A/N: thanks to our wonderful beta, Immortal_Beloved :)

Buffy tried to affect a calm, authoritative air as she made her way through the halls of Ethan Rayne’s compound, eyes alert and observant as she tried to take in every detail she could, every turn, every door that might be important to know later. Her heart was pounding with a mixture of anxiety, adrenaline, and sheer rage as she fought to control the ever-rising anger and disgust she felt for the sorcerer and maintain her façade for as long as was necessary.

She glanced discreetly through the open doors of some of the rooms, wanting to take note of any possible useful information, but found that most of the rooms whose doors were open were unoccupied. It was the sounds coming from the closed doors they passed which were most disturbing to her.

Desperate screams of anguish…tearful, babbled pleas for mercy…despairing sobs of those who had lost all hope of escape. Buffy’s every instinct cried out for her to kick in those doors and free the pitiful creatures who were so cruelly enslaved. Her mind envisioned Spike behind each closed door, his broken voice pleading for mercy, and it was all she could do not to give in to her instincts and blow her cover.

As heartless as it felt to do so, she had to ignore the others…at least until she had gotten to Spike.

When Rayne came to a sudden stop outside one closed door, Buffy felt her heart drop, and her throat went dry with a sudden, irrational fear that had nothing to do with the idea of getting caught.

“Here we are, Senator,” Rayne announced with a dramatically elegant wave of his hand in the direction of the door. “Your purchase for the evening is just beyond this door.”

Buffy was doing her best to avoid actually talking, not sure if the glamour extended to her voice or not, and definitely certain that it would not extend to her particular unique way of speaking. Rather than take a chance on Rayne’s recognizing her voice or mannerisms, she simply nodded once in a terse, businesslike manner.

Ethan gave her an ingratiating smile as he took a key on a leather cord from around his neck and used it to unlock the door before placing it carefully in her hand and leading her inside.

Buffy’s breath caught in her throat, and she struggled not to show any visible reaction to the sight that met her eyes.

Spike.

He was standing beside a small, simple bed, just…waiting. His wrists were shackled together in front of him in heavy cuffs. His chest was bare, and he wore only a simple pair of black pants and a thick black leather collar with a chain leash attached to it around his throat. His head was bowed respectfully, and he dared not look up at her and Rayne as they entered the room.

“He’s been thoroughly trained,” Ethan explained to Buffy, not acknowledging Spike in any way. “He’s very obedient and will do exactly as you tell him to do. However, should you feel the need or desire to punish him,” the sorcerer continued with a wicked smirk, “do feel free. I only require that you do him no permanent damage and that he remains alive…in a manner of speaking.”

Buffy was too angry to speak, her protective fury rising with every suggestive word; so, she just nodded curtly, raising a single eyebrow in Ethan’s direction when he did not leave immediately. Clearing his throat uncomfortably, the mage returned her nod in courtesy and quietly left the room.

At first, Buffy could do nothing more than to just stare, taking in Spike’s submissive posture, his bowed head and the slight tremble of his limbs which she had not noticed in Rayne’s presence. She had never seen him so subdued, so obviously fearful – and it was heartbreaking.

Drawing in a deep breath, she crossed the room toward him, stopping when she was close enough to reach out a gentle hand and touch his arm. Spike did not flinch…did not move, in fact.

At all.

He froze completely under her touch, not even breathing as he so often tended to do. He didn’t look up at her, just waited in silence for her command.

The thought chilled her blood.

“Spike,” she whispered, making her voice as gentle and reassuring as possible. “Look at me.”

A slight frown formed on his face, and he raised hesitant eyes to her face – but not her eyes. It was clear from his reaction that Spike had no idea who she was; but, then, how could he? she realized, suppressing a small, ironic smile despite their situation.

“Spike,” she tried again, deciding to come straight to the point. She couldn’t stand to let him linger in fear another moment. “It’s me. The girls are still outside, taking care of some last minute preparations.” She hesitated, her voice softening as her fingers trailed back and forth on his arm, and she added, “I’m here to make sure you’re safe when everything goes down.”

Spike’s eyes, focused on her mouth rather than her eyes, widened with wonder as he recognized the way her lips moved, the way the bottom one quivered as she fought to suppress the most difficult of her emotions. He cautiously raised his gaze to her eyes, noting the earnest intensity there.

The moment his eyes met hers, Buffy knew that he recognized her. Still, there was hesitation in his expression. Of course, she couldn’t blame him. Who knew what sorts of vile deceptions and mind games Ethan and others had played with him since he had been here? She did not appear in any obvious way to be herself, so why should he believe that it was anything but a trick?

Spike was going to need proof.

