The soft clink of the small metal object swinging slowly from Spike’s long, graceful fingers was the only sound in the shocked silence that followed his provocative question. Buffy’s eyes widened as she stared at the pair of handcuffs for a long moment, before meeting his eyes again, aghast at the question and its implications – at least outwardly.

Spike did not appear the least bit embarrassed or phased by the turn the conversation had taken – he shouldn’t, she supposed, considering that he was the one who had steered it that way – but just watched her intently, calmly, silently waiting for her response.

She debated over what to say, staring again at the handcuffs in his hand, and trying to ignore the increase in her arousal caused by imagining all the deliciously dirty things she and Spike could do with them. She glanced furtively at Spike again, hoping the heavy lingering scent of their recent antics would mask her reaction to his suggestion.

If it failed to – Spike did not show it. He just kept waiting patiently for her reaction.

For a moment, she allowed herself to actually consider the question. Did she trust Spike? The answer that rose in her mind automatically was “depends”, though she did not speak it aloud. She *did* trust him, she admitted to herself silently – with some things.

With being her backup in a life or death battle situation?

Yes.

With protecting her little sister’s life, keeping Dawn safe when she herself could not be there to do it?

Absolutely.

Even with her own emotional vulnerability, her confusion following her resurrection, she had trusted Spike enough to open up to him, to begin to allow him to be her friend – for a short time. Until “this” had started.

She had no name for it, as she had informed him just moments before. It was simply “this”. But even in “this”, she had to admit that she knew deep down, if she were to surrender to what he was suggesting, he would never use it as an opportunity to hurt her.

Unless she wanted him to.

Still, somehow, she could not bring herself to submit to such a thing. It was the one thing she had left that she could not let him or anyone else have – control. She had relinquished her control, given in to her feelings, once before.

And it had ended in heartache and hell.

So – could she trust him with the last thing she had to hold onto, now that everything she held precious had been stripped from her? Could she find the courage to surrender control to Spike – or anyone else – ever again?

“Never,” she softly spoke the answer to his question – and then quickly looked down again, wanting to avoid the look of clear pain that instantly appeared in his eyes at her response.

The brief flash of hurt was all he allowed himself to reveal, for the moment, rising abruptly to his feet, tossing the handcuffs carelessly to the floor with a loud, abrasive clatter as he grabbed his jeans and began putting them on with much greater force than was necessary.

Hurt had been quickly disguised with fury.

“Bloody typical,” he snarled in a low voice, his back turned to her – but in the stillness that had settled over the room, she could clearly hear his words, and the pain he was trying so hard – but failing – to hide.

“What?” she demanded defensively, glaring up at him with defiance in her eyes. She knew very well what had him so upset, but was not ready to admit fault just yet. “What’s typical?”

“You!” he snapped, whirling around on her as he struggled to button his jeans, his hands trembling and uncoordinated with sheer rage that he was allowing to build, to help to defend his already wounded emotions. “This is just typical of *you*, Slayer! Doesn’t matter how hard I bloody try – how many times I help save you and your soddin’ Scoobies or look out for the Bit or do whatever I bloody well can to prove it to you – you still think I’m just waiting to get this bleedin’ doohickey out of my head so I can turn around and drain the lot of you dry!”

The resentment, the wounded sound in his voice made her feel guilty for what she had said – and guilt was just one more burden that she did not need at the moment. She couldn’t seem to feel anything else lately – why should she have to feel guilty? She could feel her own anger rising up within her, a defensive reaction to being called on her mistakes, and she recklessly decided to just let it go – it wasn’t as if she could make the situation much worse.

“Oh, please, Spike! You’re a *vampire*, I’m the Slayer. What do you expect?” she sneered, her tone derisive. “It’s kind of the natural order of things, isn’t it? I’d be *crazy* to trust you!”

Okay – so she *could* make it worse. A *lot* worse.

She almost flinched herself when Spike drew back sharply, his eyes wide, his lips parted in stunned reaction to her words. He looked almost as if she had slapped him in the face – and that was a look she should recognize, as many times as she had seen it.

*I’m sorry,* came to her mind – but she choked it back, refusing to allow the words to pass her lips as she looked away again.

