((Author's Note: The Angel episode Sleep Tight hasn't happened yet in this time frame.))


He was trapped.


Motionless, eyes riveted to a single point in space, watching. In a
flurry of blonde hair and black leather, the two fighters tore into each
other, ripping and kicking and biting. There was nothing else, but the two
of them, and the battle was horrific. Blood already pooled on the floor,
splattered the walls.


The Slayer always appeared about to win. She would knock the faceless
beast down, but each time it would get back up, and push on. It was wearing
her down, and all he could do was watch. He couldn't even voice his horror
at it.


And he knew he was doing this, that he was this faceless creature. But
how could it be him? He wouldn't blacken her eyes with his fists, tear her
flesh with his claws. He would never do that. And yet there he was,
watching himself.


The battle raged on.


***


"Open the door!" Buffy shouted, as Spike began to struggle in her arms.
Xander rushed ahead of her, fumbling with the keys before popping open the
Magic Box door. Buffy practically fell through it, the bell ringing crazily
above her head.


"Training room." she puffed out, grunting as her hold on the vampire
slipped a little. She hoisted him back up, tightening her grip to the point
of pain, and pressed on.


Xander again held the door as she struggled into the back room, and dropped
Spike on a training mat, falling to her knees soon afterward.


"Spike...Spike!" she shouted, trying to reach him, restrain him, and dodge
wild blows all at the same time. "Stop!"


She felt tears pricking her eyes again, but refused to let them fall. His
eyes weren't even open. God, what if he had brain damage?


Someone flipped on the lights.


"Buffy, he's not even awake. I think we need to...chain him up or
something." Xander spoke from behind her, refusing to look at the scene.


"Yeah..." Buffy breathed, exhausted. "There's some in the weapons chest."


"Here..." he grabbed them and locked the manacles around Spike's wrists,
looping the chain around a strong pipe in the wall. They both backed up
quickly to avoid the kicking feet.


He continued to thrash for a few moments, while Buffy and Xander watched in
silence, unsure what to do. From the front they could hear Tara making an
'anonmyous tip' about where the police could find the stolen diamond and the
murderers of Katrina Silver.


They had left Warren and Andrew in their 'lair', securely bound and gagged.
There was little else they could do; both were human. Not demons to be
slain. There had been a tense moment when Dawn had to be dragged away from
Warren, whom she had kicked squarely in the mouth, but Buffy didn't blame
her. She had had to struggle not to do much more herself.


The struggling finally stopped, and Spike sagged against the chains, still.


Xander looked away again, and helped Buffy back to her feet. He looked at
her lost expression and quickly pulled her into a hug.


"Hey...He's gonna be fine. It's Spike, remember?"


Buffy snorted, returning the embrace.


"Yeah. He won't ever go away when we want him to. This isn't any
different."


Tara poked her head in.


"I called Anya. She's on her way."


"She's so not gonna be happy about this..." Xander complained, referring
to the vampire locked in the training room, and he led Buffy out.


"How ya doing, Will?" The Slayer asked, sinking into one of the chairs
around the table.


"Good. Headachy, and dizzy, but good."


Dawn looked up from her study of the table, her eyes still red-rimmed.


"How is he?"


Buffy sighed, pushing a lock of hair out of her face.


"He's not good. When he wakes up...." she trailed off. If he wakes
up...."We'll see."


***


Sleeping that night had been hard. Knowing that he was alone, even for a
few hours, locked in the Magic Box, was killing her, but they had little
other choice. It was the only place strong enough to hold him that didn't
have any windows. Anya had promised she would come in early to check on
him, and call her if there was any change during the day. Everyone had
pretty much forced her to bed, all saying how much she needed her rest.


So Willow and Tara got a complaining Dawn off to school, while the Slayer
slept. She didn't even dream, she was so exhausted.


When the call finally came, it was around noon. It woke her instantly,
even though someone had answered it downstairs. She was changed and down
the stairs before Willow hung up.


"Was that Anya?" she asked.


Willow nodded, grabbing her coat.


"Yeah. He's awake. Tara!" She called. "We gotta go!"

***


Buffy increased her pace when she saw that the 'Closed' sign had been put
up on the Magic Box door. Anya had never closed the shop during the day,
unless there was something wrong. Xander's car was already out front. She
must have called him at work.


The three girls hurried inside, to an anxiously awaiting Anya, wringing her
hands.


"Thank god! He's been doing THAT for about a half an hour. Scared away my
money!" she whined. "I had to close early."


Growling and rattling of chains echoed from the back room.


"Has anyone been in there?" Buffy asked.


"No, I didn't go in." Xander paced near the door, running a hand through
his hair. "Didn't know what to expect...."


"That's okay, Xander. I'll...go see...." she trailed off, and marched
past them.


Xander went to console Anya, who looked as if she didn't know what to do
with herself. She couldn't understand why Spike was acting this way.


Buffy turned the doorknob and the noise inside cut off abruptly. She took
a deep breath and made herself push it open, and step inside.


"Spike?" she asked, shutting the door behind her as quietly as she could.


He was watching her, wide-eyed, before he tore his gaze away, looking at
the far wall. He was sitting up, and as she came closer, he looked as if he
were trying to push himself into the wall.


"Hey...it's alright, it's over...." She reached out to touch him, but he
jerked away. Her eyes flooded with tears again, and she bit her lip to stop
them from falling.


"Sorry about the chains. Everyone's...worried about you."


He didn't respond.


"Are you...hungry?"


He slowly shook his head, and she nearly jumped for joy that he was
understanding her, at least.


"Dawn's really worried...Dawn and I...we're worried about you, Spike. Are
you alright?" she asked, her voice as sincere as she could muster through
her tears. She reached out again, fingers brushing his shoulder.


He yelped and jerked away again, pressing his cheek to the wall, panting.


Her lower lip trembled, and tears traced down her cheeks. She got up
quickly and left the room, shutting the door carefully behind her.


Everyone shot to their feet at her reappearance. She hugged herself.


"H-how is he?" Tara asked, noting the tears.


"He's..." Buffy trailed off, and shook her head. "He's broken, like you
said, Wills. Totally broken...."


Xander somehow managed to pull off looking sick and pissed off at the same
time. His world had crumbled when Buffy died; one of his constants gone.
Now it was starting to crumble again. Broken was never a word used to
describe the always present and annoying vampire that would trade insults with
him till the cows came home. Another constant gone.


"But we can fix him, right?" Willow asked, looking a little sick herself.


"I don't know." Buffy shook her head, walking over to the phone. "But I
know someone who might."


*****


"Angel Investigations."


"Uh...Hi....I need to speak with Angel...please." Buffy said.


"Fine, may I ask who's calling?" replied the gruff and streetwise voice
on the other end.


"Buffy."


There was a pause.


"Oh...Buffy? Yeah, I'll go get him."


Another, longer pause followed, until the phone was snatched up again, and
an anxious sounding Angel spoke into the phone.


"Buffy? What's wrong? Did something happen?"


She closed her eyes. God, she was NOT looking forward to this.


"Yeah. I need your help. Actually...not me."


"Who?"


"Spike."


Pause.


"Uh huh."


"I told you he's been helping us. The chip and everything..." she fought
back the tears again, her voice cracking. "He was captured a couple of
weeks ago. Tortured. We just got him back, but he's..."


"Broken?" Angel asked, sounding surprised.


"Yeah. That's the word. I figured you knew something about..."


"Torture."


"Yeah."


Yet another long pause.


