DISCLAIMER: All characters are from Buffy: The Vampire Slayer and are the creation of Joss Whedon and property of Mutant Enemy. I do not own these characters, although I'd love a go at owning Spike. ;-)

"She did come for me, she did come for me, she did come for me," chanted Spike silently in his head, a mantra that made each agonizing footstep he took out of the cavern a bit easier to bear. Spike didn't want to lean too heavily on the Slayer. It looked as though she had been through a war herself. They walked silently and unopposed through the labyrinth of torch-lit tunnels. Out of the corner of his good eye, Spike caught Buffy gazing up at him every few steps, her beautiful brow knit with concern, her eyes shiny with tears. He could feel her hand on his hip, her warm and strong arm against his back, suffusing him with strength.

The two rounded a bend, navigated yet another cluster of stalagmites, and then Spike saw what he thought was an old wooden ladder ahead. Buffy brought him to a gentle halt, bent down and lifted his right foot onto the first rung, all the while still supporting the small of his back. "I didn't think you'd be able to climb up the rocks, so I found this old thing in the Christmas tree lot up there," Buffy whispered, glancing around at the cavern behind them where she had fought the Turok-han only one week ago. "Do you think you'll be able to manage, if I stay right behind you?" He noticed that she kept a firm grip on the knife she had used to cut his bindings, ready to spring into action, if necessary. Spike nodded. Ouch. It hurt to nod.

Spike grasped both sides of the ladder and then paused, instinctively, to look up first. The portal of sky above was midnight blue, glowing with stars. How many times had he walked beneath this dark canopy during his undead life? Realizing that he had taken the beauty of the night for granted, Spike thought it had never looked more inviting than it did right now.

The vision above was suddenly obliterated by Harris' big mug peering into the cavern from up above. "Bloody hell," Spike thought; he wasn't in the mood for any witty reparte from construction-boy right now. But, Xander remained mercifully silent as Spike gritted his teeth and slowly climbed his way up the ladder.

Nearing the top, he felt Xander's hand clasp him securely under his right arm to haul him the rest of the way out of the cavern. Spike stumbled and wavered once his feet hit the surface. He turned around to make sure that Buffy was emerging safely behind him, and saw Xander reaching down to give her a hand up.

Spike was suddenly hit with a wave of nausea and dizziness. "Oh, great," he thought, as he collapsed to his knees, his arms hanging limply at his sides. A choked chuckle escaped his throat as he realized he had just endured days upon days of hellish torture, only to collapse now, when he was home free. Spike could feel his torso falling forward and he was powerless to stop it. As his cheek hit the ground, he could see Buffy's black leather boots running toward him in slow motion, a shower of fine gravel raining down upon his tender and swollen cheek as the world went black.

"Spike. Spike? Please wake up; we're almost home." Buffy's insistent whisper was laced with worry. Spike could hear her, but he was completely engulfed by warmth and softness. He wasn't ready to wake up. Lulled by a smooth movement and the wonderful sound of a steady hum, Spike thought he should probably feign unconsciousness a while longer. His savior, Buffy, was near and he was warm. What more could he want? A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Ouch. It hurt to smile.

"Open your eyes, please?" Buffy implored.

"Doesn't she mean, 'eye'?" he thought wryly.

"Buffy, maybe you should just let him sleep until we get to your house," Spike heard Xander suggest. Spike noted that Harris' voice sounded farther away than Buffy's. "Not far enough, though," he thought.

"No, Xander. He needs to drink this blood before we get home. He's going to walk in to a house full of strangers, and he needs to gather some strength now. I don't know how long it's been since he ate and I don't want him collapsing again!" Buffy sounded close to tears. At that realization, Spike gingerly opened his right eye. Pain shot up through his neck as he lifted his head to see where he was. Covered in a wool blanket, Spike realized he was lying in the back of Joyce's SUV. He turned his head to his left and saw Buffy curled beside him, propped up on an elbow. He tried not to make too much of that; it's not like she could sit upright anyway. He assumed Harris was driving.

"Spike, good, you're awake! Shhhhhh...don't talk. Just drink this." She pressed a plastic cup to his mouth. He smelled the cold pig's blood and thought he was going to be sick.

"I can't." He barely recognized the hoarse whisper that escaped his cracked and swollen lips as he turned his head away.

"Spike, I know it's not fresh, and it sure isn't warm, but it's all we had at home. I just grabbed it on the way out....there's no where else to go for fresh right now. Please drink it!"

"How did ...how did you..." Spike struggled to think and connect his sodding tongue with his brain. Damnit. He tried again. "How did you know where to find me?" he finally choked out.