For once, the blonde vampire seemed struck speechless – and that was just another clue as to just how upset he was, as he turned his back to her and reached for his rumpled black t-shirt.

“Oh come on,” Buffy muttered defensively, still trying to find a way to justify her thoughtless words. “Like *you* trust *me*!” she pointed out sarcastically.

The vampire froze for a moment before turning to face her, an indignant look on his face. “I do!” he declared, his voice just a hint defensive.

“Yeah,” Buffy scoffed with a harsh little laugh. “Right.”

She swallowed back a sudden unexpected lump of emotion that rose in her throat, rising suddenly and turning her back to him. Suddenly, she was the one who did not want her emotions to be all-too-visible on her face. The thought that he might actually trust her – after the way she had been using him, the times she had hurt him – made her feel beyond guilty.

And *that* made her angry.

“I do!” Spike insisted, eyes wide with surprise that she did not believe him, crossing the room in an instant and coming up behind her as she pulled her own jeans on, her back still pointedly turned to him as she reached for her blouse. “I *do* trust you, love!”

Buffy could hear it in his voice. *God, he means it!* she thought, feeling a funny little ache building in her chest at the thought. This vampire, her mortal enemy, whom she had hurt and mistreated for the past couple of months – said that he *trusted* her? How could he trust her, after everything that had happened?

The answer was simple – he didn’t.

Her back still turned to him, Buffy spoke softly, her hands sliding into her pockets and her shoulders slumping slightly, her head bowed. “You really do, Spike?”

“I do,” he repeated in a soft but emphatic voice as he came around in front of her, needing to see her face, to know what she was thinking. “I trust you, Buffy. With my life.”

A small secretive smile began to form on her lips, but tinged with bitterness as she thought to herself that he could not have chosen any better words for the point she was about to make.

As his soft, strong hand reached to gently take her arm, the Slayer moved very quickly, spinning them around and pushing him so that his back hit the wall several feet away from her. She stared at him intently for a moment as she strode purposefully toward him, reaching into her back pocket as she did and taking out a stake.

His eyes widened as he tried to process what she was doing, and why. It just didn’t make sense – he hadn’t done anything. But as she reached him, instinct took over, and his hand shot up to catch her wrist, freezing the deadly weapon less than an inch from his chest.

He realized the instant that he touched her that he was not really holding her back; her hand had already stopped before he caught her wrist. His eyes widened as he took in the strangely sad look of satisfaction in her empty, achingly sorrowful eyes – and he realized the little test she had been putting him too – too late.

He had already failed it.

“See?” she said softly, a note of regret to her voice as she pocketed the stake again and turned away to button up her shirt. “You don’t trust me.” She was silent for a moment, as she gathered up the last of her belongings and headed toward the door. She paused, looking back at him for a moment to add quietly, “And you shouldn’t.”

He finally managed to recover from his shock of the situation enough to follow after her, voicing his objections. “Now, wait just a bloody minute, Slayer, that’s not fair! What kind of a test is that? That was a bloody reflex, pet! You can’t base anything off a reflex!”

She knew in her heart that he was right. The test had not really been fair. But it had served to dramatically illustrate her point and get her out of the situation, and she really didn’t feel like discussing it any further at the moment.

“Spike – just go home,” she said in a tired voice, as she made her way quickly toward her own house, with an incensed vampire determined to change her mind, close behind her and trying to keep up. “If you thought I was gonna stake you, then that proves you don’t trust me. So I don’t trust you, you don’t trust me – we’re even. Just – let it go.”

“No!” he snapped, grabbing her arm and spinning her around again to face him. “You haven’t proved anything here, love! I *do* trust you! But that doesn’t mean I haven’t learned anything in a hundred and twenty years. And lesson number one is, ‘You see a pointed piece of wood heading straight toward your heart at ninety miles an hour – you better bloody well stop it or get out of the way!”

She stopped, glaring pointedly down at his hand on her arm until he finally relented enough to let her go. “Touch me again,” she said in a low, calm but dangerous voice, “and I *will* stake you, Spike.”

He had heard it a million times before; that threat was nowhere near as hurtful as the words she spoke next, with a cold smile.