"Is he talking at all?"


"No. He won't let anyone touch him. He shook his head no when I asked him
if he was hungry, but that was it."


She could hear Angel swallow. She tensed.


"The aim of torture is not to kill the victim, but to break down the
victim’s personality. If he's that far gone, Buffy...He's going to need
a lot of help."


"I can handle it. What do I have to do?" she asked.


"Try to get some blood in him." he sighed. "I'll be there as soon as I
can."


Click.


Buffy blinked. He was coming? Here? She slowly hung up the phone. She
didn't know if that was a good idea, seeing how much Spike hated his
grandsire.



She looked over at the others, who were watching her expectantly.


"Uh...Angel's coming. To help."


Willow winced, glancing toward the door to the back room, knowing it
wouldn't please Spike. Anya and Tara looked a little confused.


There was a loud thunk as Xander dropped his head onto the table.


"Great." he said, the sound slightly muffled. He raised his head.


"Anyone got a muzzle? Or two?"

It had taken a little planning. Actually, it had taken a lot. But thirty
minutes and two scrapped ideas later, they were going in.


Buffy opened the door, a perfectly heated mug of blood in her hands.
Xander followed, looking pretty nervous. He hadn't liked this idea at all,
but it was the best they had. So, he got to be the distraction.


He stepped around Buffy, swallowing, and moved towards the chained vampire.
Spike watched him, his eyes wild, his lips curling back slightly. He hadn't even
noticed Buffy yet, apparently.


"Hey, Spike..." Xander started, taking another step. The vampire let
loose a growl, low, almost too soft to hear. Gripping tightly at the chains
that held him, he flattened himself against the wall.


"I come in peace," Xander held out both his hands, in the universal sign for
being unarmed, and continued forward, slowly. Buffy crept up behind him, holding tight to
the mug.


"Just want to talk..." Xander continued, now almost close enough to Spike
to reach out and touch him. He stopped, slowly crouching to appear less of
a threat to him. "We're just trying to help..."


Spike was frozen, it seemed, breathing harshly, muscles twitching and
trembling. A small part of Xander wanted to gloat; Spike was afraid of him.
Something that had never happened before, to his knowledge. But the
greater part of him was sickened by it. He couldn't understand how anyone could
do this to a creature, even a vampire like Spike. Staking, beheading,
burning, sure, that was fine. But this? It was like pulling the wings off
a butterfly.


Buffy was now close enough as well. She slowly set the mug down, and
nodded at Xander. He flicked his eyes to her for a second to let her know
he was ready, and reached slowly for the mug.


Buffy pounced, one arm locking around Spike's neck, jerking his chin up,
the other locked tightly around his chest, stilling his arms. The vampire
howled and thrashed, but was too weak to break the Slayer's hold. He must have
realized this, for his struggling stopped, as did his breathing, his eyes
locked on Xander. The terror in them made the boy freeze, for an instant,
before grabbing the mug and bringing it to the vampire's lips, forcing the
scent of it to his nose.


Spike vamped instantly, instinct taking over with the blood so close.
Xander tilted the mug, draining it slowly into his open mouth, and noted it
was comparable to feeding a baby bird.


The mug was emptied quickly, and Xander moved back, turned on his heel, and
left the room. He knew Buffy would want a moment alone with Spike now that
she had his attention.


****


God, this is hard, Buffy thought, her arms still locked around Spike, who
was watching Xander leave. The demon had already receded, and he was
starting to struggle again.


"Shhh, Spike..." she said softly, her mouth pressed to his ear. "We're
not going to hurt you. We're trying to help. We know you can get through
this....Please...." Those damned tears were starting to try and show again.


He made a soft sound in response, relaxing a little.


"We're all worried about you. We know...what happened. Warren can't hurt
you anymore."


His jaw clenched at the mention of the name, but he gave no other indication
that he understood. His eyes were drooping a little, as if he were fighting to stay awake.


"I'm here for you," she whispered. "You know that, right?"


He blinked slowly, and sighed, actually leaning into her hold. She was
comforting him.


The tears were flowing free now. She was overjoyed she was getting through
to him, but terrified that he would never be the same again. Her grip
relaxed, and she removed her choke hold on him. His head dropped to her
shoulder. Her hold on his arms turned into a gentle hug, and she supported
him.


She sniffled, threading her fingers gently through his hair. He winced,
and slammed his eyes shut, jaw clenching again.


"You don't have to be ashamed. What...happened, it would have killed
anyone else. You...are so strong...."


His eyes opened again for a moment, and she could swear there were tears in
them. But they slid closed again. He was falling asleep.


She kissed the side of his head, and laid him down as gently as she could.
He whimpered at the loss of her touch.


"I'll be back soon, William."


He made no response as she stood and scrubbed her cheeks. She turned and
left the room.

***



An hour after sunset, Angel arrived.



He frowned at the tinkling of the bell overhead as he entered the shop, Lorn
in tow. No one said a word. He looked at each in turn, taking in their
expressions. Willow looked terrible, pale and tired. Buffy looked worse,
as if she had been crying for hours. The ex-demon, Anya, was moving around
the shop, dusting things that obviously didn't need to be dusted.


Xander's face held no expression; he simply watched his fiancee, not even
glancing up when Angel and Lorne entered. Dawn was asleep, curled up on the
floor with her school bag as a pillow, a duster that was probably Spike's
serving as a blanket. Tara -- Willow's girlfriend, he remembered -- was doing
her best to comfort everyone, talking in low tones with Buffy and Willow.


Angel simply couldn't understand how this had affected them all so much.
It was Spike. It couldn't be that bad.


"Eek, the aura in here just screams 'brood'." Lorne spoke, dusting off his
jacket.


"Who are you?" Buffy asked, giving a soft smile to Angel, before taking in
the green-skinned demon.


"This is Lorne; he's one of the good guys. He might be able to help."


"Oh," was all Buffy said, before rising and moving toward him. She had
that 'let's get down to business look' on her face that he knew so well.
Resisting the urge to call Cordy and check on Connor, he met her halfway.


"Where is he?"


"He's in the back. He was sleeping, finally. We had to force feed him,
pretty much. He hasn't eaten since he was captured, apparently."


Willow looked over.


"When he came to...get me, he said he had killed someone. That they made
him."


Buffy closed her eyes, and lowered her head.


"Since then, then. Do you, uh, wanna see him?" she asked Angel.


He thought about it for awhile, glancing to the phone again. Lorne gave
him a look.


"Yeah."


Buffy nodded, hugging herself, and then pointed to the back room.


"He's in there." she said, before sitting back down.


Angel frowned, and shrugged, gesturing for Lorne to stay there while he
entered the back room.



The first thing he noticed was that Spike was chained up. He cursed
silently, shaking his head. Restraints would only further enforce the
'training' he had been put through.



"Spike, my boy..." he said rather loudly. His grand-childe jerked awake
in an instant, looking around, dazed.



"What have you gotten yourself into this time, huh?" Angel steepled his
fingers and crouched near Spike, tilting his head. He was surprised at the
fear in Spike's eyes. Never once had the younger vampire been frightened of
him, even after all his evil self had put him through.



"So, is this just some ploy? Make them think you're weak so you can kill
them all?" he asked, his voice smooth and even. "'Cause I gotta say, you're
doing a damn fine job."



Spike neither spoke nor moved. He simply stared at him, wide-eyed.


Angel chuckled and rose, giving a Spike a grin, before returning to where
the others were gathered. Only then did his attitude shift.


