eyes were glimmering with gold in the center even as he watched it.

“Go ahead – let yourself feel that, Spike – it’s what we are – let that out…come on,” Angel coaxed him gently, a low rumbling growl in his chest underscoring his words, as he held his wrist out toward his childe.

Spike’s face seemed to waver in and out between human and vampire for a few moments, as the powerful scent of his sire’s blood filled his senses, until finally the vampire in him took over, and a soft, almost tentative answering growl rose in his own throat, as he cast wide golden eyes that were somehow both fierce and pleading up toward his sire’s face.

“Go ahead, boy,” Angel nodded, his voice low and thick with emotion. “Drink…”

That was all the more encouragement Spike needed; his instincts did all the work, as he reached out with both hands to pull his sire’s wrist to his mouth, suckling at the wound greedily, with deep, surprisingly powerful pulls that brought Angel back to sitting on the bed within moments, his head falling back as he struggled against the blackening splotches of color dancing before his eyes, threatening to take his consciousness from the speed with which his childe was drinking from him.

*Just – a little more – gotta – he needs it…* he told himself firmly, again and again – until he could not seem to keep the thought coherent…and reluctantly, he tried to pull his hand away.

Spike would have none of it.

With a low, possessive growl, the younger vampire clutched at his hand, refusing to let go.

“Stop,” Angel ordered weakly, his eyes closed, barely able to breathe out the word. Then, when that was of no effect, he focused all his remaining energy on using his sire’s voice, and repeated the order, more firmly, with a low, warning growl, “*Stop*, childe…*now*!”

Immediately, Spike released him, and although his eyes followed Angel’s weakly dropping wrist with longing, there was a flash of apprehensive shame in his eyes, as if he feared punishment for his disobedience and presumption – but not the sort of extreme, sadistic punishments that his captor had dealt him for so long.

He intuitively knew that even if he *was* inclined to punish him, Angel would never treat him in that way. He could taste, smell, feel the power of their bond, the father’s love that Angel had for him, in the blood that lingered in his mouth, and coursed through his veins with an almost electric, mystical sort of heat that had nothing to do with either of their physical bodies.

He felt strong – powerful - *alive* -- in a way that he had not felt in as long as he could remember. The sense of connection and protection and family that he felt was new to him, and yet profoundly old – like something he had missed, though he had not even remembered feeling it.

What he felt for Dawn and Buffy was very similar, very close to this – but not quite the same.

In that moment, Spike felt no fear, only a sort of reverent awe – as he *felt*, deep down inside him, the meaning of the word “sire”.

This beautiful banner was created for me by the wonderful artist The_Space_Between!!! Thanks, love!!!




The soft sounds of casual conversation and lightly clattering cups and silverware surrounding the pair seated in the back corner of the Espresso Pump seemed exceptionally loud, in the harsh, bitter silence that had fallen over them, following the Watcher’s troubling revelation.

Giles carefully studied the girl’s wide-eyed, shocked expression – aware that she was really much more than the girl she appeared to be, and wary lest she should lose control of her emotions and react with some form of violence – with which he would certainly be less than prepared to deal with.

Anya – or Anyanka, he supposed might be the better name for her now that she was a vengeance demon again – simply stared ahead of her with wide, stricken green eyes, focused somewhere around his chest, as she visibly tried to process the disturbing news he had just given her.

Giles cleared his throat a bit self-consciously, glancing downward and wishing that he had taken better advantage of the training facilities at the Council’s headquarters in London, although he knew that really, she was not even seeing him, her thoughts lost in the pain of finding that the young man she had loved for so long was -- *allegedly* -- capable of such cruelty as had been committed against Spike.

“Anya,” he asked quietly, uncertain whether or not it was wise to interrupt her reverie. “Are you quite all right, my dear?”

*Anyanka is really quite a lovely name, much more appropriate to her than Anya,* he mused even as he spoke, with a force of effort drawing his gaze away from her full, slightly parted lips, now trembling in a way that made her appear terribly vulnerable, and more than a little alluring.

*Bloody hell!* he abruptly cut off that line of thinking, his ice blue eyes rising to meet her slightly vacant, heartsick gaze, just as she raised her eyes to hers.

*Get it together, man! You aren’t supposed to be thinking of her in this way – you’re only here to help her get through this, and deal with this – in a way that does *not* involve the destruction of human life or property. What you are *not* here to do is to notice how flawless her complexion appears in this soft lighting – how very green her eyes are, and how they sparkle with the…*

*…tears.*

Giles’ gaze softened with compassion, and it was suddenly not all that difficult to push aside the sudden – and very disturbing – way that his body and mind were taking notice of the vengeance demon as a *woman*, rather than just as “Xander’s ex-demon fiancée.”.

“It can’t be true – can it?” Anya asked, her voice barely over a whisper, her wide emerald eyes, glimmering with unshed tears, pleading with him to tell her it wasn’t so. “I mean – Xander never liked Spike. He was always mean to him, and he *did* try to kill him that night – but – surely he wouldn’t…”

Anya paused, taking in a deep breath in an attempt to control her emotions, rising in intensity as she spoke – but then, she suddenly deflated all at once, weary and defeated as she looked back up at Giles.

“Who am I kidding?” she sighed. “Of course he would do a thing like this!”

Giles’ eyes widened in surprise at her unexpected words. “Excuse me?”

“He can really be incredibly petty and cruel when he feels that he’s been slighted in some way,” Anya explained matter-of-factly. “That night when Spike and I got ridiculously drunk and had sex on the table at the Magic Box…”

Giles winced slightly at the mental images he really wished he did not have to have imprinted on his mind, and tried to keep them at bay by deliberately focusing on the rest of her words.

“…Xander would have killed Spike that night, if Buffy and I hadn’t stopped him. And I don’t know how many times he talked about how much he hated Spike, how much he wished that Buffy would just dust him – about what he thought Spike deserved to have happen to him…”

A troubled frown creased Giles’ brow at the disturbing story her words painted for him, as he shook his head in dismayed disbelief. “Yes, but -- *wanting* something and carrying it out are two very different things, Anya. We must be very cautious. This is *Xander* we’re talking about…”

“I know very well who we’re talking about,” Anya reminded the Watcher, an irritated look on her face as she interrupted him. “We’re talking about the man who abandoned me and shattered my heart into a million pieces…”

“Yes, but Anya,” Giles broke in, shaking his head, his tone understanding, but slightly impatient, “he had his reasons for that, wrong though they may have been. I know that you were very close to him, but so was I, dear, you must remember. And he never struck me as the kind of person who could be capable of such violence…”

“He struck *me* as that kind of person,” Anya shrugged slightly, her expression darkening as she looked down at the table between them for a long moment, before adding with uncharacteristic softness, “once.”

A slight puzzled frown began on the Watcher’s face – and then froze as the soft sadness in her voice, and the wide-eyed, vulnerable expression in her eyes told him more than he wanted to know about just what she was saying.

“Anya,” he said, a slightly dangerous edge to his carefully controlled voice. “Are you telling me that *Xander* -- once dared to actually *strike*…”

“It was only the once,” Anya spoke up nervously, glancing up to meet his eyes for just a moment before looking away again, her eyes darting back and forth as she hurriedly spoke, “I’ve granted wishes for women who’ve been through much worse, it was really nothing, just a one time kind of thing where he lost his temper, that’s all…”

Giles’ eyes widened as he realized that she was admitting to the suspicions he had hoped his mind was inventing – hoped against hope that she was not actually saying that Xander had gone so far as to hit her.

“Remember that one time, when we were having a Scoobie meeting, and Buffy was telling us about that one cross-dressing demon that she killed on patrol, and how she’d never seen a leather bustierre that large before, and I told her that *I* had, when me and Xander were playing this game, where he dressed up as a…”

“*Yes*, Anya,” Giles cut her off almost desperately, his eyes tightly shut as he leaned his head forward in his hand, not sure which image he was trying harder to keep from his mind. “I do remember, my dear, but what on earth does that have to do with…”

“That was the night he did it.”

A heavy silence settled between them for a long moment, as Giles raised his eyes slowly to meet hers again, serious and concerned.

“Like I said – it was just the once. He was – terribly embarrassed that I mentioned our sexual practices in front of his friends. He always was. I just – keep forgetting what things are supposed to be private, and what things aren’t, and he just – he just lost it.”

“He beat you?” Giles’ voice was chillingly soft, his eyes glittering with a silent storm of fury, as he studied her unusually self-conscious demeanor, the hurt that lingered in her eyes while telling the story.

“He *hit* me,” she corrected quietly. “Once. That was all. And, he was immediately very apologetic, promising that it would never happen again, that he was so sorry, that he would make it up to me if it was the last thing he did. He swore he’d never hit me again…”

Although he was quite certain that as far as he was concerned, the answer did not matter, Giles asked her softly, “And did he? Ever hit you again?”

Anya shook her head, a sad, wistful expression on her face as she remembered. “No. He never did.” She paused, before clarifying with a little shrug and a bittersweet smile, “Two weeks later – he left me at the altar.”

After a moment’s weighted silence, Giles spoke up again, his voice gentle and full of a deep regret that was not really his to bear. “I’m so terribly sorry, Anya. If I would have seen it…I would have…”

“I’m not saying this for sympathy,” Anya interrupted, her voice calm and clear and certain as she met his eyes bravely, a solemn intensity in her gaze. “Come on, Giles, I know that any woman has to be an idiot to stay with a man who hurts her – and I may have walked down that aisle alone, but I *did* walk down that aisle – two weeks after he slapped me across the face.”

She paused, considering her words before she went on, “I didn’t tell you this to say, ‘Oh, look, here’s another reason Xander needs to be punished’. I just – I wanted you to know that – he *is* capable of being violent. He – he said he loved me…and he *hated* Spike. So – if he’d hit *me*, over something I said…what do you think he’d do to *Spike*, for – well, for all the reasons he thinks he’s got the right to hate him?”

Giles drew in a slow, deep breath, his eyes widening as he took in what she was saying. “Dear Lord,” he murmured softly, shaking his head slightly in dismay as he realized that she was right.

“It hurts,” Anya admitted with a nod. “I – I wish it surprised me more – but it just doesn’t. I wish that he *wasn’t* capable of something like what happened to Spike – but he is. I knew it already; I think I kind of knew it was him whenever we found Spike in those caves – I just – didn’t *want* to know it – you know?”

Thinking of Buffy, and Dawn, and his own desire to somehow clear the boy, Giles nodded. “I do know, Anya,” he replied. “I just – wanted you to know, before Buffy or Angel – or bloody hell, even young Dawn for that matter – do something to – to set things right, as they see it, for Spike. To – avenge what was done to him. I didn’t want you to be – unprepared.”

