Tears streamed down her face as she watched him leave the room. She struggled against the bonds that held her on the bed, trying desperately to break them before he returned.

"Where is that bloody doll," Spike said, digging through a trunk sitting by the fireplace in the old mansion. He had returned to Sunnydale after fulfilling what he had told Buffy and Angel - he’d gone to Brazil, tied Drusilla up and tortured her until she loved him again. Only afterward had he realized it made him sick to do that, sick that she enjoyed it, sick that Angelus had made her crave the pain like blood. He’d always worshipped her, was tender with her, gentle yet still passionate. He’d thought that was what she liked, what she wanted. He was wrong. Yet, here he was, back in the mansion looking for something for a woman he no longer loved, no longer craved, who was no longer his life.

"I swear I don’t know why I put up with you, Drusilla," he muttered as he continued to search.

"I don’t know why she put up with you, either," a voice said from behind him.

"Hello, pumpkin," Spike said mockingly, not bothering to turn.

"What are you doing back here, Spike?" he asked. "I thought we told you to get lost."

"Yeah, well, I don’t listen very well," Spike replied, head bent over another trunk. "Where’s your prettier half?"

"She’s a little tied up at the moment," he said with a smirk that wasn’t seen by the blond vampire. "What are you looking for? I’m only asking because I was in the middle of something, and I’d like to get back to it."

"Miss Edith," Spike told him. "Dru has been driving me batty about that bloody doll."

"Hmm. I think I saw her in here," he said, turning to the bedroom doorway. Spike looked up and over at his retreating back. "Come on, let’s look so you can leave."

Spike ran his hand through his short hair for the thousandth time, following behind the other vampire, wondering why he even bothered. So caught up in his self-depreciating thoughts, he didn’t see the woman lying tied to the bed, naked and bruised, her wrists bleeding from where the wire cut into them as he came into the room until his head shot up at the noise of a hammer being cocked.

Bullets won’t kill vampires, but they can incapacitate them, especially if the wielder of the gun was an expert at torture. And the vampire standing across five feet from him was one. In one sweeping glance, Spike took in the evil radiating from him, the cocky way he held himself, the almost casual tilt of his head and felt the dread settle in him. "Well, Angelus, I see you’ve lost your soul again."

"You could say that," Angelus replied with another smirk.

"Is there any reason as to why you’re pointing a gun at me?" Spike asked, debating his chances of getting out of the bedroom before his sire could shoot.

"Simple. I’m in the mood for a some fun," Angelus said, gesturing to the bed. "I was just going to amuse myself with little Buffy, but now that you’re here..."

Spike felt the world drop out under his feet when he saw the Slayer trussed up on the bed. His eyes took in her small form covered with scrapes and bruises, her wide, terrified eyes and wondered what had happened, how she managed to get caught.

"Here’s how this is gonna work," Angelus said. "You do what I say and I won’t put you back in traction. And you know I can do it. You’ve watched me do it."

Spike debated whether he should use the anger that was building in him to attack, but knew that Angelus was correct. His sire was a perfect shot, and it would only take one to have him on the floor. Instead, he willed his emotions under control. "What do you want me to do?" he ground out.

"Strip," Angelus instructed. He leaned casually back against the wall, watching as Spike slowly removed his clothing. When his childe was naked, he gestured to the bed with the gun. "Take off her gag."

Spike went to the side of the bed and sat next to the Slayer, reaching his hands behind her head to release the gag. She was staring up at him, fear and humiliation written across her features as he pulled the material out of her mouth. He made his own expression stay impassive as he waited for the next command.

"Make her come," Angelus ordered, sitting down in a chair. "I don’t care how." Spike climbed onto the bed, lying on his side next to her so Angelus could see what he was doing. Tears had started to roll down her cheeks again, and he had to fight not to let it effect him. He propped his head up with his hand, letting the other run lightly over her collarbone, above her breasts, trying to relax her enough so he could proceed.

When the tears had stopped, he leaned forward and gently pressed his lips to hers, his fingers not stopping. He touched his tongue to her mouth, seeking entrance. He was surprised when she acquiesced, her own tongue tentatively meeting his. He let his hand drift lower, cupping one full breast and rubbing his thumb across her nipple. She tensed up again, and Spike broke away from her mouth, kissing down her jawline to her ear.

"Relax, Buffy," he whispered barely loud enough for her to hear. He used her real name on purpose, to comfort and reassure her. "I won’t hurt you." She relaxed perceptively next to him and he returned his mouth to hers, fingering her nipple until it peaked into a hard nub. He moved his hand to her other breast, repeating the action.

"You know, I get more excited watching paint dry," Angelus’ voice interrupted them. Spike stilled his hand, breaking the kiss, but not looking up at his sire. "Fuck her mouth."

Buffy tensed again, her eyes widening in fear as the blond vampire straddled her. He leaned down close to her, putting another pillow under her head. He implored her with his eyes, telling her silently to do as his sire instructed. She barely nodded and he touched her eyelids, closing them as he brought his semi-flaccid cock to her mouth.

She opened for him, her tongue darting out to lick the underside and it sprang to life. Stifling a groan of pleasure, he pushed between her lips, the moist heat of her mouth enveloping him, exciting him. He slowly began to pump in and out, making sure not to thrust too far as to choke her. Her eyes stayed closed, her body still, but she used her teeth and tongue on him, rubbing against his erection, scraping against the head.

"Go ahead and cum," Angelus told him. "I want to see her swallow."

His hands clenched into fists, but reigned in his temper and concentrated on the hot mouth around his cock. Soon, the sensations overwhelmed him and he bucked, spilling his cold seed down her throat. He felt her trying to swallow, the muscles contracting around his head, and he trembled slightly before pulling out of her mouth. He heard the sound of a zipper descending and closed his eyes, waiting.

"Over here, Spike," Angelus said, holding his stiff erection. Spike climbed off of Buffy and knelt before his sire, one eye on the gun pointed at his temple. "Watch us, bitch." Angelus grabbed the back of Spike’s hair and forced him to take in the large shaft to the hilt. Spike automatically relaxed his muscles and began to deep throat him. He could feel Buffy’s eyes staring at them with a combination of fascination and fear.

Angelus tensed under him, then the cold, salty semen filled his mouth. He swallowed and sat back on his heels, head down in submission. His mind was racing, however, trying to form a plan to get himself out, the Slayer, too, if possible.

"Did you like that, Buffy? I can smell your arousal from here," Angelus said, sneering at the blond. He kicked his foot at Spike. "Go eat her out. I want her to be slick and ready for me to pound her tight, little cunt."

Spike stood and went back to the bed, separating Buffy’s legs so he could lay between them. Her head was still propped on the pillows, giving her the ability to see him clearly. He smelled her arousal as well, then flicked her clit with his tongue. She jumped, her eyes growing round, and he let his gaze meet hers, holding it as he started to lick and suck. She began to writhe under his mouth, nearing orgasm, and he bit down on the hard nub with his blunt teeth, sending her over the edge with a small, forcefully muffled cry. He held her hips as she bucked against his face, drawing out the sensations until she collapsed in a puddle of nerve-endings.

"My turn," Angelus said, raising to his feet and letting his pants drop to the floor, his cock full and hard once more. He stepped out of them easily, the gun still trained on Spike. "Sit at the top of the bed." The blond vampire moved, settling next to Buffy’s head on the pillows, his mind at the ready. If there was going to be a good time to make an escape, it would be while his sire was fucking the Slayer.

Angelus pushed between Buffy’s legs and thrust into her, hard. He cupped his free hand under her ass, holding her pussy up to meet him, the other clutching the gun. Buffy raised her sad, defeated gaze to Spike’s, their eyes meeting briefly. He saw a message in them, telling him to be ready to attack, and he let all the rage he had bottled up to the surface.

Angelus grunted and began to orgasm, pounding rapidly into the Slayer until he made one, final thrust to the hilt, spilling himself deep inside her. That’s when she acted, wrapping her legs around his waist and yanking him down onto her. Spike sprang at the gun like a coiled tiger, sending it flying across the room before latching onto his sire’s back, one hand yanking his hair back, exposing his neck, the other grasping his wrist. He bent his head, sinking his fangs which had surfaced into the jugular as Angelus tried to get out of their combined grips.

The drained vampire slumped lifelessly onto Buffy, who let out a shriek. Spike moved quickly, dumping his sire onto the floor, then working to release the wires that held her hands. "Do you have a stake?" he asked, freeing her. She shook her head, scrambling to her knees on the bed.

Spike went over to his clothes, throwing his T-shirt and boxers to the naked girl after not seeing hers, then put on his jeans, red shirt and duster. "Hurry up. His survival instinct will pop up any moment now unless we stake him."

Buffy dressed quickly, her eyes roaming wildly around the room. He saw her smile bitterly, then get off the bed and upend the nightstand, breaking off the short, wooden leg. Before he could blink, she had plunged the small piece into his sire’s back, piercing his heart.

