Buffy stood beside the bed, staring down at the sleeping vampire who lay there, a peaceful, contented smile on his lips as he slept. She could hardly believe that he had remained asleep, through the preparations she had been making during the last few minutes.

Preparations to make right the damage she had done to him by allowing things to go this far; preparations to take what he had given her and use it to make him give up on her once and for all…

To do what she had brought him here to do in the first place…

To leave him.

The fact that his sharp vampire senses had not caused him to awaken as she had gently rolled him off of her, onto his back, and bound him to the bed again with the handcuffs, was surprising to her. Even when she had lifted his head to replace the blindfold over his eyes, his sleep had not been disturbed – and as much as she tried to deny it, she knew what his deep, peaceful sleep despite her actions spoke of.

His trust in her.

Whatever she was doing to him, even in his sleep, his senses revealed only *her* presence – no one else’s – and he therefore accepted that he was safe, trusting her not to hurt him.

He never even stirred, his expression peaceful and untroubled, blissfully oblivious – no doubt lost in dreams of the night before, when she had finally declared her love for him, the love that she knew now was real and genuine, fulfilling the dreams he had longed to come true, for the past two years.

Only to dash them now.

Gazing down through a sheen of tears at the breathtaking form that she longed for, even now – remembering his tender, heartfelt declaration of devotion the night before – Buffy felt the edges of her resolve beginning to crumble under the sweet weight of the memory.

*No,* she told herself in a mental tone of angry frustration. *No, you have to do this! You have to show him once and for all that you don’t deserve his trust – or his love! What you’re about to do just proves it – he deserves so much better than what you have left to offer him.*

Buffy took the tiny silver key in her hand and reached down to press it into the sleeping vampire’s palm, gently closing his fingers around it – allowing her hand to cradle his a moment longer than she had to. She had removed the spell from the enchanted handcuffs a few moments earlier, allowing them to be opened with a key like any other handcuffs, and by anyone.

She would not have the chance to tell Spike about the change, the significance of the key he would find in his hand.

She would not have to. He was smart; he would figure it out.

She envisioned the scene that would take place in this room a few hours from now, when Spike woke up, a slow, deep ache building in her chest as the images played out in her mind.

When he awoke, he would probably call for her, as soon as he realized the position he was in again. At first, he would probably try not to believe that she had actually left him there – that she could do that to him, after what they had shared – the fears he had confessed to her – the night before. He would probably try to wait it out, try to believe that she was coming back for him – that this was just another test of his trust.

Except – it was not.

In time, he would come to the painful realization that she had actually left him there, with no plans of coming back to him. The fact that he was in *her* room would not ever serve to protect him from her desertion. She had it all planned out so that she would not have to return to the room until after *he* would have to leave.

It was so viciously, chillingly simple.

She had taken the deepest fears that he had confessed to her, making himself more utterly vulnerable to her than he had ever been, and was using those fears to destroy his hope of ever knowing her love – to make him see that she did not even know *how* to love anymore.

*Shouldn’t he have known it by now, anyway?* she thought with bitter self-loathing. *After the way I’ve treated him…*

He would know it by morning.

Buffy had a plan. Leave the house now, go patrol until morning. Work off some of the frustration at her own state of hopeless screwed-up-ness – her pain at giving up the only thing in her life at the moment that brought her any shred of happiness – her utter rage at herself for doing what she was about to do to someone who loved her so completely, so purely, with such a breathtaking intensity that, for a few moments each night, actually made her *glad* to be alive again.

And she was throwing it away.

She had an early shift at the Doublemeat Palace that day, so she would be kept away from the house from the moment she left – any moment now – until that afternoon. Surely he couldn’t hold out *that* long. Surely he would give up on her, release himself from the handcuffs, and leave her home – never to waste his time with the girl who had so cruelly shattered his heart again.

It was vicious, and brutal, and would break his heart.

But not as much as spending the rest of *her* life, loving someone who was no longer capable of real love.

No – she had to leave him.