Anya nodded, a soft, slightly shy smile coming over her face as she looked into his deep blue eyes with surprise and gratitude – obviously stunned to have been the object of his concern.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “But – you don’t have to worry about how I’ll feel about it. A thousand years working vengeance, you kind of get a feeling for justice – and how some things just have to be punished. If Xander really did this to Spike – he deserves whatever they decide to give him. And while I don’t exactly want to take part in it – unless I have to – I won’t stand in their way.”

With a new respect in his eyes for the ancient vengeance demon, who now was both blessed and cursed with the fragile heart of a human woman, Giles smiled gently, encouragingly at her, as he laid the money for both of their drinks on the counter and stood, offering her his hand to help her to her feet.

They just stood there for a moment, unexpectedly lost in each other’s intensely studying eyes – each caught completely off guard by the sudden connection that seemed to have formed between them.

Giles opened his mouth as if to speak, shaking his head slightly in a sort of wonder – and then shut his mouth again, looking away with a little smile.

“What?” Anya demanded, a bit defensively.

“Nothing,” he attempted to assure her, as they headed toward the door.

“No, what?” she persisted, her many years of dealing with the various treacheries of men, as well as her own recent experience with such treachery, making her anxious and self-conscious, and desperate to know what it was that he had just barely stopped himself from saying. “What were you going to say about me, Rupert Giles?”

Giles paused at the door, turning slightly to face her, a slightly wistful expression in his eyes, as he opened his mouth – hesitated again – and then finally responded in a soft, thoughtful voice, not quite meeting her eyes.

“In all honesty, Anya – I was simply wondering – what it might have been like, had we done this before…”

At her slightly blank, puzzled look, he continued with a self-deprecating little smile, “Gone for coffee like this – just to talk. You’re really an – an extraordinary woman…Anyanka,” he confessed quietly, her old name somehow slipping out without his really meaning for it to. “And a man like me simply can’t help but wonder – what things might have been like, had we done this – without a crisis to force us to – and perhaps, before you’d become involved with a high school student more than a thousand years your junior.”

Anya was wide-eyed, startled and a bit taken aback by his unexpected words. She blinked, taking it in, before a slow smile spread across her lips.

“You’re only just *less* than a thousand years my junior,” she reminded him with a teasing smile that did not quite mask her pleased blush at his attention.

“Still,” he pressed, with a little half shrug to concede her point, “the difference is slightly less…and a man…well, he can’t help but wonder, that’s all.”

Offering her his arm, like a proper English gentleman, Giles led her on through the door and out onto the sidewalk, heading toward the small apartment where she was currently staying.

They were halfway there when Anya spoke again, breaking the silence in a voice that was low, and husky with pleasure and promise, as she answered his wonderings softly and wistfully.

“I think – I think it would have been nice. Very nice.”

Giles suppressed a smile of amusement and pleasure at her words, but did not respond at all, as they kept walking.

Anya suddenly pulled them both to a stop, turning slightly to face him with solemn, intent emerald eyes, making it clear before she spoke that she had something more to say.

“I think – it still could be.”

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The next day started off very much like the ones that had gone before it.

Spike woke up shortly after Buffy did that morning, feeling a bit disoriented, and with a vague sense of wrongness – as if he should not really be waking up at this time, but rather going to sleep. He had felt the same way the morning before – but now, he understood why.

After drinking from his sire the night before, Spike had sat on the bed, allowing the older vampire to hold him close in a protective, parental embrace, as Angel had explained to him all the things that he had wondered about since coming to live here, but had not had the first idea how to express. Vague feelings and sensations and impulses that had disturbed and confused him, now made perfect sense, in the light of the things Angel had told him about his true nature and history.

When he had finished explaining, and both vampires were reasonably sure that Spike understood most of what Angel had told him, the older vampire had pulled away from him to meet his eyes, a solemn warning in his dark gaze.

“It’s not going to be easy – it goes against your nature, Spike – but you must *never* harm a human being. Do you understand what I am telling you?”

Spike had nodded dutifully, surprised that Angel felt the need to tell him that – and surprised that he would say that to hurt people was a part of his nature. Since he had recovered enough to be aware of his own feelings, his own desires, he had felt no desire to harm anyone – only to keep them from harming *him*, and those he cared about.

"Except Xander," Angel suddenly added, as he took his childe back into his embrace. "If you get the chance -- it's completely okay to hurt him. Any way you like."

Spike had felt a strange sort of tingling sensation inside him at the deadly quality in his sire's voice, the vicious sort of amusement in the smile he could hear forming on Angel's lips -- as if the violence of the words somehow called out to him, and something deep within him answered its approval.

And that in itself was startling to Spike.

Buffy.

Dawn.

Spike could not imagine ever wanting to hurt them, or any of the other humans that seemed to frequent their home, for that matter. Angel had told him about what it meant to be a vampire, but he drank his blood from bags that Buffy brought home, not from people. That was all he remembered -- and that was okay.

Now that he knew the taste of his sire's blood, Spike earnestly hoped that he would be granted the privilege of tasting it again -- but the thought of biting a human, drinking their life's blood down, was not really all that appealing to him -- not when almost all of the humans he knew had been so very kind to him.

But at the thought of Xander hurting the ones he loved, Spike had felt a sudden sensation of protective anger rising up in him…and he thought that just maybe, he understood what his sire was trying to tell him. In that moment, he had wanted to tear the boy apart – to utterly destroy him, leaving him incapable of ever touching Buffy or Dawn – or *him* -- again.

A sudden panic had seized him, when he realized the direction his thoughts were taking – and how the boy would react if he knew. Spike wasn’t quite sure how he knew, but he *did* know that he could not fight Xander himself – not and win, anyway. The very thought of how brutally the boy would punish him if he ever dared to attempt it was almost enough to drive the thoughts of defending his little family from his head.

Almost.

Xander was bigger than him – stronger than him – and Xander carried a gun, as well as other terrifying weapons, on him almost all the time, as far as he could tell. The last thing he wanted was to attempt to fight him.

But he would – if he had to.

If Xander tried to hurt Buffy or Dawn.

He didn’t *want* to have to – the very thought of actually raising his hand to his former captor, the young man who still held such power over him, was terrifying, and he hoped that he would never be faced with the choice of standing up to Xander, or watching him hurt those he loved.

But if he ever *was* faced with that choice – he knew beyond all doubt what his decision would be.

That realization had startled him more than anything else he had learned that night – and he had learned an awful lot from Angel. He could not quite have put it into words, but every new fact, every thought, seemed to have taken on a new clarity of meaning and understanding, with the powerful sire’s blood that was still coursing through his veins.

His perception seemed somehow sharper, clearer; he found that it was less difficult for him to focus, to grasp the explanations that his sire offered him for the countless questions that seemed to suddenly flood his mind.

How long had he been a vampire?

Where had he been before what had happened to him?

What exactly *had* happened to him?

Angel had done his best to explain all that he could to him – and when he found himself running into questions that he had no answers for, he had told Spike to ask Buffy. Hours later, the younger vampire had finally drifted off to sleep, exhausted by the intense encounter with his sire, and all the new ideas and knowledge that filled his mind.

As sleep surrounded him, pulling him down into dreams, a part of his mind protested anxiously -- certain that in the morning, he would have forgotten all that he had learned, all the questions he still had for Buffy; or worse, that he would awaken to find that it had all just been a strange and lovely dream -- but he was simply too tired to resist the call of slumber any longer.

And in the morning -- he *did* remember.

*****************************

Buffy had not been able to help feeling a bit jealous, when Angel had come back downstairs that night and told her that Spike was sleeping, and that he expected that the younger vampire would be feeling quite a bit stronger in the morning. She had nodded her acceptance without meeting his eyes – her gaze locked on the just barely healing puncture marks on Angel’s left wrist.

She had tried to shake her dark mood, as she had made her way up the stairs and went about getting ready to go to sleep, glancing occasionally at Spike, who appeared to be sleeping more peacefully than he had since she had found him.

*What’s so special about Angel?* she thought, her lower lip jutting out in a pout as she ran a brush ruthlessly through her hair before going over to the bed. *I’m the one who found him! I’m the one who’s been taking care of him! I’m the one…*

But as she had climbed cautiously into the bed, even in her jealous irritation, careful not to disturb Spike – her anger had melted away when she had felt his cool body shift back against hers in his sleep, as he instinctively sought the warmth and comfort of his connection with her.

A soft smile rose to her lips, as she raised a hand from behind him to touch his forehead briefly before running back through his hair. Her lips fell without conscious thought on the back of his head in a brief but tender kiss, as she snuggled in closer to him, wrapping her arm around him and settling in to sleep beside him, her head resting lightly on his shoulder.

“I think,” she whispered into his ear – well aware that she would not be daring to say the words if she thought for a moment that he was actually hearing them – “I think I love you, Spike…”

Much to her relief – and a bit of disappointment – there was no response, no movement or sound from the deeply sleeping vampire. Satisfied for the moment in his nearness, and the reassurance that he did still need her, still crave closeness to her – Buffy nestled in close behind him, her body molded comfortably to his, as she fell into a peaceful and much needed sleep.

The next morning, she had left Spike to sleep, knowing that he needed his rest, as she had made her way downstairs to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for herself and Dawn.

She highly doubted that Spike would be very hungry just yet – after the very substantial meal he had had before going to bed.

She turned away from the stove to set the plate of pancakes on the counter – and jumped, when she found herself face to face with a quietly expectant, calm pair of wide, shining blue eyes, focused intently on hers.

She laughed softly with relief, as she set the plate down and smiled at him in welcome. “You scared me, Sweetie,” she informed him, moving forward to put her hands gently on his arms, smiling into his eyes. “Did you sleep well? Are you sure you got enough rest?”

Both of her questions were answered with silent nods, as his intent gaze never faltered. Buffy frowned slightly, puzzled by something that seemed somehow different about him this morning. She could not quite place it, but although he had yet to say a word to her, Spike seemed somehow – stronger…less fearful…more…*alive*.

“Buffy,” he said quietly, glancing away for just a moment before focusing on her eyes again. “May I – ask you a question?”

“Of course,” she assured him, nodding as she released one of his arms and guided him by the other to sit down at the counter. “What is it?”

“Well – really – more than one question. Lots of questions,” Spike admitted with a slightly apologetic little smile, his head tucked shyly for just a moment, before he met her eyes again, his smile fading to a solemn, earnest expression. “I need – I need to know some things.”

Buffy’s eyes widened slightly as she suddenly realized how very clearly he was putting his words together – and how much less like Giles, and more like *Spike* his British accent sounded this morning.

Over the past couple of days, Spike had been learning at an incredible rate of speed, and he had told her that a lot of words and concepts were simply coming back to him, without being taught. He had yet to remember specific incidents or events from his past, but basic knowledge did seem to be returning to him, to the point that his communication, while a bit uncertain and awkward, was definitely sufficient.

But now, he sounded almost as he had before his injury – without the casual slang and British curse words that had so peppered his language before, of course.