"Shhhh, we can talk about that later. Just drink." Buffy pushed the cup to his mouth again. "I'm sorry I didn't grab a straw from the kitchen for you," she apologized. Spike was so touched that she even remembered to bring something with her for him to eat, that he steeled his stomach, and drank long and deep. Despite his fears to the contrary, he felt like he would keep the blood down. He slumped back and felt Buffy slide her forearm under his neck just in time to cradle his head again. Spike felt tears surface again at her kindness, so he bit his lower lip to stop them. Ouch. It hurt to bite his lip. Spike sighed.

He must have drifted off again for a few moments, because he was awakened by the SUV pulling into a driveway and coming to a halt. He looked up. Buffy's house? He didn't want to be here. What if the First wasn't done with him yet? No one would be safe around him. "Buffy," he groaned, "just dump me in my crypt..."

"Shut up, Spike, and lay still. Xander is going to come around and help you out." The hatch opened while Buffy climbed over the front passenger seat to exit. Spike saw Harris' silhouette lean in and reach for his arm. As Spike slowly sat up, he caught a look of concerned concentration on the Scooby's face, his jaw set and determined. "Oh bloody hell," Spike thought, as more tears threatened to flood his eyes. He didn't know if he could handle Harris being nice to him. When Spike was finally standing upright, Xander wrapped the blanket around Spike's shoulders and gave him a gentle, encouraging pat on the back. He then jogged ahead, taking the porch steps two at a time, quietly entering the house and closing the door behind him. Buffy wrapped her arm around Spike's middle again and they started the last leg of their journey from Hell, together.

"Umm, there will be people inside, Spike...lots of people. I wish I could say that the house was empty and that you could go right in and rest quietly, but that's not gonna happen," Buffy explained. "Willow is there, and Dawn, of course. Oh, and Giles is back, too, but I don't know if he and Anya are back from the Botox's Eye thingy yet, and even Andrew is living here...he was tied up but now he's not, and..." Buffy's rambling increased as she slowed their progress until they were stopped in front of the porch steps.

She looked up at him, her arm still firmly around his waist, and his around hers. He didn't care...she could babble away until the end of time, as long as she stayed this close to him. Her voice was music to his ears; her upturned face in the porch light, an angelic vision. Spike resisted the temptation to lift his hand to gently touch the gash across her cheek. "Did she suffer these injuries to save me?" he wondered. Spike tilted his head slightly, and gazed at her with awe, feeling as though he didn't deserve this kindness from her.

Through the dream that was Buffy, he vaguely heard her explain that Potential Slayers from around the globe had converged on Sunnydale, seeking her protection from The First Evil. Buffy looked down at her feet suddenly. "I don't know if I've done a very good job of that, though...they are kind of getting killed left and right."

Spike murmured in understanding, "Like pink paper." Buffy looked at him quizically, but he just shook his head, silently putting off the subject until later.

"The rest of these girls are counting on me, Spike," Buffy continued, "It seems that, as of tonight, I'm Teachy Buffy." She smiled, looking almost proud. "I managed to slay the Turok-han, and I finally have their confidence now, I think. But, they are...umm...they are going to have lots of questions about us...err...you. Spike, they have never even seen a vampire other than the Ubervamp!

At this bit of news, Spike couldn't help but be amused. If he didn't hurt so badly, he could have a lot of fun with this and put on a real show for them, game face and all. Spike gave her a crooked smile. "Let's go, pet. I can handle the ladies."

No one spoke as Spike and Buffy entered the house, but there were a few barely audible gasps. Spike assumed that he was quite a sight. Buffy gently led him over to the couch and lowered him onto it, rearranging the blanket around his shoulders, drawing it forward to cover his bare chest. He allowed his head to fall back, but he remained seated upright.

"Everybody, this is Spike," Buffy proclaimed. Spike waited for the bloody fanfare. Ha. He lifted his head and opened his eyes, his swollen left one barely cooperating. As Buffy left his side, he felt as though a part of him was being torn away. He noted, with regret, that she was slowly walking to the other side of the living room, where she turned his favorite chair around and sat down opposite him. He felt suddenly cold and hugged the blanket closer. Four teenage girls sat on the floor, closing the gap between he and Buffy. They had obviously been trying to get some sleep, as Spike noticed that they were all sitting on makeshift bedrolls, their shiny, young faces looking up at him with what looked to be disbelief.

"Spike," Buffy said, " I don't expect you to remember their names all at once, but this is Vi, Chloe, Molly and Rona. Kennedy is upstairs bunking with Willow."

Spike purposely used all his strength to greet them in his rich, deep bass. "Hello, loves." He chucked with satisfaction as all four jumped back a bit on their bums at the sudden sound of his resonating voice. A shooting pain in his ribs gripped him, which stifled the laugh. So much for effect.

"Are..are you English?" quipped a lovely, fair girl with long, dark curls framing her face. She had an adorable cockney accent that was music to Spike's ears. He couldn't help but smile.