“Still trust me now?”

He stood there, stunned, as she turned and walked away from him toward her house, taking the opportunity to get away and get home.

Finally he found his voice, calling after her emphatically, “*Yes*! I bloody well do trust you, Buffy! And if you think you’ve got something to prove, you’re gonna have to come up with a better test than that to prove it!”

She ignored him, disappearing around the corner – and out of his life again, until the next time she decided that she wanted him in hers again.


By the next night, Spike still had not worked off the anger of his disastrous encounter with the Slayer the night before. He was busy pouring a bit of the excess energy into one of the two things he knew he could still do better than most – fighting demons.

The other – well – he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to get the chance to practice tonight. Not if Buffy was still determined to act like a raging bloody bitch.

He was currently taking on a small gang of fledgling vamps, about six or seven of them – hardly even a challenge, but something to do. He dispatched most of them quickly, and then took his time with the last one, who seemed to fancy himself the leader of the pathetic pack.

As the dust of the final vampire settled around him, he pocketed his stake, feeling a vague sense of satisfaction at the victory that was still somehow – well – unsatisfying.

*Just face it, mate…* he chided himself glumly as he turned back toward his crypt. *You’d rather be doing…*

His thoughts were cut off as he was suddenly knocked off his feet from behind, thinking as he went down that he had thought he had killed them all already. He quickly rolled over onto his back to face his unknown assailant, one fist ready to strike out and take the unfortunate fledgling down – because certainly only a foolish fledge would dare to attack a master vampire such as him in such a way.

A foolish fledge – or a Slayer.

His eyes widened as he realized who it was that had literally swept him off his feet.

“Buffy,” he whispered, preparing to say more, to ask her what he’d done, what was going on.

But whatever he was going to say was silenced by an intense, forceful kiss, as the Slayer plunged forward, plundering his mouth with her tongue and teeth, leaving him more breathless than she was, though he didn’t even need to breathe.

“Buffy,” he gasped, trying again, searching her eyes through the haze of lust that had descended over him at the taste of her warm, sweet mouth, and the feel of her soft, strong body on his. “What…”

“Shhh,” she murmured, a wicked gleam in her sparkling green eyes, a playful smirk on her face. “I think I came up with a better test,” was all the cryptic explanation she offered, before glancing down leadingly to her hand, held up for his inspection.

He frowned, a bit confused, when he noticed the soft, long silk scarf she held in her hand – one he had seen her wear on occasion. It took him a moment to understand what exactly she intended – but when he did his eyes widened with surprise.

Before he could say anything, she leaned in close, gently draping the soft fabric over his eyes, holding it closed behind his head with one hand as she kissed him again, more slowly and deliberately, her free hand sliding slowly down his body to caress low on his stomach, torturously near to the part of his anatomy that was by now begging for her attention.

The lack of sight only added to the sensation of her warm breath on his neck, her soft hand on his body, and her lush, sensuous voice next to his ear as she whispered temptingly,

“Do you trust me?”

Stunned by her question as well as her actions, Spike opened his mouth to respond – but was suddenly unsure of what he should say.

He had told Buffy vehemently the day before that he *did* trust her – had made quite the bloody issue of it, too, actually – and he wanted to prove it to her, once and for all. He somehow felt that if he could force her to admit that his feelings for her went deeper than the mere lust and desire that she constantly insisted were all he was capable of feeling for her – then maybe, just *maybe*, it might be easier for her to face up to her own feelings

Unfortunately, those feelings had been buried under the weight of her depression and repressed by her inexplicable desire to live up to the unfair expectations of her friends.

But they were *there*, just the same – no matter how strongly she tried to deny it.

He could see it, in brief, fleeting moments during their clandestine encounters – just before she would desperately rush to draw the mask back into place. He knew in his heart that she *did* love him – she just had yet to face the truth of that fact herself.

She tried so hard to disprove it, constantly, telling them both over and over how much she hated him, despised him, hated herself for even lowering herself to touch him. And yet he was certain, deep down, that every cruel word or random blow she sent his way was nothing more than a desperate attempt to escape the truth of her own feelings.

He was sure – most of the time.