Was it possible that Angel’s blood -- *sire’s* blood – had helped bring some of Spike’s old self back to him?

“Whatever you want to know, Spike,” she assured him without asking the questions that filled her own mind. “Go ahead and ask me anything.”

He was silent, as she walked to the refrigerator and poured a mug of blood – but the words he spoke as she was placing the mug in the microwave froze her hand, before she could begin to push the memorized sequence of numbers that would bring the blood to the proper temperature.

“What was I to you? Before – I was hurt?”

A moment’s silence hung in the air between them, Spike waiting in anxious silence for her answer – Buffy not daring to turn around and face him, suddenly panicked at the thought of meeting those too-honest, too-perceptive eyes.

Stalling for time, she cleared her throat and then asked in a slightly tremulous voice, “What – what do you mean, Spike?”

As she spoke, she forced her shaking fingers to press the buttons on the microwave, and then leaned her hands on the counter in front of it, desperately trying to steady herself. She found herself wondering how much Angel had known to tell Spike, if he had thought to hold anything that he knew back from him – and just how much Spike might have remembered on his own.

“Angel – my sire – he told me – that I’m a vampire,” Spike began slowly, his words clear and certain, but still coming out with a cautious precision that was the only clear give-away as to how new those words really were to him. “He told me – what that means. What – he is to me. He – he made me what I am. He – he’s *family* to me.”

Spike was silent for a moment, and Buffy brought the warmed mug of blood, setting it down in front of him and taking a seat across the counter from him, though still not quite daring to meet his gaze as she waited for him to go on, her heart pounding in her chest, making it difficult to draw breath.

“I – I think I knew that already – before he told me. In a way,” Spike continued, and she could feel his piercing gaze boring into her, silently imploring her to look at him – but she just as silently refused. “I could *feel* it – knew that somehow he – he *belonged* to me – or – or I belonged to him – or…”

Spike’s voice trailed off uncertainly, and out of the corner of her eye, Buffy saw him shaking his head, at a loss for the first time this morning.

And in spite of the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach brought on by his questions – she felt incredibly proud of him.

His next words drew her attention back in, to the source of her anxious, fearful sick sensation.

“I – I feel it with you, too.”

Spike was silent for a moment, before going on, his voice trembling slightly with emotion. “I – I’m not sure what to call it. But – I feel it. With Dawn, too – but mostly with you. And – and I don’t know why. I asked Angel if – if you were family, too. He said yes…”

Spike paused for a moment, and Buffy finally did look up at him, startled by the words. A slightly rueful little smile on his lips, gratitude filling his eyes that she had finally looked up at him, Spike continued softly, and with an uncannily knowing tone that he should not have been able to have yet.

“…but he took a long time to say it. I – I’m not sure I believed him.”

The guileless question in his painfully expressive eyes would not allow her to look away again, as he repeated his initial question, with an earnest desperation in his solemn, apprehensively trembling voice.

“What was I to you, Buffy? What *am* I to you, now?”

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*What was I to you? What *am* I to you, now?*

The almost painful vulnerability in those words, echoing through the Slayer’s mind again and again, made her wary of putting him off, giving him some vague, unsatisfying answer – taking the easy way out.

Her heart was pounding in her chest, her mind racing with panic – and yet she knew one thing, beyond all doubt.

There was no option but to tell him the truth.

She sighed heavily as she placed her fork down beside her plate and forced herself to meet those open, searching eyes, still focused unwavering on her own.

“Could you have possibly asked a harder question?” she asked wryly, yet with a softness that kept the words from being hurtful.

Spike *did* look confused though, frowning slightly as if he was unsure of what the correct answer was to her question – and Buffy was reminded that while most of his basic language skills seemed to have returned to him, subtleties such as sarcasm and slang were still quite a bit beyond Spike’s understanding.

“Never mind, Sweetie,” she reassured him, shaking her head and giving him a slightly shaky smile – unbelievably nervous now, when faced with the prospect of having to fill Spike in on their painful, confusing past together. “It’s just – it’s complicated. I mean – what *haven’t* we been to each other?”

Spike looked away from her for a moment, troubled and a bit embarrassed by his own failure to understand. “I – I don’t know,” he replied slowly, hesitantly. “I thought *you* did – that’s why I asked you…”

Buffy’s expression softened with sympathy, as she reached across the counter to take his hand in hers, and his gaze was drawn back up to hers by the affectionate gesture. “I – I’m really not sure I *do* know, Spike,” she confessed quietly. “I mean – I’ll do my best to answer that question, but – but I can’t guarantee that you’ll be happy with the answer.”

She hesitated a moment, swallowing hard, steeling herself before adding in a cautiously even voice, “In fact – when I’m finished – you probably won’t like me very much anymore.”

Spike’s puzzled frown deepened, and he shook his head slowly, arguing softly, “No – no, I – I don’t think that’s possible…”

Buffy’s laugh sounded harsh in the stillness that seemed to have fallen around the two of them, and she took her hand from his, putting both of her hands over her face for a moment as her shoulders shook with bitter laughter that could have been tears. When she looked up, her eyes *were* glittering suspiciously, as she faced Spike again.

“We’ll see,” she answered simply. “Just – finish your blood first. You’re going to need your strength for this day. And – and then come in the living room, and we’ll talk. Dawn shouldn’t be up for hours, so we’ll have plenty of time.”

Spike glanced down at her practically untouched plate of food, and then back up at her as she rose and poured her half-full glass of juice down the sink. “Aren’t you going to eat? You’ll need to be strong, too – right?”

“I’m always strong,” Buffy’s smile was painfully ironic, as she placed the glass in the sink and turned around to face him. “I just – don’t feel very hungry right now.” And with those words, she turned and walked out of the kitchen, hoping that Spike would give her a few minutes to ready herself for the difficult conversation she knew that they were about to have.

********************************

Spike hesitated, unsure of what to do next, once Buffy had left the kitchen.

His mug of blood was drained in moments, and although he had had several the past few mornings, he really did not have the appetite for more at the moment. Everything in him wanted nothing more than to toss the mug into the sink and hurry into the living room, dying for the answers to his countless questions.

But Buffy’s reaction had been clear to him, and he instinctively knew that she needed a few minutes, before answering those questions.

And as always before, as far as Spike was concerned – Buffy’s needs came first.

He sighed impatiently as he took the mug to the sink and rinsed it as she had shown him, before putting in the side of the sink that was already filled with warm, soapy water – and then turned around, leaning against the counter and looking toward the living room anxiously.

He was simply so confused.

His sire’s blood seemed to have opened up a whole new world of understanding to him – but it was also a world of perplexing images, fragmented half-memories, and questions to which he had no answers. He desperately hoped that Buffy might be able to clear up some of his confusion.

The problem was – she didn’t exactly seem as if she *wanted* to.

His first impulse was to let it go – do as she obviously wanted, and not push her for explanations.

But he knew that if he did not find answers soon, the wondering would drive him back to insanity.

When he could no longer stand the waiting – precisely two and a half minutes later – Spike finally took a deep, shaky breath, and made his way into the living room where Buffy was sitting on the sofa, her head resting in her hands. She did not look up as he slowly approached her, sitting down cautiously on the opposite end from where she sat, his wide eyes focused on her warily.

When she looked up at him, she smiled a little too brightly, and Spike could see that her eyes were red-rimmed from crying, and still glistening with tears.

“Hey,” she said simply, patting the couch beside her as she added gently, “C’mere. While you still want to – okay?” As he obediently slid across the couch until he was within her reach, she put an affectionate hand on his leg, and finished with a bittersweet smile. “Because once you’ve heard this – I’m not so sure you will.”

Spike did not bother to argue with her, though he was pretty sure that there was nothing he could imagine that would make him *not* want to be near her. True, there were disturbing images in his mind now that he could not explain, and many of them involved Buffy – but after all he had been through at Xander’s hands, and the way Buffy had rescued him, done everything she could for him to help him to heal – he knew that he could never reject her now.

“What do you – do you remember – anything?” Buffy asked, her voice halting and a bit uncertain. “About – about us…before?”

Spike hesitated, unsure of how to answer. “I – think so,” he said finally, not looking at her. “I’m – not sure. There are – pictures – words…” He shook his head, momentarily at a loss. “They – don’t make sense. I was hoping – maybe – you could – could help me understand…”

By the time he finished, his voice was barely over a whisper, and trembling as much as he was, when he looked up at her through tear-filled eyes.

“Buffy,” he whispered, his voice heavy with emotion. “I have to know.”

“Okay,” Buffy began, her eyes wide and nervous as she looked away. “Um – where should I start?” she muttered, more to herself than to Spike.

He answered anyway. “Where did – where did *we* start?”

Startled by the slight edge to his voice, the faint note of the acute perception that had always been so much a part of who Spike was, before his ordeal, Buffy looked up at him suddenly – a slow smile spreading across her face with the fond memories that flooded her mind, of a look very similar to the look that was on his face just then – piercing and understanding, giving her the impression that whatever she was trying to hide at the moment was somehow laid bare to his eyes.

“Okay,” she agreed with a slow nod. “I guess you might say ‘we’ started – in an alley, not far from here. You watched me kill a vampire – and then you told me you were going to kill me. On Saturday.”

Spike’s eyes widened in alarm. “*Why*?” he asked, aghast at the idea.

Buffy had to make an effort not to laugh out loud. “Did Angel explain to you what a vampire is?”

Spike nodded, his eyes still wide and stricken as he stared at her, still horrified that he had ever made such a threat.

“Okay,” Buffy nodded again in acceptance. “What about – a vampire *slayer*?”

Spike’s blank look was all the answer she needed.

“Okay…here goes…”

*****************************

Half an hour later, Buffy had managed to get through “The Story of Us”, Buffy-and-Spike version, up to the point of her death on Glory’s tower – or, more accurately, *off* Glory’s tower. She did not think that she had left out *too* much – she had been doing her best to be as honest as possible – and now, she was beginning to feel more than a little exhausted, from the reliving of so many intense memories.

“You died.” Spike’s voice sounded more than a little stunned – as if the whole story had him in a bit of shock.

“Yes.”

“But – you’re here.”

Buffy looked up at him with a little half-smile. “So are you.”

There was a brief flash of self-deprecating amusement in the vampire’s blue eyes, as he shrugged slightly and met her apprehensive gaze. “Yes. I am.” He paused, taking in a breath as if to speak – and then hesitating. Then, all at once he blurted out, “I was in love with you – wasn’t I?”

Buffy felt all of the breath sucked out of her in a single instant, the world spinning around her, as she tried to steady herself from the stunning blow that was that simple, profound question.

“D-do you – even know – what that means, Spike? To be – in love?” she stammered, aware that she was pitifully stalling. “I mean – we haven’t – talked about…”

“I remember,” he answered softly, his eyes focused on the floor, his body tensing slightly under her hand as he swallowed hard – suddenly seeming terribly self-conscious.

