Spike did not really know why he went outside in the first place. He just could not stand just sitting there at the table for another moment, as everyone else rushed about, doing what they could to help -- only serving to remind him that he was absolutely helpless to do anything.

He had stepped out the back door onto the porch, just needing to be alone for a few minutes. He knew it was not safe, knew that he could not defend himself if Riley’s men came upon him by surprise, and that if anyone was a target for capture by Riley's men, it was him -- but at the moment, he could not even bring himself to care. Only his worries and insecurities consumed his mind.

He was useless to the woman he loved.

The moment he had stepped outside, his nostrils had flared as his keen senses picked up Anya's scent. She had been here, on the back porch. He felt a chill go down his spine, and a sick feeling to the pit of his stomach, as he began to pick up other scents as well. He did not recognize the specific scents of individuals, but there was no mistaking the odd medicinal tang that always accompanied Riley's heavily drugged men.

Realization hit him suddenly; this was the very spot from which Anya had been taken. His mind raced at the implications of the thought – and the possibilities it allowed. Willow had said that it would take her a couple of hours to track the girl down magically. After that, they would still have to do the glamour on Buffy and get her and Aaron ready to leave.

All a colossal waste of time.

He could not fight, could not actually pull off Anya's rescue himself, he knew that -- but he was still a bloody vampire, right? And it seemed to him that he may have found a way to help, after all.

Buffy did not want him to leave the house – would not let him if she knew he was doing it -- but he knew that he could find Anya much faster than Willow could. And Xander was right -- who among them knew just how much time the girl actually had before Riley’s sadistic men did something terrible to her, something from which she might never recover, whether or not she survived?

The idea hit him all at once: he could track Anya to wherever the soldiers had taken her, then go back to let Buffy and the others know, probably before Willow could even get completely set up to perform the spell. He would show Buffy that he *was* capable of more than just sitting at home and allowing her to protect him like a helpless child.

With barely a second thought, glancing back toward the house to be sure that no one was around to notice his actions, he took off down the porch steps, following Anya’s scent.

It was very late, and the sidewalks were completely deserted as he made his way through Sunnydale’s residential streets, recognizing that the trail was leading him toward one of the town’s many cemeteries. He remembered the original Initiative, and the secret entrance they had had, in the heart of one of Sunnydale’s graveyards, and hurried on, watching carefully around him as he went.

He was all too aware that Riley’s soldiers could be anywhere.

He fought back an overwhelming sense of fear as he stopped at last in front of an old stone crypt in the center of Restfield Cemetery, where the scent seemed to be more heavily concentrated than anyplace he had been yet. He hesitantly reached a hand toward the door, cursing his own fear and weakness at the sight of his own trembling hand.

He was beginning to have very serious doubts about the wisdom of this little self-appointed mission of his. He wished desperately that Buffy was with him, that he had not come out here alone like this. But it was too late to turn back now.

He slowly opened the door, and entered the dark room. His senses were immediately assailed by an even stronger odor of the soldiers, and he felt his mouth go dry with fear, as his stomach lurched inside him, a flood of memories, terrifying and painful, engulfing his mind at the trigger of that scent.

He forced himself to focus on the present. His past ordeal did not matter; all that mattered was finding Anya. The soldiers had been here, very recently. And judging by the intricate layers of scent, some stronger than others, apparently more often than just tonight. It seemed that for whatever reason, Riley’s men made frequent visits to this place.

As he did not see any sign of Anya or the soldiers at the moment, he reasoned that there must be an entrance to one of Riley’s facilities somewhere in this crypt. That was the only thing that would explain such a strong scent, concentrated in this area. He walked slowly through the musty, dark room, looking for any clue that might indicate where the entrance was.

He was feeling more and more ill at ease with each moment, aware that if this *was* the entrance that he sought, he had no way of knowing when soldiers would be coming or going again.

He tried to focus his senses, picking out traces of Anya’s scent over the mingling scents of the others, old and new, that filled this place, overwhelming his senses, and found with surprise that her scent led him to one of three tombs that were housed by the old stone building. He noticed with rising interest that the one he was looking at was newer than the others, not as dilapidated, uncracked and untarnished by time.

It had been placed there rather recently.

With very little effort, he slid the top back a bit, trying to be as quiet as he could, flinching a bit when it made a grating sound that echoed in the stillness, freezing completely for a few moments as he waited for any reaction from – anywhere. When there was no response to the sound, he pushed it back a bit more and peered inside – intrigued and gratified by what he saw.

The tomb was empty – bottomless, in fact. It opened up into a long, black tunnel, with a ladder on the side leading down into the darkness. And far below, at least sixty or seventy feet down, was a bright light. Something was down there. He stood there for a moment, hesitating, unsure if he should go down there or not.

Anya had been taken down there; he knew it. He took a deep breath, and swung one leg over the edge, his foot searching for the first rung of the ladder, a bit blinded by the brightness from below him.

Suddenly, he was seized with panic as he felt a strong hand on his shoulder, yanking him backward off of the edge of the tomb and onto the stone floor beside it, and spinning him around to face his assailant. He jerked away from the hand on his shoulder, struggling blindly as two strong hands gripped his arms to restrain him, unable to see in the darkness, his eyes still partially adjusted to the light from the tomb.

“Spike! Stop it!”

The familiar, beautiful voice was harsh and angry, but still flooded his heart with overwhelming relief. His struggles ceased instantly, and he found himself gasping for breath, leaning unconsciously forward into her hands.

“Buffy,” he gasped. “God, Buffy, I thought…the soldiers…” His voice choked off in a sob of relief.