Buffy took a small bundle of hair tied together with herbs from her pocket and held it up between them, silently calling Spike’s attention to it for a moment before slowly, deliberately setting it aside on the table. She held his gaze the entire time, never looking away, waiting for his inevitable reaction when the effects of the spell faded away once her body was out of contact with the senator’s hair.

Spike drew in a sharp, startled breath, his fear melting away into disbelieving relief when he saw that it was really her, really *Buffy*…her eyes staring back at him, her reassuring smile on her perfect lips, and most importantly, her familiar, unmistakable scent assuring him beyond all doubt that this was no trick. This was real.

Buffy had come for him.

Spike tried to hide his elation at the simple fact that she was really *there* with him. He wanted nothing more than to hide himself in the comfort of her arms, to cherish her very nearness and lose his fears, the shadows and ghosts that haunted him, in the scent and feel of the woman he loved.

He knew that their position was very dangerous, and Buffy had a lot to think about at the moment, but he could not help but to reach out toward her, raising his cuffed hands to touch her.

The sight of the cold metal that bound him was enough to bring him down from the blissful pleasure of her presence, to remind him of where he was…*what* he was. His joy turned to ashes, a bitter taste in the back of his throat, and he bowed his head again, dropping his hands without touching her, suddenly overwhelmingly ashamed that she was seeing him here, like this.

Buffy’s warm hands on his wrist drew his attention reluctantly back to her as she carefully unfastened each cuff, loosing his wrists and then dropping the shackles to the floor with a careless clatter. Spike swallowed hard, fighting back tears from the very gentleness of her touch as she tenderly soothed his raw, reddened wrists with her fingertips, caressing in gentle circles over the abraded flesh.

“You’re safe now, Spike,” she assured him softly. “I’m staying here with you tonight…*all* night. No one’s gonna hurt you again.”

Spike grimaced slightly, feeling terribly awkward and ashamed by her open reference to the abuse and degradation he had endured. He forced his eyes up to hers, drawing a suggestive smirk to his lips from sheer habit, trying his old leer on for size in an attempt to ease the tension of the scene.

“You’re my mistress for the night, then?” he suggested in a tone that was trying for playful, but didn’t quite reach it. “Gonna remind me what a Slayer is?”

Confused by the conflicting feelings that filled her at his words, Buffy blushed, averting her gaze. His words and even the shackles she had removed reminded her of the games they used to play, the things they had done during those dark, unforgettable months; and, in spite of herself, she felt a brief rush of arousal. Even so, she was horrified by the very thought, forcing it down…because the chains, his words, also reminded her of the torment his existence had become, all the things through which he had been.

Of course, Spike had already noticed the faint trace of arousal she had felt. Emboldened by it, he reached out with tentative hands and pulled her gently closer to him. She had come to him, come to take care of him, and he wanted to please her. Whatever Buffy wanted from him, he would gladly, gratefully give it to her.

Buffy froze under his touch with a sharp intake of breath, her heartbeat quickening at the smooth, cool feel of his familiar hands running slowly up and down her arms. It was the first touch they had shared since his death in the hellmouth that had felt truly intimate. She wanted him – God, how she wanted him! – but she knew better than to accept what he offered her now.

Tenderly she reached up and placed her hands on either side of his face, moving slowly so as not to startle or frighten him. Spike tensed slightly, but then relaxed under her touch, holding her gaze and not looking away as she stroked soft fingertips over the fine planes of his face, re-memorizing what was already so intimately familiar to her.

He waited, a silent question in his eyes, for her to let him know what she wanted from him. To his immense relief and overwhelming joy, there was no disgust, no revulsion in her eyes. She was clearly cherishing the contact with him, the feel of his skin under her fingertips and his touch on her own skin.

However, there was no trace of the blind, mindless hunger he had seen there so frequently during their brief affair, either. She was calm, seemingly content, even smiling in simple pleasure as she shifted slowly in closer to him, one hand dropping to his waist, the other sliding down to cup the side of his throat as she leaned in and gently kissed him.

As she slowly, thoroughly explored his mouth with hers, reacquainting herself with his taste, his responses, Spike found his anxieties about pleasing her, about her seeing him differently, fading away. All there was was him, and her, and one of the sweetest connections they had ever shared. The dreadful place around them, the danger of their situation, all was forgotten in the sweetness of Buffy’s tender embrace, telling him without words that he meant far more to her than a mere physical desire.

When Buffy pulled back from the kiss to draw breath, Spike lowered his head, breathing hard as well. His eyes caught the chain leash hanging down his bare chest, and he smiled a sort of sad, ironic smile as he lifted it, held it out and placed it in Buffy’s hand. She stared down at it through wide eyes before looking up at him in confusion, pulling back slightly as she shook her head.