Buffy could not help asking, though her voice trembling with a rush of emotion. “*How*? How, out of all the memories that you’ve lost, do you still remember love?”

Spike was silent for a long moment, shaking his head slightly, as unaccountably, a tear streaked down his cheek from one downcast blue eye. Suddenly, he looked up at her, his eyes welling with a powerful emotion that took her completely off guard – overwhelming her with a torrent of love, pain, shame…all of the feelings that her relationship with Spike had inspired in her over the years, all at once – and to a level of intensity that was almost physically unbearable, as he answered in a breathless, tremulous whisper.

“How could I forget?”

Buffy found that even if she had had the words, in that moment, to respond – her throat had closed up on her, refusing to allow it, as tears coursed down her cheeks.

*Of course,* she thought with an overwhelming sense of love for this vampire that seemed to have the capacity to love beyond any human man she had ever known. *Of course, Spike would remember love. If he forgot everything else – he would never forget love…oh, Buffy, how could you have been such a fool? All those years – so much wasted…*

“You – you didn’t want me…didn’t love me…did you?”

Buffy flinched at the lost, fearful sound of his voice – suddenly terribly vulnerable, as Spike looked back down at his lap, obviously afraid to hear the answer that he somehow already knew. He had told her that he had regained snatches of memory – random words and pictures that, without her putting them together into the full story, were meaningless to him.

Apparently, she had told him enough by now to allow him to put some of the pieces together.

“I was stupid,” she answered simply, not thinking about the words before they were out there. “I – I didn’t know – I – should have…”

“I’m a monster.”

Momentarily stunned to silence, Buffy’s eyes widened in dismay before she finally managed to gasp out, “*What*?”

Spike would not look at her, and she suddenly realized that he was shrinking back a bit from her hand on his leg, trembling violently now, though not quite pulling away from her. “Y-you said so. Said I’m – an evil thing. Bad.”

Buffy felt the sobs of guilt and anguish swelling up inside her at his words. There was no accusation in them – in fact, his voice sounded as if he felt that the blame rested with *him* -- but that only served to make her heart feel all the more condemned, for the way she had treated him in the months before he had been so irrevocably changed.

“Spike,” she whispered, shaking her head as she turned to face him, reaching out her arms to take him in. “Spike, no…you’re not…”

This time, he did pull away from her, backing away, fearful eyes fastened on her as he interrupted, shaking his head, “D-deserved it…didn’t I? I was – I was – bad…that’s why you – you couldn’t l-love me…right? Because I was bad…couldn’t feel…couldn’t love…monster…”

With each cruel echo of the words she had spoken to him not so very long ago, Buffy’s heart broke again. “No, Spike,” she sobbed, tears streaming down her face as she took his arms in her hands, trying desperately to catch his gaze, though he kept his eyes emphatically averted, refusing. “No, please listen to me! It wasn’t you – it was – it was me…I was the one who couldn’t…who didn’t…oh, Spike, I’m so sorry! I was the monster, Baby – I hurt you so much, and I’m so, so sorry!”

Seemingly heedless of her words, Spike momentarily resisted as she put her arms around him – and then just as quickly relented, clinging to her desperately with shaking hands, sobs to match her own torn from his throat with his tears, as he gasped out, “Please – please, Buffy – I know I’m not – I know I d-don’t deserve – but – please – please, Buffy, please *love me*! Please!”

Buffy simply had no words – suddenly faced with the plea that had been mostly silent, all of the previous two years, but nevertheless, *there*, in every unnaturally noble gesture, every ill-received gift and token of his affection that he had offered her, only to have every last one cast aside, with no thought to his broken heart, his shattered feelings.

*All that time -- *this* is what he was saying…all he wanted from me,* Buffy realized with a fresh onslaught of shame at the truth. *So much pain – so much suffering, for both of us – could have been avoided…if only I’d have…*

Stripped of her preconceived notions of what Spike was – of the burning rage and resentment toward herself, and anyone who dared to love her in her broken condition the whole past year – of every last defense that had kept her from admitting the truth for so long – Buffy finally broke down, the truth spilling from her lips unfettered.

“I do,” she sobbed out passionately, holding him close to her, although at this point he was making no attempt to pull away. “Spike, I do love you! I think – I think I always have – I was just too – scared, and stupid…I love you…I really do, Spike…I love you so much!”

This beautiful banner was created for me by the wonderful artist The_Space_Between!!! Thanks, love!!!




When Dawn woke up the next morning – in her own bed for the first time since Spike had come home – she immediately headed downstairs to find he sister, a sense of nervous excitement fluttering in her stomach at the thought that today, they would carry out their plan to prove once and for all, beyond all doubt, that Xander was the one who had hurt Spike.

And from there, she thought with grim satisfaction – they could proceed to the punishment.

“Buffy?” she called loudly as she made her way down the stairs. “Where are you?”

Her sister did not answer – but as she reached the bottom of the stairs, she saw the answer to her question – Buffy and Spike, nestled close together on the sofa, talking quietly. Dawn opened her mouth to repeat her greeting – and then hesitated when she noticed the solemn, intense expressions on their faces.

She had no idea what they had been talking about, but she suddenly thought better of interrupting the conversation.

She turned silently on the stairs, making her way cautiously back up them, trying not to draw their attention in the process – but failing in the attempt.

“Morning, Dawnie,” Buffy’s unusually soft voice stopped her, and she turned back toward her sister and her friend with a sheepish, apologetic smile.

“Morning,” she replied a bit awkwardly. “It -- *is* still – morning, isn’t it?”

Glancing at her watch, Buffy smirked. “Just barely.”

Dawn’s curiosity got the better of her, now that she had her sister’s permission to be there, and she asked a bit uncertainly, “Is – everything okay, Buffy?”

Buffy’s smile was a bit wavery, as if she was either on the verge of tears, or had just finished crying, as she nodded and reassured her, “Yeah. Everything’s great, Dawnie. We’ve just been – talking – catching up a little – you know?”

“Uh…*huh*.” Dawn replied with understandable skepticism, considering the fact that when she had gone to bed the night before, Spike had not really been all that capable of carrying on a normal conversation, let alone one involving his almost completely forgotten past…

Her eyes suddenly widened with hopeful excitement. “Wait – are you saying – does he *remember*…?”

Buffy’s nod was punctuated with a brilliant smile. “Yes,” she replied. “He’s remembering a lot of things – you know, in bits and pieces,” she clarified with a shrug. “But – Angel helped him a lot last night…”

“Whoa…what…*Angel*?” Dawn was not quite sure how she felt about the older vampire who had played such an important part in her older sister’s life – but she was stunned that Buffy would have allowed him to spend much time with Spike at this point.

Her sister could be very possessive when it came to things like this.

“It’s a long story – I’ll fill you in – but…he’s talking a lot better…and he’s remembering things…”

“And also,” Spike broke in softly, to the surprise of both girls, a slightly ironic smile of amusement on his face, “he’s – sitting right here.”

“Oh my gosh!” Dawn squealed in a sudden, breathless rush, crossing the distance between the foot of the stairs and the couch in an instant. “Spike, you’re really back! Oh, wow, this is *so* cool! I can’t believe…”

Her excited outburst suddenly broke off when Spike flinched slightly at he sudden approach – and then immediately winced at the hurt expression on her face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, shaking his head in disgust at his own reaction. “So sorry, love…I just…I mean…I’m just a bit…”

“Confused,” Buffy supplied for him softly, the expression on her face tender and sympathetic as she ran a gentle hand through his tousled hair in a reassuring gesture of comfort. “Overwhelmed.”

Spike nodded, looking down at his lap and swallowing hard, trying to control the emotions that had been engulfing him all morning, in the wake of so many old memories, all of which seemed so very new to him. Without another word, Buffy pulled him gently into her arms, holding him for a few moments, soothing him.

Dawn stared at them for a long moment, feeling the sting of tears behind her eyes, but setting her jaw against allowing them to show, as she turned and started toward the kitchen. “I’ll just – I’m just gonna get…”

“Dawn,” Spike’s voice was slightly raspy with tears – but so much more like the old Spike she remembered than she had heard him sound yet. As he spoke, he reached out and caught her hand in his, without pulling away from Buffy’s embrace.

Dawn turned to see him looking up at her with wide, pleading blue eyes. “Need you, Dawnie,” he assured her softly. “Please – don’t be mad – don’t go…”

Touched by his simple plea, and the sincerity she saw in his eyes, Dawn immediately relented, turning back toward him fully and moving in close, putting her arms around him so that he was surrounded on all sides by the loving embrace of “his girls”.

The feeling of safety, certainty, in the midst of his confusion, was almost more than Spike could take – but it filled him with a sense of relief and reassurance, and he clung to both girls, his head bowed, as he allowed his tears to flow silently, unchecked, down onto his lap.

“Shhh,” Buffy soothed him, one gentle hand at the back of his head, cradling his head close to her chest. “It’s all right. I know it’s got to be so confusing, Sweetheart. So many memories – and so many new things – and it’s gotta be so hard to even tell which is which right now…”

Spike nodded firmly, without saying a word, sniffling back tears as he indicated that her assessment of what he was experiencing was pretty much right.

“But I want you to know this, Spike,” she whispered, yet loud enough that Dawn could hear her, too. “We love you – more than you can possibly imagine. And – I know a lot of those memories aren’t good – especially – a lot of your memories of *me* -- and if I could take them back, I would – you have to know that…but I can’t…”

Buffy paused, resisting the impulse to meet her sister’s narrowed, questioning eyes, over Spike’s bowed head – focusing instead on getting her message through to him.

“…I just want things to be better, from now on. I just want to – to help you get better Spike, and I promise not to ever hurt you again, Sweetie. I want you to know that – all that’s happened to you – you *didn’t* deserve it. It was *not* your fault – and I’m *not* going to let it happen again. You’re safe here. Me and Dawnie – we won’t let anything happen to you, anyone hurt you…after tonight, no one will ever touch you again that you don’t *want* to touch you, okay?”

Spike nodded gratefully, eagerly accepting those reassuring words, as the last of his tears died away, and he pulled slowly, awkwardly away from the two girls, leaning back against the sofa with a slightly self-conscious little half-smile, his sapphire eyes luminous with his remaining unshed tears.

Dawn was startled at the depth of concern and affection she saw in her sister’s eyes, as Buffy drew back, smiling warmly and reassuringly at Spike as she stood up from the couch.

“You gonna be okay here for a few minutes?” she asked him, nodding with him when he responded in the affirmative. Turning her eyes to Dawn, Buffy said, “Let’s go get some breakfast, Dawnie.”

The younger sister did not feel all that great about leaving Spike alone in the living room, right after such an emotional scene, but when she glanced uncertainly at him, he smiled up at her, his fingers tapping the remote control on the arm of the sofa beside him, in a meaningful little gesture that was encouragingly like the old Spike – and she realized with pleased surprise that he really would be okay while they were gone.