He sighed, looking around the room.


"I need to know everything that happened to him -- it's the only way I can
figure out how to pull him back. He's in bad shape. And Buffy?" he said,
turning to her.


"Yeah?"


"Next time someone is brutally tortured and stripped of any control, let's
try and not further that by locking them in chains?"

Angel finally lowered the stack of papers Willow had handed him, struggling
to control his anger. After reading Warren's account of Spike's training,
he was feeling the sudden impulse to break the boy out of jail and teach him
how it was done without technology. Even though he had issues with Spike,
and his demon was fairly impressed with the boy's work, he still felt the
need to avenge his grand-childe.


He stood, tossing the papers back on the table. The others watched,
expecting.


"Though Warren wasn't clear on the why, I think I've pinpointed the moment
Spike broke." He spoke firmly, his tone all business.


When he didn't elaborate, Buffy gestured for him to continue. He cast a
look toward the still sleeping Dawn, before looking back to the Slayer.


"I think we need to know," she responded to his unspoken question.


Angel drew an unneeded breath.


"Alright. It was during one of the all-night sessions he pulled. He was
trying to get Spike to tell him about himself. Warren found a scar on his side,
made by what appeared to be a knife. When Spike refused to tell him where he had
gotten it.....He reopened it. Stabbing him there. It took a few hours, doing it
over and over, before he told him. After that, Warren had little trouble with him.
He didn't say what Spike had told him; I guess he didn't consider it important.
I need to know what happened with that scar. Why it was so important."


No one spoke. Buffy had paled again, hugging her arms around herself
tightly. Lorn, most unconnected with the events, shifting in his seat.


"It obviously had to be something he was either ashamed of or afraid of.
Right?" he offered.


Willow cleared her throat.


"He was never very...sharey. We would only know if he was hurt when it
showed. But...but it had to be recent right? Since it's a scar..."


Angel nodded. "Yes, fairly recent."


"I know." Dawn's voice suddenly broke in.


Everyone turned to look at her. She was sitting up, holding Spike's duster
around her.


"Dawnie, you shouldn't have had to hear that..." Buffy started, before her
sister cut her off.


"If I hadn't, none of you would know." Her lower lip trembled slightly,
but she drew herself up, and put on a brave face.


"That night. With Glory..." she started. "When I was on the tower.
Before Buffy had to jump."


Everyone tensed, painful memories surfacing. The fact that the Slayer was
back did nothing for the pain her death had caused.


"I sent Spike up there..." Willow remembered.


Dawn nodded, hugging the coat closer. When she spoke again her voice was
emotionless, detatched.


"That creepy old man....Doc, was going to cut me, and start the ritual.
I saw Spike come up behind him, and I was so relieved...But Doc was too fast.
He got around behind Spike and stabbed him...." she held up the duster,
showing the clean slice through the side of it. "Here...It must'a hurt a lot,
but he tried still. Doc threw him off the tower. He...blamed himself. If he
had saved me, Buffy wouldn't have died."


Everyone was silent again for a moment.


"Dawn, why didn't you tell us this?" Tara asked, tears shining in her eyes.


"Because none of you cared!" The girl was close to tears now herself.
"None of you wanted to know. Don't tell me if I had, Xander wouldn't have
used it as ammo."


Xander swallowed, and remained silent, unable to deny the fact.


Angel took in this news. It was still hard to see his grand-childe
denfending a little girl. So unlike the Spike he thought he knew.


"Thanks, Dawn..." he said, sincerely. "I know that was hard, but it
helps a lot."


She smiled a little, and leaned back against the wall.


"So, you can fix him?"


"I think I can....I just have to know one more thing." He already
suspected, but he had to be sure. "What's the most important thing in
Spike's life? I know you guys don't know him that well..."


"That's easy." Willow piped in, eager to help. "Buffy. Or Dawn. Or
both." She furrowed her brow.


Angel looked at Buffy to confirm. She nodded slowly.


"He's in love with me."


"Good." Angel said, struggling to control the lingering jealousy in his
voice. "Makes what I'm about to do that much easier."



****



The dream had come again, through the fog. The faceless beast tearing to
shreds everything he cared about. He supposed it was a dream; memory couldn't be
so shapeless, could it? It didn't matter anyway. He was still trapped, lacking
the will to push through the fog to touch where soft voices sometimes filtered
through. He had no idea when he had entered the fog. He only knew it was safer
there. Let his baser instincts take control. It didn't matter. The need to hide,
and be alone.


Parts of him knew what was happening. But he just couldn't seem to care.
The fog was comforting, painless. He didn't have to remember there. He didn't
have to see the look on his Slayer's face when he had smashed it.


He was somewhere familiar, that he knew as well, but anywhere could be
familiar. Every once in a while, someone would come in, feed him, threatening to
make the fog disappear. But it always rolled back in, after sleep.


But something had changed. When he woke last, a sliver of fear had touched
him, the voice he heard something he remembered from long ago, when he was weak and
useless. He had lost something important to that voice. But he couldn't place it.
Protective instinct had almost driven him from the fog, but he didn't have the
strength to fight it.


Suddenly he realized he was no longer alone. That voice was there again,
taunting. He refused to see, to really listen. But it pressed on....



****



"...Spikey old boy, you should have been there...The way the blood ran...It
was pure poetry. You could have written sonnets about it...."




****



Fear tangling up in the comfort again. He felt his chest rumble as his
baser self growled, annoyed by this intrusion. GO AWAY! He wanted to scream, but
he couldn't. the voice was getting louder, his weary mind almost hearing it. Like
the soft voice of his Slayer when he had been fed last, it had come through. But
he didn't want this voice to come through. It was something he didn't want, ever....



****



"She didn't even put up a fight...The witches were hard, but if you
surprise them..."



****


Witches? Witches...he knew that. He could put names to the images that
word brought up. Images? No! If he was remembering, the fog would lift.
He could hear it now, the taunting voice. He tried to move his arms, press his
hands over his ears. The pain was returning too, the deep throbbing
headache.


"...And the little girl? Man, was she tasty. I just can't stop playing
with her. So innocent, you know how I love 'em like that. She doesn't even
cry anymore."


Dawn.


His eyes snapped open, and the fog shattered.


*****



Angel threw himself fully into the role. It wasn't the first time he had
pretended to be Angelus to get something accomplished. Spike was growling
full force now, barely taking breaths in between. His blue eyes were showing
some vague awareness, and were locked on him.


"And Buffy, she didn't even put up a fight. The witches were hard, but I
surprised them, took the stronger one, and the weaker just crumbled. Big
and soft she was, like sinking my fangs into a nice, ripe peach. Beautiful."


He tilted his head, pacing in front of his now unchained grand-childe,
hands clasped behind his back. He wafted the scent of Buffy's blood, donated
from a slice on her palm. They had to make it as real as possible.


"I tore through the boy, made him watch as I took his demon." He grinned,
squatting in front of the younger vampire. "Then I strung her up with her own
intestines. He didn't put up a fight after that. It was fun to rip him apart.
God, is he annoying."


He got closer, his face inches from Spike's, Buffy's blood on his breath.


"And the little girl? Man, is she tasty. I just can't stop playing with
her. So innocent, you know how I love 'em like that. She doesn't even cry
anymore. I'm thinking of keeping her forever. You want a taste before I do?"


Something flared behind Spike's eyes. A scream ripped from his chest and
Angel suddenly found himself across the room with a throbbing jaw. Spike,
enraged, coming after him. He leapt quickly to his feet, ready to keep the
other vampire from tearing his head off with his bare hands.