"That I am, pet...lots of time in London...been a long time since I been back, though." Spike answered, looking around the familiar room. He wish he knew whether Buffy really wanted him in her home. He winced as he readjusted his position on the couch, trying to lift his bruised right leg up to rest it on the sofa. Easier said than done. Buffy half stood to come over and help, but he waved her off, a small smile of gratitude on his lips. Their eyes met. He couldn't read her expression, but at least she was not avoiding eye contact. She plopped back down in her chair, nervously folding her hands on her lap.

Unbeknownst to Spike, his blanket had fallen open during his movement, exposing the scabbed-over runes which had been carved into his chest and abdomen to bleed him. The girls' eyes were wide as they gawked. A beautiful African American girl and the lithe redhead seated next to her exchanged whispers and pointed. Spike pulled the blanket closed, a bit embarrassed by the attention.

"Xander?" Buffy called out, her voice strained. "Did you get the ice pack?" Xander emerged from the dining room, holding a Ziploc bag full of ice, and a towel. He was still silent as he walked over to Spike and handed the pack to him. "This is a new record for Harris," Spike mused to himself as he gingerly raised the ice pack to his left eye. Xander backed away from Spike and stood at the entrance to the living room, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

The teenagers were startled out of their reverie at the sound of footsteps bounding down the stairs. Dawn was leading the pack in a red turtleneck and jeans, her long, brown hair bouncing behind her. "Buffy, you're home!" She stopped short on the bottom step when she saw Spike's battered form on the couch. Right behind her, Willow and a lovely woman with long, black hair nearly collided with Dawn's back. Spike managed to lift a hand in a weary greeting, "Hello, Bit."

He noticed that Dawn faltered for a brief moment, and then regained her composure. "Hello, Spike. I...I'm glad you're okay," she finished stiffly. She immediately walked over to Buffy's chair and flounced down on the floor beside her, Indian style, her chin in her hands. Spike noticed Buffy absently reached out and stroked Dawn's hair, as she watched the reunions before her.

Spike looked back towards the stairs. "Hello, Red," he murmured softly. Willow immediately left the bottom step and slowly walked over to the couch, drinking in the sight of the broken vampire reclining there. She sat down next to him at the other end of the sofa and tentatively patted Spike's outstretched calf. Spike drew in a breath at the kind touch and found himself on the brink of tears yet again. He was grateful for the ice pack, and moved it over to his right eye briefly to catch the tear waiting there. He glanced over at Buffy, who was scrutinizing Spike's face with narrowed eyes. "Damn," he thought. She saw."

"So, you're Spike, the vampire we've heard so much about," the girl on the steps guessed as she came over to stand next to Willow. She seemed older than the rest. Spike thought he could sense spunk about the girl, and also a bit of protectiveness towards Red. Hmm...

A real Einstein, this one. "Yeah, that would be me, pet" he said, trying to smirk confidently. Ouch. It hurt to smirk.

Spike had known all along that another figure lurked in the shadows clear across the long living room, and he assumed it was Andrew. Spike chose this moment to lower the ice bag and look his way. Spike didn't like the geek and he didn't like the things he and his friends had done. Andrew slunk out of the shadows, unnerved by Spike's gaze. "H...H...Hi, Spike. Gee, I'm glad you're okay. You look cool with those cuts and bruises. Wow, what a nasty monster the ubervamp was, huh? Did you know that Buffy slayed it? Y...Y...Yeah, that's what she did..." Andrew's whiny babbling trailed off. Spike just stared at him, silently. "Yeah, well, okay, then..." Andrew returned to the shadows to watch.

Spike smirked. "What a bloody wanker," he thought to himself.

Buffy rolled her eyes in Spike's direction and smiled. His eyes returned an amused answer to her silent message. "So...," Buffy began, rubbing her hands together. "This morning Eve expressed some concerns about Spike. Yeah, I know...the real Eve's dead and so our Eve was really The First, but, maybe, some or all of you are worried about the things she brought up regarding Spike." Spike's eyebrows rose in interest at this bit of news, remembering the First's appearance today in the cavern as a young, blonde girl with an annoying accent.

Buffy continued, "Spike really needs to rest soon, but you Potential guys can ask a few questions of him, so that you'll feel better about him being here in the house. That okay, Spike?"

"Yeah, why not," he muttered. "Fire away." Buffy was right; he was feeling right knackered and needed to get to the basement to rest soon.

Questions suddenly came at Spike from all directions. Kennedy, off to his right, wanted to know what The First wanted with him. The tall redhead kneeling on the floor clamored to be heard above the rest as she asked him about the symbols on his chest. The dark-skinned, serious, teen wanted to know why they should believe that he would not bite them while they slept. Another girl with cropped auburn hair wearing studded leather jewelry, asked Spike when he had been turned.