"Oh, god," she whispered, collapsing onto the pile of dust that was spread where Angelus had been. She began to sob, her body convulsing. With three steps, Spike had her in his arms, cradling her petite body to his as he left the mansion. He gently set her in his car, then hurried to the other side, leaving the old place with a squeal of his tires.

Spike kicked open the Summers’ front door, Buffy in his arms once again and left it wide open behind him. He carried her up the stairs and to her bedroom, not bothering to check if her mother was home. After setting her on the bed, he turned to go, but her choked voice stopped him.

"Don’t...don’t go," she begged. "Please." Spike nodded and returned to her side, sitting on the edge of the bed. She wiped her tears away, her body calm, and looked up at him. "Thank you."

He nodded again, reaching a hand out to brush the hair from her face. "Do you want me to get your mum?"

Buffy shook her head. "No." She winced as pain lanced up her body. "Can...will you help me to the shower?"

He stood and picked her back up, despite the protest that she could try to walk. He wasn’t quite sure why he hadn’t killed her now that he had the chance, instead of playing nursemaid. It would make Drusilla happy. He groaned mentally at the thought of his Black Queen. What would happen now that he helped kill Angelus, again? Maybe he just wouldn’t go back.

He put Buffy down on the closed toilet seat, then reached in the shower to turn on the water, warming it up. "I’ll give you a minute to relieve yourself," Spike said, closing the bathroom door as he went into the hall to retrieve some towels. *What am I doing?,* he thought. *Dru was right. I’ve turned into a bloody softie, especially where that damned Slayer is concerned.*

When he returned, he found her staring in the mirror, her face pale and haggard, her eyes weary and sad. Not anything like the spitfire he knew and loved. *Ok, that’s it. I’ve gone off the deep end,* he said to himself at the thought. *Time to get this show on the road.* He turned her around to face him, then pulled his shirt over her head. She gasped and tried to cover herself. "Don’t get your knickers in a bunch, Slayer, I’ve already seen it all."

He bent and pulled down the boxers, then picked her up and boldly put her in the shower. He watched as she slumped helplessly against the wall, beginning to cry with heart-wrenching sobs. Spike closed his eyes tightly, swearing to himself, then stripped off his clothes and climbed in behind her.

With out further thought, he pulled her into his arms, her back under the shower spray and let her cry. "That’s right, pet. Cry it all out," he murmured comfortingly, stroking her hair as she sobbed into his chest. When she finally calmed, she raised her head and gave him a tentative smile. "All better?" he asked. She nodded. "Then let’s get you cleaned up."

He picked up a bottle of shampoo from behind her as she wet her hair. Gently, he lathered the scented liquid into her blond locks, smiling slightly at the expression on her face as his hands massaged her scalp. "Rinse," he instructed, turning to pick up a washcloth and the soap. Carefully, he started with her bloodied wrists and hands, working his way up both arms, then over her shoulders, around her neck and down her back.

Wordlessly, he brought the soapy rag around her small waist, rubbing softly over the front of her body, then down both legs, the purpose of the shower being not for pleasure, but for healing, for reassurance, for comforting. He pushed her gently back under the spray, then quickly washed off his own body, exchanging places with her to rinse the soap away. He shut off the water, then pulled one of the towels from over the bar and wrapped it around her body, tenderly drying the moisture away as she stared at him, wide eyed with wonder.

He gave her a small smile, taking the second towel and wrapping it around his waist before helping her out of the shower. "Stay here," he said quietly, sliding his jeans up his wet legs under the towel, then leaving the bathroom. He went to her bedroom and turned down the bed. He walked over to the small stereo, chose a CD and put it in the player. He shut off the overhead light, leaving the room bathed in the soft glow from the lamp on the nightstand.

When he got back to the bathroom, he saw her sitting on the toilet seat, dressed once again in his boxers and black T-shirt. "Come on, pet," Spike said, lifting Buffy’s tired body in his arms and returning to the bedroom. He sat her down on the bed, then grabbed her hairbrush off the nightstand. He climbed behind her and began to brush the soft, blond hair as the soothing music filled the room. Spike finished, setting the brush aside as he stood. He pushed her gently back against the pillows, bringing the sheet up to her chin.

"Spike?"

"Yes, luv?"

"I don’t want to be alone," she whispered, her voice still raw from crying. "I...I don’t care if we’re suppose to be mortal enemies... please...for tonight..."

He nodded, sliding under the sheet next to her and pulling her into the crook of his arms. He could hear her heart beating a sad staccato, feel her warm breath on his chest as he let his mind drift to the petite girl holding onto him like a lifeline. The feelings he had stubbornly repressed forced themselves to the surface of his thoughts, demanding to be reckoned with. He couldn’t pinpoint when his hate for the Slayer had turned into the complete opposite, only that somewhere along the line his respect and admiration for her strength, her courage, her wit, her undying loyalty to her friends and sacred duties had grown until he had to shove his emotions deep into his undead heart.

Buffy sighed, her breathing evening out as she slipped into sleep. Spike unconsciously tightened his arm around her as he replayed the events of this night over in his mind. On the whole, he was infinitely glad that he’d arrived when he did, even if he was forced to perform for his sire. Who knows what would have happened to the Slayer had he not been there. His brow furrowed as a hole seemed to tear in him when he tried to imagine life without the blond hellion at his side.

*Bloody hell,* he thought, glancing at the clock. *When did I go and get a bleedin‘ soul?* He picked up the phone on the nightstand and hit redial, hoping that one of the Slayer’s friends or her Watcher would answer.

"’Lo, Rosenberg’s," a sleepy voice said into the phone.

"Are you one of the Slay...Buffy’s friends?" Spike asked trying not to disturb the woman at his side. He heard a gasp at the other end of the line, then the sound of a light being turned on.

"What’s wrong with Buffy?" she asked, worry and fear in her voice.

"Relax, pet, she’s ok," Spike said.

"Is this...Spike?"

He chuckled softly. "How’d you guess?"

"The...uh, accent," she responded. "What do you want? Where is she?"

"She’s here at her home," Spike replied. "I’m going to have to leave in a few hours and I don’t want to leave her alone."

"Um...ok," she said. "This is Spike, isn’t it?"

He laughed again, then quieted when Buffy shifted in his arms. "I’ll see you in a bit, ducks," he said, then disconnected the line. Setting the phone aside, he gently kissed the top of her hair, then closed his eyes, letting the tension drain from his body.

Willow, Xander and Giles approached the wide open front door cautiously. Loaded down with the weapons of their trade, the crept into the house. "Are you sure Spike said she was here?" Giles whispered, looking around the living room.

"Yes," Willow whispered back. "Maybe upstairs?" Giles nodded and the trio went silently up the stairs. They saw a light coming from a bedroom at the end of the hall. "Buffy’s room," she told him. When their heads peeked around the doorframe, their mouths dropped simultaneously at the sight of Buffy snuggled up against a shirtless Spike on the bed, both appearing to be asleep.

"Giles, what do we do?" Xander asked.

"Stay quiet, she’s trying to sleep," Spike answered quietly from across the room, startling the three. He opened his blue eyes to see a shaky crossbow pointed at him from the doorway. He arched one dark brow at Giles, who slowly lowered the weapon. Carefully, he extracted himself from under the Slayer’s body and stood up, pulling the sheet back over her sleeping form. He saw her frown, moving her hand as if searching for him, and smiled, tenderly brushing a lock of hair off her face.

He turned to the waiting threesome and quietly went over towards them, prepared to strike out or dodge in an instant. The two teens raised their crosses protectively, but he only flinched his head back. "Willow, right?" he asked the red head. She nodded. "Be a luv and sit in here with her while I have a talk with the Watcher. Oh, and keep the crossbow."

Willow scooted around him after taking the weapon from Giles, then sat gingerly on the desk chair as told. Spike glared at Xander, who, upon Giles nod, lowered his cross. "Let’s go to the kitchen," the vampire told them softly. "You lead. I don’t fancy a stake in my back." Stopping off at the bathroom to retrieve his red, button down shirt, Spike followed them downstairs, the boy almost tripping from watching him over his shoulder.

"Now, what’s this about?" Giles demanded, a stake and cross appearing from his pockets.

Spike glared at him as he buttoned up the shirt. "Put those bloody things away before I hurt you," he said.

"How do we know you’re not going to do that anyway, fang face?" Xander said defiantly, his own cross raised again.

"Look, do you want to know what happened to your Slayer or not?" Spike said. He saw the inner war happening behind Giles’ eyes, until he finally lowered the objects. Xander followed suit, putting the island counter between himself and the vampire.

"I’m listening," Giles said.

Spike leaned against the refrigerator door, his casual appearance belaying his alertness. "Did you know Angelus had returned?"

"Angel? Yes," Giles replied. "He came back sometime last October I-I believe."

"No, not soul-boy," Spike corrected. "Angelus."

Giles eyes widened and he removed his glasses to stare at the vampire in shock. "Are you saying that-that-that..."

