Willow returned with an armload of various first aid supplies, which she set down on the floor by Buffy’s knees. “I’m not sure if any of this stuff will work on a vampire,” she said apologetically. “But it can’t hurt.”

Tara was right behind her with a basin of warm water and a couple of soft cloths. Without a word to Buffy she knelt on the floor beside Spike and dipped one of the cloths into the water, wringing it out and gently blotting away the blood from one of the countless lash marks that covered Spike’s battered legs.

His eyes were closed again, hovering between wakefulness and oblivion, but he winced in pain at the contact. He was too weak even to pull away, but Buffy felt his grip on her hand tighten, and he drew in his breath sharply.

“I’m sorry,” Tara said softly. “I’m trying not to hurt you, Spike.”

“ ‘S all right…Glinda,” he barely managed to get the words out in a whisper, and Tara smiled in spite of herself as tears flooded her eyes, at the familiar nickname from years ago.

As she moved on to the next wound, he cringed again at the light pressure that caused so much pain, and turned his head unconsciously toward Buffy, pressing his face against her shoulder and gasping to keep from crying out.

Buffy felt an unreasonable protective anger rising up in her, though she knew that Tara was only doing what needed to be done. They had to get the remaining traces of the holy water and the ashes it had created off of him, had to get his open wounds – no longer bleeding; not enough blood left – treated and bound up; and Buffy knew that was a task that was not going to be accomplished without some pain.

Still, the fiercely possessive, protective streak that she had just discovered existed in her heart for Spike, saw only that Tara’s touch was increasing his pain. “Easy,” she snapped quietly, as her hand came to rest at the back of his head, holding him close to her, supporting him as he leaned into her for comfort. “Be careful.”

She did not miss the way Tara’s jaw set with barely restrained anger and she waited a moment before answering in a voice that was soft but cold, “I am being careful, Buffy. He’s hurt pretty bad, in case you hadn’t noticed.” She paused, as if hesitating to say what was in her mind, and then said it anyway. “Unless maybe this is just normal for you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Buffy demanded, not raising her voice, conscious of the traumatized vampire cradled in her arms, and not wanting to upset him.

Tara just shook her head, the expression on her face saying that she had already said more than she had intended.

“You know, I can handle this!” Buffy said suddenly, releasing Spike’s hand and reaching for the other cloth on the floor beside her. “You don’t have to do this.” The words themselves were not offensive, but her tone was one of irritation, making it clear that she wanted Tara to leave her and Spike alone, and keep her opinions to herself.

Her opinions simply hit too close to home for Buffy’s comfort.

“No, I *don’t* have to,” Tara shot back. “I *want* to, because Spike needs *somebody* here who’s gonna treat him like an actual person!”

Buffy was stung by the accusation, but not as much as by its echo of truth in her heart. She did not speak for a moment, trying to gain control of her emotions, aware that she was in the other woman’s home, and that Tara had already gone far out of her way to help her and Spike tonight, regardless of her opinion after the fact. No matter how angry she was, she had to keep a certain level of respect.

“Tara…if you wouldn’t mind just giving us a little privacy…believe it or not, I *can* take care of him…”

“Why?” Tara demanded, and Buffy was surprised by the fury rising in the eyes of usually soft-spoken witch. “So you can coach him on what’s acceptable and what’s not to tell us? So you can have the *privacy* to hurt him again?”

Tara’s first comment had had the sting of truth to it, and Buffy’s defensive anger had been tempered by the knowledge that as much as it hurt to hear it, she was right. But this accusation was one that she knew she was innocent of. At this moment, the idea of hurting or threatening Spike was as abhorrent to her as anything she could conceive of.

“You don’t know me,” she stated in a low voice, trembling with anger, meeting the other woman’s eyes with fury and defiance. “You have no idea about any of this, so if you would please just leave us alone…”

As she spoke, she pulled slightly away from Spike, reaching for the basin to pull it toward her. She was surprised when he reached weakly toward her, with a soft whimper, and she was not sure whether it was at the separation, or at the pain from his attempt to get closer to her again.