In the time between their secret meetings, when she was struggling to go about her everyday façade of normalcy with her sister and her friends, and he had nothing but time in which to analyze everything and then analyze it again – he had his doubts. He wondered what sort of a bloody fool he had to be to put up with the appalling way that he allowed her to treat him.

And he wondered, in those moments of insecurity and doubt, if every single insult and declaration of her disgust and hatred were actually the truth, and he was simply building lies to shield his heart from the pain of the truth.

But when she was with him – there were moments, rare but beautiful, in which he *knew* beyond all doubt – she *had* to love him – or such moments would not have even been possible.

He could hear it in her voice when she cried out his name in the heights of her passion – could feel it in the tenderness of the rare kisses she bestowed on him in her moments of weakness, when she was too tired, or too worried, or simply too needy for the affection and reassurance that her friends no longer offered her, to resist her impulse to reach out – even if it *was* to him.

She rarely kissed him – on the mouth, anyway.

It was one of her unspoken rules, a laughably useless means of keeping him from getting “too close”.

He had to admit one point – somehow, kissing *did* seem so much more intimate than so many of the things they did. She could easily claim that she was using his body simply for her own physical pleasure, and that could be accepted as truth. But what physical pleasure did the slow, sensuous kisses he craved give her, besides the sweet closeness and intimacy that she claimed she did not want – not with him?

Her refusal seemed bitterly ironic to him, considering that she had initiated their relationship with a kiss – but she clung to that useless piece of control, refusing most times to allow it. He rarely tried to kiss her anymore, having tired of the agony of her rejection of his attempts.

On the few occasions when he did dare, she would usually turn her head away, lowering her mouth to kiss his throat, or his chest – burying her hurt and fears in his body, while denying him what it was that he really sought – to see her face…to know her in all her flaws and insecurities, as well as in her glorious and terrible power.

But every now and then, the craving for the closeness and connection – the connection that she found had somehow been removed from her life when it was so abruptly returned to her – would come upon her with a vengeance, overtaking her and driving her to let down the walls – if only for a few moments.

Spike treasured every moment of those rare occasions, when she was slow and tender, and yet touched him with an intensity that sent a consuming heat through him so powerful that he sometimes feared he would dust simply from the overwhelming power of it.

And then – she *would* kiss him.

And he would clutch desperately at the opportunity to show her with his kiss how deeply he felt for her. He would hold her close, gently but deeply kissing her until she was breathless and yearning when she finally drew away…

And that was when he would see it.

In her eyes, in the bare moment or two before she managed to hide her feelings again with a cold emotionless mask, he would see the truth. Through the haze of her pleasure and desire, she would stare at him with a sort of soft shock of affection in her wide green eyes – an almost awed expression that seemed to say that she could scarcely believe or comprehend what she had just felt – could hardly dare to put a name to it.

But Spike could – and he did, every time. He took these moments and hid them away, reminding himself, calling to mind the image of that look of awe and adoration in his most insecure moments, when he was hurting over some cruel thing she had said, some calloused dismissal of him and his feelings.

He always opened his eyes, the instant that he felt her drawing out of a kiss they had shared.

He never missed that stunning, breathtaking look.

Well -- except this time.

He hesitated, trying to decide what would be the wisest response to her question. He wanted to take this chance she was offering to prove his point – he *did* trust her. Yet at the same time, he knew that she wanted to prove *her* point just as badly – to prove that he didn’t trust her.

She was the one running this “test”; she would certainly be doing everything in her power to be sure that he failed it.

And *that* thought was bloody scary.

But – not if he really *did* trust her – right? If he really did trust her, than why should the thought of surrendering control to her be frightening? If he really trusted her, then he could be sure that she would not do anything to break that trust…

The confusing circle of his thoughts was softly interrupted as the Slayer whispered near his ear, so close that he could feel her lips curve upward into a smile of triumph at his hesitation.

“Well? Do you?” she pressed him, and he could not mistake the subtle note of amusement and satisfaction in her voice. It was clear that she thought she knew what he was going to say – she thought she had won already.

Not bloody likely.

He reached a hand up quickly to grasp the back of her neck with unerring aim and pull her down, surprising her with another kiss, sudden and intense. He felt her tense against his hand as if about to pull away – an instant before she surrendered to the kiss, returning it with equal intensity.