"He fell off the soul wagon?" Xander finished, his voice raising at the end of the sentence. Spike nodded. "This is so not good."

"What happened to Buffy?" Giles asked, pain radiating from within at the monster’s return.

"I found her tied up at the mansion, freed her, killed him then came back here," he partially lied. It was up to her if she told them more.

"He’s dead?" Giles said. Spike nodded. "Are you certain?"

"Turned to dust before my very eyes," he replied.

"Then why didn’t you kill Buffy?" Xander said.

"It’s no fun to kill her when she doesn’t fight back," Spike answered. He turned his eyes to Giles. "She’s hurting. A lot."

"I suppose she is," Giles replied, then looked sadly down as he replaced his glasses. Spike nodded once more, then pushed off the refrigerator, going upstairs. He grabbed his socks, shoes and coat out of the bathroom before continuing on to the bedroom. Willow squeaked when he entered, but he ignored her. He sat on the edge of the bed and put his shoes on, studying the Slayer.

"Is...is she ok?" Willow asked with trepidation towards the vampire.

"She will be," Spike answered, tracing his finger down the side of Buffy’s face. "Tell her...I won’t go anywhere. Not unless she wants me to go."

"Uh, ok," Willow replied. Spike leaned forward and pressed his lips to the Slayer’s forehead, then left the room, a confused red head watching after him.

"Spike?" Buffy’s raw voice cried out, tossing on the bed. "Don’t go. Don’t leave me. Please..."

Willow, Xander and Giles all jumped at the sound of the Slayer’s distressed cries, the Watcher at her side in an instant. He hesitantly touched her shoulder, shaking it slightly. "Buffy, wake up. Buffy?"

"Nooooo!" she screamed, sitting bolt upright in bed, her eyes open and wild, her hair tussled from thrashing on the bed. Giles backed a step away as Willow and Xander looked on, frightened at her terrified scream.

"Buffy..." Giles tried once again to get her attention. Buffy blinked several times, reality focusing in her eyes. She swallowed heavily, turning her head to see him and her two best friends. She continued to look around the room, the hazel orbs darting in the shadows, seeking, searching, needing...

"He had to leave, Buffy," Willow said quietly, knowing instinctively who she was looking for. "He said...he said to tell you he wouldn’t go anywhere...unless...unless you wanted him to go."

The three watched as Buffy practically folded in on herself. Her shoulders slumped, her head dropped, and the life seemed to leave the room around her form. She took a long, ragged breath, blowing it out sharply, then raised her hands to her face and began to cry.

Giles gestured helplessly to Willow, who quickly stood and joined Buffy on the bed, pulling the blond into a tight, comforting hug. "Giles, would you make Buffy some tea with honey for her throat? Xander, will you get a cool, wet washcloth for me?" Both men nodded and left the room as the red head rocked Buffy in her arms, murmuring comforting phrases.

Xander returned, pressing the cold rag into Willow’s hand, then resuming his seat on the desk chair. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as he studied Buffy with worried eyes. "Willow, look at her wrists," he whispered, pain lacing his own voice.

Willow brushed Buffy’s hair back to see the deep gouges that had scabbed over because of her accelerated healing rate. She didn’t see any other obvious wounds, but it was possible there were some under the black T-shirt and boxers she wore. Buffy began to calm down and the hacker took the opportunity to put the cool rag into her hands. She immediately put it over her face, holding it there as her cries tapered off to heavy breathing.

Giles returned, mug of not-too-hot tea in his hand, and stood next to the bed. "Buffy, Giles has some tea for you. It’ll make your throat feel better," Willow said softly.

Buffy lowered the rag from her face, reaching out for the proffered mug without raising her head. She took a small sip and felt the heat sooth her raw throat, warming her from the inside. "Thanks," she whispered, tucking her hair behind her ear with one hand. Willow was glad to note that while her eyes were red and puffy from crying, there were no other marks visible on her face.

"Buffy, where is your mother?" Giles asked, keeping his voice pitched low so as not to scare the girl.

"Seattle. Buying trip," she answered, then took another sip of the tea. "Gone until Saturday."

"Shall I call you off of school today?" he said. Buffy nodded.

"Do you want me to call off, too?" Willow asked.

"No. You guys go ahead. I’m gonna try to get some more sleep," Buffy mumbled in response. "Wait, what time is it?"

"Six thirty," Xander answered. "Are you sure you want us to go?"

She nodded again. "Yeah," she said, handing the tea back to Giles and lying back on the pillows. She smiled weakly at them. "Thanks. I’ll be ok after a little more sleep."

"Very well, Buffy," Giles said, setting the mug on her nightstand. "If you should need anything, do not hesitate to-to call."

Willow squeezed her shoulder and climbed off the bed as Giles and Xander left the room. "Buffy, if you want to talk..."

"I’ll let you know," Buffy finished with a sad smile for her best friend. Willow gave her a small wave, then left.

There were cracks in her ceiling. Little tiny cracks that could barely be seen from her position on the bed. Buffy hadn’t moved since they left, she just lay and stared at the ceiling, her bladder burning for her to get up. Her mind kept playing over and over the events that occurred the night before, starting with the instant she knew Angel had lost his soul up until she shoved the stake into his heart.

Tears burned in her eyes again, and she pressed the heels of her hands into them, trying to stop them from falling. She let out a choked sob, then gave into the pain that was eating at her mind, her heart, her soul. A short while later, her tear ducts empty, she forced herself to get out of bed to use the bathroom. When she saw herself in the mirror, she gasped. Her face was red from where she rubbed her cheeks, her eyes swollen and bruised from crying, but worst was the pain that reflected from those eyes. Pain that was so deep, it cut to the very core of her being.

"I have to get out of here," she mumbled, quickly leaving the bathroom. She threw on a pair of sneakers and climbed out the window into the dreary, spring day.

She found his car less than a block away.

The black DeSoto with its spray painted windows sat parked on the side of the road under a tall oak tree, whose branches arched over the street, bathing it in shadows. Buffy leaned over the windshield, peering into the dirty interior through the small clear patch of glass, seeking the car’s owner. Spike was in the back seat, one leg bent, the other propped up on the door, sleeping. She absently noted that he had changed clothes and was curious as to how many black T-shirts he owned.

Buffy looked up at the cloudy sky, then tried the driver’s side door, somewhat surprised to find it unlocked. She quickly climbed in, letting as little of the day in as possible. The car smelled of cigarettes, alcohol, and stale air, the usual occupants not caring if it was clean or not. She looked over the side of the seat, wondering if her presence had waken him. It had not.

She rubbed her face wearily, then carefully climbed over the seat. She scrunched up next to him in the little room that he left, her head on his chest, her right arm holding her against his body. Her mind flickered briefly to the possibility of being killed when he woke, but it disappeared as her eyes drifted shut and sleep claimed her.

Spike woke the instant the sun faded past the horizon. He had slept much longer than he normally did, the past night’s activities and emotions having drained him, and was a bit disoriented when he felt the warm body at his side, heard the gentle beating of a sleeping heart, smelled the scent that was unique to one woman. His Slayer.

He ignored the bloodlust that was raging inside him, having learned to control it over the centuries, especially after the petite blond girl at his side forced him into a wheelchair. He lifted his left arm from over his eyes and looked down at the top of her sleeping head. He had purposely stayed close to her house, defying his nature to seek shelter out of the sun by choosing to sleep in the backseat. He had left the driver side door unlocked just in case she sought him out, somehow knowing that she would despite who he was, what he was.

He didn’t want to disturb her, but figured that her friends would be wondering where she was, worried that she was missing from her bed. "Slayer, you need to wake up," he said quietly, moving is right arm from under his head to gently stroke her hair. He heard her inhale deeply as she swam back into consciousness.

"Spike?" Buffy mumbled, her voice hoarse from crying and sleeping. "What time is it?"

"The sun just went down, pet," he replied, still running his hand over her hair. "I bet your friends are worried about you."

She pushed herself up, perching on the edge of the seat and looked down at him. She had huge, dark circles under her haunted eyes, her expression a mixture of misery and pain. "I guess," she said.

Spike sat up as well, then unlocked the back door and slid out, leaving his duster, which he used as a pillow, behind. He bent and looked in the open door, holding his hand out to her. Buffy accepted it and climbed wearily out of the car, her shoulders slumped. Without another thought, he picked her up, shutting the car door with his hip and began the short walk to her house.

"I can walk," Buffy said, laying her head on his shoulder and closing her eyes.

"I know you can, pet," he replied. He pushed open the broken door with his foot, then went inside, nudging it shut behind him without putting her down. He carried her up the stairs to her bedroom as he had the night before and found Willow and Xander speaking angrily to each other as he entered. He almost laughed at the yelp the boy let out.

"Hi, guys," Buffy said in a low, tired voice as Spike set her gently on the bed.

"Buffy, are you ok?" Willow asked, nervously eyeing the blond vampire. "We were scared when we didn’t find you here."