"BASTARD!" Spike screamed, pummeling Angel's face with blow after powerful
blow. Angel felt his cheek bone crack, but took the punches until he saw
his opening.


He ducked under a high punch, and hooked Spike's arm, pulling it behind his
back, locking his other arm under the blond's jaw. Spike's rage fueled his
strength, and Angel found himself flipped over the blond's back, landing
hard on the floor.


"Spike, do you smell anyone else on me?" he started the next step, while
scrambling out of the way of a boot to the head. Back on his feet, he danced away
from another wild blow.


"Shut up, you bastard, you killed them..." Another sharp blow to the face
was landed, and this time, Angel returned it.


"I didn't, Spike, we had to get you back. Don't you smell the soul on me?"


His words were heard, but Spike barely faltered, staggering back from the
blow to the nose.


"Doesn't matter. Bit's not a plaything. Gonna kill you..." He threw a
hard punch at Angel's chest, which the older vampire caught, holding the
wrist tight enough to hurt. The second hand followed and he did the same.


Snarling, Spike tried to break free, but Angel only tightened his grasp,
bones creaking.


"Warren can't hurt you anymore, you don't have to hide. They need you, you
know."


Spike's face faltered, but he didn't stop struggling, even though his
struggles became weaker.


"They don't, they..."


"We do." Buffy said from her place by the door.


Spike froze, his eyes finding Buffy.

"I didn't...." he started, his voice cracking.


"No, you didn't hurt me, Spike..."


One of his arms gave another half-hearted jerk, and Angel released him,
causing him to stumble slightly. The elder vampire stepped back, giving
Spike room.


He steadied himself, panting, watching Buffy, and now Dawn, who had come in
behind her. He choked back a sob.


They didn't speak. They simply came forward, reaching out gently at first,
and then quickly when he didn't flinch away, Dawn on one side, Buffy on the
other. They wrapped their arms around him, around each other.


He was still for a moment or two. Angel watched as his arms came up and
pulled the girls closer, holding them tightly against his chest, burying his
face in their hair.


They sank to the floor with him when his knees gave out and held him as he
sobbed.

"Are you hungry?"


He blinked, and looked up, Buffy's voice breaking the silence that had
settled over the room once he had gotten control of himself. She and Dawn
still sat on either side of him, the Niblet as quiet as he was, leaning on
his shoulder. Angel still stood in the corner, a silent witness, his very
presence irritating Spike to no end, far beyond the tiny blip of
self-satisfaction he got knowing that Buffy was fawning over him in front of
the older vampire. The humiliation he was feeling was pretty much
overshadowing all his other emotions. Add the massive headache that was
driving him to distraction: he was having a bloody wonderful day.


He shifted uncomfortably, not meeting Buffy's eyes, not wanting to see the
pity in them.


"Uh, yeah," he replied, clearing his throat. Dawn stirred, lifting the
weight of her head from his shoulder.


"I'll get it," she piped, in the eager voice of a teenager wanting to be
useful. She hurried from the room.


Uncomfortable silence followed. He heard Angel shift on his feet behind
him, and unconsciously gritted his teeth. Perfect. Just perfect. Not
only had he gone off his rocker, he had broken down in front of the great
poof. He was never going to live this down. And that goddamned fear
creeping around the edges of his mind, the fear he was doing something
wrong, was making him even angrier. He was fine now. Better.


"We're going to need to get you cleaned up..." Buffy said softly, flicking
a flake of dried blood away from his neck. He could feel it sticking to
his upper lip as well. He had no idea how it got there. Of course, he
couldn't remember very much of what happened anyway. For the better.


"Yeah," he said again, suddenly amused at his own monosyllabic responses.
Why did she care?

The door opened and he stiffened. Forcing away the growl that tried to
claw its way out of his throat as an unconscious reaction, he looked up to
see Dawn entering, holding a mug filled to the brim, her face so tight in
concentration at not spilling it he almost chuckled. But all humor left him
at the sight of the rest of the Scoobies and some green bloke he didn't know
hovering in the doorway behind her, anxious looks on their faces.


This was ten times worse than the Watcher's bathtub.


Dawn smiled and returned to his side, handing him the cup.


"The others wanted to see how you are feeling."


Nauseated. He almost said it out loud, eyeing them wearily, as one by one
they filtered into the room, Red with Tara in tow, followed by Xander and his
girl. The green-skinned demon leaned on the door frame, studying him so
intensely he felt like squirming. His muscles tightened. When he felt the
handle of the mug crack under his tight grip, he drained the cup in one
gulp, and set it aside.


"So, um, how ARE you feeling?" Willow asked finally, when he didn't speak.


He looked up at her, meeting her eyes. He had a sudden, and very
disturbing flash of her terrified face, inches from his own. The vision swam
for just a moment, before he was again looking into her pity-filled gaze.
Pity. He shuddered and turned his head away in disgust.


"Better."


"Good." She half squeaked, half breathed. "We were all, um, worried."


He snorted before he could stop himself. Them worried about him. Funny.


"Spike!" Buffy scolded, swatting his arm.


He froze, his eyes suddenly on the floor. He squeezed them shut a half
second later, growling at his own response. It wasn't like that was
something she hadn't done a thousand times before. From Buffy, the gesture
was almost playful, seein' as she wasn't drawing blood. She had done much
worse to him, and he to her, over the time they had known one another.


Buffy watched him, furrowing her brow at his reaction, before her eyes
widened in understanding. She gently stroked his arm where she'd slapped
it, as an unspoken apology.


"Do you need anything?" Harris spoke, fidgeting. Spike's eyes widened in
incredulity, but he didn't look up.


"Guys, I think it's too much. Too soon. Is it dark yet?" Buffy asked,
her hands still working to soothe the vampire.


Xander nodded, frowning a bit.


"Dawn, Spike, and I are going to my place. Alone. He's exhausted and
needs to rest."


"Are you sure?" the Protector of All Things Fluffy asked from behind them.
"He's still not very stable..."


Spike drew a shuddering breath, hands clenching in the effort not to leap
up and attack Angel again. Buffy was allowed to speak as if he wasn't in
the room; he was used to it. HE wasn't.


Sensing the growing unrest in him, Buffy tightened her grip on his arm.


"Yes. He doesn't need to be overwhelmed right now, okay? You guys are
great, but this is just too soon. Xander, can you drive us?" She glanced
at Dawn, and they both stood, Buffy gently pulling Spike to his feet.


"Sure! Of course!" Xander stopped, as if knowing his enthusiasm seemed
forced. "I'll, uh, bring the car around."


Everyone followed Xander out, except for Angel of course, who still seemed
intent on keeping guard, and Tara, oddly enough.


Sensing her eyes on him, he glanced up, aware of how pathetic he looked,
with Buffy half-supporting him.


Tara chewed on her lower lip, her eyes glistening. With pity or
understanding, he couldn't be sure.


"You're in...pain," she stated, stepping closer.


"Tara, I don't think..." Buffy started, but Spike cut her off.


"Headache."


And suddenly, she wasn't the shy, soft little girl anymore, but the wise
and nurturing figure he'd seen glimpses of over the course of the years. She
placed her hands on the sides of his face, ignoring his wince, and gently
forced him to meet her eyes.


"I was lost once too. It will be all right." She kissed his forehead, and
pulled back, hands dropping to her side, the shy half smile returning. She
tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Welcome back. I'll give Buffy a
tea that will help your head."