Once they were alone in the kitchen, Dawn turned on her sister.

“Okay – so what the heck happened while I was asleep?” she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest, her eyebrows raised in expectation.

“Angel said he could help Spike – being his sire and all,” Buffy told her, breaking eye contact as she moved to the refrigerator and took out a carton of eggs. “So I let him. And – and it seems like it really helped a lot. This morning, he came to me – talking almost like he used to…and asked me about…before…”

“He called me ‘love’,” Dawn recalled with a slow nod, her eyes lighting up with hope. “That means he’s got to be remembering a little, right? Because none of us use that word like that – not even Giles.” Suddenly she frowned, looking back up at Buffy as she asked, “What *about* before?”

“He *does* remember,” Buffy chose to address the first comment, and thereby avoid the second one. “Quite a bit – only, it was all fragmented before. Just bits and pieces that didn’t make sense to him. So – he wanted to know – basically, everything. I sat down with him and told him the whole story, since we met him – and then, some of his own memories started to fall into place, you know? He started getting back -- *more* than bits and pieces.”

Dawn’s eyes widened at the impact of what Buffy was saying. “Thus the huge emotional outburst scene in the living room,” she guessed.

Buffy nodded, turning back to face her sister for a moment before cracking an egg into a pan on the stove. “Times like, six or seven,” she informed Dawn in a slightly weary voice. “Every now and then, something I would say would – would hit him just so, and it’d bring back a ton of stuff, all at once…and some of it was a little – hard to deal with. It’s been off and on tears all morning.”

Dawn frowned thoughtfully, as she began counting off on her fingers, “The chip…Mom…you – leaving…hmmm…” She looked up at her sister with a falsely bright smile, though her eyes were glittering with a dangerous warning. “That’s only like *three* emotional outbursts worth of stuff you could have told him about…I wonder what the rest were all about?”

Buffy studiously ignored her, focusing on the eggs she was flipping out of the pan and onto a plate on the counter.

“What exactly did you mean in there, about all those ‘bad memories’ of you, Buffy?” Dawn asked her, in an almost frighteningly soft voice – and Buffy could not bring herself to turn around and face her.

Much to Buffy’s relief, she was saved from the requirement of answering, by a sudden knock on the kitchen door.

“Wow, they’re early,” Dawn remarked, frowning in surprise at the unexpected interruption.

“No, it’s late,” Buffy pointedly corrected her, still not looking at her as she went toward the door. “It’s already 1:30, Dawnie. You’d better go in the living room and check on Spike, because he’s probably a little scared already, hearing the knock and not knowing who it is. I’ll let them in, and I’ll let you know when your breakfast is ready.”

Dawn glared at her back for a moment, muttering, “Fine,” as she turned and walked out into the living room.

Silently, she added to herself, *But this conversation is *not* over, Buffy…I wanna know what it is that you’re not telling me…*

***********************************


Anya and Giles were at the door – surprisingly, together, Buffy noticed.

“Hey, guys,” she smiled as she stood back to let them in. “Sorry about my state of – um – pajamas,” she shrugged as she returned to the stove, and laid a few strips of bacon in the pan. “We got kind of a late start this morning. We had – kind of a late night.”

“That’s okay, we did, too,” Anya shrugged, and the Slayer noticed that her smile seemed extra bright this morning, and for a change, not the least bit false.

Buffy raised her eyebrows skeptically, looking with confusion between the beaming Anya, and the blushing Giles, who was emphatically clearing his throat in the vengeance demon’s general direction.

“Separately, of course,” Anya added, giving the Watcher a questioning look that was all too obvious. “*Separate* -- late…nights.”

As she was prone to do with most disturbing or unpleasant facts that threatened to make themselves known to her – Buffy blocked it out.

“So we’re prepared to carry out this plan, then?” Giles asked her, focusing firmly on her face, not looking at Anya at all. “All present and accounted for?”

“Not yet,” Buffy replied. “Angel’s not up yet.”

At Giles’ look of alarm and surprise, she clarified, “He spent the night – in the basement! Come on, Giles, I wouldn’t be that stupid twice! He just stayed because he was up late with Spike, and…”

Buffy gave up when she realized that her explanations were not serving to make her Watcher feel much better at all.

“It’s a vampire thing,” she waved it off as she put the finishing touches on Dawn’s breakfast and set it on the island counter. “Anyway – he’ll be up before Xander comes over. He doesn’t get off work until five, anyway. In short, we’re not ready now – but we will be.”

********************************

In spite of Dawn’s not-so-subtle pressing, Spike did not tell her what she wanted to know – the worst of the memories he had just regained involving his past relationship with her sister. He knew that she was concerned, and very protective of him, and wanted only to be sure that no one – not even Buffy – hurt him...but in his opinion, that was all the more reason for him to keep his mouth shut.

The last thing he wanted was to cause trouble between the two most important people in his life.

Actually, at that moment, Spike really wanted nothing more than to be alone – and much to his relief, Buffy had called Dawn into the kitchen at that moment, to eat the breakfast she had prepared for her.

He loved the girl very much, and was grateful for her comforting presence – but at the moment, he just needed to *think*.

The amount of information that he had taken in, both from Buffy’s recounting, and from his own recovering memory, was staggering – and he really just wanted a little bit of time to allow it to sink in.

As Buffy had told him the story of how their relationship had progressed, from mortal enemies, to friends, to not-quite-lovers – it had all gradually come flooding back to him. In a way, it felt like a very vivid dream – a movie of someone else’s life, that he had seen, but was not really a part of at all.

And in another way, it was painfully, excruciatingly real.

Buffy had reassured him, promised him that she loved him, that she had been wrong to hurt him the way that she had, that she no longer meant the cruel things she had said to him over and over again – but a part of him had a hard time believing it.

A part of him could still hear, too clearly, very similar words being spoken by another voice – telling him how worthless and vile and bad he was, how unworthy of anything but suffering.

And Spike had no idea which voice was telling him the truth anymore: Buffy, when she said that she loved him – or the other voice, when it said that he could never deserve that love.

All he knew was that he desperately *wanted* to believe Buffy’s voice, when she told him that she wanted to do nothing but love him and protect him, that she would never allow anyone to hurt him again.

*Stupid,* Xander’s voice echoed in his head, derisive and full of mocking disgust. *Don’t you get it? This is her perfect chance! I told you she’d get sick of your stupid, annoying mistakes – that she’d see how bad and worthless you are – and give you back to me! That’s all she’s doing, Spike! That’s how this day is going to end – she’s going to give you back to me!*

Spike shuddered at the thought, and forced himself to play Buffy’s promises over in his head, clinging to them like a lifeline – desperately reassuring himself that she had meant the things she had said.

*She loves me – she wouldn’t hurt me – she loves me – please – oh, please, Buffy, please *love me*!*

This beautiful banner was created for me by the wonderful artist The_Space_Between!!! Thanks, love!!!




By around four-thirty that afternoon, those of the Scoobies who were involved in Buffy’s plan to trap Xander were gathered at her house, talking in quiet, slightly nervous tones, in various areas of the house. In theory, most of them really had very little reason to be nervous, as they did not really have any major part in the plan, beyond simply witnessing the outcome.

In theory.

The reality of it was that none of them really *wanted* to have it proven to them, beyond all doubt, that Xander was the guilty party. Each of them would much rather have had the plan absolve him of their suspicions, would rather have been able to accept him again as the friend they had considered him to be for so long.

And although no one said it – Spike knew that was how they felt.

And that knowledge terrified him.

Buffy had called Xander a couple of hours earlier, and invited him over for a “movie night” with the rest of the group. He had agreed to come over right after he got off work, and to bring pizza and snacks with him as well. Buffy had accepted his offer – though she could not imagine that she would actually be hungry.

As they waited for Xander to arrive, Anya and Giles sat suspiciously close together on the sofa, talking in quiet, sober tones. Buffy and Angel walked out of the kitchen, engaged in a conversation that was somehow both subdued and agitated. Sitting in a corner of the living room on the floor with Spike, Dawn could tell without hearing them what they were arguing about.

As for Spike – he could hear every word.

“He’s not ready, Buffy, I’m telling you – this is a very bad idea! It’s not safe!” Angel insisted vehemently.

“Of course it’s safe!” Buffy scoffed at his concern. “We’re in my *house*, Angel! And it’s *Xander*. What’s he gonna do once he’s caught, anyway, that I can’t handle?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Angel shrugged sarcastically. “Shoot you?”

His words momentarily startled her to silence. When she did finally respond, her voice was barely over a whisper. “He wouldn’t…” she began, but she did not sound the least bit certain of what she was saying.

“Yeah, you’ve been saying a lot of that lately,” Angel reminded her, cutting her off impatiently. “But you’ve mostly been wrong, haven’t you? What if he *does* shoot you? What if he shoots *Spike* again? You said he told you that Xander already managed to get a gun in here at least once.”

“I can handle it,” Buffy replied tersely. “Look – this is the only way that Giles and Anya are truly gonna accept this…not to mention Willow…if we try to tell her about this, without absolute proof, she’s gonna totally flip…”

“You know what I think?” Angel interrupted her, a slightly accusing tone to his voice. “I think this is the only way that *you* can really accept this, Buffy! And considering the fact that Spike *told* you what happened – after all he’s been through – I think that’s pretty selfish of you!”

“Yeah, well, so was waiting around in LA for three months while your childe was busy being chained up and tortured.”

The words were out before she could stop them – and she immediately regretted them, even before Angel’s visible flinch.

“I’m sorry,” she spoke up softly, her eyes guiltily averted. “It’s just – we’ve all made mistakes in this Angel, not just me. I’ve made a lot of them even *before* Spike was hurt – a lot of assumptions about him that turned out to be wrong – and I’m still trying to make up for that. He was my friend – more than that, really – but I refused to accept that.”

She was silent for a long moment before suddenly looking up at Angel again, her gaze steady and determined as she finished, “I refuse to do that to a friend again -- *any* friend. I – I have to know beyond all doubt before I can do anything about it.”

Angel was unmoved by her explanation, just glaring at her stonily for a moment, in anger at her stubborn refusal to see the truth, and resentment at her cruelly stinging accusation of moments earlier.

“Fine,” he muttered finally. “Do this your way. But I don’t care what you think about it, Buffy, I have no intention of letting that boy hurt my childe again!”

“Good,” Buffy replied coolly without hesitation. “Neither do I.”

“Good.”

“Fine!”

“*Okay*!”

They were both silent again, engaged in a fierce glaring match, before Angel suddenly relented, demanding in a tone of irritation, “Do you have any blood around here? Human would be good for a change – I’m feeling the need to kill something right now!”

“In the fridge,” Buffy snapped back, “It’s human, but sorry, nobody died donating it to the hospital. Sorry to disappoint you.”

Although the implication of her words was very irritating to him, Angel’s tone was one of practiced restraint, as he ground out, “Oh, well – maybe I’ll get the chance to kill something tonight anyway.”