"Sorry," she apologized. "I needed to...not be here."

"Slayer, I have to go out," Spike said, his blue eyes conveying his needs. She studied him for a moment, then nodded. He turned to walk out the door when she stopped him.

"Will you...come back?" she asked with hope and fear in her voice. Hope that he would, fear that he would not.

"Yes, luv, I will," he said with a reassuring smile, then left after he saw the relief evident on her face.

Xander and Willow watched the exchange silently. As soon as he was gone, Xander started to speak angrily. "I don’t like this, Buffy," he said. "Spike has tried to kill us how many times? Haven’t you learned your lesson with Angel?"

Buffy inhaled sharply at his attack, tears filling her eyes once more. "Xander, please don’t..."

"Don’t what? Tell the truth?" he snapped. "I’m happy he saved you and all, but he wouldn’t have had to if you weren’t with Deadboy!"

Willow’s slap across the boy’s cheek echoed in the room, her eyes furious. "Xander, shut up! She’s been through enough without your petty jealousy and anger over Angel."

The anger left his face as he looked over to the huddled, crying figure on the bed. "Oh, god, Buffy. I’m sorry. I just don’t want anything to happen to you."

"Too late," she whispered between her tears. "Something already has...and now he’s gone."

Willow sat on the edge of the bed, putting a comforting hand on the Slayer’s leg as she calmed down. "Do you want to tell us what happened?"

Buffy wiped the tears from her face, the raised her pain-filled gaze to her two best friends. "Can I get a group hug, first?" she asked tentatively. Willow nodded and wrapped her arms around her as Xander climbed on the bed to embrace them both. "Thanks," she told them softly.

"I’m really sorry, Buffy," Xander said.

Buffy nodded. "It’s ok, Xand," she replied, extracting herself from the hug. "Do you mind if I go take a shower?"

"Go ahead," Willow said. "I’ll call Giles and let him know you’re ok." She gave the red head a small smile, then left the bedroom. Willow turned to Xander. "Sometimes you can be such an insensitive...mean guy. If you weren’t my best friend, I’d be really mad at you."

"I’m sorry, Wills," Xander said, giving her his best puppy dog look.

"Forgiven," Willow said. "But if you say anything to hurt Buffy’s feelings for the rest of tonight, I’ll uh, turn you into a-a-a fish!"

"I’ll be good, I promise," he replied.

"Ok. Why don’t you go make Buffy something to eat, I’m going to call Giles," she said. Xander nodded and left the room as Willow picked up the phone, dialing the number and extension from memory. "Giles? It’s Willow. Buffy’s here, safe and sound."

"Where was she?" Giles asked over the line.

"Don’t know. Spike brought her back," Willow replied.

"Is...is he there?" Giles said, worriedly.

"No. But I think he’ll come back," she answered. "Buffy sort of asked him to. Come back, that is."

"Oh...I guess I had better hurry over there," he said. "I stopped by the market to pick up some things to fix the door. If you could have Xander find some tools, it-it would be most appreciative."

"Ok, Giles. See you when you get here," Willow replied, hanging up after his good-bye, then went downstairs to help Xander.

Spike could hear the Slayer’s two friends talking in the kitchen as he re-entered the house. Ignoring them, he silently made his way back up the stairs, pausing by the bathroom door when he heard the shower running. He knocked, then opened the door. "Pet?" The underlying sound of crying in the shower was his answer. He stepped into the steam filled room, closing the door behind him, his undead heart going out to her.

He pushed open the shower curtain to see her sitting on the floor, her knees to her chest, rocking back and forth under the hot spray. As he did the night before, he quickly stripped and climbed in behind her, sitting on the floor and enveloping her with his arms and legs around her body. "Shh. It’s ok, luv. Everything’s going to be ok," he cooed, leaning his cheek on her wet hair, rocking with her.

Buffy’s cries tapered out and she slowly stopped rocking as she let his strength and comforting seep into her, warming her with his cool embrace. She took a deep, ragged breath and let it out slowly. "I’m turning into a prune," she joked weakly. His laughter rumbled in his chest pressed against her back.

"Ready to get out, ducks?" Spike asked, letting his hands rub gently up and down the sides of her arms.

"Yeah, I’d better before they send out the coast guard," she replied, a wry note in her voice. Spike helped her to stand, then raised himself to his feet as she shut off the water. He grabbed the same towel as he used the night before and wrapped it around his waist before turning his attention on her with the other one. "You know, a girl can get to like this," she said as he gently rubbed her body dry.

"Maybe one day we’ll try it under different circumstances, pet," Spike replied, settling the towel around her shoulders, then tapping her nose with his finger. He held her hand as she stepped out of the tub, then quirked a brow as she grabbed his clean boxers and shirt from where he piled his clothes and put them on.

She noticed his look and smiled, the flash of white splitting across her lips pure heaven to him. "They’re...uh, comfortable."

"It’s ok, Slayer. I’ll just charge the cost of your washer," he replied, climbing out and sliding on his jeans under the towel, then used it to dry his chest and arms. "Come on, luv. I think your friends made you something to eat."

He picked up the rest of his clothes, minus the stuff Buffy had in her arms, then followed her down the hall to her bedroom. While he slipped on his socks and shoes, he watched as she moved around the room, brushing her hair and putting long tube socks on her own feet, pulling them up to the top of her calves. Standing, he put the red shirt on, not bothering to button it, and held out his hand. "Ready?"

She sighed. "Yeah. I am kinda hungry," she replied, putting her smaller, warm hand in his. She gave it a quick squeeze, then let him lead her out the bedroom door.

Willow, Xander and Giles, who had arrived a few minutes before, all looked up when Buffy and Spike entered the kitchen. He gave her hand a squeeze this time, then dropped it and leaned casually against the doorframe. The two teens noticed his change of dress, but only commented on his arrival.

"When did you come back?" Xander said to him, slight anger hinting in his voice.

"Xander," Buffy said with warning not to screw around with her. She sat at the stool they left empty for her, picked up a fork and began to move the food they made around on the plate. The kitchen was silent as they waited for her to begin. When she didn’t, Giles cleared his throat.

"Buffy, Willow said you were going to-to-to tell us what happened?" Giles prompted

Spike watched her carefully as she nodded, then continued to push the food around her plate. She looked over towards him briefly, then back down. "Do you want me to leave, pet?"

"No, please stay," she answered, her voice starting to choke up again. He saw the tears form in her eyes and quickly walked over to her, ignoring the sharp gasps and scrambling of her friends. He turned her on the stool, putting his arms around her shoulders. She pressed her face into his bare stomach, her own arms circling around his waist as she silently cried.

He looked over at the others, first Xander, then Willow and finally Giles, noting their expressions and reading their body language. He impressed into their minds with one look that he wasn’t leaving, that he wasn’t going to hurt her, that he’d hurt them if they tried anything. He felt the Slayer’s tears ebb before she slowly pulled away. He let her turn back to face the counter, but stayed standing next to her within reach.

"Angel...lost his soul again," Buffy started woodenly, eyes downcast. "I didn’t know until it was too late. He...he...tied me up with wire, then r-r-raped m-me." Spike put his hand on her shoulder, lending her his strength as the others shot him horrified looks. He nodded at their silent question of truth as she went on. "Then Spike came and rescued me," she somewhat lied. "And Angel is gone...forever."

Giles took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, the silence in the room thick with emotion. "If I may ask, how did Angel lose his soul?"

"I forgave him." She said it so quietly it was as if she said nothing at all.

Spike’s emotions reeled when he heard her softly uttered words. Granted, he never liked the soul-filled wuss, but to have it ripped away by something so innocent, so pure as unconditional forgiveness which she no doubt gave him had to be more painful then sending him to Hell on the tip of her sword. He learned about that bit of information from one of Drusilla’s tantrums after he had fled Sunnydale with her the first time. If he didn’t have a soul before, he did now because it rammed into him ten times over as her pain became his own. This time, he took her into his arms for his comfort as much as hers.

"I’m so sorry, Buffy," he whispered, using her name to emphasize his feelings.

Willow was the first one to come over and lay a hand on the Slayer’s back, despite the vampire’s presence. Buffy pulled away from him and hugged the red head while Giles tried to fathom what to do next. None of his Watcher’s Diaries had prepared him for this, but it was rare that a Slayer fell in love with a vampire to begin with, let alone losing him once to get him back, only to lose him again.

"Buffy, is-is there anything I can do?" the Watcher finally asked.

"No," Buffy replied shakily. "I have to deal and move on. That’s the only way to get over...what happened."

"I can ask Faith to pick up your patrols..."

"No, Giles," she interrupted.

"Pummeling some vamps would do me good"

"You can do displaced aggression," Willow said, her voice perking up. "Take your emotions out on the bad guys. I read that sometimes works. Why do you think therapists have punching bags in their offices?"

Buffy nodded and turned to her other best friend. "Xander, you’re awfully quiet. Which is very un-Xander-like."

