Buffy stood frozen to her spot, her eyes wide, welling with fresh tears that she refused to let fall. She couldn’t seem to move, no matter how hard she tried – so she just stood there, listening to the vampire’s painfully perceptive assessment of the situation.

“See – and correct me if I’m wrong here, pet, or if I overstep my bounds…and at this point I almost hope I do, just to hear your bloody voice, love -- even if it's screamin' at me,” Spike confessed in a casual voice that never-the-less held a note of vulnerable uncertainty that caught at her heart, “but I think it happened kind of like this…”

“See – I think it all started, like it does for a lot of people. Like it did for me. When you fell for the wrong person, pet. Of course, *you* were still barely more than a child at the time – not the capable woman that you are now – and the wanker managed to talk a good game – came over all dark and mysterious, bleedin’ strong and silent type – which in his case basically just translates to ‘great big boring poof who has the creepy tendencies of constant brooding and stalking little girls!”

“But you’d never been with anyone before, and he managed to come across all noble, tortured, tragic hero…how in the bloody hell were you supposed to see through it, you were a soddin’ sixteen-year-old! The pervy ponce!”

Buffy laughed softly through the tears that had fallen, against her will, to streak her face. A bittersweet smile crept over her face as she thought back to the time Spike was talking about, and her ‘first love’. Spike’s words *did* have the ring of truth to them – but she had never thought of her relationship with Angel in quite the negative light that he presented it before, and it was difficult to think of the dark, brooding vampire as being wrong simply for wanting to be with her…

She knew that Spike could not hear her laughter or see her reaction, but when he laughed softly, seemingly in respone, she looked up at him sharply in surprise – realizing a moment later that he had not heard her, but had only guessed…correctly…at her reaction to his words, and responded accordingly.

“It’s the truth, pet. You know it. The Niblet’s almost the same age you were when you were with Angel.”

Buffy gasped softly in surprised realization that it was true. Her eyes suddenly narrowed in anger at the very thought, the images that his words evoked. If some 200-year-old vampire – souled or not – got it in his head to go after Dawn…he would meet a quick, dusty end.

Or not so quick, if he got to Dawn before she got to him.

“Yeah,” Spike chuckled deeply, again giving her the odd sensation of feeling as if he had read her thoughts, though she knew he hadn’t. “Puts a whole new spin the the ‘noble souled vamp’ thing, don’t it, love? The way I see it -- *Angel’s* the one what should have known about his own curse – what would happen if he got too happy. *He* should have had the control to keep his hands to himself. He’s the one that’s responsible for unleashing Angelus on you and yours, and the world for that matter – and if he got sent to hell in the process, then maybe it’s what he deserved!”

Buffy flinched at the reminder of that painful time in her life, her eyes downcast as she sniffed back tears, though she continued calmly listening as Spike went on.

Spike’s voice had softened when he spoke again, relenting slightly, “I’m sorry, pet. Don’t mean to be so bloody frank about it – really wish you’d say something so I’d know what you think of all this,” he sighed, “but I've thought a lot about this...and here's what I think. When Glory’s portal opened, supposedly to the hell dimension she came from – and you saved us all, you went to heaven. Because no matter where the soddin' portal was supposed to lead to, you *deserved* to go to heaven for your sacrifice…”

His voice lowered, barely over a whisper, as he added in a tone of surprising conviction tinged with anger, “and you deserved to *stay* there….”

“But…my point is, pet,” he continued after a moment, “Didn’t seem to much matter that Glory’s portal was supposed to lead to a hell dimension. I figure one soddin’ mystic portal’s the same as the next – and I figure if Angel’s *soul* hadn’t deserved hell – it wouldn’t have gone there. *You* didn’t have much to do about it either way, short of doing what you had to and saving the world.”

Buffy’s eyes widened, and she suddenly felt a bit unsteady on her feet, with the force of such a life-altering thought. She realized suddenly that has he had been speaking, she had been slowly making her way back across the room toward him, without realizing it; and now, she stood before the chair in which she had been sitting before.

Staring off at the wall, she sank slowly back into the chair, her eyes distant and a bit unfocused as her mind tried to process the idea that she might *not* have been responsible for what she saw to be the first of many terrible mistakes, serious hardships she had caused those that she loved.”