And with those words, he stalked off into the kitchen, leaving a troubled Slayer staring after him in pensive worry.

************************************

Dawn was talking with forced cheer, trying to keep his spirits up – had been for the past several minutes, in fact – but Spike had not heard a single word she had spoken.

His attention was focused firmly on the conversation taking place across the room, between his sire, and the Slayer who had come to mean so much to him. He was looking at Dawn, but glancing at them frequently, all the while his ears attuned carefully to catch every word that passed between them.

He had desperately hoped that Angel might be able to convince Buffy to forget about the plan, to just accept what he had told her and go from there – but she had stubbornly insisted on carrying out this plan – the plan that was supposed to take place in less than thirty minutes…

…the plan that had Spike shaking with the terror of once again facing his enemy -- *alone*.

“*Spike*?”

He jumped without meaning to, at the sudden sharp voice of the girl next to him, raised slightly when she suddenly realized that he had not been paying any attention to what she had been saying.

As his wide eyes turned dutifully toward her again, and she noted the panicked expression in them, the trembling that had overtaken his body – her jaw set with stubborn determination that was every bit the match for her sister’s, and she rose to her feet, unexpectedly grasping his hand and pulling him up beside her.

“Come on,” she muttered as she led him toward her sister, who was still standing near the middle of the room, staring toward the kitchen where Angel had disappeared.

Spike realized – too late – what it was that she meant to do, but there was no time to try to avoid Buffy’s gaze, before her troubled eyes had fallen on his trembling, anxious form.

“We can’t do this, Buffy,” Dawn declared firmly.

“We *have* to do this…” The Slayer’s voice was tired from defending her plan so vigorously to Angel.

“Look at him, Buffy. We can’t do this to him!” Dawn insisted, her own voice trembling with angry indignation. “He’s scared out of his mind…we can’t make him go through this…”

Spike ventured a glance up at Buffy for just a moment, hopeful that she might agree – but his heart sank when he saw the look of disappointed dismay in her eyes as she took in his fearful state – and he suddenly felt very ashamed of his own weakness, his lack of trust, which was jeopardizing the plan that was obviously so very important to her.

“No,” he objected in a soft whisper, shaking his head and lowering his gaze in nervous submission. “No, i-it’s all right…I-I’ll do it, Buffy…it’s – it’s okay…”

Dawn raised her eyebrows at his obvious reluctance, meeting her sister’s eyes with a pointed look, as if to say, *See?*

Buffy’s teeth worried at her lower lip, as she moved in slowly closer to Spike, placing her hands soothingly, protectively, on his trembling arms and pulling him in closer to her, her searching gaze drawing his eyes unwillingly up to hers.

“Hey,” she said softly, coaxingly. “It’s okay, Spike – are you – are you too scared? Do you not want to do this?”

Spike hesitated, desperately wanting to tell her that *yes*, he was terrified – and this plan was the last thing he wanted to do. But – he could hear the reluctance in her voice…knew what answer she really wanted from him.

He hesitated just a moment, and could not bring himself to speak, as he shook his head slowly in denial.

“Buffy, he’s so lying!” Dawn burst out in exasperation. “Can’t you see that?”

Her sharply spoken words sent a stab of fear through Spike’s heart, as in his experience, to be accused of lying was something that was usually followed by brutal punishment.

“No,” he whispered almost desperately, shaking his head, his eyes lowered, unable to meet either girl’s gaze. “No, please – I’m not – it’s okay – really, it’s okay, Buffy, please…”

“Shhh,” she whispered, her eyes widening in alarm at his sudden fear, as she ran her hands gently up and down his arms in a soothing gesture. “Hey – it’s okay, Spike…it’s all right…” Buffy paused, frowning thoughtfully for a moment, before she suggested gently, “Let’s talk about this, okay? Let’s go upstairs and talk about this…”

As she spoke, she put a guiding arm around his shoulders and turned them toward the stairs – effectively shutting Dawn out.

Dawn would have none of it.

“Oh, I *so* don’t think so!” she snapped, moving swiftly to block their path up the stairs. “You are so not going to take him up there and do your best to talk him into it! If he doesn’t want to do this, then you can’t make him!”

Buffy’s eyes widened in angry indignation, as she gasped with offended surprise, “I’m not going to do any such thing! I just want to talk to Spike -- *alone* -- and see if I can get him calmed down enough to tell me how he really feels about this! *You’re* certainly not helping, all you’re doing is making him more nervous! So just back off – before I *back* you off.”

Dawn’s eyes widened at the subtle half-threat in her sister’s voice, and her eyes narrowed in challenge. “Oh, I’d *love* to see you…”

Without waiting for her to finish, Buffy released Spike long enough to firmly grasp her sister’s arms and use her supernaturally greater strength to physically move her out of the way.

She had not hurt her in the least – but she had made her point.

Frustrated, Dawn glared at Buffy’s retreating back, as the Slayer guided a shaken Spike up the stairs to her room.

“Fine! Just push me around! Just push *everybody* around until they do exactly what you want them to, Buffy! It’s what you’re best at, isn’t it?” Dawn practically yelled up the stairs after her – though Buffy ignored her completely.

Fuming, Dawn spun around – to see that the attention of Anya, Giles, and Angel – who had just returned to the living room with a mug of blood – was all focused on her in surprise.

“Can’t any of you people just mind your own bloody business for a change?” she muttered petulantly, as she stalked off into the kitchen, slamming her way down into the basement…

…and although it was out of the range of the humans in the room, Angel was pretty sure that he heard her muttering as she went about her “selfish, super-hero, super-powered, super-*bitch* older sister”.

**********************************

“You’re sure? You’re really sure, Spike, because we can call this off if you want to…?”

The continued hope in her voice kept Spike from accepting her half-hearted offer, and he just shook his head weakly. “No,” he whispered. “No, it’s okay – I can do it…I just – Buffy…” He hesitated, before asking her in a desperate, pleading whisper, “…what if he…what if you can’t get here in time? What if he…”

“He’s not going to hurt you, Spike,” Buffy promised him softly. “I’m faster than he is, stronger than he is – I can get into this room before he can lay a hand on you, I promise. It’ll just take a few seconds to get all the evidence we need, and then it will be over, I promise. And he’ll never, *ever* touch you again – okay?”

“Okay,” Spike whispered automatically, swallowing back a sob of dreadful resignation – which Buffy somehow missed, in her eagerness to have everything fall into perfect place, as she had planned.

“Okay,” she echoed with obvious relief. “It’s gonna be okay. I promise, Spike. Everything is going to be fine.”

As she spoke, Buffy pulled him closer to her, until his head was resting on her shoulder, and she placed an affectionate kiss on his temple, as she put her arms around him and held him close to her for a few blissfully reassuring moments.

In her arms, held close in her protective embrace, Spike could believe that no one could ever hurt him – that she would keep her promise to protect him. He could almost succeed in completely driving out the painful memories of his time in helpless captivity – and the painful memories of the time – that had come *before*.

*She’s not the same…she loves you…she wouldn’t hurt you now,* he told himself with a desperate fervency.

*Please,* the other voice, the one that sounded frighteningly like Xander’s scoffed at the first voice. *She doesn’t love you – you don’t deserve it…she’s gonna take the first chance she gets to choose him over you…and he’s gonna *kill* you – just like he always said he would…*

*No – no, he can’t…she wouldn’t…*

The intense mental struggle, the warring voices in Spike’s head, suddenly fell silent, drowned out by a single, simple sound.

The ringing of a doorbell.

This beautiful banner was created for me by the wonderful artist The_Space_Between!!! Thanks, love!!!




Spike’s body went perfectly still in Buffy’s arms, at the death knell that was the sound of the doorbell downstairs. He fought back a sick sensation of panic that rose up in his throat, fought back the desperate desire to beg her to let him back out of the plan.

But he *did* fight it back.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Buffy whispered to him reassuringly one last time, hugging him close to her for a few moments before releasing him and standing up, taking his hand and leading him toward the door.

Before they had reached it, it burst open, and Dawn rushed into the room.

“He’s here!” she hissed in a stage whisper. “Xander’s here!”

“I know.” Buffy’s voice was carefully calm. “We’re ready.”

Dawn studied her sister’s expression, and then Spike’s fearful but heartbreakingly brave face, for a long moment before saying a word. Then, she cast her sister a look of disgusted dismissal, as she stepped in close to Spike, holding his gaze intently as she spoke in a soft, firm voice.

“You *don’t* have to do this. You know that, right?”

Spike nodded silently, swallowing hard, and fighting back the tears that rose in his eyes at her words.

“If you want to back out of this – you can, Spike – nobody’s gonna stop you.” Another angry glare found its way to the Slayer as she spoke those words.

“It’s – it’s okay, Dawn,” Spike insisted quietly, and his voice was much firmer now than it had been downstairs. “I promise, love…it’s all right. I’ll – I’ll be fine.”

“See?” Buffy said in a tone of pointed satisfaction.

Dawn completely ignored her.

With a weary sigh, Buffy said, “I’m gonna go on down. You two come on down in a minute or two, so he won’t suspect anything. Then we’ll do it – just like we planned.”

“Just like *you* planned,” Dawn muttered her correction, once she was sure that her sister was out of earshot. She focused her full attention on Spike as she repeated with concern, “Spike – are you sure? You really don’t have to…”

“I’m sure,” he interrupted softly, looking down at the floor and swallowing hard. “I can do this – and – and it’ll be over in a few minutes, yeah? I’ll – I’ll be fine.”

Dawn did not seem convinced, but she knew that Spike had made up his mind to go through with it, no matter how terrified he was – just to please Buffy. She sighed, knowing that she was not going to be able to change his mind – or his intense, even unreasonable, loyalty to her sister.

“You can change your mind,” she reminded him in a tone of quiet resignation. “At any time. Any time you decide you don’t want to do this – just tell me, and I’ll talk to Buffy – okay?”

“Okay,” Spike nodded, his voice even softer now, and a bit uncertain. “But – I won’t be changing my mind, Dawn.”

“Okay,” she agreed, her hands raised in a backing-off gesture. “Just – if you do.”

He nodded again, accepting her words.

She took his hand, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze, as she started toward the stairs. She paused in the doorway, her hand resting on the handle for a moment, a thoughtful frown on her face as she studied it.

“Even if you – you get up here,” she continued as an after thought. “And you decide *then* that you just can’t stand the thought of being alone with him at all – all you have to do is lock this door.” She demonstrated as she spoke, turning the lock and unturning it again. “He won’t be able to get in – and when he comes back down and says so – I’ll know you changed your mind, and I’ll tell Buffy – okay?”

Spike’s eyes widened slightly as the image of Xander coming through that bedroom door – into a room which would instantly become a claustrophobic trap with the addition of the boy’s stifling, terrifying presence – flooded his mind with fresh panic.