A consolation prize, to the vampire that she believed she had already bested?

When she drew back to catch her breath, he released her, returning the smirk he knew had to be on her face about now, as he finally answered her question sweetly, “Why of course I trust you, love!” Slowly and deliberately, he removed his hands from her back and raised them, crossing his wrists over his head in a provocative way that made it very clear what his decision was, as he added in a low, suggestive voice,

“I’m all yours, pet…”

He could only imagine the smirk of satisfaction on her face giving way to a wide-eyed, open-mouthed look of shock at his actions – but as he moved his hips just slightly under her, throwing her slightly off balance and bringing her into closer contact with the proof of just how *very* willing he was to take this particular little test – the heavy scent of her arousal reached his nostrils, and his smile widened.

Whatever the expression on her face that was kept from his eyes – he knew his words and actions had had their desired effect.

To her credit, the Slayer recovered quickly, rising up on her knees over him. “Okay,” she said in a lightly warning tone, “if you’re sure about this…” As she spoke, she leaned forward, one hand behind his head gently pushing him to sit up a bit.

He complied, raising up on his elbows and leaning his head slightly forward to give her better access as she tied the soft scarf firmly but not too tightly around his eyes, pulling at it slightly to be sure it was secure.

“I can pass any test you can come up with, pet,” Spike assured her, his tone infuriatingly confident. “You forget, Slayer – I’d been playing these games for nearly a century when you were born!”

“Yeah,” she said, her voice soft, amused – but a bit distracted as she countered, “But you haven’t ever played them with *me*!” Frowning slightly, not sure if the fabric was thick enough, Buffy drew back a fist and plunged it forward, stopping a bare half an inch from his face.

The vampire did not flinch, did not move at all, apparently completely oblivious to the blow that had not quite fallen.

With a satisfied nod, Buffy stood up, moving from over him, unknowingly carrying another powerful waft of her intoxicating scent to his sensitive nose, and deepening his arousal.

It made him feel more than a little vulnerable, not being able to see how obvious her effect on him was, if she had noticed the ever-rising erection she had caused – unable to see her reaction to it, if she *had* noticed it. He hesitated for a moment, trying to focus his other senses to read exactly where she was, unsure of whether or not to get up yet.

She was completely silent, not giving him the slightest clue for a long moment.

Then, he felt her soft, warm hand in his – trembling a bit, was she? so the Slayer wasn’t all as confident as she was trying to seem, then – gently pulling on his hand to help him to his feet. He knew he had to trust her, at least a little, to feel as reassured as he did by the steady support of her hand in his.

He stumbled a bit as he stood, uncertain of his footing, and his free hand automatically rose to the blindfold, in an instinctive reaction, not really thinking about it, but simply instinct telling him he needed to see.

A second strong, small hand caught his wrist before he could reach it, and with one quick movement, he was spun around, both of his hands clasped in Buffy’s, as he felt her press in close behind him, her chest against his back as she held his offending hand in hers, gently but firmly keeping it down at his side.

“Just like any time you take a test,” she said, her voice soft and even just behind him, her warm breath lightly tickling his throat. “there are rules, if you want to pass. First rule: the blindfold comes off when I take it off. I mean, *of course* you can take it off any time you want to…”

He could almost see her shrug her shoulders carelessly as she paused a moment before adding quietly with a slightly smug smile, “…but then you fail. You’ve gotta trust me.”

He could feel her breasts, firmer and heaving slightly against his back, as she waited a bit breathlessly for his response. *So the little chit’s getting turned on by the dominant act, is she?* he thought with amusement – and arousal. *This little test could turn out to be a bit of fun.*

He felt his erection swell slightly at her firm touch and commanding words.

She was not the only one turned on by her little game. Again he wondered if she was noticing the effect she had on him, both unnerved and excited by the fact that attempting to conceal it, judging her reaction by her expression, her body language, were all things that were withheld from him at the moment.

The answer to his first question came quickly, as one of her hands released his and surprised him by sliding around his hip to cup gently over his begging member.

