“I can’t believe I’m letting you do this,” Buffy muttered in irritation that was nothing more than a manifestation of her worry. “This is too dangerous. You can’t fight humans with that chip in your head. If Riley’s home…”

“It’s only six o’clock, pet,” he reminded her with a patient smile. “G. I. Git was never home that early the whole time I was here. Not likely he will be now, with no one to come home to!” Almost before the words left his mouth, he winced inwardly, realizing his mistake.

Riley *did* have someone to come home to, even with Buffy gone – that had sort of been the problem, hadn’t it?

But Buffy did not seem to notice his little slip; she was laughing too hard, having never heard Spike’s unique little nickname for her soon-to-be ex-husband before. “That’s great,” she smirked. “I like it.”

He smiled tentatively, pleased that she was pleased, and that she had not noticed his thoughtless words. Then his smile faded a little as he went on, “Besides – you aren’t *letting* me do anything, pet. Remember?” His tone was light, teasing, but his eyes held an uncertainty that told her that her simple comment had re-awakened his doubts, causing him to wonder if she had really meant it when she had “set him free”.

She gave him a teasing pout as she asked, “Is it too late to change my mind?”

Her tone and her laughing eyes made it clear to him that she had no intention of doing any such thing, that she was only joking, and he easily returned her smile, responding in a playfully reproving voice, “Bloody right it is, pet. No turning back now.”

She found herself suddenly captivated by those stunning blue eyes, so much more incredibly beautiful like this, sparkling with mingled laughter and adoration, and her breath caught in her throat as she looked at him.

*No turning back,* she thought to herself. *Ain’t *that* the truth!*

Riley’s car was always kept in the garage, so they really had no way of knowing for sure if he was home or not until they actually got into the house. Spike was right; Riley was usually much later than this getting home, but still Buffy was worried. They had waited until sundown to go, just so that it would be safe for Spike to be outside, but now she wondered anxiously if it would have been better to go earlier in the day.

They walked up to the front door, trying to act as natural as possible. Buffy held her breath as she put her key in the lock, releasing the breath slowly when the handle turned easily. At least Riley had not changed the locks – yet – though she would not have put it past him. She glanced nervously up at Spike, in a moment of unspoken communication, and he nodded his understanding.

*Just act natural…nothing strange here…just a woman and her slave come to get her things from her estranged husband’s house – and look through all his things for incriminating evidence and private pass codes while she’s at it…that’s all.*

The house was quiet as they stepped into the foyer, no sign of life – or unlife – in sight. They both breathed a huge sigh of relief, though they knew that they were far from safe. Buffy tried to shake the dark feeling of foreboding that had settled over her, reminding herself that Riley’s only source of greater strength than hers had been – well, *hers* -- and even if they *did* run into him, he would not be able to overpower her this time.

Still, she had a vaguely unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach as they made their way up the stairs to the room that had been hers. After all, she *did* actually need to get some things; she couldn’t very well wear the same outfit she had on for the rest of her life.

As she packed her clothes and toiletries into the small travel bag she had brought, a weighted silence fell over them. Buffy’s mind was drawn to the recent memories of this room. The night she had discovered Riley’s first abuse of Spike, and gone down to confront him, only to catch him in the act of infidelity.

Her mood darkened further as she remembered how he had blown it off, insisting that it was normal, and no big deal. After only a few days away from his influence, she wondered how she ever could have accepted that.

She realized all at once that she hadn’t, not really.

Her mood became sad and pensive as she recalled her reaction, her way of dealing with Riley’s hurtful actions – how she had come back up here to her room and used Spike – she *had* used him; there was no other word for what she had done – to ease her own heartache, when he had loved her so much even by then.

Spike could sense that she was troubled, and wanted to help her, but was uncertain of how to go about it. Finally, as she was latching her suitcase shut, she noticed the anxious look he cast her way, and gave him a bravely reassuring smile.

“It’s okay,” she said softly. “I’m okay.” But she would not quite meet his eyes.

“Liar,” he replied gently, and she looked up at him in mild surprise at his frankness – and that was when she saw the pain in *his* eyes – he was remembering, too.

She wanted to apologize, wanted to tell him again how sorry she was for the disregard and careless cruelty with which she had treated his love. But she had already spoken those words, more than once, and knew that it would not help the insecurity she saw in Spike’s eyes to say them again.

But hopefully, she knew something that would.

She set down the suitcase and stepped purposefully toward him, meeting the anxious question rising in his eyes with a reassuring smile -- in the moment before she pulled him into an intense, powerful kiss. It was emphatic -- meaningful -- speaking volumes more than words could have in that moment. He stood very still for just a moment, stunned by the unexpected gesture, before his arms instinctively went around her and he kissed her back, gently, tentatively.