******


The drive had been taxing. No one had said a word until they had reached
the Summers' home, and then it was only goodnights and a strangely heartfelt
and embarrassing 'Feel better soon,' from Xander. Buffy sent Dawn to bed,
though the girl nearly had to be pried from his side, and guided him
upstairs to the bathroom, where she left him alone and went to prepare the
tea.


He gripped the edge of the counter, looking down at the sink. Even the
whelp was pitying him. He was sure that Angel was as well. It was just too
much. He was not supposed to be pitied! He was a creature of the night, he
struck fear into the hearts of...well, demons. He looked up, staring into
the empty mirror, frowning softly. He wondered how terrible he looked. If
it was anywhere close to how terrible he felt....


'See? You're nothing..." a taunting voice called from his memory, holding a
mirror before his face....


He squeezed his eyes shut, turning violently away from the mirror, jumping
when he saw Buffy standing behind him.


"Drink up." she said with forced cheerfulness, holding the steaming cup of
tea out for him. He did as he was told, draining the contents quickly,
relishing the burn the heated liquid spread through his cold throat and stomach.


"Thanks." he said quietly, setting the cup on the counter. She busied
herself, grabbing a towel from the rack and setting it aside, as if she had
suddenly forgotten what she wanted it for. He sank down onto the toilet seat,
watching her silently, as she began drawing a bath. She can't even look at
me anymore, he thought, closing his eyes.


He flinched when he felt her fingers at his chest, his eyes snapping open
to meet hers. He growled again, softly, and looked away.


"Shhh..." she whispered, biting her lip. "It's alright. You've been
through a hell of a lot, Spike, not to mention worrying me nearly to death."
He furrowed his brow, disbelieving. The first button of his shirt came
open under her fingers, and she moved on to the second.


"When I thought you were gonna die, or be braindead, or whatever, I
suddenly saw this whole big stretch of a world without Spike. A Spikeless
world. And it sucked. I realized how much I would miss you..."


"I'm sorry...to have...uh, worried you," he said softly.


The second button popped open. He was suddenly very self-conscious.


"Don't be sorry."


"I can...do this myself." He said, referring to the bath.


"I know." The third button, followed quickly by the fourth. She hissed
softly, her eyes widening. She quickly finished the rest of the buttons.


"Don't..." she warned, making full use of her Slayer voice when he tried
to twist away. She studied his skin, gently peeling back the rest of his
shirt.


"Bastard." She hissed, studying the bruises that covered his pale skin.
There was a barely healing burn close to his navel. Remembering what Angel
told her of Warren's journals, she pulled Spike to his feet, and removed the
shirt, turning him around.


And there it was. A wicked ugly stab wound on his side. It was scabbed
over, and healing, but it still looked painful.


He was silent, fists clenching. She didn't say another word, just divested
him of the rest of his clothes, and guided him into the bath. She took her
time, bathing him slowly, gently, until his muscles were no longer knotted
and tense, and the water was growing cold. Draining the tub, she pulled him
out, and started to dry him off. The dead look in his eyes was driving her
insane. She wondered, briefly, if that's how she looked when she first
started to go see him.


She guided him to her room, closing the door. He stood there, staring at
her bed, clad only in the white towel she had secured around his waist.
Coming up behind him, she ran her hands up his back, tracing the corded
muscles underneath. He tensed, turning his head slowly to meet her as she
moved around to stand before him, never breaking contact with his skin.
When she met his eyes, they were no longer dead, they were angry.


"I don't need your pity, Slayer." He ground out. She smiled.


"There you are. I was wondering when you would show up." Her fingers
slowly made their way up his chest, careful of his wounds. "And this isn't
pity. I am just reminding you. Touch can be good."


She studied his eyes, tilting her head. The anger was gone. The dead look
was as well. What remained was something she couldn't put her finger on.


She wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled him down, kissing his
forehead.


"Come on. You need to rest."


He nodded slightly, swallowing, and let her guide him to the bed. He
settled in, closing his eyes and inhaling her scent from the pillow as she
covered him up. She joined him moments later, wrapping her arms around him,
spooning him, and stroking his arm softly as he fell asleep.

**********************






'You're nothing, you know.' The knife twisted, digging. He bit his lip to
keep from crying out. 'Just a tool to be taken out and used whenever it's
needed. Nothings don't need secrets, Spot.' Another twist and he was
screaming.


Shift.


I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming.....


Shift.


The monster laughed. He hit the ground hard, bleeding.


Shift.


'You're nothing to me, William. You're beneath me.'


Shift.


A powerful blow landed, cracking his jawbone. Followed by another. And
another. The demon fell away, and he was gasping, the world blurring around
him, though her voice was clear.


'You don't ... have a soul! There is nothing good or clean in you. You are
dead inside! You can't feel anything real! I could never ... be your girl!'



*****



Sleeping had been hard that night. She tried as best she could to calm him
when he shivered, stroking his arm, rubbing his back. He would still, for
an hour at best, before moving again.


It was hard to see him like that. He was usually so in control, such a
force to be reckoned with. But now, he needed care. And comfort. And she
didn't know if she could give it. She watched him, propped up on her elbow,
listening as the birds sang out the coming dawn. She couldn't figure him
out, her vampire, playing at being human. Moments ago, she discovered that
she had forgiven him. Out of the blue, watching him, she knew suddenly that
she had. For everything he had done to her and her friends. Maybe it was
the fact that he had protected Dawn while she was dead. Had kept his
promise. Maybe it was because he had kept them safe by not breaking under
Glory's torture of him. Or because he had withstood her own torture of him,
taken the beating in the alley without a word of protest, and forgiven her
afterwards. Maybe because he really loved her. But most likely, it was
because he was so weak now. So little. And the time was right.


Her discovery had taken her by surprise, and her first instinct was
to wake him and tell him. But he looked so tired, she had resisted. Now, he
was twitching again, making little sounds in the back of his throat. It pained
her, but she still didn't want to wake him. He deserved his rest. He
deserved her hand on him, in comfort, not in violence. She didn't know what
it meant, this change of attitude that had brewed since he had gone missing;
since she had seen him, writhing on Warren's basement floor in agony. She
had feelings for him, deep, scary, fight-or-flight inducing feelings. But
she didn't know what it was. And if it wasn't love, she couldn't play him
anymore. He didn't deserve that.


He moaned suddenly, and curled his knees to his chest. She frowned, and
bit her lip. Wake him. No need for him to suffer any longer.


"Spike...." she shook his shoulder lightly. "It's only a dream. Wake
up."


He curled tighter into himself, silent again but shivering.


"Spike!" She raised her voice, pulling on his shoulder to roll him over.
She sat up, hovering over him, and shook him again, harder.


He tensed, muscles exploded into motion, and suddenly he was fighting her,
hands pushing out blindly, clawing at her arms, legs kicking.


"Spike!" She was shouting now, and he was growling, teeth gnashing,
snapping at thin air. She got enough leverage and pushed him into the
mattress, straddling him, holding him down. He thrashed and howled,
fighting.


"Spike!" She called his name once more, and slapped him, hard enough to
sting, but held back on her full strength.


His eyes snapped open, dilating, still clouded with the dream. He bucked
once more and she fell to the side, bouncing on the bedcovers.


He stared, wild-eyed, before rolling off the bed with an audible thump,
and scrambling to his feet, taking slow steps until his back hit the wall.
He stood there, eyes closed, catching his breath.