He floundered for a moment, looking for something to say. "I just...I have a happy that he’s gone, but I’m pretty bummed about what happened to you. It’s a Stone Cold/Goldberg match in my head."

Buffy slid off the stool and went over to hug him. "It’s ok, Xander. I think everyone in this room is feeling the same way. Well, except for me." She took another long breath and let it out slowly. "Actually, I feel a lot better now that I told you guys."

Spike knew her words were a lie, he could see it in her eyes. She was putting on a brave front, but underneath she was still in deep pain. He was surprised when she said she wanted to patrol, but didn’t voice his concerns. He would follow her, instead.

He had gone to move his car into her drive when he found out her mother wasn’t going to return home until Saturday. Until she told him to leave, Spike was sticking around. He got of the car the same time she emerged from the house, a long, light blue coat covering the black T-shirt and boxers she still wore. He was glad he had several extra sets in a bag in the trunk, because he had a feeling she was going to steal them all.

"All set, luv?" Spike asked.

"You’re coming with me?" she replied incredulously.

He shrugged. "I’ve got nothing better to do," he answered. "And I’ve always liked watching you fight. All graceful and impromptu."

"Im-who-to?"

"It means you think on your feet, pet," he said with a smile as they walked down the street to her favorite hunting grounds. They arrived at the cemetery and he disappeared from sight to allow her to do her duties unencumbered. He saw the other Slayer, Faith, come and join Buffy, chatting idly as they waited for their quarry.

He wasn’t lying when he told her he liked watching her fight. Her movements were sharp yet smooth, violent yet controlled, she used her emotions and senses, combining them to make her a lethal opponent. Tonight, however, he heard none of the witty comments she usually made. He watched as it looked like she was trying to beat the demon right out of the vamp she was fighting.

"Yo, B! Enough with the hitting already and stake the bastard," Faith yelled to the other Slayer. But either Buffy didn’t hear or didn’t care. Knowing she wouldn’t stop until the vampire was a pile of blood and bones, Spike strode quickly to her, keeping a wary eye on the brunette and captured her flailing arms by wrapping his around them and picking her up.

"Stake the bloody bastard," he ground out as Buffy kicked against him. She landed one sharp blow to his knee and he almost dropped her as he stumbled. "Slayer, hold still!"

Faith quickly dispatched the fallen vampire, then stood prepared to rip Spike a new one as she watched him struggle with Buffy. Giles had called her earlier that afternoon, briefing her on the possibility of taking over the other Slayer’s patrols and told her to not stake the blond vampire if she ran across him unless absolutely necessary.

Buffy’s struggles slowed and Spike was able to put her down long enough to turn her around and pull her into an embrace. He began stroking her hair, whispering calming words to her as the fight went out of her body and she began to cry again. When the tears dried up, he tilted her chin and kissed her lightly on the forehead. "I think it’s time to go back home, pet."

"Ok," she said, letting him support her around the waist with one arm. "Sorry about that Faith."

"It’s five by five," Faith said, relaxing slightly. "I seem to recall I did somethin’ like that when we first met."

Buffy gave her a half grin at the memory. "Yeah. I remember." Spike nodded at the other Slayer, then led her out of the cemetery towards home. "Um...Willow’s gonna sleep over tonight, but...uh...would you stay, too?"

"Of course, luv," Spike replied. "I’ll need a place come morning, though."

"You can stay in the basement. I’ll tack some blankets over the windows. There’s a cot down there, too, if you can find it," she said. He nodded and they continued the way home in silence.

"Don’t go...don’t leave me," Buffy’s voice woke Willow from her place in a sleeping bag on the floor. "No. Please..."

"Buffy, wake up," Willow said, standing and shaking her friend’s shoulder. "You’re having a nightmare."

"No, no, no, no, no," Buffy cried, still asleep. "Please, god, no..."

"Buffy!" Willow shouted harder, bending over the sleeping girl. The Slayer thrashed in her sleep, catching the red head across the jaw, sending her flying back. Tears welled up at the painful impact as Buffy continued to move on the bed, heavily involved in her nightmare. Gathering up her courage, Willow ran from the bedroom, downstairs to the basement. "Spike!"

Spike looked up from the book he was reading at the flustered red head as she tore down the stairs, her jaw red and starting to swell. "What is it, ducks?"

"Buffy’s having a nightmare and I can’t wake her up," she replied quickly. "She’s thrashing around on the bed, crying something..." Spike was on his feet before she could finish, pushing past the girl and practically flying up the stairs.

"Please, don’t go..." Buffy’s cry pierced through him as he ran into the bedroom. He quickly scooped her up in his arms, holding her on his lap as he rocked back and forth, trying to wake her up and calm her.

"Buffy, it’s a dream, it’s only a dream," he said. "I’ve got you, luv. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere." Her eyes flew open at his words, at first staring blankly before coming to focus on him, on where she was, and where she was not.

"Spike?"

"I’m here, luv," he said, looking down at her face. "You were having a bad dream."

"It was so real," she whispered, tears in her voice. "When Angel...you left me there. You w-watched as he-he-he rammed in-into m-m-me, then grabbed the-the g-g-gun and left. Even after what he-he d-d-did to you, you let him l-l-l-live."

"But I didn’t, pet," Spike said. "I wasn’t going to leave you. I wish I could have killed the bloody prick before he touched you, before he made me do those things to you." Neither of them noticed Willow standing in the doorway listening to their conversation. "I’d do anything to make the hurt go away, pet."

"Just be here," Buffy told him as she lay her head on his shoulder. "Please, don’t go."

"I won’t, Slayer," he replied, kissing the top of her head softly. "I won’t."

"I still cannot figure out how Buffy forgiving Angel caused him to-to lose his soul," Giles said wearily, rubbing his eyes after a long night and day of research.

"Yeah, well I want to know why the bastard raped her," Xander said. "I thought his specialty was mind games, not that."

"I think he did more than rape her," Willow’s soft, concerned voice came from the doorway of Giles’ office.

"Willow, how is Buffy?" Giles asked, putting his glasses back on. "And what happened to your jaw?"

"Not good. She had a nightmare last night," Willow said, touching her face. "I was in the line of fire."

"What do you mean he did more than rape her, Will?" Xander asked.

"I had to get Spike to wake her up," Willow replied. "I overheard them talking. I think...I think Angel forced Spike to do something to her. By gunpoint, if I heard right."

"I bet he enjoyed it," Xander said angrily.

"Xander!" Willow glared at him. She opened her mouth to say more, but shut it when Buffy walked into the library.

"Are you sure I can’t kill that little troll, Giles?" Buffy asked as she came in, still wearing Spike’s black T-shirt and boxers with a pair of sweats thrown over the top. Large circles ringed her eyes and her hair was pulled back in a haphazard ponytail.

"Yes, I’m quite sure," Giles replied, exiting his office after Willow and Xander. "Although it would be nice..." He trailed off with a small, Ripper-like smile, then shook it off. "How are you this morning?"

"Peachy," she answered. The bell rang signaling the start of first period and she groaned. "Ugh, chemistry." The three friends went out the door, saying good-bye over their shoulders to the librarian. After they were gone, Giles returned to his office, silently contemplating what Willow had told them.

Buffy stared blankly at the paper in front of her, trying to force the pictures that were forming in her mind away. Undaunted, they came anyway, blinding her with their intensity. Flashes of her telling Angel she forgave him, of him falling to the floor screaming, of her going into the bedroom concerned to see him sitting on the edge of the bed, of her shock when she looked in his eyes to see nothing but dark hatred as he bound her with wire, of him ripping her clothes off as she fought against him, of watching Spike suck his giant cock, of him thrusting painfully into her, of her shoving the small, wooden leg into his back, of him turning to dust.

She let out a strangled sob, all eyes turning to her at the noise. Xander put his hand on her back and she let out a shriek, jumping out of her desk and turning on him, swinging wildly. He managed to duck before she connected, then shot his body out of his desk, tackling her to the ground. "Buffy! Buffy! It’s Xander. You’re safe!" he shouted at her as they fell. The back of her head hit another desk before continuing on down to smack on the concrete, tiled floor. The blow dazed her enough to stop swinging, and he quickly climbed off of her, kneeling next to her head to look down into her face. "Buffy?"

Buffy blinked several times rapidly, her gaze focusing on the teen above her. "Xander?"

"Yeah, it’s me, Buff," he said softly.

"Oh, god, I gotta get out of here," she said, her eyes filling with tears, her voice choked. Xander nodded and helped her to her feet, then put his arm around her waist and led her from the classroom towards the library. He’d talk to the teacher later, or have Giles do it.

"Giles," Xander called out as they entered. He led her to the table, and she collapsed in the chair, sobbing. Giles hurried out of his office, shooting the teen a concerned look before crouching by Buffy’s chair.

"What happened?" he asked.

"She wigged in class," Xander replied. "I’m going to have to tell the teacher something."

