My world is a constant confusion
My mind is prepared to attack
My past, a persuasive illusion
I'm watching the future, it's black

"So you're not going to beat me for breaking the cup?"

Buffy shook her head, shuddered to think how long his world had been about waiting for the next beating. It didn't seem possible that her vibrant and defiant former arch nemesis could have been brought to this state in a matter of months. Or at all. Whether he was committing evil or saving the world, there was one constant about Spike: he was utterly irrepressible. And what might have brought him to this state didn't bear thinking about.

"We have a lot of history," she tried to explain, but there was no short recap of the bizarre Spike and Buffy story. "We hurt each other, a lot more than you remember. We were kind of... friends and then... we had a fight."

There was no telling what her Spike would make of that description if he ever remembered the details. Not a joke, if he knew what was good for him. But she had to find a way of reassuring the Spike in front of her and bravely forged on.

"So when I came to get you I was pissed, and you didn't say anything which made me even more pissed, but I thought you knew I was there to rescue you. If you could remember me you would have known I was there to rescue you." Buffy tried to smile at him, once again touched his arm. His eyes followed her hand but he didn't move a muscle. "Or stake you," she amended in a more joking tone. "I'm not the slave keeping type, too much responsibility."

"Rescue me?" he repeated stupidly.

"Yes," said the Slayer firmly, and her warm fingers were gentle on his skin. "So please stop being scared of me, it's giving me the wiggins."

Partly to give himself time to think, and partly long habit, the vampire shook off her hand and started picking up the pieces of shattered china. The Slayer watched, pensive also.

"Hard not to be," he confessed. "Been tortured by the best but none with your power; you could take me apart without breaking sweat and I don't know why you don't. I tried to kill you. Often."

"I'm trying to be nice and that's quite an effort for me, don't complain."

"I wasn't-"

"I told you in the car. You rescued my sister, I owe you."

"I did?"

"Okay, I didn't realise you had amnesia then, so maybe I didn't explain properly. The people that had you took my sister a few days ago. We couldn't find any trace of her but then she turned up on her own and she said you'd helped her to escape."

"Skinny girl, long dark hair?"

"Yeah." She watched him curiously. "If you didn't know who she was, why did you help her?"

"She knew my name. And she just... told me to, so I did. Maybe I was just trying to go out with something better than a whimper."

"Well thank you. It sounds like you saved her from a pretty ugly time."

The vampire said nothing, Buffy didn't know if that meant he didn't want to talk about it or if he just wasn't up to the give and take of an actual conversation. In the ensuing silence she found herself stifling a yawn, offering Spike an apologetic smile which he almost returned.

"Sorry. Think we'll both be better off for some sleep."

The Slayer willed herself the energy to stand up, padded over to Spike's trunk still sitting on the kitchen counter. "Got anything that's not a dress to sleep in?" she asked.

The vampire realised what she was about and followed her up, but strong conditioning stopped him from interfering. It wasn't like he could prevent her looking if she decided she wanted to and he really didn't want to upset their apparent truce.

"Oooh, nice." The Slayer reached for the knife lying on top of a jumble of objects and held it up to the light, examining the gleaming blade with professional admiration. "Very nice."

Spike had a sudden realisation: for all that she'd rescued him, the Slayer had no idea from what. The thought that all this kindness was a ploy to get his hopes up had disappeared; far from trying to top three years of torture this innocent girl couldn't even imagine what had been done to him He kinda suspected she'd be happier to stay that way, certainly he didn't want to be the one to explain it to her. It was enough of a fear to push him to intervene.

"Don't think you really want to look in there, Slayer."

His voice was neutral but she glanced up and caught the stricken look on his face, put the knife down with a guilty start.

"Sorry, I shouldn't be going through your stuff-"

"Your stuff, your prerogative. Might not want to is all."

"My knife?" she asked hopefully, because it really was a lovely weapon. More Faith in style but beautifully balanced in her hand. "Do you mind?"

Spike shrugged. "Don't mind you looking. I'd mind you using."

Buffy held up a silver object, an ornately carved cylinder with representations of open mouthed dragons at either end. "And what, precisely, would I use this for?"

