“Spike! Get up! Use the key!”

She was practically screaming the words in her panic, as she suddenly became painfully aware of the danger to the vampire – the danger she had never imagined could have mattered so much to her. It took Buffy a moment to remember that he still could not hear her, because of the spell that masked her presence from his senses.

Suddenly, her concerns and fears about what it would mean to them if she were to free him, to end this challenge that had spun so terrifyingly far out of control, did not seem to matter anymore. All she knew was that she could not allow Spike to sacrifice his life out of his love for her.

A love that she absolutely did not deserve.

“Buffy,” he whispered her name in desperation, his voice thick with tears, but she knew by now that he did not really expect a response.

Not anymore.

“If you don’t want me…if you’d do that to me…I’d rather dust…if you’re here, you’ll let me up…or I’ll meet the sunrise…but I haven’t come this far to fail your soddin’ test now!”

The broken anguish in his voice tore at her heart, but not as much as the despair, the agony of fear she heard there, that his words were to be heard by no one but himself.

And yet – he held on.

He was on the verge of accepting that she had done as he had begged her not to, and abandoned him here, even after speaking the words that he had pleaded with her not to, unless she was willing to follow it up with her actions. He was almost to the point where his trust would be completely shattered, and he would accept the fact that she was not worthy of it.

Almost.

Something deep within him still held on to the hope that every sense he possessed, every reasonable thought in his mind, was lying to him, and that she had *not* left him – that she *did* love him.

And he would keep holding onto that – until his ashes were all that remained as the proof that he had been wrong.

Stumbling in her haste, her body suddenly feeling clumsy and too heavy, Buffy made her way across the few feet that separated them, trembling hands reaching for the shaking fist that clutched the key.

She was stunned when he did not yield to her touch, did not allow her to open his clenched hand – until she remembered that he would not be able to feel her, either, because of her spell. To him, it must have just seemed that it was his own physical or emotional weakness that was compelling him to open his hand and release the key.

“No,” he whispered, shaking his head weakly, and confirming her speculations. “No…bloody well won’t do it…love you, Buffy…gonna prove it…love you so much…”

Tears streamed from her eyes as she cried, “God, Spike, *give it to me*!” Her unheard words were almost a scream in her panicked frustration.

*The spell – gotta end the spell – what’re the words? Oh, God!*

Buffy’s mind raced, struggling to come up with the simple Latin phrase that would reveal her continued presence to the vampire who was so desperately hoping for just such a miracle – but in her confusion and fear she couldn’t remember them.

“I love you, Buffy…love you…love you so much…” he repeated over and over in a soft, distant sort of whisper.

Buffy’s alarm increased at the almost delirious sound of his haunted voice. *Oh God – just how far did I push him?* she wondered with frantic horror. *How could I – oh why didn’t I stop…? Please…please…please…* she thought desperately as she tried again, uselessly, to pry Spike’s fist open and retrieve the key.

A sudden flash of common sense broke through her mindless panic, as the answer to her silent prayer. In her consuming terror, the simplest solution for the moment had not even occurred to her.

*Close the curtains, Buffy…stupid, stupid, stupid…*

She left his side, rushing to draw the curtains shut – just as the first rays of bright morning sun began to appear over the horizon. Spike’s half-crazed murmured words suddenly ceased at the sound of the drapes being drawn, and in the stillness that suddenly filled the room, Buffy’s own ragged breathing and choked sobs of mingled pain, guilt, and sheer relief, were the only thing she could hear.

She clutched desperately at the windowsill in order to keep herself from collapsing to the floor, as an overwhelming feeling of sick horror and shame came over her at the realization of what she had almost allowed to happen.

“Buffy?”

The single whispered word, spoken with an aching, desperate hope, from the vampire on the bed, drew Buffy’s attention, and she turned with an effort to face him. He was lying perfectly still, his feverishly restless stirrings ceased in an instant as he realized that he was not – could not be – alone in the room.

But the uncertainty, the heartbreaking vulnerability in his voice told her that he was not completely convinced that *she* was the one who had drawn the curtains and saved his life -- the life that would not have been in danger had she not seen fit to put him through a battery of cruel, vicious tests that, in the end, had only served to prove his love for her more fully.

“Buffy?” he repeated, his voice trembling, but a bit stronger. “Are you – are you there, pet?”

Now that the threat had passed, ironically, the Latin words to end the spell came easily to Buffy’s mind. She opened her mouth to speak them, to end this savage charade, but could not seem to form the words. A sudden shame, a fear of facing this creature of awesome love, whom she had so cruelly broken, overwhelmed her – and the thought of his seeing her, sensing her, was dreadful and terrifying.

But she could not hide any longer.

Her refusal to face the truth – to acknowledge her own feelings and insecurities – was what had nearly destroyed Spike tonight.