"I’ll do it," Giles told him. "Why don’t you get Willow, then we’ll take Buffy home." Xander nodded and left the library. He turned his attention to the weeping girl. "Buffy?" She turned in her chair and grabbed him in a hug, almost toppling him over. Not caring about propriety, he quickly lifted the petite Slayer and sat on the edge of the chair, setting her on his lap and holding her close as she cried.

"What the hell is going on here?" Snyder said, coming into the library. Willow and Xander entered a half a step behind him. The two teens gave him a frightened look, but the sound of Buffy’s tears prompted the red head to hurry over to Giles’ side.

"Xander, my keys are on my desk. Pull my car around," Giles instructed, ignoring the Principal. "Willow, would you get some tissue, please?"

"I am the Principal here," Snyder declared, glaring at the two teens as they scrambled to do as asked. "And you two are not going anywhere."

Giles stared at the principal, the Ripper out in full force as Buffy’s sobs slowed. "Willow, Xander, go ahead." He stood, picking the Slayer up in his arms and went into the office. He put her down on the couch as Willow ran back in, tissues in hand. "Stay with her while I have a talk with Snyder," he told the hacker. He strode out of the office, his body tight with anger at the man, and stalked over to him.

"You will excuse Buffy, Willow and Xander for the remainder of today," Giles ground out threateningly. "We will discuss this later, but for now, get out of my sight before I rip your head off."

Snyder narrowed his eyes at the man, but acquiesced. "I expect to see you in my office before the end of school today," he said, then turned on his heel and went out the door, passing Xander as he came in.

Giles and Willow took Buffy home as Xander went back to their classes to pick up their backpacks. He ran into Oz in the hallway on his way out the door. "Woah. Where’s the fire?" Oz asked.

"Listen, I know I’m not your favorite person right now," Xander said. "But could you give me a ride to Buffy’s house?"

"Sure," Oz replied, pulling his keys from his pocket. "World emergency?"

Xander shook his head as they went out the school doors. "Willow didn’t tell you?"

"No, I haven’t seen her since yesterday," Oz said. "What’s the problem?"

"I’ll let her tell you," he replied, climbing into the van. "Oz? Thanks." Oz nodded and drove off.

"I think we need to have Buffy talk to a rape counselor," Willow said as the four sat in the Summers’ kitchen. "And we should call her mom."

"I agree," Giles said. "My Watcher’s training is inadequate in dealing with this. Normally, a Slayer would be-be killed soon after a rape, for obvious reasons."

"Good thing we have a spare Slayer," Xander said.

"Question. What’s Buffy going to say about the fact Angel is dust?" Oz asked.

"I-I don’t know," Giles replied. He sighed heavily. "I shall call Joyce. Would you three please check on Buffy?"

"Sure, Giles," Willow said, standing. Oz took her hand and squeezed it gently before they went upstairs.

The librarian closed his eyes, forcing his own pain for his Slayer away, then picked up the phone. Joyce always left the number where she would be tacked to the refrigerator. "Joyce Summers, please," he said into the phone. "Joyce? It’s Rupert."

"Rupert? Oh, my god, is Buffy..." Joyce said over the line.

"She’s alive," Giles replied quickly. "But I’m afraid that she’s been...been raped."

Silence. "Joyce?"

"Was it...was it vampires?" Joyce said shakily.

"It was Angel," he said quietly. At her sharp intake of breath, he continued. "He’s gone. As in dead...a-again."

"I’ll be home as soon as I can," Joyce told him, then hung up.

Giles sighed again and hung up the phone, before wearily walking up the stairs to join the others.

"I wish you guys would stop staring at me as if I were a three year old piece of cheese you found under the bed," Buffy said to the three who sat in her room. Giles had gone back to the high school to talk with Principal Snyder and had left Willow, Xander and Oz as pseudo-guards. "I’m fine."

"No, Buffy, you’re not," Willow said softly. At the Slayer’s glare, she continued quickly. "I mean...it’s ok to say that you’re not. Fine, that is. What happened was bad. Very bad. I wouldn’t feel fine. In fact, I don’t feel fine, and it didn’t happen to me."

"Willow," Oz said, laying his hand on her shoulder. She stopped rambling and gave him a quick smile. "Why don’t we get out of your hair for awhile."

Buffy flashed him a relieved look. "That would be good. I think I’ll try to get some more sleep. I’m so tired."

"Ok, we’ll be downstairs if you need us," Willow told her. She and Oz left the bedroom.

"Buffy?" Xander said, sitting on the edge of her bed. "I need to know something, so please don’t hit me."

"I won’t," Buffy replied, giving him a tired look. "What’s on your mind?"

"Spike," Xander said shortly. "He didn’t...hurt you, did he?"

"No, he didn’t," she answered. "In fact, if it wasn’t for him, I’d probably be dead."

"Willow said that he was forced to do...stuff, to you," Xander continued.

"How did she..."

"She overheard you and him talking last night, sometime after you socked her in the jaw," he said. Buffy looked ashamed at that. "Would you tell me what Spike did?"

"Saved me," she replied. "That’s what’s important."

Xander nodded. "Ok. I guess I’ll go now." He stood and walked towards the door.

"Xander?"

"Yeah, Buff?"

"It was worse for him than for me," she said quietly.

She slipped quietly past the group in the living room, heading for the kitchen. Silently, she opened the basement door and crept downstairs, her sock covered feet making no noise as she descended. He was laying on a cot in the far corner of the room, well away from the covered windows, sleeping. She went over and sat on the edge, studying his peaceful face.

"What’s wrong, luv?" Spike asked, opening his eyes to look up at her.

"How did you know I was here?"

He gave her half a smile. "I always know when you’re around." She blushed slightly. "Now, what’s wrong?"

"They’re driving me nuts," Buffy answered, referring to her friends. "Hanging all over me, afraid I’m going to break, talking about me. I don’t like it."

"They’re worried about you, pet," Spike told her.

"I know. It’s just...frustrating," she said, then sighed. "I feel so out of control." Her eyes started to water, and Spike shifted on the cot.

"Come here," he said, pulling her down beside him. She curled on her side, his left arm wrapped around her waist as he spooned his body to hers. He used his other hand to prop his head up to study her as she stared off into the semi-darkness of the basement, silent tears running from her eyes. He ran his hand up under his black T-shirt she was wearing and gently stroked her stomach in a calm, soothing gesture. He watched as the tears stopped and her eyes drifted shut, her breathing changing to that of sleep. Leaning his head down, he placed a soft kiss on her neck, then let himself fall back to sleep.

"Hi, Mrs. Summers," Willow greeted as Joyce came in the door with Giles. He had picked her up at the airport, briefing her on what he knew on the way to the house.

"Hello, Willow," Joyce said, nodding to the others. "How’s Buffy?"

"Sleeping," she replied. "At least, that’s what she said she was going to do. She kind of kicked us out of her room."

"I think I’ll go and check on her," Joyce responded, setting her small carryon down. She gave them a wane smile, the went up the stairs. Less then a minute later, she returned. "Buffy’s not there."

"She’s not?" Xander said with a frown. "But we’ve been here the whole time."

"Where did she go yesterday when she disappeared?" Oz asked Willow.

"I don’t know. Spike brought her back...Spike!" Willow said, excitedly. "She’s probably in the basement with him."

Joyce gave her a confused look. "Spike? That was his car in the driveway?"

"Yeah. He’s been here since...it happened," Willow told her.

Joyce turned to Giles. "You told me he helped her, but not that he was still here."

"I-I-I apologize," Giles stammered. "It slipped my mind as-as inconsequential."

She frowned at him, then headed for the basement. She found Buffy curled in Spike’s arm on the small cot, both apparently asleep.

"Buffy?" Joyce said, touching her daughters cheek as she crouched next to them.

Buffy’s eyes opened slowly. "Hi, mom," she said sleepily. "When did you get home?"

"Just now," Joyce replied. "Mr. Giles told me what happened. Are you ok?"

She gave her mom a small, depressing smile. "Yeah."

"Is there anything I can do or get you?"

"No. I just wanna sleep some more," Buffy answered.

"Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in your own bed?" Joyce asked, looking behind her daughter at Spike’s sleeping form.

"I’m comfy now," she replied, her eyes falling shut. "Don’t wanna move."

"Ok, dear," Joyce said, brushing a lock of hair off her face. "I’ll be upstairs if you need me."

"’K, mom," Buffy said, already slipping back into sleep.

Joyce stood and looked down at the two on the cot, then shook her head and returned to the kitchen.

"Was she there?" Giles asked, handing Joyce a mug of tea.

"Yes," Joyce told him. "I’m not sure I’m happy with her sleeping with Spike, but she looked so run down and sad, I didn’t have the heart to force her to move."

Xander groaned and dropped his head on the table. "I can’t believe she went to him for comfort and you’re all condoning it. Bad guy, pointy teeth, dead people, remember?"