“*You* thought?” she snapped, and he flinched slightly at the fury in her trembling voice. His eyes were re-adjusting to the darkness, but he still did not dare look up at her as she went on. “My God, Spike, *I* thought they’d caught you! I thought Riley had you! He would *kill* you Spike, do you understand that?”

Her emotions were gradually escalating out of control as she spoke, her voice rising, heedless of any possibly listening ears. Now that she had found him, safe and sound, her fears were consumed with relief, and all that was left was her anger at his foolishness, the terrible risk he had taken.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, fighting back tears, aware now of just how dangerous his actions had been, feeling utterly ashamed for the terror he had obviously caused her. “I – I just thought…”

“You thought what, Spike? You thought you’d just come out here and risk getting caught…risk your…your *life*, for…for what, Spike?” Her voice was shaking dangerously, and he knew she was on the verge of tears.

He did not respond, his head turned slightly away from her, eyes downcast as he swallowed hard, his jaw working with emotion that he tried to hold back. Her tone revealed the fury that he knew he would see in her eyes as well, if he dared to chance a look. She was every bit the Slayer in all her fury at having her dearest love threatened – even if he had been the one to place himself in danger.

When he did not answer, she shook him slightly, demanding tearfully, “Damn it, Spike, answer me! What the *hell* did you think you were doing?”

The anguish and fear in her voice hit him harder than a blow would have, though he knew better than to expect one from her at this point. Still, he flinched, his lips trembling as he opened his mouth to speak, though he was unable to find the words, his tears released in response to her anger.

Finally, he whispered, “I – I just thought – I could find her…faster than – than the spell…” He paused, not sure what else to say, knowing that despite the fact that she did not know yet – that his search had been successful – it had still been a very reckless thing to do.

A lot of good his finding her would have done, if he had been captured and killed and never returned to tell Buffy about it.

“I’m sorry,” he finally replied in an aching whisper, tears streaking his face. “I’m sorry, Buffy…”

His tears, the misery in his voice, brought an ache of tears to her throat, her chest, as she stared at him, the anger slowly draining out of her. *God, I almost lost him tonight,* she thought, the idea more terrifying than any she could have conceived of. Her vision blurred as the tears rose to her eyes, and her grip on his arms eased, as she pulled him into her arms, sobbing softly in her relief.

A different sort of relief filled him, at her sudden tenderness, and he broke down too, clinging to her desperately, grateful for the concern that had driven her anger. For a few moments, they just stayed there on the floor, holding each other, crying out the tension and fear of the past few hours.

After a little while, Buffy slowly pushed him back, holding him by the arms and looking him in the eyes, her own still glimmering with tears. “Don’t you *ever* do that to me again…okay?” she whispered, but the words were more a plea than a command.

He shook his head, swallowing back the last of his tears. “I’m sorry, Buffy. I just wanted to – to help you. I just feel so – so useless, Buffy! I hate that I can’t…that I can’t be with you...”

Understanding came over her, as she realized exactly what it was that had motivated his reckless actions. She had not really given it much thought, what it would be like to be in as helpless a position as his. She tried to put herself in his place, and knew that it would absolutely kill her to watch him go into a life or death battle with only a stranger for help, and be utterly unable to help him.

“I know,” she said quietly, her eyes softening on him as the truth dawned on her. “And you know that there is no one I would rather have with me when I go in there than you. When all this is over, Spike…we’re gonna find a way to get rid of that stupid chip – and you’re never gonna have to stay behind again,” she promised.

He nodded silently, his expression grim, not really daring to hope that there was a chance of that – not after so long.

Buffy studied his face for a long moment, realizing that there was very little she could say to make the situation any easier for him. He wanted to go with her, and he simply couldn’t. Nothing she could say could change that.

She carefully got to her feet, reaching down to help him rise with her, before her eyes fell on the open tomb beside them. Her head tilted slightly with interest as she leaned slightly over it, looking down at the light beneath them. Her eyes widened as she turned to face him.

“What’s down there?” she asked, with a whisper of almost child-like excitement.

He shrugged, a grim expression on his face. “Don’t know, really. But they took Anya down there.”

“How do you know?” She was curious.

“Smelled her, love. She’s been here. And Riley’s men. Lots of them. Come here all the time from what I can tell,” he informed her.

She stared at him for a moment, something like wonder in her eyes. “Wow,” she said softly, “I’m impressed.”

“ ‘S nothing,” he shrugged again, a bit self-consciously.

She moved in closer to him, surprising him by capturing his lips in a sudden, intense kiss. At first he simply allowed her to kiss him, too troubled by his various thoughts to let himself enjoy it. But after a moment or two, he found himself responding, kissing her back deeply, letting his arms move slowly around her.

She drew back after a few moments, smiling warmly into his eyes and saying, “Don’t ever think you’re useless again, Honey. ‘Cause you’re not.” She paused, her voice lowering, speaking slowly and intently as she added, “You are *everything* to me.”

He met her eyes for a long moment, too overwhelmed to speak, before finally breaking eye contact with a little self-conscious smile.

The smile was wiped from his face in the next instant, with the sound of a stranger’s voice from the doorway.

“Aww…are we interrupting something? Cause we could come back later.”

They both turned to face the source of the mocking voice, an armed soldier standing at the door to the crypt, his burly form framed in the moonlight from outside. As he moved slowly into the room, he was followed by several others.

“Actually,” the soldier amended with a cold smile, raising his weapon and taking aim at the Slayer. “We’d better do this now.”