Angel’s losing his soul – all the horrific crimes he had committed during that time -- his subsequent condemnation to hell – was it possible that it was *not* all her fault, after all?

“It wasn’t your fault,” Spike said softly. “Nothing you could have done. But your friends – your Watcher – made you feel like it was, because you were the one that loved him, and it was your love that was the catalyst to his losing his soul.” He paused, before stating with certainty, “And that one thing’s affected the way you see yourself – the way you see your ability to love – ever since.”

“It’s like I said, pet. You don’t trust yourself. You’re afraid of what you – your *love* -- is capable of. So, you’re afraid to get too close, Buffy – afraid to let yourself go and love someone else – since the first time went so badly.”

Spike’s voice was gentle, sad, as he went on, “It wasn’t your fault – but there’s something inside you that keeps telling you that if you do it – if you love again – something terrible is going to happen. You’re going to hurt the one you dare to give yourself to – or someone else – without meaning to. Or you’re not going to be -- *enough* for them. You’re going to make a mistake – and it’s going to be the end of the soddin’ world.”

“And it’s all lies, pet,” he shook his head with a sad, ironic smile. “All lies. The truth is – how many times have you *saved* this bloody ungrateful world? How many choices have you made that have protected the ones you love? The few you let close to you are safer than anybody else on the bloody planet, pet! How could they not be, with an amazing warrior woman like you looking after them? You’ve done more good than any one person I know – any *Slayer* ever – and yet you blame yourself for every little mistake…”

Buffy just sat there, quietly falling apart in the chair, tears streaming down her face, choking back sobs, as his perceptive words struck right to the heart of the secret fears and insecurities that had haunted her for years.

God, he was *right*!

How could he read her so well, see her so clearly – always? Even when she did everything in her power to hide herself from him?

“I’ve seen you with the ones you love, Buffy. And your love – is *amazing*.” Spike’s voice was low and intense, and held a slight tremor of emotion, as he swallowed hard before speaking again, a desperate, yearning sound to his voice, “If you’d just let yourself feel it again – if you’d not be afraid of it -- *trust* yourself to love again…”

Spike’s voice trailed off again, and he shook his head momentarily at a loss for words, before he remarked in a voice that was little more than a whisper, “Really wish you’d give me some little crumb here, pet…something to let me know you’re…listening.”

Earlier in the evening, Buffy would have pounced on the too-cautious wording, the hesitation that revealed the doubt that was starting to slip into the vampire’s mind. He had been about to say "here", and had changed it to "listening" at the last moment. In the predatory mode she had been in all night, she would have clutched at that tiny shred of weakness in his faith in her, and thrown it in his face for all it was worth.

Now, she did not even notice it, lost in her own private battle of wills, caught between courage and fear.

“Just step out on a limb here, Buffy, and try to trust yourself again.” Spike paused, before adding in a slightly lighter tone, his voice still quiet and trembling slightly, “*I* do – I’m lying here chained to your bed, running my soddin’ mouth about things that you probably don’t wanna hear, saying things that’ll make you wanna stake me if they don’t change your mind.”

He was silent again for a moment, hoping for a response – which of course, he did not receive. He released a weary sigh, before going on softly in a voice of uncertainty, a soft vulnerability in his wistful words.

“Sure wish you’d say something, pet. Anything. Wish I knew what you were thinking. I wish…”

His voice broke off there, surprising the Slayer out of her painful reverie with the choked little sound on the end. Buffy looked up to see that Spike’s jaw was working with some repressed emotion, as he pulled slightly – without even realizing he was doing it – against the handcuffs that bound him to the bed.

Then, suddenly, the vampire stopped struggling, his arms relaxing onto the mattress, though it seemed more a gesture of defeat than of acceptance. And then, in the next moment, to Buffy’s dismay, his shoulders began to shake, and he released a soft, shuddering breath, finally giving in to the painful emotions that he had been trying to suppress as he had given her his imploring appeal.

After all – there was no one there to hear him, was there?

“Wish I – I knew you were – still here,” he finished weakly in an aching, heartbroken whisper, finally making the admission he had held himself back from allowing only moments before.

And Buffy’s heart stopped for a moment, as she stared at him, eyes wide with horror and flooding with tears.