Buffy would have none of that.

She put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him firmly back until his back was to the wall, her mouth desperately searching his, trying to express to him what she could not yet say aloud. She pulled away from the kiss before she needed to, but he was breathless, staring into her eyes with his own wide and shocked by the passion she had displayed.

"I want *you*, Spike. And only you," she told him in a whisper, meeting his eyes openly and searchingly, willing him to see that she truly meant what she was saying. "I want you to know that when I kiss you -- when I touch you -- it's *you* that I'm touching...and no one else."

He had no words; what she had said spoke directly to the need and insecurity that had come back to him with the memories of that first night they had spent, when he had openly confessed his love to her, only to have it ignored, and then forcefully pushed away. The pain of realizing that he had just been a convenient substitute, something there to ease the pain of her feelings for someone else, had almost been more than he could bear.

And now, she was doing everything in her power to undo the damage she had done that night.

It meant more than he could express, and he really had no idea what to say. He looked away from the intensity of her gaze, feeling choked with emotion. She seemed to be waiting for a response, the look in her eyes open and vulnerable, hoping that he would believe her heartfelt attempt to make amends.

He nodded, feeling inexplicably shy at her gentle attention. It still felt very strange to him to have any sort of positive attention focused on him at all. The best a slave could hope for in most cases was to be mostly ignored by his master or mistress. In the past, when he had managed to draw the attention of his owners, it had almost never been a good thing.

Buffy put her hand behind his head and drew him closer, gently guiding him into another soft kiss, her hand gently stroking through his hair, and then coming around to stroke down the side of his face as they parted, her eyes shining with affection. Her lips parted slightly, and a little breath caught in her throat.

He realized suddenly that she wanted to say something, but was having trouble putting it into words – or maybe just bringing herself to say it. He held his breath for a long moment, searching her eyes, waiting – hoping.

When she still said nothing, finally he took pity on her awkwardness and uncertainty. He gave her a soft, disarming smile, shrugging lightly as he stepped back, putting a little bit of distance between them.

“We’d best be going, love. We’ve got incriminating evidence to find, don’t we?” he spoke in a low, teasing tone that almost managed to cover the emotion in his voice.

As he pulled gently away from her, turning toward the door, Buffy opened her mouth to speak, painfully aware that she was missing a precious opportunity to bring them closer to each other, that she was disappointing him by failing to give him what he so desperately craved from her.

But how could she give it when she wasn’t even sure she *had* it to give?

As he stepped through the door into the hallway, she tried to put it out of her mind and followed after him. He was right, after all. They had work to do. The place for soul-searching and trying to make sense of this increasingly complicated relationship and just what it meant to her was in the safety of Willow’s and Tara’s house – not here in the enemy’s den.

Buffy caught up to him, stopping him silently with a hand on his arm, and slipping ahead of him. Though she did not say a word, he knew that she was concerned about his safety, and wanted to go ahead of him to be sure that if they *did* run into Riley – she would run into him first.

They stopped outside the door to Riley’s office, and Buffy glanced anxiously up and down the hall as she reached for the doorknob. No one was in sight. She tried the knob – and found it, surprisingly, unlocked.

“Stupid git,” Spike muttered in derision, and Buffy could not help but smile as she cautiously opened the door.

The room was empty, so they stepped inside, carefully closing the door behind them. No sense inviting unwelcome attention. Buffy moved across the room to a large gray filing cabinet, while Spike went directly to the desk and began inspecting the piles of paperwork that covered it.

The first few folders she went through were nothing of any interest – Riley’s personal financial records, personnel files for his organization, other random paperwork that did not seem very useful. Suddenly, Buffy had a thought, and reached for the personnel file again, opening it and flipping through the papers inside.

A slow smile crossed her lips as she scanned through the stack of profiles, one for every one of Riley’s employees. Information was listed down each page such as their names, birthdates, histories – and pass codes. It only made sense that Riley would have access to that information, so that he could know who was coming and going in his facilities. Buffy smiled to herself.

She was about to get some wanna-be Nazi in serious trouble.

She glanced across at Spike with a smile of triumph. “Paydirt,” she announced – her voice suddenly trailing off at the look on his face.

He was staring down at something on Riley’s desk, his eyes wide with shock, his lips slightly parted and trembling. He did not look up when she spoke to him, just kept his eyes focused on whatever it was that he had found.

“What is it?” she asked softly, setting the folder down on top of the filing cabinet and heading toward him. He still did not respond, as she moved to his side and put a steadying arm around him, looking down as she did to see what it was that he was looking at.