Spike bravely put on his best mischievous grin, winking at her as he remarked softly, “Always been your willing slave.”

Dismayed, Buffy drew back farther, still shaking her head as she objected in a horrified voice, “No! No, Spike, I…I don’t want…”

“Buffy.” His quiet, sympathetic tone stopped her protest as he reached out to close his hand around hers. “Joking.” When she stared at him in bewilderment, he looked away again, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “Gotta laugh or cry, love,” he explained in a low, cautious voice.

Buffy swallowed hard, momentarily torn, before pulling gently away from his hand and dropping the leash emphatically. She opened her mouth to explain that she did not see him that way, never would see him that way.

Before she could say anything, Spike withdrew slightly, suddenly sure that she was not just rejecting his attempts at humor, but him as well. It was just as he had feared, he decided, his heart sinking in anguished humiliation. She was hiding it well, but she *was* disgusted by what he had become.

She didn’t want him anymore.

“Spike…no…” Buffy spoke in a low, urgent voice when she realized his misunderstanding. “It’s just that it’s not supposed to be…”

Still, he turned away from her, and as he did, Buffy caught the end of the leash again, almost without even meaning to, trying to get him to face her. At the first slight tug on the leash, Spike froze, and Buffy froze, as the impact of the very fact that he was wearing the thing at all struck them both afresh.

Buffy felt tears spring to her eyes and fought them back, wanting to stay strong for Spike’s sake. At this point, her tears would only serve to reinforce his false ideas of what she thought of him. Neither of them could find words for a few moments as they struggled to come to terms with all that was happening between them, all around them.

“What’s going to happen tomorrow?” Spike’s voice was quiet and hoarse with unshed tears as he abruptly broke the silence between them.

Buffy took advantage of the subject change to close the distance between them, dropping the leash like the hated thing it was and moving in close to him, her hands resting on his arms and pulling him gently nearer to her. “Tomorrow I’m going to take you out of here,” she promised, her voice earnest and intense, shaking with determination. “I’m going to get you away from this place. Tomorrow…it’ll be over.”

“Over?” Spike echoed, a bitter smile on his lips, his eyes searching and fearful as they locked onto hers. “Sure about that, pet? How’s this plan of yours shaping up? Sure it’s gonna work out how you’ve planned, end the way you think?”

Buffy opened her mouth to assure him that she was, but found all at once that she could not give him that assurance. His honest question was like a blow, knocking her backward in time, back to the Hellmouth and the night before the battle, when she had allowed Spike to hold her in his arms and had never dreamed that it would be their last night together. She had been certain in that moment that for better or worse, they would be *together*.

And she remembered all too well how *that* had turned out.

Sobered, Buffy studied Spike’s anguished face, seeing clearly his need for her, as open and obvious as ever it had been. He longed to believe her, to trust that everything would be all right, but he clearly had his doubts.

And she could not blame him.

“Spike,” she whispered, shaking her head in apology. “I don’t want to hurt you. Don’t want to…to make promises that I’m not sure…” Her voice trailed off, and she shook her head again. “I mean…I don’t want to make things any worse for you…”

As she spoke, Spike drew in a deep, shaky breath and managed to regain some of his composure. Putting on a brave smile, he took her hand and laid her palm lightly against his chest, right above his heart, at the same time pulling her closer with his other arm around her waist.

As she stared up at him in waiting silence, he softly kissed her forehead, her temple, then sighed as he brushed his cheek across the top of her head and rested it there, just savoring the feeling of holding her.

“Love,” he reminded her softly, “doesn’t matter how it turns out. You know I’m willing, whatever you’re doing. Did you ever think I wouldn’t be?” He paused as he drew back, his expression solemn and intent as he met her eyes and added in a whisper, “Willingly bled for you…died for you, Buffy…and nothing’s changed…’m still yours, love…”

At those words, the tears fell, and Buffy wrapped her arms around him, clinging to him, so grateful to have found him again, despite the circumstances, and silently vowing to herself to never let him go.

“Oh, Spike,” she sighed tearfully. “I love you so much.”

At that, Spike broke down, his shoulders shaking as he lowered his head to her shoulder, clutching her to him and breathing deeply in an effort to control the sobs just below the surface of his attempt at calm.

“I’d do anything for you, Buffy,” he reiterated. “Anything…you know that.”

Buffy pulled back slightly, blinking back tears as she focused on his face, willingly losing herself in him once more. “Lie down with me?” she whispered, the words a tentative plea. “Just…just hold me…like we did that night? Please?”

Spike’s eyes widened with wonder, as he nodded slowly. A soft, rapturous smile spread across his face as he took her hand and led her to the bed.