"I don’t think he’ll hurt her, Xander," Willow said. "He could have done it last night or any time since he brought her home, and he didn’t. Plus, have you seen his eyes? He looks like he’s in more pain than Buffy."

Xander slumped dejectedly. "She did say that it was worse for him," he said. "But that doesn’t mean I like it."

"When did she say that?" Willow asked.

"Before I came downstairs," Xander replied. "I asked if he hurt her, and she said no, that she would have been dead if not for him, then told me it was worse for him." He shrugged. "Whatever that means."

"Per-perhaps what Willow told us earlier about Spike being forced to do...er, something was what she was referring to," Giles said, then frowned. "I wonder what it was."

"She doesn’t seem to want to tell us," Oz said. "At least, that’s my impression."

"Well, I, uh, took the liberty of scheduling an appointment with a-a counselor," Giles said. "It’s for 6:30 tonight."

"Thank you," Joyce said to him. "Thank all of you, for being here for my daughter."

"She’d do the same for us," Willow replied.

"Why don’t we all head home," Giles suggested. "I’m sure Joyce would like us out from underfoot."

He turned to Buffy’s mom as the teens said good-bye. "I shall return later to...er, help with Buffy. I have a feeling she won’t want to go."

Joyce smiled. "Count on it."

"But I don’t wanna go see a shrink," Buffy whined as she paced in the kitchen. "I don’t need to go to one."

"Buffy," Joyce said, barely holding on to her patience. "Mr. Giles went through the trouble to set up this appointment for you, and if he feels you should go, I agree. He is your Watcher."

"Mo-om," she drew the word out. "Giles isn’t always right."

"You’re going, that’s final," Joyce put her foot down. "Now, why don’t you go take a shower and I’ll fix you something to eat. We have to leave at 6:00." Buffy stuck her lower lip out, then stomped up the stairs. Joyce winced when the bathroom door slammed shut.

"Is it safe to come out yet?" Spike said from behind her.

She jumped, putting a hand to her chest. "Spike! You startled me."

"Sorry," he said, smirking. "I’m going to run out for a few minutes." He heard the sound of something being thrown against the bathroom door and he shook his head. "I’ll be back to help get the Slayer to go."

"Thanks," Joyce replied, unsure whether to be relieved or not as he went out the kitchen door into the early night. He returned twenty minutes later to hear Buffy yelling at her mom, telling her she wasn’t going to go. Chuckling, he ran downstairs to grab some clean clothes out of the dryer, then went upstairs to take his own shower.

"Mom, I’m not going and that’s final!" Buffy yelled, slamming the bathroom door in Joyce’s face as Spike rounded the top of the stairs. She gave him small, embarrassed smile.

"Let me try?" Spike asked. Joyce gestured to the door, then went down the hall to her own bedroom. He knocked. "Pet? Let me in."

"No."

"Slayer," he said in a low voice. "Open the door."

"You’re just gonna make me go," she said through the still closed door.

"I’m going to take a shower," he replied. "And that’s a bit hard to do if you won’t open the bloody door." There was a moment of silence, then the door opened for him to see the defiant face of the Slayer. He practically rolled his eyes as he entered, set his clothes down and turned on the water. "Are you staying for the show?" he asked with a sardonic lift of his brow. She blushed slightly and scurried out of the bathroom, closing the door with a bang. Chuckling, he shed his clothes and stepped under the hot spray.

Two minutes later, he heard the door open again and the sounds of the Slayer moving around the bathroom, muttering under her breath about bossy vampires and mothers. He quickly finished his shower, dried off and wrapped the towel around his waist. She was sitting on the sink, her feet kicking rhythmlessly against the cabinet doors when he stepped out. He looked down at his discarded pile of clothes he wore that day and noticed that the T-shirt and shorts were missing again. He was glad he brought up his clean clothes, but wondered why she didn’t swipe them instead. "Pet? Not that I bloody give a damn, but why are you wearing the clothes I wore today and not the clean ones?"

She stopped kicking her feet and looked down, nervously playing with the bottom of the black shirt. "They smell like you," she mumbled.

He smiled, a strange feeling filling his undead heart. Stepping closer, he tilted her chin up to look in her eyes. "I’ll be sure not to get them too dirty for you, then," he said, then gently brushed her lips with his own. When he stepped back, her eyes were as wide as saucers, and he chuckled. "Scoot. I need to get dressed so we can go."

Her expression changed from startled wonder to stubborn rebelliousness. "I’m not going," she declared, thumping her feet with exclamation.

He shrugged. "Your sensibilities," he said, then let the towel drop from his waist, reaching for his clean boxers.

Buffy blushed bright red and squealed, covering her eyes with her hands. "Spike!"

His laughter filled the bathroom, echoing out past the closed door down the hall. Giles and Joyce looked up from their seats in the living room, the Watcher having got there a minute before, then at each other. "It looks like she’s going," Joyce said.

"So, Buffy, how are you doing?" Mrs. Carson asked, looking at the blond Slayer seated across from her. The young looking counselor with her casual clothing was in such a sharp contrast to the modern office, Buffy wondered if she even worked there.

"Other than not wanting to come, fine," Buffy answered sullenly.

"Why didn’t you want to come?" Mrs. Carson said.

"Like I said, I’m fine. It’s in the past and I’m dealing," she replied.

"That is a good attitude about the rape being in the past," the counselor said, tapering her fingers in front of her mouth. "That means you know you can’t change it."

"Exactly. Can I go now?" She shook her head.

"No, I’m sorry. You’re stuck with me for another half and hour."

Buffy’s lower lip stuck out and she slumped in her chair.

"How about if we talk about your parents? They are awfully worried about you. As is the young man who accompanied you."

"Spike? He was just the muscle," Buffy said. "Picked me up and put me right into the car, the jerk."

Mrs. Carson smothered a laugh. "And what is Spike to you? Friend? Boyfriend?"

Buffy snorted. "Neither. He’s a pain in the ass."

This time the counselor let out her laugh, earning a big grin from the Slayer.

"I said that last part out loud, didn’t I?"

"Yes, but that’s ok. I’d like you to be frank with me, to tell me what ever is on your mind," she replied.

"You know what’s on my mind? The fact that everyone thinks I’m going to fall apart any second," Buffy said suddenly. "Well, except Spike."

"Why not him? What does he do differently?"

"He leaves me alone, but is there when I need someone to be," she said. "Like last night."

"What happened last night?"

"I was a little...upset," Buffy replied. "And he just climbed in behind me and held me until I calmed down."

"Climbed in behind you where?"

"In the shower," she said, then looked down at her lap, blushing.

"Was it sexual in any way? Did he have a hard on?" Mrs. Carson asked bluntly.

Buffy’s eyes flew up, wide. "No! I mean, it wasn’t like that...which is weird, considering he’s a guy...but a really old guy...maybe the older they get, the better the control..."

"Buffy," the counselor interrupted. "Slow down. You lost me."

The Slayer gave her a sheepish grin. "Sorry."

"It’s ok. Why don’t you tell me about your parents? Like, how long have they been married?"

"They’re not," Buffy answered, confused. "They’ve been divorced for a few years now."

"Really? They seem to get along remarkably well," Mrs. Carson said.

"How do you know? Dad’s in LA," she said.

"Oh, then who is with your mother in the waiting room?"

"You mean Giles?" Buffy said. She nodded. "He’s my...mentor. And a friend. From school."

"The way you refer to him must mean you are very close," Mrs. Carson observed.

Buffy nodded. "Yeah. He’s helped me a lot with all my...schoolwork and other things. Kinda like a Big Brother. Only in tweed." She smiled.

"What about your friends? The ones you say are smothering you."

"Willow, Oz and Xander," Buffy ticked off. "Willow’s my best friend, Oz is her boyfriend and Xander is...well, Xander."

"How do you guys get along?"

"Great! Well, most of the time," she replied. "We’ve had a few...problems last past semester, what with Angel..." Buffy trailed off as tears sprang to her eyes. She closed them tightly, her whole body tense as she tried to will them away.

"Is Angel the man raped you, Buffy?" Mrs. Carson asked softly, already knowing the answer from the preliminary file.

Buffy started sobbing in earnest with the counselor’s question. She bent in half, her head resting on her knees, and rocked slightly back and forth.

Standing, she went over to the blond Slayer and rubbed her back. "It’s ok, Buffy. Cry it all out."

"I need...I need," Buffy gasped between sobs. "Please, get him...I can’t do this..."

"Ok, Buffy," she said, standing and walking quickly to the door.

The three in the waiting room looked up simultaneously as she opened the door. As she opened her mouth to say something, Spike was on his feet and pushing past her, having heard the Slayer’s cries. He knelt on the floor in front of her, rubbing his hand on her back the same way the counselor had.

"I’m here, pet," he said soothingly.

"I’m here." Buffy sat up and practically launched herself into his arms, crying on his shoulder. Spike wrapped both arms around her, holding her tightly as she sobbed.