“Well,” she said with a gently mocking note to her voice. “*Somebody’s* ready to get started!”

He let out a low moan as she squeezed just slightly, before releasing him and moving around to face him. He did not know exactly where she was, as he could not see her, and felt a bit silly trying to face her, not sure if he was actually facing the headstone a couple of yards to her left, or her.

He was surprised by the consideration when she placed a gentle hand on his arm and turned him slightly, increasing his sense of security at knowing where he was in relation to her. Again, he felt reassured at the idea of trusting her.

Her tone was soft, and a bit uncertain herself, when she finally spoke again. “You’re *really sure* you want to do this.” It sounded like a statement, but it was really a question, an opportunity to back out now if he was not sure.

And give her the satisfaction of winning this little battle of wills so easily?

*Not a soddin’ chance.*

“I’m sure,” he replied firmly. “I told you I trust you, and I do, Buffy.”

He knew her so well, although she would have denied in a heartbeat that he knew her at all. He could picture her, standing in front of him, her smooth, pretty brow creased in a thoughtful frown, studying his face in an attempt to determine whether or not he did.

He did. Oh, he *really* did!

“Okay,” she finally conceded, reaching out to take his hand – and he thought with a smug smile that he quickly suppressed, that she was awfully tentative for a wanna-be dominatrix. “First question on this test…you’ve gotta trust me not to walk you into the nearest headstone or something.” She paused before adding teasingly, “And that’s a harder question than it might seem like – because you have no idea how tempting that is!”

He laughed, congratulating himself that his nervousness did not show in his voice. He *did* trust her, really – he was sure that she would not do anything to *actually* hurt him – but it was definitely a disconcerting thought, placing complete control in the Slayer’s hands.

Everything in his nature rose up screaming in protest at the idea.

Everything except his love for Buffy, and his determination to prove it – once and for all.

“I trust you, love,” he repeated, slowly and deliberately in a tone resembling one that a person might use with a retarded child. “I said it and I meant it. I. Trust. You.” He took a deep breath before stepping forward in the direction her hand was lightly tugging him.

“By all means, pet – lead on.”

All Buffy really wanted was to make Spike admit the truth.

She knew he couldn’t possibly trust her – not really. And if he didn’t trust her – how could he love her?

The vampire was living in a dream world, she told herself as she led him quietly toward their destination, his cool, strong hand gently clasping hers as she guided him around the various headstones and other obstacles that lay in their path.

She was genuinely being careful not to walk him into anything, or cause him to hurt himself in any way – not to deliberately break his trust. What would *that* prove, anyway? Only that he *had* trusted her, enough to allow her to hurt him – until she had proven that she did not deserve that trust.

And no matter how badly she wanted to prove her point, Buffy did not think she could live with doing it that way.

No, she planned to push Spike just enough to make him admit that he did not really trust her – on his own, not because she had done something to break his trust. He *shouldn’t* trust her, she reminded herself. Not because of anything she had done specifically – though she knew, if she was honest with herself, she had done enough.

But she shouldn’t have to do anything to keep him from trusting her.

He was a vampire. She was the vampire *Slayer*.

Now, how could he possibly believe that trusting her could work out well for him in any way?

Their instincts, their very nature, dictated that there could never be anything real between them. Oh, she could not deny that she was attracted to him. She was a young, virile, completely heterosexual woman, wasn’t she? She could not help but feel a certain attraction to the well-built blonde vampire.

He was quite simply the most flawlessly gorgeous man -- *vampire* -- she had ever seen.

Sometimes, in the soft candlelight of his crypt, she would lose herself in the sight of him, her eyes slowly studying the smooth, hard lines of his perfectly sculpted body, taking in with a reluctant amazement every flawless inch of him, the confident easy grace with which he moved. She knew it was a cliché, but the smooth, pale flesh stretched over solid, corded muscle drew to mind images she had seen in school – statues of the ancient Greek and Roman gods.

But when her roving eyes finally met his -- *that* was when her breath would truly be stolen away.

She admitted only to herself that she had never seen such incredibly beautiful, crystal blue eyes as Spike’s. And without fail, by this point, he would have noticed the way she was looking at him, and those deep, expressive eyes would hold a worshipful sort of awe, a delighted hope – and Buffy would suddenly catch herself, realizing with alarm the dangerous direction her thoughts and emotions were taking.