The room grew suddenly silent as everyone waited for Spike's replies. He fidgeted in his seat. Willow reached out and touched his arm. He turned his head and looked into her eyes and she smiled sympathetically.

Before Spike could say a word, Xander spoke up from the foyer, "To answer your question, Rona, you will be perfectly safe tonight and every night because Spike, here, will be chained in the basement! Isn't that right, Buffy." It wasn't a question; it was a statement.

"Now theres the Xander I know and hate!" laughed Spike, wincing at the effort. "I wondered how long you could keep up with the nicey-nice act!" Where've you been hidin', Mate?" Xander glowered at Spike, his arms crossed over his chest.

Buffy had already jumped to her feet. "Knock if off, you two! Yes, Xander, everyone will be safe tonight. You have my word." Xander threw up his hands in the air in frustration, but remained silent. Buffy sat back down, looking down at her lap. Spike was concerned about her. She was being pulled in twenty different directions and now had the weight of the world on her slender shoulders. She looked up at Spike and met his gaze. "Do you want to continue with this?" she offered.

Spike nodded and opened his blanket, staring down at the carvings on his chest. He looked up and met the redheaded Potential's shy gaze. "These, love, were carved into my chest by those nasty hooded buggers. The First bled me and created the Turok-han." He hung his head at the memory.

Dawn spoke up, "All that blood we saw on that wheel in the school basement was yours?"

Spike looked up solemnly and met Dawn's blue eyes. "Yeah, Bit, I reckon. Sorry you had to see that."

Spike turned his attention to the girl whose black leather belt he admired. Spike smiled at her and she smiled right back at him. "What's your name, pet?"

"Chloe," she answered in her raspy voice.

"Well, Chloe, I was sired in London in1880 by a vampire named Druscilla. The rest isn't worth talking about. Let's just say I was a truly evil creature..."

Buffy interrupted. "But I want all of you to know that Spike is no longer evil. He has not fed off humans for...well, he did have that lapse recently, but that's because The First was making him do it." She nodded at the simplicity of it all, but the Potentials looked at her like she had two heads. Spike couldn't suppress a chuckle as he caught her eye.

"Fact is, pets, I have a chip in my head that makes me harmless, except when I hear a certain folk song. I can't hurt a human without getting a major migraine. And, recently...well, I earned my soul back, I did. I've lost my taste for killing and the like, I can assure you."

"You what??" all the girls exclaimed. They all started chattering back and forth.

"That is a story for another night, guys. It's getting late and we have a lot to do in the morning." Buffy stood up and it was obvious that the Q & A session was over for now.

Spike cleared his throat. "Wait, Slayer, I'm cheating someone out of an answer." He turned to his right and focused his attention on the one named Kennedy who had, by this time, sat on the floor at Willow's feet. She lifted her eyebrows expectantly, as if to say, "Well?" Spike couldn't help but smile; he liked this one. Spike gave her a frank look and admitted, "The bloody First wanted me to embrace the evil side again, yeah. It told me I had to choose. But, fought it off, I did." Spike lifted his chin. He was proud.

Molly spoke up, "How did you ever resist it, Mr. Spike?"

Spike smiled again at her accent, and at his new title. He peered up at Buffy, who was now standing across the coffee table from him. Her eyes were smiling gently at him. Spike was answering the English girl's question, but his eyes never left the Slayer's. "I resisted it, pet, because she believes in me." Spike saw Buffy's lower lip drop almost imperceptibly as she took in a deep breath. Her arms, which had been folded across her chest dropped to her sides.

Spike knew that all eyes were upon them. Not wanting to embarrass Buffy, he broke eye contact first and brushed some imaginary lint from his black jeans. Xander coughed loudly. Dawn rose to her feet behind Buffy, then Willow jumped up from the couch, pulling Kennedy to her feet. In a voice that was too forced, the witch suggested that everyone go into the kitchen for some hot chocolate and cookies to celebrate the Ubervamp's demise. Spike could see Andrew slinking by, trying to hide behind the Potentials. Neither Spike nor Buffy moved a muscle.

In a few short seconds, he and Buffy were completely alone. Buffy walked slowly around the coffee table and sat down on it, facing him. Still looking down, he barely noticed his pain as he pulled himself up to face her. Buffy's two tiny hands reached out to take his in her own. As she lifted them up to gently examine the cuts and bruises on his fingers and wrists, a sob escaped Spike's throat and he raised his eyes to meet hers, his head tilting ever so slightly. Buffy was smiling at him and her eyes were brimming with tears. He knew they were both thinking of another night, not that long ago, when their roles were exactly reversed, and he had her wounded hands in his. That was the night Buffy came back from the dead, and Spike truly felt, at this moment, that his life had begun anew, as well.

The End