Suddenly, he was not all that sure that he might not take advantage of what Dawn was suggesting.

“Okay,” he agreed with a slightly more emphatic nod, his voice trembling slightly. “I – I’ll remember.”

Together, hand in hand, Dawn and Spike descended the stairs.

Both carefully avoided the gaze of the young carpenter who was standing in the foyer – Spike, out of sheer terror, unable even to lift his eyes to his face; Dawn, knowing that if she once met his eyes, he would certainly be able to see the burning hatred that had to be in her gaze now.

Dawn followed Spike’s lead, without releasing his hand, as he led her across the room to where Buffy was seated on the couch with Giles and Anya – giving Xander a wide berth as he did – and knelt on the floor beside the Slayer, his trembling hand resting on her knee, desperate for the slight reassurance that her nearness provided.

He could feel his terror mounting, his thoughts spinning out of control in panic, as he struggled to keep a rein on his emotions – just to *get through this*!

“What’s the matter, Baby?” Buffy asked him gently, reaching her hand down to gently run through his hair in a soothing caress – but he could hear the slightly false edge to her voice – the sound that reminded him that even this gesture, these words, were a part of her plan…and that whether by ignorance or by choice, the Slayer had no idea how truly terrified he was, how little of his trembling, fearful manner was an act.

He shook his head, lowering it to rest on his hand on her knee, choking back very real sobs – unable to bring himself to answer.

“Hey,” she pressed him gently, reaching down a hand to tilt his chin up, forcing him to raise his head to look at her. “It’s okay – what’s wrong, Spike?”

He kept his eyes averted – somehow unable to meet her gaze – as he waited for the plan to play out around him as Buffy had known that it would.

“Hey, Spike.” Xander’s voice was soft, cautiously non-confrontational, as he took a slow step toward the trembling vampire, one hand extended in front of him, as if Spike was a particularly skittish and dangerous dog. “Hey, Buddy – remember me?”

Xander met Buffy’s eyes in a hesitant question over Spike’s head, and after a moment’s feigned consideration, the Slayer bit her lip a bit anxiously, and nodded her assent.

“It’s just Xander,” she softly soothed the vampire, running her fingers through his hair. “Remember? From the other night, when you had that really bad nightmare? He told me about it – you weren’t scared of him then, were you?”

For a fraction of an instant, Spike’s eyes shot up to Buffy’s, panicked and pleading, before he suddenly changed his mind again and averted his gaze once more, shaking his head as he knew he was supposed to – according to the plan. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Buffy’s cautious hand beckon Xander closer – and shuddered slightly at the very thought.

*Just a few minutes – it’ll be over quick – just gotta get through it – just a few minutes – over quick – oh, *please*, Buffy, don’t let him…*

“Hey, Spike,” Xander repeated in a soft, coaxing voice that still sent a shiver of terror through the vampire’s body. “It’s okay – I’m not gonna hurt you, Buddy – you know that. I’m your friend – remember?”

Spike did not miss the very subtle edge of warning to his voice – and this time, neither did the others, though none of them showed any sign of noticing it. As he spoke, Xander was edging steadily nearer, his hand still outstretched to touch him – and every nerve in Spike’s body was taut to its limit, every ounce of strength he had employed in simply not running – not – not yet – not until…

Xander was only a couple of feet away, when Spike felt the barely there, fractional tug of Buffy’s fingers in his hair – the signal that the time was right. Just before the boy’s hand actually came into contact with his shaking shoulder, Spike scrambled backward to his feet, knocking Dawn from her knees back onto her rear in the process – and bolted up the stairs.

He could hear various words and other sounds of dismay from the people in the living room as he dashed into Buffy’s bedroom and shut the door hard – knew how the scene was going to play out – what Buffy was going to say, mere moments from now.

*Maybe you were right before, Xander…he has to learn that some men are safe…go ahead on up, talk to him, see if you can calm him down like you did the other night…no, really, it’s okay, I think it’ll be good for him…*

Spike wasn’t really sure if he was remembering what Buffy had said she was going to tell Xander, or actually hearing the faint traces of the words as she spoke them downstairs – but it didn’t really matter.

Either way, he knew that within moments, Xander was going to be at the door to Buffy’s bedroom.

And then – he would be *in* Buffy’s bedroom.

With Spike.

*Alone*.

His panicked eyes darted to the lock in the center of the doorknob, the one Dawn had pointed out to him – the tiny piece of metal that would lock him in the room – and provide his way out.

*Any time you decide you don’t want to do this…*

At the first soft thud on the bottom stair – a footstep that would not have been audible to human ears – Spike felt something inside him break, as the panic began to swell up inside him, overriding his every rational thought, and driving him physically to his knees in front of the door, choking back violent sobs that shook his body, gasping for breath as the room seemed to close in on him.

A few more steps – and Xander would be there.

*You don’t have to do this…*

Spike felt his hand begin to cramp, and glanced up with half-aware surprise to see that it was clenched tightly around the doorknob – as three, four more soft footsteps were heard outside the door.

Spike’s trembling fingers sought purchase on the small circular lock in the center of the doorknob, his breath coming in short, rapid, panicked gasps now, as he tried to decide what to do.

*Buffy wants you to let him in – have to let him in – have to prove it was him or she’ll never really believe you – a part of her will always hate you, because she’ll never be sure…*

*Oh, God, what if she can’t stop him in time? What if he gets me back again? *What if he has the gun*?*

A slight, by now familiar creak on the landing as Xander finished his trek up the stairs – and Spike’s shaking hand had turned the lock, just before he collapsed into tears, his body shaking with terror, his arms wrapped around himself, his head bowed against his chest as he sobbed in helpless confusion and fear.

Spike flinched violently at the soft metallic sound of the doorknob, as Xander tried to open it – and then, silence, when he found it locked.

For a moment, time stood still as Spike waited…waited for him to say something, to try to convince him to open the door…to turn around and go back downstairs, to tell Buffy that he was locked out, so that Dawn could make this whole thing end…or to slam the door open with the violent force with which Spike had become so painfully familiar, to use his fists, his feet – his *gun* -- to bring the vampire back into submission to him.

“Spike?”

His breath caught in his throat at the sound of that deadly soft voice, and he felt his trembling increase, as he scrambled backward across the floor, until his back hit the side of Buffy’s bed.

“I know you’re in there.” There was a brief pause, and Spike could hear the cruel amusement in Xander’s voice, barely over a whisper, and certainly not audible to those downstairs.

“Hey – you wanna see a trick? Let’s see, let me think…how about…how fast can I kill everybody that you care about? I think I can do it in about – oh, ten seconds? Yeah, I think that’ll work. By the time you crawl out of that corner you’re hiding in and get downstairs – they’ll already all be dead – unless you get over here and open this door.”

“No,” Spike was not even aware he was going to speak until he heard the whimper torn from his throat. “Please…no…”

A soft, dangerous laugh on the other side of the door was his response – and after a moment, he heard the doorknob rattle slightly again as Xander tried it once more. “I haven’t got all night, Spike,” he warned him softly. “Open. The door. Or I go downstairs, and shoot them all. Dawn. Buffy. Giles. Even Anya, if you make me, Spike. And I guarantee it – they won’t recover like you did…”

As the boy spoke his cruel threats softly though the door, Spike found himself creeping slowly along the floor on his knees, toward the door – compelled by the horror of what he might do to Buffy and Dawn, as well as by long-ingrained habit. As Xander finished talking for the moment, Spike found himself back at the door, struggling to stifle the gasping sobs that filled his throat – his hand resting on the doorknob.

“Can you count to three, Spike?” Xander asked him in a mild, disarming voice of curiosity. “Have you learned that much yet?” He paused, before adding, “I can. And I’m going to. You know what happens when I get to three?”

Spike felt the jaws of the trap that this plan had turned out to be closing around him – with no escape in sight. His hand tightened on the doorknob, as his internal war raged on, trying to determine what he would do.

*If I let him in – he’s already so mad – he’s gonna kill me – he’s gonna hurt me…no, no…*no*…!*

“One…”

Spike’s heart leapt up into his throat, and he flinched, as a fresh wave of terror gripped him at the thought of his little surrogate family downstairs.

*Buffy – Dawn – can’t let him hurt them…can’t…*

“Two…”

*Oh God, he’s gonna kill me! No, can’t do it! Can’t make myself – let him in…no…*

He leaned heavily against the door, his head bowed against the smooth wood surface, tears of desperation and despair streaking his face as his shoulders shook with sobs.

*Can’t let him hurt them – if he kills me – can’t let him hurt them…*

“Thr…”

“Wait! Please, wait!” Spike gasped out, his fingers scrabbling on the doorknob as he fumbled for the lock – and finally found it.

“That’s a boy,” Xander encouraged him in a soft, approving voice that Spike knew could turn deadly and cruel in an instant – obviously pleased with the sound of the vampire’s attempts to open the door and obey his command. “I knew you wouldn’t let them down, Spike…”

The click of the lock sounded impossibly loud in the stillness of the room – stillness and safety that was about to be shattered – a moment before Xander’s hand gripped the knob, and pushed the door slowly open.

And Spike was once more on his knees before his abuser.

Xander smirked at him as he stepped into the room, closing the door firmly behind him. His hand hovered on the knob for a moment, glancing thoughtfully between Spike’s face, and the lock behind him.

“You know – that’s actually not a bad idea, Spike,” he spoke in a quietly mocking voice – as he turned the circle in the center of the knob – locking them in together. “Now,” he smirked as he turned toward the trembling, retreating vampire, staring up at him through wide, terrified eyes as he struggled on his knees to back away from the advancing young man.

“Where were we?”

This beautiful banner was created for me by the wonderful artist The_Space_Between!!! Thanks, love!!!




“Can you hear him up there?”

Dawn’s voice was barely over a whisper, as she asked her terse question of the vampire who had just come into the room from the kitchen, the moment that Xander had disappeared up the stairs.

The one thing they had all managed to agree on was that it would be to their advantage if Xander did not know that Angel was in the house. It was fairly certain that after Angel’s threats, and aware that the older vampire possessed senses that the humans did not, Xander would be too cautious to try anything at all if he knew that Angel was around.

So Angel had stayed out of sight in the kitchen until Xander had gone upstairs – but not a moment longer.

“Of course I can,” he replied, a bit more sharply than he meant to. “Shhh.”

A moment or two of tense silence was all that Dawn could stand before she broke the silence again with a loud whisper, “Well, what’s he saying?”

“Quiet,” Angel barked, his dark eyes focused intently up the stairs, though he could not see anything from where he stood next to the couch.

No one was seated on it anymore.

As Buffy and Dawn both stared anxiously at the vampire, his chocolate brown eyes glowed golden with rage, and a low growl rose in his throat at something that he had just heard.

“What?” Buffy demanded with alarm in her voice. “What did he say?”

Angel turned his furious gaze on her for a moment, piercing and accusing. “You don’t want to know,” he told her.