She resolutely turned her back, moving toward the door to her bedroom – only to freeze in the doorway. She couldn’t seem to make herself take that step, out of the room and into the hallway.

*Go on. Just go patrol. That’s easy enough, right? And when you get back – he’ll be gone. He’ll have had to come to terms with the fact that you don’t love him – that you only said it to hurt him now – and he’ll be shocked and devastated – into moving on. He’ll be gone, and you’ll *both* have to move on. Just go – he’ll be gone when you get home.*

He would have to be – she had deliberately left her bedroom curtains open.

At the very latest, at sunrise, he would have no choice, as he felt the deadly hour approaching, to accept that she had left him there, and was not coming back; to free himself, and thus acknowledge the breaking of the trust he had held for her.

He *would* free himself, when it came to that – wouldn’t he?

Suddenly worried, against her will, Buffy found her legs turning her around, leading her across the room and to the chair need the foot of the bed. She brushed tears from her eyes, clearing her vision to take in one last, yearning look at the amazing creature that, soulless and dead, loved her more deeply and freely than anyone ever had in her life.

*I really don’t have to go *yet*,* she told herself. *There’s plenty of time. Just – a few more minutes…*

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

Hours passed in sweet dreams that had become his reality, as Spike slept deeply, utterly exhausted from the emotional roller coaster the Slayer had put him through that night. But gradually, the bed began to cool in the absence of Buffy’s warm body – and the blonde vampire gradually became aware, as he drifted back toward wakefulness, that he was alone in the bed.

Drowsily he moved to reach for her, to pull her back to him – only to find that he could not move his arms. He awakened fully then, with the troubling realization that he was once again tied to the bed. He opened his eyes to try to find Buffy…

*Right. Back to *this* game, then…*

“Buffy?” he called softly in a quiet but calm voice, still hoarse and heavy with sleep.

The Slayer in the chair froze – though it was an unnecessary reaction. She had realized a couple of hours ago that Spike could very well wake up before she could find the strength to go – a task that seemed to be getting harder by the moment – and had employed one of the spells Willow had shown her to mask her presence from the vampire’s senses.

He could not hear any sound she made, smell her, or even see her, had the blindfold not made that point moot, anyway. There was no way that he could possibly know that she was….

“I know you’re here, love.”

That rich, warm voice, full of such intense desire and affection, filled her ears, and Buffy stood up quickly, eyes wide with surprise. How could he possibly…?

“Thought I’d forget that little trick of Red’s from the graveyard, did you? Not likely, pet. I know you’re still here with me. You wouldn’t leave me. Not – not after last night…”

Buffy felt her heart go still for a moment, at the calm, simple assurance mingled with the emotion in his voice. After everything she had put him through, and not only tonight, he still had such a confidence in her feelings – such a trust in her – her *goodness* - as to believe, in spite of what his senses were telling him, that she had kept her promise of the night before, and had not left him, as he had begged her not to.

And the funny thing was – she *was* still there, wasn’t she? she realized with a bitter feeling of tragic irony. She had stayed here for hours, just watching him sleep, after the hours they had already spent together this night -- the sun would be up in a very short time, and she needed to be gone when he unchained himself and got up.

And yet here she sat -- somehow unable to tear herself away from his side.

That thought spurred her to action, and she headed with determination toward the door. The fact that he still trusted her was reason enough for her to get on with this. Because, for him to still place so much faith in her, when she was capable of doing to him what she was about to, was terribly dangerous – for *him*.

“Buffy?” The slightly questioning note in his voice halted her, a few feet from the door, as she turned to look at him, wondering briefly if her spell had failed – if he really *knew* that she was still there.

His next words soothed that fear – but weighted her heart with the heaviness of guilt.

“I know you’re still trying to make me think you’re not here, love…I don’t expect you to respond, or show yourself – not yet – but I just wanna tell you,” Spike went on, in a quiet, conversational tone touched with a note of awed gratitude. “I never thought – I mean…”

Buffy watched with wide, tear-filled eyes, as Spike swallowed hard in an effort to control his powerful emotions, before going on with a soft, self-deprecating little smile.