She immediately put her arm around him, and her heart ached for him when he leaned into her again, one hand weakly clutching at her arm, trying to hold her to him. “What is it?” she asked him in a gentle whisper, her hand rising to lightly stroke down the side of his face in a reassuring way. “It’s okay. What is it, Spike?”

“Please,” he whispered, and she could hear the desperation in his faint voice. “Buffy… please…stay here…I need…” His voice failed him, as he seemed to lose his nerve halfway through the heart-rending plea, but she understood what it was that he needed from her.

Whether it was her or Tara who actually tended to his wounds, she knew that the pain was going to be inevitable. What he needed desperately was for her to hold him through it.

“Okay…okay, Baby,” she whispered, surprised at the affectionate word that passed her lips. “I’m right here…I’m right here…” She looked up at Tara, communicating permission to proceed with her eyes, though not saying a word.

Equally expressive without using words, Tara gave her a look that told her clearly that she would have gone on anyway, with or without Buffy’s consent.

Through the long, tedious and for Spike, very painful process of treating his injuries, Buffy just stayed there on her knees beside the couch, her trembling, hurting vampire cradled in her arms, whispering reassurances and comforts in his ear as he tried to hold back the cries of pain that rose up in him.

“It’s okay,” Buffy said softly, her eyes welling with tears when she realized how hard he was trying to be quiet. “I know it hurts…go ahead and yell if you want to…cry, scream, it’s okay. You don’t have to be quiet, Spike.”

He did not react, except to grip her arm tighter and bury his face deeper against her chest.

“It’s okay,” she insisted. “Riley’s gone, Spike. No one here is gonna hurt you. We don’t mind, it’s okay. You’re safe here.”

At her reassuring words, he still did not make a sound, but she felt his body shaking slightly against her as he released a silent sob against her chest. “That’s it, Spike. It’s okay,” she encouraged him gently, knowing that he needed to let it out.

She glanced up to see Tara staring at her with a questioning look in her soft grey eyes, her gaze deep and penetrating. When she looked at her, however, the witch looked away and resumed her gentle ministrations to the suffering vampire. She had not spoken another word to Buffy, and she was beginning to feel very uncomfortable.

It took over an hour to tend to all of the terrible wounds on the front side of Spike’s body, followed by the excruciating, nerve-wracking act of turning him onto his stomach to reach the damage that had been done to his other side. Then, Spike *did* cry out, sobbing with the agony of it, and Buffy just kept her arms around him, soothing him and giving him a few minutes to recover before starting in again. Nearly three hours after they had started, every cut and burn had been treated and bound up with soft bandages.

“Okay, Spike,” Buffy said, meeting his eyes firmly, but with sympathy. “This is gonna hurt…I’m sorry…but we need to get you upstairs and into bed, okay?”

He set his jaw firmly and gave her a slight nod, and the trusting look in his wide blue eyes filled her heart with affection and her eyes with tears. Carefully, she lifted him into her arms and followed the still-silent Tara up the stairs to the guest bedroom that Willow had prepared for their unexpected guest. Once he was settled as comfortably as possible, nestled among the many pillows and covered with soft, warm blankets, Buffy turned to follow Tara downstairs.

“No,” Spike objected softly, reaching for her hand. Then, at the surprised look she gave him when she turned to face him, he quickly dropped his gaze. “I – I mean…please… Buffy…don’t leave…” He struggled with the plea, obviously ashamed that he even felt the need to utter it.

Buffy crouched down beside him again, taking his hand and gazing into his eyes with a warmth and compassion that completely took his breath away. “I’ll be right back,” she assured him. “We’re just gonna get you something to eat, Spike. You need blood to get better, okay?”

He thought of saying that Tara could easily handle that task herself, but then thought better of it and simply nodded.

Buffy placed a tender kiss on his lips briefly before turning back to Tara…who was giving her a look of such smoldering anger that it stunned her. Without a word, Tara turned and led her down the stairs and to the kitchen.

Buffy did not say anything – not really sure what to say – until they reached the kitchen, and Tara had filled a mug from the bags of blood that Willow had gone out for earlier, placing it in the microwave to heat. Xander and Anya had gone home a while ago, and Willow had said only that she had to make a phone call, disappearing into another room.