She pushed herself off the bed, and approached him, slowly, as one would a
wild animal.


"You okay?" she asked softly, reaching out to grab his hand.


He looked up at her, chest still heaving, blinking. His arms shot out and
grabbed hers, pulling her flush against him. His vice-like grip held her,
and she held him back, making nonsensical soothing sounds. He was still
trembling.


In a flurry of motion, her back was against the wall, and he was kissing
her. Just like that. His mouth plundering hers as if she were his
lifeline, as if her breath in his mouth was all that kept him alive. She
returned the kiss with all the passion she could muster, her tongue tangling
with his, meeting him blow for blow.


Eventually he slowed down, releasing her, and pressing his palms to the
wall behind her. He pushed his forehead against hers and barked a laugh.


"What?" she asked, still a tad breathless. Melting already, and he had
barely touched her. God, the man had a talented mouth.


"Nuthin'." A long pause. "Jus' realized I'm naked."


She looked down, and indeed he was, still naked. She chuckled too.


"Is there anything you...need?" She asked, her voice coming out ten
times more husky than she intended.


He pushed away from her, with considerable effort. She furrowed her brow,
confused.


"I said I wasn't goin' ta be your whore." He took a deep shaky breath.
"An' you're not gonna be mine."


She smiled at that, even though his back was turned. She could wait.
Whatever he needed.


"Why don't you get some more rest. I'm gonna go heat up your breakfast and
wait for Xander." He gave her a slightly questioning look as he climbed
back under the sheets. "He's bringing you some clothes by."


His eyes widened a little.


"Not his, I hope."


She laughed, shaking her head.


"No, he's running by your crypt. He didn't wanna go last night. Too
dangerous."


He relaxed and nodded, laying his head down. He didn't close his eyes
again until she had left the room.

*******

She went downstairs, going about the ritual of busying herself. Dawn
trudged down moments later, looking fully awake but cautious. After a quick
glance around the room, she entered fully, falling bonelessly into a chair
at the table.


"How is he?" she asked, toying with a place mat.


Buffy shrugged, popping a mug in the microwave. "He's not good, Dawn, but
he's doing better. I think." She frowned. "I don't know. He's having
nightmares."


"So that's what all the noise was about?"


Buffy nodded.


"Yeah, he was a little confused this morning. Kinda freaked out."


There was a moment of silence, broken only by the beeping of the microwave.
That part done, letting the blood cool to body temperature, she got Dawn's
breakfast ready.


"He's not going to get better, is he?" Dawn asked, her voice small.


"Yes, he is, he just needs our help." Buffy forced a smile. "He's going
to be fine."


"You don't have to lie to me, you know."


Buffy sighed, and plopped down in the chair opposite her sister.


"He is going to be fine. I am going to make sure of that. Alright?"


Dawn searched her face, trying to see if she was lying again. Whatever she
saw must have satisfied her, because she gave her own small smile and
nodded.


A short knock, followed by the door opening and slamming shut signaled
Xander's entrance. He dumped a pile of clothing on the easy chair and
called out for Buffy.


"Yeah?" She held her bathrobe a little tighter, rising from the table
to join him.



"Turn on the TV." She furrowed her brow and did as she was told.


"....happened sometime late last night, apparently the work of explosives.
One inmate was killed last night, while five others remain in critical care.
While police and paramedics are still searching the rubble, four inmates have
yet to be accounted for. If you're just joining us, Sunnydale Police
Department was attacked late last night, as part of a botched prison break.
No word yet on the names of the missing prisoners."


Buffy looked over at Xander, wide-eyed.


"I stopped by on my way over, pretending to be a relative. Warren escaped
Buffy. Warren and Andrew."

************


"Well all the love from me,
With all the dying trees I scream...
The angels in my dreams,
Have turned to demons of greed that's me...."
Soul to Squeeze, Red Hot Chilli Peppers



Spike had slept for most of the day. An exhausted sleep that had apparently
kept him from dreaming. Small blessing that it was. She had been checking
on him from time to time, and he had barely shifted position. Aside from
the slightly creepy picture he presented, a corpse in her bed, she was
grateful. She had other things to deal with.


The rest of the Scoobies plus two arrived at sunset. Ready to deal with
the continuing threat of the now Duo of Nerds. Among other things.


"So, are we going to tell him?" Willow asked, twisting her hands in her
lap. Buffy pretended not to notice.


"About what?"


"The chip. Warren and Andrew. All of it. Are we going to tell him?"


That was an interesting question. First off, telling Spike about the
chip could be.....She didn't know what it could be. But she trusted him, right?
That was important. He was just so messed up right now. He probably wouldn't
want to deal with it at all. Would he?


Her troubled thoughts manifested outwardly with her drawing her hands
through her hair, and heaving a deep sigh.


"I don't know Will. I just...." she sighed again. "I don't know."


"I don't think we should. I'm still worried about him going all Angelus
on us," Xander spoke, shooting a pointed glance in the direction of Angel, who
promptly began to ignore him.


"But if he just found out, by accident?" Tara shifted in her seat,
glancing around the living room. "Wouldn't that be worse? He would feel
betrayed."


Buffy brought up her hand, silencing them.


"Well, he's not exactly up and about right now, so we'll wait until he's
better, okay?" If he ever gets better. "Right now, we need to focus on
those god-damned nerds."


Everyone blinked in surprise at Buffy's language. But she ignored them and
forged on.


"Xander, when you went to the police station, did they say exactly if
Andrew and Warren had escaped or were just unaccounted for?"


"Unaccounted for. But I'd bet my life they were the ones that blew up the
station."


"Alright, so we'll assume the worst and say....."



******


"....they've escaped. So where will we find them?...."


The soft voices floated up the stairwell, murmurs so light that only a
vampire could understand them.


Well, that had to be one of the top ten most horrible ways to wake up.


For a moment, blind panic clutched at Spike's throat, but he pushed it
away. They were just two bloody humans. No threat to him. As they had so
amazingly proved over the past couple of weeks. Fuck.


He sat up in bed and looked warily around the room, as if the two harmless
humans were waiting in the shadows for him. Bloody irrational fear. He
was tired, so damned tired of being afraid. He had faced Slayers, the
Boogiemen of his kind, with no fear. Probably because it was also fun as
hell. But this....


Suddenly, being naked wasn't the greatest idea in the world.


He stumbled out of bed, eyes frantically searching the darkened room for
his pants. He prayed to whoever would listen that Buffy hadn't left them in
the bathroom last night.


Ah. There.


He pulled them on, wincing a little as the denim caught on his still
healing cuts, and quickly grabbed the button-up folded neatly beside them.


The room was becoming claustrophobic, the darkness seeming darker than it
actually was. He focused on what he was going to do, rather than the way he
felt, striding over to the door and easing it open.


The voices were louder now, of course. Guess the gang's all here.


"Yeah, he seems to be getting better, though he's having nightmares....."


Still talking about him. Though the worry in Buffy's voice was almost
enough to send his thoughts into a chorus of 'She cares!', he was sickened
by it at the same time. He didn't want to go down there, where they would
look at him funny and speak softly and slowly to him, as if he no longer
comprehended the English languge. Where they would ask him if he was alright
and if he needed anything to the point of nausea.


He slowly pushed the door shut again.


Window it is.


***************



Information about the explosion was coming in slowly. Angel was calling
old informants. The news was endlessly giving updates, mostly the same
story over and over, but occasionally, something new would 'develop'.