She whispered the Latin words into the still silence of the room – and Spike froze completely, drawing in a sharp gasp of shock as the overwhelming signature of her presence made its imprint on his senses again.

All at once, he could hear her frantically pounding heartbeat, the rapid, shuddering breaths that she was drawing in – could smell the powerful scent of her fear, the cold sweat she had broken out in moments before at the thought of his losing his life to her foolishness.

And above it all, that strange sixth sense that allowed his demon to sense the presence of its mortal enemy – the Slayer – renewed in him that odd combination of primal, natural fear and the thrill of excitement and need that always fell upon him when he knew she was near.

And then, the feel of her soft, hot, but dangerously shaking hands on his, as she gently tried again to pry his hand open and retrieve the key to the handcuffs.

“Buffy?” he asked, though he already knew it was her, his voice breaking slightly over her name. He knew she was there, but needed to hear her voice, to prove to himself that it was real, and not just a cruel trick his desperate mind and heart were playing on him. “Buffy, love?”

“Yes,” she whispered, in a voice so soft and scared he barely caught it – would not have had he been human. “I’m here. I’m here, Spike…”

And Spike completely fell apart.

Violent shudders of relief and the fear, the deep sorrow and heartache that he had tried to repress while he had been trying to convince himself that he had not been abandoned by her, coursed through him, shaking his body. Hoarse, ragged sobs shook through him, as he realized that she had been there, the whole time – just as a part of him had always known she would be.

Buffy’s hands were shaking so hard that she barely managed to get the bloodstained key into the lock on the handcuffs, and even then had a hard time getting them open. Finally, she managed to pull them from Spike’s wrists, throwing them forcefully, disgustedly, across the room as she reached down to take his shoulders and pull him up to a sitting position on the bed.

“Buffy,” he sobbed softly, his hands blindly reaching for her, finding her waist and clutching at her desperately, shaking uncontrollably as he rested his weary brow against the firm, flat pad of her stomach. “Buffy, love…God, Buffy…”

Tears rolled down her face as she raised her hands to rest at the back of his head, holding him to her tenderly, a hard ache of regret and remorse forming in the pit of her stomach. She did not deserve this – this desperate, adoring affection and obviously continued love that he somehow still held for her. She did not deserve to be held by him like this, to feel his hands still clutching her to him, as if she was the most important thing in the world.

Somehow, in spite of it all, she *was* the most important thing in *his* world, though she did not deserve him. Her guilt and shame made a part of her want to push him away, want to flee and hide from the truth of what she had done. She did not deserve this love, this sweet tenderness they were somehow still sharing in this moment. Only one thing kept her there, holding him close to her.

Spike *did* deserve it – and so much more.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered tremulously, the words sounding weak and useless to her own ears. “I’m so sorry, Spike.”

He did not respond, just clung to her, whispering her name again and again with heart-breaking desperation in his voice, as if simply trying to convince himself that she was really thee, and not a figment of his desperate, longing imagination.

Her hands moved gently through his hair in a soothing, reassuring caress, holding him to her tenderly. Suddenly, one of her hands slid downward slightly, encountering the knot of the blindfold, and her eyes widened in a shock of dismay. She had forgotten that it was even there.

Apparently, so had Spike.

Her hands shook as she hurriedly, urgently, worked at the knot, her emotional state and the tears that blinded her making it take twice as long as it would have under other conditions. Finally, she managed to get it loose, and to pry the shaken, sobbing vampire away from her just long enough and far enough to free the now abhorrent scrap of fabric and toss it down beside the bed.

Immediately Spike lowered his head again, pressed to her stomach, his sobs now having reached a painful depth that made them silent, though utterly wrenching. His shaking hands clutched her hips, pulling her nearer, desperate for the reassuring contact she had denied him for so long.

*You cruel, disgusting bitch,* she berated herself darkly, a sense of self-loathing rising up in her.

She was surprised and disgusted to feel a vague sense of relief at the pain and shame that kept the vampire from looking up at her and meeting her eyes – from seeing her own shame that she knew would be so obvious there. After what she had done, she just wasn’t sure she could face him just yet.

It was just another thing she had to hate herself for – but she really couldn’t help it.

The thought of being exposed to those deep, expressive eyes that seemed to see through any mask she had ever thought to hide behind was simply terrifying to her.

So she just stood there, holding him gently and allowing him to pour out the hurt, the fear and confusion of the past few hours.

*All your fault…you put it there…*

“Spike, I’m so sorry,” she sobbed softly, her own eyes closed against the flood of tears that streaked her face, her head bowed as her fingers gently ran through the tousled blonde curls, now dampening with her tears that fell there. “I’m so, so sorry! Forgive me! I was so wrong, Spike!”