The vampire opened his mouth to answer but the words dried up. Something in his expression must have tipped off the Slayer, though no wiser she dropped it back into the case and rescinded the question. "You know what? Never tell me."

Obscuring the rest of the contents was a coiled leather whip; the Slayer picked it up and tossed it into the kitchen bin.

"I'm not going to find any pyjamas in here, am I?"

"No."

She didn't recognise the next item either, held it up for a second and slowly realised it was another whip, six foot of rapier wire weighted with a spiked metal ball. An unwieldy weapon obviously not designed for fighting a moving opponent. She raised dismayed eyes to Spike, who couldn't tear his gaze away from her hand.

"This stuff's all for you isn't it? I'm supposed to use this stuff on you?"

He nodded. "Wouldn't encourage it myself, but that's the general idea."

"You carried this box in here and it's full of things to torture you." Somehow that detail struck Buffy as obscene. He must have known what was in that box, and he'd brought it into her home without a word of complaint.

"Special treat, that one," said Spike blankly. "Got fifty for letting your sis leg it."

Angrily Buffy threw the metal coil after the leather. "Let me see," she demanded, suppressed fury creeping into her tone. Obediently the vampire turned round, Buffy pulled aside his loose garment and gasped at the ragged cuts that crisscrossed every inch of his back.

Obviously the scars she'd not liked to look at on his arms were just the tip of the iceberg, places where the weapon had slipped and older marks. The lesser wounds round the edges were starting to close up but where the blows had hit hardest she could see white rib bones, once protected by lean muscle but now protruding even where the skin was unbroken. This was what had been happening as she'd argued with Dawn and cursed him for being stupid enough to get kidnapped. Sure explained why he'd sat so still, the drive back must have been agony.

She remembered looking at that back one rare occasion when Spike had slept beside her, seeing the marks left by her own finger nails over otherwise unblemished skin and wondering just what that made her. To want to rip and tear at that graceful beauty even as he'd screamed encouragement, come hard for her every time she hurt him. It made her just as bad as Spike, she'd decided at the time, and both of them better than the person who'd taken her graceful, beautiful vampire and shredded him.

"Thank you," she whispered again.

The vampire shivered as she gently traced the half healed cuts across his shoulders. "Was worth it," he said fiercely, straightening imperceptibly under her touch. "Just for the sake of rebelling it was worth it. And then... here I am, and maybe that's worth a lot more. God I hope you're real, Slayer."

Her hands fell away and he turned back around. "Not that bad," Spike added awkwardly. "Only 'cause I ain't fed since, be right as rain tomorrow."

It was only at his words Buffy realised she was crying, and if she spent another second looking into those expressive blue eyes it would become out and out bawling. Or worse, she'd end up hugging him. With great effort Buffy snapped herself back to the present, picked up the case and forced herself to speak casually.

"Is there anything in here that's actually useful? Bearing in mind we'll be skipping the torture?"

"My chains? If you want to..."

The Slayer rolled her eyes through her tears and he let the suggestion tail off. "I'm gonna take that as a no," she said firmly, picking up the case intending to dump the whole thing in the bin. A piece of jewellery dislodged by her earlier rummaging jangled on to the floor and Buffy picked it up.

"What's this?"

"Cock ring," answered Spike flatly. A split second later he wished he'd lied, but his head was still in a place where not answering a question immediately was deserving of a punishment.

The Slayer stared into the box, a horrible truth finally slotting into place for the girl. The jumble of metal and plastic and leather became individual items of torture and though most of these toys were unfamiliar to her all too many had a purpose that was clearly apparent. For Buffy they painted a graphic and sickening picture, the realisation and disgust were plain on her face and made the vampire defensive.

"What did you think people want slaves for?" he asked diffidently. "Get a Latino in cheaper to do the heavy lifting. And I'm so very pretty," he added mockingly.

Buffy dropped the box in the bin, swept the knife she'd admired in after it, then walked carefully over to the kitchen sink to vomit. She stood there for several minutes, running the tap and completely unable to look at the vampire.

AN Apologies to JustSue. Somehow her cock ring just snuck itself a cameo in my fic even though I was trying not to think about it. The case of toys was lifted from her excellent fic Buyer Beware as well.