“Yes, I do!” Buffy snapped incredulously. “Tell me!”

Angel shrugged. “You’ll probably want him to demonstrate what he just said to Spike before you’ll actually believe it anyway – and by then you’d all be dead.”

Buffy’s eyes widened with shock, as they all fell silent, taking in the deadly implications of his words. Suddenly, Angel jerked slightly forward toward the stairs, his eye widening as he barely managed to keep himself from taking off up those stairs, and to his childe’s rescue.

“He’s in,” he told Buffy, his voice low and grim. “And the door’s closed.”

“Okay,” the Slayer drew in a deep, shaky breath, moving toward the stairs herself. “We’re on, Anya – let’s get up there.”

***********************************

“See – I’ve got a real problem with what I’m seeing here, Spike.”

Xander spoke in a soft, casual yet menacing voice, as he slowly advanced on the terrified vampire, who was desperately scrambling backward across the floor in an attempt to put as much distance as he could between himself and the boy.

“After all the times I’ve told you – all the time I’ve spent trying to get it through your stupid head…”

Spike’s back hit the bed, and he realized with a rising sense of panic that he had nowhere left to go, as Xander closed the gap between them, and reached down to jerk him to his feet by the collar of his shirt.

A nasty smirk came across the boy’s face as he finished, “…you still think you have half a chance of getting away from me! Well, guess what, Spikey?”

Releasing one side of Spike’s shirt, Xander drew back a surprisingly powerful fist and slammed it without warning into the smaller vampire’s face. Spike let out a startled cry of pain, his hand rising to his swiftly bruising cheek – before he suddenly raised wide eyes full of shocked understanding to meet the hatefully satisfied gaze of his attacker.

“That’s right,” Xander sneered softly. “I think you’re beginning to get it, aren’t you? Wow, you really must be getting a lot smarter, huh?”

He paused, leaning in closer to Spike’s face, chuckling softly as the backs of his knees hit the bed and he lost his balance with a soft gasp of fear. Before Spike could fall backward onto the bed, one of Xander’s hands darted out behind Spike’s head to grasp his hair in a cruel, painful fist, while his other hand locked around the vampire’s throat in a suffocating -- *silencing* -- grip.

“And this time,” Xander continued in a deadly soft whisper that was in sharp contrast to the violence of his actions. “I’m not taking any chances. You won’t be around to run your mouth to Buffy – not when I get through with you.”

*********************************

“It’s locked!”

Anya’s stage whisper was full of dismay as she turned fearful eyes on the Slayer just behind her. For now, Buffy and Anya were the only two who had ventured up the stairs – though it had taken a very vigorous argument to convince Angel and Dawn to wait downstairs for their signal.

Buffy’s heart lurched at the implication of the vengeance demon’s words, though she could hear nothing, no sounds of violence or trouble, from the other side of the bedroom door. “It’s okay,” she reassured Anya quickly, though her own whisper was shaky and a bit uncertain. “We figured as much, remember? We expected him to lock them in…”

“You -- *what*?”

Dawn’s unexpected voice from just behind them on the stairs was full of incredulous fury.

“Dawn – get back downstairs,” Buffy ordered tersely, her expression taut, and betraying more of her fear and guilt than she would have liked, as she turned in surprise toward her little sister. “I told you to wait…”

“How could you do this to him, Buffy? How could you do this to him when you *know* how scared he is of Xander, and now Xander’s in there, just…”

“I hate to interrupt the stereotypical family squabble,” Anya broke in – then frowned, as she shook her head and corrected, “Actually – no. I have no problem interrupting, because it’s very annoying the way you two are constantly at each other’s throats. I mean, I never had a sister when I was human, so I don’t really know, but even if this sort of ridiculous behavior is normal – it’s very stupid and petty when Spike is locked in there right now with my possibly slightly psychotic ex. Now – don’t you think it’s about time we got him out of there?”

Buffy blinked at her in the surprise that usually followed one of Anya’s incredibly honest outbursts – and then nodded her agreement, her jaw setting with determination. “You’re right,” she said, taking the slim, compact video camera – belonging to Giles – from her jacket pocket and handing it to Anya. “You’d better get in there.”

“Right,” Anya took a deep breath – and then turned back toward Buffy, suddenly nervous. “Just – pop in, pop out. Should be – perfectly safe…right?”

“Just don’t let him see you – and first chance you get, try to get the door unlocked.” Buffy advised. “I’ll break it down if I have to – but I’d rather *not* have to – but anyway, I don’t think he’d hurt *you*, Anya…”

“You might be surprised,” the vengeance demon muttered, turning back toward the door with a slight shrug as she prepared to teleport herself and the camera into the locked room.

************************************

“Now – first things first,” Xander smirked as he maneuvered his frightened captive around so that his back was against the wall between Buffy’s bed and the door, freeing the hand that had gripped his hair, but keeping his other hand locked relentlessly around Spike’s windpipe so that he could not cry out. “Let’s make sure we won’t be interrupted…”

Taking a tiny vial of pale pink powder from his pocket, Xander used his teeth to pull the cork out of it, and then tossed the powder in front of the door, spitting the cork out to the side before muttering a few poorly pronounced Latin words.

Spike’s eyes widened in surprised recognition, as he stared up at the boy in confusion. He remembered enough by now to remember magic – and to remember that as far as he knew, Xander did not know any.

The boy smiled at the obvious bewilderment in Spike’s face, as he answered the unspoken question. “A present from a friend,” he shrugged – and Spike immediately knew what “friend” he was talking about. “She was very concerned when I told her about the new demon loose in town – and how it doesn’t need an invite – and could she possibly suggest anything that might make a house – or a room – pretty much un-enterable? Nothing and no one goes in or out. Not voices, or other sounds…and definitely not people.” The cruel satisfaction was clear in Xander’s smug smile.

As it slowly dawned on Spike just exactly what Xander had done, and how – the panic that had already gained a foothold in his heart began to swell up inside him, overwhelming him as he realized that Buffy’s plan was thwarted already. If no one could get into the room – then help was not coming.

He was truly alone with Xander.

And this time – Xander meant to kill him.

*****************************

“What are you waiting for?” Buffy urged Anya in an impatient whisper. “Go on! Hurry!”

“I’m trying,” Anya informed her, a slight edge of irritation born of worry in her voice. “Something’s wrong – I can’t get in…”

“What do you mean you can’t get in?” Dawn asked, panic rising in her voice. “You have to get in! We can’t just leave him alone in there with…”

“Dawnie, keep your voice down!” Buffy snapped at her. “Do you want Xander to hear you, and blow the whole thing?”

“I don’t care about your stupid plan!” Dawn practically exploded – though she *did* keep her voice down. “You thought it was so smart to make him do this – and now he’s locked in with Xander and no one can get to him! You’re gonna get him killed, Buffy, and then how are you gonna feel?”

“Shut *up*!” Buffy hissed at her in a warning whisper, turning on her with blazing, furious eyes that glittered with frustrated, fearful tears.

“Break it down,” Dawn suggested urgently, her own eyes welling with tears. “We have to get to him, Buffy – we have to get to him before…”

“Nothing’s happening, Dawn,” Buffy assured her little sister – though she wished that she believed it herself. “I don’t hear any noise from in there – and I’m sure we’d hear *something* if Xander was hurting him – right?”

Dawn paused for a moment, breathing hard as she tried to control her raging emotions long enough to consider that point. Suddenly, she frowned, her eyes widening with a new concern. “You’re right – I don’t hear *anything*. Nothing at all. And – if they’re both in there – we should hear *something* -- right? Voices – *something*…”

Buffy’s face slowly formed a frown to match her sister’s, as she realized that Dawn was right.

Something was definitely off here…

“It’s a spell,” Anya announced softly, turning toward them after the last of the failed attempts she had been making to teleport into the room, throughout the Summers’ sisters’ argument. “It has to be a spell of some kind. That’s why we can’t get in at all, and we’re not hearing anything from inside. They probably can’t hear us out here, either.”

Buffy’s heart sank with dismay at the thought that Xander could be doing absolutely anything to Spike on the other side of that door – and she could not get to him…couldn’t even know for sure what was happening.

*Stupid,* she cursed herself viciously. *If he dies because of me…*

She couldn’t even allow herself to finish that thought – not now.

There was no time.

“Go get Giles,” she instructed Dawn firmly. “We need to find a way to break the spell – and fast!”

For once, Dawn did not argue, seeing immediately that the magic-experienced Watcher might be their best hope of helping Spike at this point – and she rushed down the stairs to obey her sister’s order.

***********************************

Once the room had been magically secured, Xander no longer felt the need to restrain his victim, from resisting, or from calling for help, if he should choose to do so.

It wasn’t as if anyone could hear him, anyway.

And besides – Spike was far too well conditioned to dare such a thing in Xander’s presence.

It had been a simple matter, getting a few easy spells from Willow – a matter of a single expensive but worthwhile overseas phone call, in which he had spun a very believable tale for his friend, of the new danger that Buffy was dealing with here in Sunnydale, and what he needed in order to help her defeat it.

Willow had immediately offered to come home and help, concerned that Giles had returned only a few days earlier, and was apparently unable to do anything about the situation. Xander had assured her that it would not be necessary; it was far too soon for her to be attempting spells on her own just yet. If she would just tell him what to do – he would be able to handle it himself.

And of course, she had accepted his words.

After all – if not for him, she and the rest of the world would all be dead, anyway.

Surely, she had obviously believed, Xander’s heart was much less likely to be corrupted by the power of the magic than hers was.

So now, Xander had in his hands a few neat magical tricks, which would allow him to complete his revenge against the vampire that had taken from him everything he had ever valued – and to get away with it, as well.

In fact, with the door effectively barred, and no one able to hear what went on inside – he could even take his time about it…make the vampire pay for the past few days of intense stress, the terrible fear that had kept him awake the past few nights, sick at the thought of being found out, whenever Spike inevitably recovered enough to remember and tell Buffy what had happened to him – and who had done it.

Well, after tonight, that would not be an issue anymore.

He would tell Buffy that Spike had lost it – completely freaked out – and had locked them into the room, intent on killing the boy that he *falsely* viewed as a threat to him. It had taken a while, he would inform her, putting just the right parts of weary, thwarted accomplishment and compassion into his voice – but he had thought that he was getting through to the poor, panicked, confused creature.

And then – just when he thought that it was under control – Spike had attacked him, going for his throat.

*I forgot about the chip,* he pictured himself crying for Buffy’s benefit, feigning sorrow and regret. *I just – reacted. I staked him before I could even think – I thought he was going to kill me…*

And of course – Buffy would buy it.

The fact that he was up here, alone with Spike right now, was proof enough that she would buy it.

And Spike would be gone – and Xander’s life could finally get back to the way that it should be – back to normal.

But first, he thought with a cruel smile – he had plenty of time to play.