Because she had finally done what she had set out to do.

Spike was right. She had been running from what she was feeling, too afraid to face the possible effects of the frighteningly deep emotions that had been building inside her for Spike – too afraid of what *might* happen to allow herself to experience the boundless possibilities of what *could* happen. She was the Slayer – she was not supposed to let fear stop her from acting when she knew she needed to.

Spike was right. It was time she started learning to trust herself again.

But she was right, too, she thought with a cold certainty settling in the pit of her stomach, as her mind registered the last words that Spike had spoken. She was right -- *now*.

He *didn’t* trust her – not anymore.

He was still speaking to her, his voice broken and tearful, but she knew that he did not believe she could actually hear him.

“You promised me, Buffy,” he choked out, in a voice that was almost a sob, pain and wounded anger in his words. “I bloody well told you what it would mean – what it would do to me – and you promised me you’d be here…”

She hadn’t, really, she noted numbly. She had merely asked him again – “Do you trust me?”

She hadn’t *promised* anything.

*Please, Buffy!* she snapped at herself in disgust in her mind. *Quit trying to excuse your *disgusting* actions! You knew what he thought you were saying, what he would assume, you heartless bitch! You don’t deserve him!*

*But -- isn't that the whole *point*?* she asked herself weakly, confusion mounting within her.

“I know – I know you wouldn’t…know you wouldn’t…leave me, Buffy,” he gasped out in a hoarse, painful whisper. “Know you’re here…gotta be here…” he sobbed in broken desperation.

She wanted nothing more than to get up – to go to him and take the key from his hand and loose the bonds that held them both in torment. But something held her back. She realized in a moment of clarity what it was.

She knew that if she walked to that bed and unlocked those handcuffs – if she set him free before he freed himself – it would not be simply relenting on the test and calling it quits. No, it would not be the end, not at all.

It would be the beginning.

She had told him how she felt the night before, and she had told him the truth. But if she could get him to give in now, if she could win this, and make him walk out on *her* -- as he seemed so near to doing – then she could forget she had ever spoken those life-changing words. She would never have to follow through on her admission, and would be free to get over it, move on, and go on with her life.

Well – without the forgetting, getting over, and moving on parts.

She noticed suddenly with alarm that he was writhing slowly, feverishly on the bed, gasping for breath, and seemed to be in physical discomfort, as if the emotional agony she had heaped upon him was not torment enough.

What suffering he had earned with his love for her!

Realization struck her as her stomach sank with a sick feeling, when she glanced toward the window and saw the faint grey light of dawn in the east. Her eyes returned to the vampire on the bed, fastening on his hand – clenched into a tight fist around the tiny silver key that would save his life.

She rose to go to him, forcing her numb body to respond to the orders her mind and heart were screaming at her.

*Get over there! Get him out of those chains, *now*!*

But she froze when his voice rang out again, anguished and aching with sorrow as he cried, “I love you, Buffy! Doesn’t matter what you do to me! Doesn’t matter if you leave me here to burn! I love you! And nothing you can do can make me *not* love you, no matter how hard you try!”

Her eyes widened, as a desperate, heaving sob rose up in her throat at the awesome power of his simple, heartfelt words. Her eyes moved to the tight fist that held the key – stunned to see a tiny trickle of blood coursing out from the closed hand, down the chained wrist and the sinewy, tightly flexed arm below it.

And suddenly, she understood.

Yes, she had finally managed through her cruelty and utter disregard for his emotions, to convince him that she was capable of abandoning him, even after the sweet intimacy they had shared the night before. The painful lesson she had set out to teach him had been learned well.

But -- there was still some part of him, deep down, no matter how badly she had hurt him, that was still clinging to the belief that she *was* there -- that no matter what she was capable of, she could not leave him here, forced to make a cruel, impossible choice.

Forced to choose between his own death in the morning sunlight -- or acknowledging that the cherished words she had spoken to him the night before had been nothing more than a vicious lie.

It was quite clear, in this moment, which of the two options he would choose.

Some part of him, deep down, despite his doubts and fears, had to believe that she would yet come to his aid – and refused to use the key in his hand to free himself, no matter what the cost.

If it cost him his life – he would not give up on her.