And she would quickly close herself off to him.

It frightened her, the longing she felt in those moments, to return the worship she saw in his eyes – to be slow, and tender, and treat him as the incredible, amazing creature of beauty that he was.

If he got anything at all from her on those nights, it was a punishment rather than a pleasure. She was like a wild thing in those moments, passionate and intense. She would take him hard and fast and rough – and he might have actually enjoyed it…if not for the fierce anger in her eyes, the bitter triumph in her smile as her by now expert touch sought to make him sorry for making her feel these things that terrified her.

And her words – her words were what really hurt him.

She would whisper cruel things in a loving tone – thanking him bitterly, sarcastically telling him how grateful she was for the feelings he inspired in her – because even the utter disgust she felt at herself for lowering herself to touch him, was better than feeling nothing.

She gave his body pleasure, while punishing his heart, by making it painfully clear just how little he really meant to her – how absolutely she was using him. He always tried to hide his hurt – always failed – and it never brought her the satisfaction she expected.

Because really – this was not Spike’s fault.

*She* sought *him* out most times; *she* had initiated this – situation – to begin with. And she knew, if she admitted the truth to herself – he only ever tried to please her, to win her affections. He offered her everything in him, all he had to give, for a mere crumb – and she took what he offered and then shoved him away, leaving him empty and broken…

…but never as empty as she felt inside.

And she resented him for it.

She resented the fact that no one else seemed to be able to fill the emptiness, even for a little while, except for him. She resented the fact that as an “evil, soulless demon”, he seemed to be more full of emotion and vitality and life than she had felt in months. She resented the fact that she didn’t seem to be able to feel anything, except when she was with him.

She resented the fact that he was overjoyed and grateful and adoring at the very thing she had come to loathe over the past few months – her own life.

And for the love and comfort and reassurance that he offered her – she punished him by repeatedly crushing his heart, his feelings, in a merciless fist of iron.

*Oh yeah, Buffy. He *really* trusts you. Right.*

He would have to an absolute fool.

Really, if she thought about it – really, *really* thought about it, with the help of a healthy dose of imagination – she was actually doing him a favor…helping him to see the painful truth before he got hurt.

Worse than he already had.

“You’re quiet, love. You all right?”

The gentle concern in his voice touched a sensitive chord in her heart. Why was it that Spike always knew when she was upset, or confused, or hurting? She wore the “happy Buffy” mask nearly all of the time now, and her friends seemed satisfied to accept it as reality.

But Spike, unable to see her face or even hear her voice, *still* read her better than anyone else – when it came to anything *but* their troubled pseudo-relationship and his ridiculously romantic notions of her “true feelings” – not to mention his own.

*Right,* she reminded herself, drawing in a slow, deep breath, letting it out with a single Latin word that Spike did not hear. *Let’s get this show on the road. Time to shatter those illusions!* She steeled herself, insisting firmly, *You’ll both be better off without them.*

Spike was surprised and a bit alarmed when he felt the Slayer’s small, soft hand slide out of his, without so much as a word of response to his question.

“Buffy?”

His voice was uncertain, and he frowned in confusion and stopped walking when he still heard nothing. *Absolutely* nothing. It was not simply that Buffy had stopped talking; it appeared that she had also stopped moving, or even breathing for that matter. If he had trusted to his hearing alone, he would have thought that she had vanished into thin air.

“Right,” he said slowly, drawing out the word with dry humor in his voice. “Um – Buffy, love – you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to – just want you to know that I’m here if you need me.” He paused, before adding, “And it’d be bloody nice if you’d return the favor at a time like this.”

She smiled, suppressing a giggle and managing to stay quiet despite her amusement, as she watched him from a spot behind a headstone about thirty feet away. She thought with a sense of affection that she quickly tried to ignore, how his sarcasm had a way of making her laugh, even when she didn’t want to.

“Buffy?”

The sound of her name drew her attention again, spoken in a voice which had lost all trace of Spike’s dry humor, suddenly sounding small and a little nervous. A simple spell – one of several she had procured from Willow that afternoon, to help her in the various events she had planned for the evening – masked her scent, not allowing him to sense her presence in any way.