And leaving Buffy in the clutches of a very angry witch.

“Look…Tara…” she finally ventured, speaking to the other girl’s back. Tara was staring stonily at the numbers on the microwave. “I don’t know what you must think of me. I know it’s hard to understand. But you don’t know me. My relationship with…”

“Your *relationship*?” Tara interrupted, turning toward her suddenly with an incredulous look, her own voice trembling with emotion. “How is this a *relationship*, Buffy? When you *own* him like a…a piece of furniture, or a…a pet, or something that you can just use any way you want? This is not a relationship, Buffy!”

The words struck Buffy hard, carrying the ring of uncomfortable truth, as she remembered again the way she had taken advantage not only of Spike’s love for her, but of his position as her “property”, to use him for her own comfort, with no regard for his feelings, or the effect it might have on him.

After all – he belonged to her, didn’t he? He was hers, to do whatever she wanted with. According to the law, he had no rights to be considered. Tara’s painfully accurate words smote her with a sensation of tremendous guilt at the power she had assumed over Spike, and the way she had abused it.

“Maybe that’s how it started,” she began tentatively, her voice weak with her knowledge that her argument was as well. “But that’s not how it is now. He’s…he’s not just a slave to me, anymore, Tara…he’s…”

“A whore?” Tara shot back scathingly.

Buffy felt as if she had been slapped in the face. “No! That’s not how it is, Tara…I really care about him, and he cares about me…”

“Like he has a choice!” Tara exploded, throwing up her hands in frustration at the Slayer’s stubborn refusal to admit her own guilt. “Yeah, I’ve *been* here for the past couple hours, Buffy,” she reminded her, nodding. “I’ve seen how he acts with you. He’s very dependent on you, Buffy. And that’s not usually a good thing in *any* ‘relationship’,” she added hurriedly. “And he worships the ground you walk on.”

She paused before going on in a quiet, certain voice, “That’s not the way you treat your lover or your girlfriend, or someone you’re in a *relationship* with, Buffy. That’s how you treat someone who holds your life in their hands, and can crush it in two seconds if they feel like it!” Her tone was biting, accusing, and her fierce eyes flashed silver fury at the Slayer as she spoke. “*Of course* he worships you, Buffy! You *own* him!”

Buffy was stunned to silence, taking in what she had just said. She knew what Tara did not – it was more than that. She had seen the genuine love and devotion in Spike’s eyes when he looked at her. But she had never thought of it from the perspective Tara was presenting, and she found herself wondering with dismay just how many of Spike’s efforts to fulfill her every wish were out of love, and how many were out of fear.

“I saw you kiss him, Buffy,” Tara stated flatly, leaving no room for doubt that she understood how far Buffy’s involvement with her slave had gone. “I saw the way he acts with you. And you may have fooled yourself into thinking that this is the replacement relationship for Riley. But that’s not what this is, Buffy.” She paused for a moment before going on.

“A relationship requires two consenting parties. Two people capable of choosing to have a relationship with each other, and making that choice,” she continued, her voice quiet but sure, her eyes. “When both people have equal say in what happens between them, and have the choice to walk out at any point they want to, *that’s* called a relationship.” She paused a moment, giving her next words that much more impact.

Slowly and emphatically, Tara went on. “When one person has all the power, and the other one doesn’t have the option of saying ‘no’…when you can literally *kill* him if he tries to stop you…there’s another word for that, Buffy.”

Buffy felt as if her heart stopped for a moment, the ugly, unspoken word hanging over their heads, a dark, unsettling presence in the room.

“It…it’s not like that,” she insisted in a trembling whisper, her eyes wide and shocked at the thought, which had never crossed her mind. “I would never…never force him to…”

“Buffy,” Tara interrupted, her voice suddenly softer, tired, as she opened the microwave door and moved forward to place the steaming mug in the Slayer’s hands. “He’s your slave. Anything he does with you is forced.”

And with those simple devastating words, she walked out of the room, leaving the Slayer to her tumultuous thoughts…and her vampire, waiting for her upstairs.