“Buffy,” he gasped breathlessly, finally drawing his face back a bit, though his eyes were still downcast and his hands still clutched at her waist. “Buffy, love – love you so much – couldn’t *not* -- forgive you…love you, Buffy…”

His gentle acceptance, the poignant simplicity of his statement that she knew to be true, only increased the flow of the tears from her eyes – of remorse, and gratitude, because she knew now that it was a precious gift that she had almost thrown away so cruelly – a love so deep and boundless that it would forgive her even the vicious, heartless cruelty she had subjected him to this night.

How she loved him – she did! She knew it now. The thought of losing him a few moments before had been more than she could bear. As she thought back over the past few hours, the whole night, she realized with sudden clarity just how well Spike knew her – what a sharp understanding he had of her fears and motivations.

He had known all along that she would not actually leave him – that when it came right down to the line, she would choose him.

Spike was finally beginning to regain control of his emotions, as he drew back a little, trembling, gasping to catch his breath. A sense of dread mingled with hope in Buffy’s heart, as she realized that the time had come to face up to the damage she had done. Slowly, she turned and sat down on the bed beside him, her arm sliding around his waist and pulling him closer to her, as her troubled eyes sought his – though she was afraid to find them.

She was granted a brief reprieve, as the blonde vampire lowered his head, his brow resting against hers, his eyes closed, his breath slowing as he regained control. She just held him for a few moments, one arm wrapped around his waist, the other protectively cradling the back of his head, as the ragged sounds of their emotions faded slowly away to stillness.

After a long moment, Spike whispered in a voice low and husky with tears, “I knew you wouldn’t, Buffy – knew you wouldn’t – leave me…knew it…”

“You knew it before I did,” she whispered, swallowing back a hard, aching knot of pain, her own eyes closed against her overwhelming emotions. “You knew I wouldn’t…I wouldn’t have, Spike…ever,” she assured him a soft but fervent voice.

“I know,” he murmured, nodding against her brow. “I know, Buffy…”

“I couldn’t do it…I just…” she struggled for the right words to express something that she did not quite understand yet herself. “I just – wanted you to *think* I’d left you – so you’d – you’d leave me. I wanted – to make you be the one to leave, since – since I just couldn’t…”

The vampire went very still against her, not making a sound, not even breathing – but still it took Buffy a moment to realize that something was very wrong. When he pulled back away from her, she finally looked up, wincing inwardly before she finally met those crystal blue eyes.

And wished that she hadn’t.

The freshly wounded look of pain, of startled hurt, that she saw there took her breath away and sent a stab of pain through her heart, with the realization that he had not yet realized the full extent of her intentions for that night -- not until that moment.

“Spike,” she whispered, shaking her head slowly in response to what she saw in her eyes. “Please…”

She tried to pull him closer to her, but he suddenly jerked away, scrambling to his feet and backing up a couple of steps – taking himself outside her reach.

The lost, bereft feeling that came over her took Buffy by surprise, and left her with a feeling that was close to panic.

“S-spike?” she whispered in a small, fearful voice.

He just shook his head, staring at her in hurt, angry disbelief. “How could you – Buffy – how could you…” he struggled to put into words the accusation forming in his heart, his eyes wide and glistening with fresh tears, before he finally whispered in an aching, wounded voice that made her heart go still.

“How could you *hate* me that much?”

Time stood still for a moment, as her mind tried, and refused to process his words. She did not understand. As the vampire suddenly turned away from her -- scanning the floor for his discarded clothing, she realized suddenly – the panic that had been building in Buffy grew a little stronger.

“Spike – wait – no,” she whimpered tearfully, standing up and moving toward him.

He shrugged her hand off of his arm, reaching down to pull on his jeans.

“But – but I thought that you – you forgave me…?” she whispered, stepping back a bit in shock and hurt, the uncertainty of knowing that she did not deserve it anyway making her voice small and tremulous.

Spike stopped, staring at her with some indefinable emotion in his eyes – something she had never seen there before.

Not for her.

“This isn’t about me, Buffy,” he informed her in a voice that was soft but certain, a deep sorrow and regret in his eyes. “This is about you.”

“What – I – I don’t understand!” Buffy stammered, confused.

When the vampire headed toward the door without another word, she nearly lost it. She caught him at the door, grabbing his arm and turning him around.

“Spike, *wait*!”

He once again jerked away from her hand, the violence of his reaction surprising her – and sending a cold, desolate ache through her heart with a painful realization that resonated through her mind, nearly drowning out his soft but firm words.

“Don’t bloody touch me, Buffy.”

And with that, he walked out, without so much as a second look, leaving her alone with the devastating realization, the single thought echoing in her mind.

*I lost him.*

She had done it. She had accomplished her goal.

And she wanted to die.