"Buffy..." Angel said softly, drawing her attention to him. "They just
pulled Andrew's body from the rubble. Warren is still missing."


She stared blankly at him for a moment. How awful was it that she didn't
care about the boy's death? She wasn't glad, no, but she wasn't upset about
it. It had probably been his own fault, messing with explosives. What
was worse -- she dearly hoped Warren's body followed those of his friends. That
slightly freaked her out.


"Alright, so we don't have to worry about Andrew. Just Warren. You
guys...keep looking...or watching...or whatever.... I'm going to check on
Spike...."


She trudged up the stairs, pushing her hair away from her face. What in
the hell was she going to tell him? 'Yeah, the guy who turned you into a
puppy is running around free?' No. 'You know how I promised that Warren
would never hurt you again? Well....'


She stopped, frowning. She suddenly noticed she only felt one vampire in
the house. Spike's unique signature wasn't detectable at all.


She flew into her room, banging the door against the wall in her haste.
Her curtain fluttered in the breeze from the open window. Spike's clothes
were gone.


"Guys!" she yelled, and ran back downstairs.


******************


Spike trudged through the cemetery, wondering if this was such a good idea.
Just a quick jaunt to the crypt to get some smokes. But his head was pounding
again, making him dizzy.


The crypt was much as he left it, a little bit trashed, as if someone, or
likely, something, had dug through his stuff recently. Understandable,
considering how long he'd been gone.


He dropped through the hole into the bottom level, forgoing the ladder as
too slow, stumbling a little when he touched ground again. He plopped down
on his bed and started rooting through the dresser next to it.


"He's dead, you know."


The voice made him shudder, and he turned slowly, already knowing who it
was. Just. A. Human.


"Who?" he managed, trying to keep his voice nonchalant.


"Andrew." Warren said, stepping closer. "It's your fault, you know."


He was slowly getting more and more angry. Which he figured was a good
thing. In with the rage, out with the pain.


He shrugged, finding his smokes, and quickly lighting one.


"Good. What do I care?"


Warren smiled grimly.


"Oh you'll care. Stand up. You're coming with me."


Spike blinked at him, the fear now completely gone.


"Are you daft? That doesn't work anymore, boy."


"How do you know I haven't made another controller, Spot?"


Spike's jaw twitched at the name.


"Use it. Don't give a fuck," he answered, smoke billowing from his mouth
as he rose from the bed.


"Oh, I will, Spot. And I'll find a way to collar your Slay-whore too."


Spike raised a brow, flicking the cigarette to the side.


"Is that so?"


"Yeah. If you're good, I might let you play with her when I do."


He shifted into game face, enraged, and launched himself at Warren. He
felt something rip through his chest as he tackled Warren to the ground, but
the pain didn't even register. His hands were wrapped around Warren's
throat, and the boy was making the most pleasing sounds.


"Bastard!" he screamed. "You'll never be good enough to lick her boots!"
He tightened his grip, and felt something crumple beneath his fingers with a
sickening crunch. Warren's eyes bugged out, and then he was still.


Spike sat back, panting. The demon melted away.


Oh shit.


Buffy was gonna be pissed.

Spike watched Warren's slowly cooling corpse from across the room, his
back firmly against the wall, cigarette burning forgotten and smoldering in
one hand, trying to figure out what the hell he was going to do.


He had attacked first. In Buffy's eyes, in everyone else's, he would be
condemned. In his own, he was only sorry for the fact that he hadn't made
the boy suffer more. He couldn't be sorry for killing him, not after
everything he had done to him and everyone he cared about. Nope.


He shifted his eyes from the boy's face to his hand. A blunt bit of wood
still held in his death grip, red with blood. When Spike first saw it, he
figured he was only seconds from covering Warren with his own ashes. But it
was only a knife, the blade broken off and still lodged in his chest. He
barely noticed the pain, only felt the annoying sensation of a splinter,
something forgotten within his body.


Dumping the body and washing his hands of the whole mess was out of the
question. Last week's (last month's? Last year's?) little debacle with Katrina
had shown how out of practice he was with that. And questions would be
asked about his wound. He would need help getting the blade out, in any
case.


He laughed to himself, watching the body as if it were going to hop up and
dance around any moment now. How things had changed. A decade ago, he
wouldn't be having this problem. He would have displayed the body, written
his name on the walls in blood, bragged to the nearest ear, written to the local
newspaper. But that was before Buffy, before the chip...


His thoughts came to a screeching halt. The chip. Confusion and dread
spun in his stomach. Oh god, the chip. If he'd killed Warren, it must be
gone. Or not working. Maybe he hadn't felt the shocks because of his
burning rage. He hadn't felt the stab wound. Or maybe Warren wasn't human.


But the chip had always had the power to knock him out of killing mode,
piercing the soft and vulnerable tissues of his brain and making his legs
shake. And Warren WAS human, he'd smelt it, felt it....


A part of him, the part that still reveled in the thought of burning this
town to the ground and dancing in the raining ashes, celebrated. Another
part, the part that had grown to love and protect Buffy and Dawn and the
Scoobies, recoiled in horror.


His mouth was already watering at the thought of feeding again.


Oh God, what if I'm not strong enough? What if...


A series of scenarios burned though his head. Xander staking him, not even
giving him the benefit of the doubt. Buffy, with fire in her eyes, pulling back her
arm for the killing blow, blood of some unnamed victim still warm on his lips.
The twisted and mangled forms of Dawn, Tara, Willow, Giles, Xander, Anya,
Buffy....after he'd finally snapped.


The fog started to roll back in. His eyes searched frantically, looking
for something sharp and wooden. He couldn't let himself be unleashed on
them. He owed them that much. He'd kill himself after he killed them,
surely, so why not save their lives, one last time?


He crawled across the floor, groping under the bed until he found his
prize. Returning to his spot against the wall, he stripped off his shirt,
and pressed the wooden point to his chest, pushing...


He choked in pain, the splinter of steel twitching, digging deeper into the
rib it had lodged in. He wasn't at his best, his own strength couldn't force
the blade to break the bone and allow the stake to pierce his heart.


He laughed, tears forming, looking at the dead boy.


"What do you know? Looks like you get to kill them after all..."


The fog formed, thickened, and trapped him.



////



Buffy pushed open the door of the crypt, frowning softly. Angel stepped
in after her, eyeing the room with distaste. She had sent the other off to
various demon haunts, cemeteries. Tara waited with Dawn at home, just in
case he came back.


God, the nerve! What the hell was he thinking, sneaking off like that,
when he's so weak, so...needy. And damnit, SHE needed him. He was not
allowed to just dissapear! When she found him....


"I smell blood." Her thoughts were interrupted with all the grace of a
bowling ball to the head, with a statement like that.


"Spike?" she called, moving deeper into the crypt, Angel following.


He scented the air, and nodded toward the opening in the floor.


"Down there." And vanished down the hole a second later.


This time she was following, descending the steps with only a little less
grace than her compainion, and was chilled by the scene presented to her.


Spike was backed against the wall, a firm hand holding a stake to his
bloody chest.


Angel was one step ahead of her.


"Goddamn it, Spike!" He jerked the stake away, flinging it across the room
where it clattered useless to the floor. Her eyes unconsciously followed
it.


At the foot of the bed, on the rugs she'd had so much fun under, lay
Warren. His neck was at an odd angle. It was obvious he was dead.


"Spike, what happened?" She asked, her voice coming out a little colder
than she intended.