*God, he’s shaking like a leaf!* she thought with alarm, instinctively tightening her arm protectively around him as she picked up the papers that seemed to have caught his attention and given him such a shock.

“What is it?” she asked again, her eyes scanning the official-looking document quickly – then widening in stunned dismay when she realized what she was looking at.

Spike’s ownership papers – signed by Riley Finn as the purchaser.

Buffy’s mind raced back to the day she had bought Spike. *She* had bought him – hadn’t she? *With Riley’s money,* she thought with a sick realization. She could not remembering actually signing anything, herself – because she hadn’t. At the time, it had not seemed all that important.

But now, it was. Life-or-death important.

While she had been reading the dangerous document, Spike’s wide, downcast eyes, focused on the desk, had spotted his own name on yet another piece of paper on the desk, and he picked it up with trembling hands, reading it quickly.

Buffy did not notice until she felt him go completely rigid under her arm, and then nearly collapse, his shaking intensifying. She looked at him in alarm. “What’s wrong? What is it?” she asked, taking the second paper from his hand just as his trembling fingers would have dropped it.

The second document was worse than the first. It was an officially worded report, claiming that Spike had been rebellious and had “not responded to his master’s attempts to discipline him”. It was full of false details, incidents that had never happened, all designed to prove that Spike was a problem – a danger – and ordering his *return* to the training facilities for *re-conditioning*.

The importance of those two words was not lost on Buffy as she read through the paper. So it was as she had suspected. Spike *had* been through the training center before. She had known it, deep down, but had not wanted to believe it. She looked up into his panicked eyes with concern.

Yep. He had been through training. The look in his eyes left no doubt in her mind. And he was clearly terrified of returning there.

Buffy dropped the paper on the desk and turned to put her arms around him completely, just as his shaking legs refused to support him anymore, and he sank down to sit on the edge of Riley’s desk chair, resting his head against her stomach, his hands clutching at her waist.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice a broken sob that tore at her heart. “Please, don’t let him – don’t…” His voice failed him halfway through the desperate plea.

“Shh,” she whispered, one hand coming to rest on the back of his head, the other on his shoulder, as she held him close to her protectively. “I won’t, Spike,” she assured him. “I promise. I’m not gonna let him *touch* you!” Her voice was trembling, but determined. No matter what she had to do, she was not going to let Riley hurt Spike again. She slowly disentangled herself from his desperate embrace, to crouch down in front of him and meet his eyes.

“Spike,” she whispered. “It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

His terrified blue eyes were pleading as he looked up at her, still struggling to catch his breath between sobs. Until now, he had tried not to let her know the horrors he had experienced, but faced with the threat that that simple piece of paper represented, his pride shattered, crushed by overwhelming fear.

“Buffy,” he gasped. “I – I can’t – I can’t go back there! I *can’t*! Please!”

Buffy’s own eyes were wide and serious as she met his, one gentle firm hand moving to the back of his neck, the other reaching out to clasp his hand tightly in hers.

“You’re *not* going to!” she declared clearly and firmly, a promise in her eyes and her voice. “Spike, I will *never* let that happen! Okay?”

He nodded, still shaking, but trying hard to regain control, his free hand rising to rest on her arm.

“I promise, Spike,” she whispered. “I will not let him hurt you.” She paused, seeking his downcast eyes until he reluctantly met her gaze. “Do you believe me?”

He nodded. “Yes,” he whispered, closing his eyes, but she could tell that the response was little more than automatic.

“Spike.” Her tone was gentle, but forceful enough to make him open his eyes again and look at her. “Do you trust me?”

This time his answer was not so immediate, as he stared deep into her eyes for a long moment. Finally, he nodded slowly, his voice a little stronger when he replied, with more conviction than before, “Yes, Buffy. I trust you.”

Buffy nodded slowly, searching his eyes, and seeing something there that satisfied her, as the beginnings of a plan began to form in her head. “Okay. I have an idea,” she said, looking up at Riley’s computer on the desk. “We’re gonna beat that miserable, sadistic bully at his own game!” Her smile became sly and calculating.

He looked up at her in confusion and uncertainty. “We – we have to get out of here, Buffy! What if he comes back? We need to leave!”

“Spike,” her calm, gentle voice stopped his panicky insistence, and he was quiet, waiting for her to go on. “Trust me,” she reminded him softly, leaning in to place a brief, tender kiss on his lips.

When she drew back, he looked at the floor, calmer, but still worried. “He’s gonna be back any minute,” he persisted softly, not meeting her gaze.

But his eyes shot up to hers again when she spoke her next words, her voice sure and strong, with a strange smile on her face.

“I hope so. I’m kind of counting on it.”