"I got you. I got you, Slayer. It’s ok. Shh," he comforted.

Mrs. Carson watched as the blond vampire held the young girl, noting the pain in his blue eyes. Pain that went far deeper than someone concerned for a friend. She gave a reassuring smile to Joyce and Giles, then re-shut the door, taking her seat behind the desk and waiting.

"I’m s-s-sorry," Buffy whispered, slowly calming down.

"There’s nothing to be sorry about, pet," Spike told her. She loosened her grip on him, leaning back to look in his eyes. He gave her a small, tender smile. "You’ll get through this, luv. You’re the bloody Slayer, after all."

She giggled, then hiccuped before looking up at Mrs. Carson. "Guess I’m not so fine, huh?"

Mrs. Carson smiled. "I guess not."

"Are you sure you want me to stay, kitten?" Spike asked Buffy from his seat next to her.

"Yeah," Buffy replied, squeezing his hand. "This is about you, too, remember?"

He gave her a look. "How could I forget?" he said, dryly. He braced himself both mentally and physically for what she was going to tell the counselor. After a brief conversation, he had convinced her to talk about what happened, knowing that it was going to be painful for both of them. He wished Angelus was still alive just so he could beat him to a bloody pulp before staking him again.

He listened as she spoke, her voice tight and controlled, recounting all that had happened to her starting with Angelus grabbing her and tying her up and ending with a lie that Spike overpowered him, knocking him out so they could escape. She told the counselor that she got word he had left town immediately afterwards. The counselor figured he did it to avoid arrest on a rape and sexual assault and battery charge. Spike kept his face an impassionate mask the entire time, even though his insides were churning, not because of what he went through, he was a vampire, after all, and could care less, but because she was the one to suffer at the hands of her former love, she was the one in pain.

After Buffy finished speaking, she felt as if a giant weight had been lifted from her. Everything had been the truth up to the point of escape, but that part was inconsequential. In fact, she was more relieved that he was dead than she would be if he were out there somewhere. Telling the counselor had paved the way to healing. There were only two more things causing her pain. The fact that she caused Angel to lose his soul, again. And Spike. She looked over towards Spike’s stoic face, wondering if he was all right.

"Spike, are you ok?" Buffy asked later that night. They were both sitting in her room, him cradling her against his chest as they watched a small, portable TV set up on the dresser, it’s flickering images the only light in the room.

He frowned down at her. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you haven’t really...reacted is a good word, to what happened," she said, looking up at him. "I know I wigged, but what about you? Angel made you..."

He put one finger over her lips. "Slayer, the only way he hurt me was because he hurt you," he told her softly. "I’ve had...sexual relations with him before. We would play similar games with Dru, so it didn’t bother me in the way you’re thinking, pet."

"Oh," she replied, her eyes round. She turned back to the television. After a few more minutes she spoke again. "Spike?"

"Yes, luv?"

"Why haven’t you tried to kill me? God knows, there’s been plenty of opportunities," Buffy said.

"I..." He started to say, then trailed off, frowning again. She turned her gaze back up to him, her hazel eyes wide and questioning. He felt his heart expand and knew he could no longer deny it. *Bloody hell,* he thought, slowly moving her until she was on top of him. "I’m in love with you, Slayer," he answered, pulling her head down into a gentle kiss.

Buffy’s heart started to pound in her chest as his cool lips touched her warmer ones, not from fear or disgust, but from the flickers of desire that licked at her senses. Her mind was reeling at his admission. Spike, her mortal enemy, the vampire who tried to kill her many times over, was in love with her. The complications were astounding, but her thoughts shut down as he deepened the kiss, licking her lips with his tongue, seeking entrance.

He was the first to break the kiss, and her eyes shot open, staring at his desire laden ones in confusion. His mouth quirked, the corners tilting up ever so slightly. "We have all the time in the world, pet," he whispered. "I’m not going anywhere. You’ve got my clothes."

Her light laughter echoed in the bedroom, no pain marring the beauty of it’s sound.

"Spike?"

Spike stopped and turned back to Buffy. It had been several months since Angelus had raped her and he was there to watch as her emotional wounds healed, lending her his strength, acting as her anchor when the memories surfaced or the nightmares came. They had spent time getting to know one another as individuals, rather than vampire and Slayer, finding that their tastes were not too dissimilar. He’d never give up the hunt, instead he had taken to leaving his victims alive. He’d also yet to hear from Drusilla and knew, someday, that was one bridge he’d have to cross. "Yes, ducks?"

Buffy rubbed the bottom of one bare foot against the other and nervously twiddled with the bottom of her favorite sleepwear - one of his black T-shirts and boxers. She looked at him with a combination of shyness and want. His mouth went dry as he waited for her to speak. "Please, don’t go."

He had her in his arms in two steps, running his hands up and down the side of her body as she pressed into him, her hands going around his neck, holding him to her as they kissed. Their tongues clashed as he kicked the bedroom door shut behind him, one arm reaching back, searching for the lock. With that accomplished, he lifted her body, her feet were leaving the ground and walked to the bed, then turned around and fell back upon it so she was on top.

He ran his hands under the shirt, caressing the bare skin of her back as she wiggled against him. He moaned as she rubbed his already rock hard arousal, then grabbed the hem of the tee, yanking it up and over her head. He pulled her body up to capture one of her breasts with his mouth, suckling the pebble-like nibble, then moved onto the second as her breathing came in pants, desire enveloping her system.

Buffy pushed back on the bed, pulling away from his mouth to straddle his hips. He stared hungrily at her swaying breasts as she tugged on his favorite coat, trying to push it from his shoulders. He sat up, shedding it quickly, along with his red shirt and black T-shirt, then yanked her bodily to him, crushing her lips with his own as their bare skin met, her nipples rubbing against his lean, muscular chest, making him crazy with need.

Spike’s fingers delved between them, under the waistband of the boxers to her womanhood. She was already wet with excitement as he stroked her clit. She writhed against his hand, her kisses becoming frantic, the first orgasm building rapidly under his ministrations. Her mouth ripped away from his as she exploded, her eyes squeezed tightly shut, her head thrown back so far her breasts thrust tantalizingly towards his face.

He removed his hand and just held her as she calmed, her breathing changing from fast pants to need. Buffy raised her head to look at him, her lids half closed, heat burning from her gaze, searing him as she slipped her hands down his body to his belt buckle. He let her clumsily work at it for a moment, but the brush of her hand against his erection was too much. Standing, he rapidly undid the belt and buttons, dropping the jeans and boxers to the floor as he expertly kicked off his shoes.

She stepped back and let her eyes rove over his hard body, taking in every nuance, every shadow, every dip and curve before putting her hands to the boxers she wore, pushing them off her hips to pool on the floor. He gasped at the beauty in front of him, seeing her for the first time in a sexual light, as opposed to a comforting or punishing one. He held out his hand to her, and she took it slowly, breaching the last barrier between them.

Gently, Spike pulled her back to him, laying down on the bed with her next to him, face to face, as he let his hand trail down the side of her body, over the curve of he waist, then back up. He gave her a small, tender smile which she returned, making his undead heart quiver in his chest. His hand began to shake, and he laid back, moving her body so she was on top of him once more, her heat pressed against his hardness. He waited.

Buffy could see him straining for control, the want in the set of his jaw, the flames in his eyes, yet he was allowing her to control things, to set the pace. She lifted her hips, bringing one hand down to hold his erection as she lowered herself onto him, gasping as he stretched her vaginal lips, his own low moan filling the room. She looked down to see his eyes tightly closed, his hands clenched into fists at her waist, his teeth biting down on his bottom lip. Her lips raised in a purely feminine smile as she began to move, rocking back and forth, her sensitive nub rubbing against his pelvic bone, their mingling hair creating more friction.

So intense was her heat it burned his shaft as she rode him, the muscles clamping and unclamping around him driving his tightly reigned control to the breaking point. With a growl, he pulled her down, capturing her mouth in a searing kiss which she returned with equal ferocity. His hands clamped onto her hips, moving them into a faster, harder rhythm, bringing them ever closer to the edge.

Buffy went over first, her cries of ecstasy filling his mouth as wave upon wave of pleasure flew along her body, making her shake in his arms. He pumped into her three more times in quick succession before his own climax hit, sending his seed shooting into her hot core, his eyes rolling back with the impact of the orgasm.

She collapsed on top of him, her limbs languid, breathing heavily onto the side of his neck. Their bodies were slick with sweat, sticking together, the air coming from the open window raising goosebumps along her spine. Spike held her to him, feeling her rapid heartbeat slowing against his chest. He moved to kiss her softly on the forehead. "I love you, Buffy," he whispered quietly against her hair.

"I love you, too, Spike," Buffy replied, her warm breath tickling his cool skin. She nuzzled against his neck, kissing him as her eyes drifted shut in contentment.

He smiled, his eyes filling with tears of joy at her words, and was glad that he listened when she first said ‘Please, don’t go.’

The End

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