"Buffy..." Angel said, his voice softer now. He'd seen the corpse as
well, but turned his gaze back to Spike. "He's gone again."


She turned to look, and indeed, his blue eyes were far away. He was
motionless, only trembling slightly at their presence, not even looking at
them. His gaze was locked on a point across the room. It was an even
deeper fugue than he'd put himself in before.


She knelt at his side, shaking his bare shoulder.


"Spike?"


"Buffy..." Angel said again, frowning slightly.


She didn't look at him.


"Get the body out of here. And...give me some time."


He was silent for a long moment, looking from her to his grandchild, the
frown deepening. Then he nodded, and did as he was told. Within moments,
they were alone.


First things first. She ran her fingers over his chest, examining the
wound. It didn't look too bad, it wasn't bleeding much. The glint of metal
worried her, however.


Swallowing, she rose and found a switchblade on the bedside table.
Flipping it open, taking a breath, she dug into his chest, half not wanting
to hurt him, and half wanting the pain to wake him. He didn't move,
however, as she made the cut a bit deeper, and dug her fingers in, removing
the five-inch blade with little trouble. All he did was twitch.


A square of gauze and a little tape, and he no longer looked so...dead. She
stared into his eyes, which refused to meet hers, and wondered what the hell
she was going to do.


He'd killed again. So he knew the chip didn't work anymore. There had
obviously been a struggle, and the part of her that Faith, Dracula, and
Spike had seen cheered at his triumph over Warren, human or not.


But it was wrong. Killing people, even criminals like Warren, just wasn't
to be done. Not by her. Not by him. Their punishment was decided in the
human world, not in the world where she dealt justice nightly with a pointy
stick.


But what would have driven him back into himself? Killing Warren? Or
realizing the chip was gone?


'Love. Give. Forgive.'


She'd forgiven him so much. She could forgive him this. They would need
to talk about it, discuss it, but she knew she could. He'd already wormed
his way into her heart, and she wasn't going to repeat past mistakes. She'd
already locked him in. Her beast was no longer leashed, but he was still
hers.


She moved closer to him, pulling his form against her, and took his cheeks
in her hands. She turned his head, looking into his still distant eyes.


"Spike." She kissed him softly, his lips cool and unmoving. "Spike."


Her hands drifted through his hair, down his neck, over his chest.


"Spike. Wake up."

'Spike. Wake up.'


The words filtered through the fog, the feeling of warm fingers running up
and down his arms. He felt himself shiver.


The scent hit him, and his mind sighed in contentment. Buffy....


'It's alright. I'm here.'


And God, she was. Her lips brushed soft kisses over his face, traced his
cheekbones. Her thumbs smoothed his eyebrows.


'Wake up. You don't have to hide anymore.'


He whimpered, and the fog started to thin, his golden goddess breaking
through like the sun, burning the cold mist away.


He caught sight of her hair flowing around him, felt the tips brushing his
chin. Her lips fell on his again, gentle as rain. His eyelids fluttered.


'There you go. Come on, Spike.' Her whisper came to his ear, before her
gentle nibbling did.



The fog slowly rolled away, under her skittering fingers and light kisses.
She felt him draw breath against her, his lips part under hers. His hand
drew up, gripping the back of her neck and tangling in her air, and his mouth
flowed into hers, sipping from her lips as gently as she had from his.


She settled on his lap, trembling with the same desire he did. Her mind
spun, screaming for oxygen, but she didn't care. When he pulled back,
forehead resting against hers, she almost moaned at the loss.


"I'm sorry..." he muttered, hugging her close, as if she was going to
leave.


She didn't respond, simply let her fingers play with the wild curls of his
ungelled hair.


He swallowed, and spoke again.


"The chip....Buffy, it's gone...."


"Shh..." She pressed a kiss to his lips again. "I know. I was the one
who told Willow to take it out. It was killing you."


He stiffened in surprise, pulling back to look into her eyes.


"You didn't tell me....?"


She shook her head, watching his reaction.


"I didn't want it to trouble you. Not until you got better."


"But what's to keep me from..."


She cut him off again, another kiss.


"No one can be your leash, Spike. Only you can. I'm sure you'll stumble a
few times. But I'm here for you. We all are." She pulled him close again.
"It would kill me to have to stake you. Please don't make me."


He shook his head.


"I won't. I'll try...." he trailed off. "But I've killed now. That
girl. Warren."


She sighed softly, leaning fully against him.


"And that was wrong. You know that, right?"


He nodded, closing his eyes.


"I know it. But I can't feel bad for killing Warren."


"I know...." She kissed him again, clinging to the back of his head, and
all talk was forgotten in gentle sighs and roving hands and crashing
pleasure.


////


Epilogue




The Bronze was nearly full, the mass of sweating and sex-charged humanity
swirling around him. Buffy was on patrol, and Spike was on a mission.
Sitting alone in a darkened corner, he'd kept an eye on her since she arrived, her
dark hair pulled back away from her face, watching her blonde friend flirt
and dance, confident and shameless, with a little envy.


She was wearing tight jeans and a midriff she was uncomfortable in, dressed
to kill, nervously accepting the few invitations to dance she'd gotten.
Halfway through the night, her friend had left, a man on her arm, though
she'd begged her to stay. Her own dancing had stopped soon after, and she
gathered her things and her courage, and fled the club.


Spike paid and followed, keeping to the shadows, stalking. She walked with
her head down, gripping the strap of her purse tightly, not meeting the eyes
of anyone she passed. She was vampire bait, the way she moved, the way she
kept to herself, avoiding passerbys with practiced ease.


The streets soon got quieter, the groups and couples thinning out until she was
the only beating heart on the sidewalk. He moved closer, senses reaching out, slipping
a hand into his duster pocket.


She suddenly stopped, looking up, turning her eyes over the dark street, as
if she knew what was about to happen to her.


He moved forward, soundless, and leapt from the shadows. She flew back,
screaming, tripping on the curb and falling on her butt in the road.


But his hunt wasn't for her. The two fledglings that had been creeping up
behind her were both stupid and slow. He only took one hit, a meaty fist to
the nose, before both were blowing in the wind.


Her eyes were wide and locked on him, looking at him as if he were the devil
himself. She remembered. The silvery scar on her neck remembered too, this
leather clad beast attacking her in the alley.


But she was frozen in fear, her hand still gripping the purse strap as if
it were a lifeline, shaking.


He slowly tucked the stake back into his pocket, and held out his hand to
her. When she didn't respond, he knelt, resting on his toes, watching her.


"I'm sorry," he said, tilting his head slightly. She blinked.


"W-what?"


"I'm sorry I hurt you. You didn't deserve it."


Her eyes widened even more, but her courage was returning to her. She
pulled her legs back under her, and stood shakily.


He didn't move, not wanting to frighten her.


"I thought I'd killed you."


She swallowed, looking around the deserted street, before responding.


"I s-stayed a night in the hospital."


He nodded slowly to himself, looking down.


"I thought maybe you would have learned, though, walking home at night."
He looked back up at her.


He saw a bit of anger flash in her eyes.


"I didn't have a ride."


He chuckled slightly, and rose. She took several hasty steps back.


"Hurry on home. Nothing will bother you."


She looked down at the dust she was standing on, then back at him. She drew
up her chin.


"Thank you." Before she turned and fled down the street, full tilt.


He smiled a bit, and followed, silent, the only sound her tapping shoes on
the sidewalk. When she was safe behind her door, he returned to his own,
and the comfort of his lover's arms, feeling a little better about himself.


The End