“I know I don’t deserve you, love. I know I’m nothing but a monster, and I never expected you to love me. But – just to hear you say it – to know that you…” His voice grew shaky, then trailed off toward the end, as he fought to regain his composure again before finishing softly, “Thank you, Buffy. You have no idea how much – how much it means…”

Buffy stood there, very still, as ingle word from his heart-felt statement reverberating in her mind.

*Monster…*he’s* the monster? I’m the one who’s deliberately breaking his heart! I’m the one who’s capable of telling someone I love them, only to use those words to devastate their dreams and make their worst fears come true! Human – demon – whatever I am now -- *I’m* the monster!*

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

Buffy did not respond to his words – but Spike knew she was there.

She *had* to be.

He had poured out his heart to her the night before, given her his body, his mind, everything that he had – placed it in her hands for her to do with as she would. And she had given him her love in return. He had confessed to her his deepest fears – and he knew that if she truly loved him as she said, she could not then proceed to make those fears reality.

No – she was there. He knew she was.

The tiny silver key he was absently turning in his hand was proof to him that this was simply another test. She had masked her presence, like she had done back in the graveyard; she was silently waiting, waiting for him to give in – to believe the fearful voices at the edges of his mind, whispering dubious warnings – to believe that she had abandoned him, and release himself from the handcuffs.

But he knew that the moment he did, she would reveal herself to him, would tell him that he had just proven that he did not trust her, even after her admission of her love for him, and that therefore she *obviously* could not be with him.

It did not really come as a surprise. Buffy had been terrified for so long of the words she had spoken last night – just because she had finally found the strength to say them once did not mean that she would not have panicked second thoughts – and those panicked second thoughts did not mean that she had not meant the words in the first place.

He knew this was not going to be easy for Buffy – but he was willing to do whatever it took to reassure her, to go along with whatever little game she felt was necessary, if only it could convince her that she was safe in giving him her heart.

It was a precious, priceless gift – and he had no intention of relinquishing it.

Yeah. She was just a bit skittish – nervous – needing one last proof of his trust in her.

That was it.

Still – the silence that met his words was, at best, terribly unsettling.

“Buffy?” he repeated her name softly into the silence, but gained no response. He released a quiet sigh of resignation, relaxing back against the bed.

“You know this isn’t necessary, right, pet?” he said after a moment, resignation and gentle understanding mingled in his calm voice. “You know I’m going to pass this bloody test of yours, just like I passed all the others – and you’re gonna see that I *do* trust you, Buffy. With my life. With my heart. I – I’d think you’d know it by now, pet. There’s not a bloody thing I’ve got that I’d withhold from you.”

The poignant, utterly sincere words sent a stab of remorse through Buffy’s heart – but still, she made no move to stop him. He paused, a pensive frown visible on his face, even under the blindfold – and Buffy tried again to make her legs carry her out the door – to no avail, as he began to speak again.

“All right then. If you’re not feeling talkative – I’ll talk. I’ve got a little theory I’d like to try out on you, pet. You wanna know what I think this is all about?” Spike asked softly, and Buffy saw the hint of a smirk on his lips, and suddenly knew exactly why.

If she was pretending not to be there, she couldn’t very well stop him from speaking his mind, could she? Whether she wanted to or not, for once she could not interrupt him.

*Get out of here, Buffy!* she told herself, a warning sensation making her stomach roll. She was quite certain she did not want to hear what he had to say.

But she could not make herself move.

“See, I think,” Spike began slowly, his smug smile fading away to a solemn, thoughtful expression. “I think – this isn’t so much about testing *me* - as it is about testing *you*. I’m not the one who’s got a problem trusting you, pet. It’s you. You don’t trust *yourself*.”

He paused again, thinking through his next comment, before he spoke with utter certainty, hitting the mark with deadly accuracy.

“I’m not the one who’s afraid of what you might do -- what you're capable of, pet. You are.”