The smile faded from her lips, as the sound of his uncertain voice tugged at her heart, making her feel guilty against her will. She was suddenly sobered by the thought of what she was doing. This *was* what she wanted, wasn’t it? For Spike to realize that he couldn’t – shouldn’t -- *didn’t* trust her?

She was sure that it would only be a moment or two before Spike would assume that she had left him and take off the blindfold. He was much too intelligent to remain so vulnerable in a graveyard at night in Sunnydale, if he believed that Buffy was no longer there to watch his back – and front, at the moment, for that matter.

Yes, he would be taking off that blindfold any moment.

And when he did, he would be forced to admit that he did not trust her enough to believe that she would not leave him so vulnerable like this, helpless to any of the many demons in Sunnydale who were now out for his blood, thanks to his dealings with *her* -- and would relish such an opportunity to attack him by surprise.

*Yep,* she thought, a bit uneasily. *Any second now.*

The line of thought she had been following had been intended to reassure her of the fact that Spike would be giving in, failing her test, right away. But to her surprise and considerable annoyance, she found herself actually becoming concerned, rising up slightly from behind the headstone and looking around, her sharp eyes scanning the area around them for any sign of a threat.

Vampire or not – it would be awfully low to actually *allow* him to be hurt in the midst of this test.

By something besides her, anyway.

Satisfied that the area was safe as ever – for the moment, anyway, she returned her attention impatiently to Spike, still careful not to make a sound to give away her presence.

He was still standing where she had left him, very still, clearly trying to gain any clue as to where she was. Then, much to her amazement, a slow smile began to spread across his face, as he started to slowly walk forward, each step cautious and deliberate, his hands out in front of him to feel for any obstacles.

“Nice try, love,” he said softly, his voice calm and even. “But I know you’re here. I know you wouldn’t just leave me like that, Buffy – even if it *would* make things a bloody hell of a lot easier for you if some nasty found me like this and made an end of me for you.”

The way he spoke those words – matter-of-factly with a sad, ironic smile – sent a pang of guilt through her heart to hear it, to realize that he really believed she felt that way. She frowned, irritated at her own emotions, at the fact that she felt guilty for it.

*Didn’t* she feel that way?

She had said as much to herself, just a couple of short months ago. She remembered her own thoughts, again with an inexplicable sense of guilt.

*Things would be so much less complicated if I would just stop saving his life…*

“But I know you better than that, love,” Spike went on, drawing her attention back to him. “I know you wouldn’t be able to do that to me – even if you think that you could…”

Buffy frowned, irritated and indignant that he thought he knew her so much better than she knew herself. If she thought that she could do it, then she *could* do it! She didn’t need Spike and his know-it-all attitude to tell *her* that she…

Suddenly, Buffy’s eyes widened with dismay as she saw where Spike’s cautious, tentative footsteps were leading him, as he blinding tried to seek her out – to a danger that his outstretched hands would not warn him of. A wide, open grave lay just a few short feet ahead of him.

For a moment, a smirk crossed her face. That would teach him. Let him try to say that she cared enough not to place him in danger after he fell flat on his face six feet deep, with her standing just a few short yards away. She knew that it was not an actual threat to his safety; he would not be hurt by such a short drop, and he would easily be able to get out again.

But his pride – and the trust he was trying to hold in her – would be damaged by the fall.

“You might not see it right now, love. All you can see in yourself right now is the darkness – but I know what you’re capable of, and I know the kind of person you are,” Spike went on, slowly nearing the gaping hole in front of him. “And I know that you’re not the kind of person who would…”

His words were cut off as he was suddenly yanked backward several feet, a strong arm wrapped gently but firmly around his waist – directly against a soft, warm body that he knew very, *very* well. He heard a soft whisper of breath behind him – and suddenly the scent of her was overpowering, so very near – overwhelming, and strangely reassuring.

“You don’t have any *idea* what I’m capable of,” she whispered suggestively in his ear, and he could hear the smile in her voice as her arm rose slowly, her hand coming to rest on his chest for a moment before releasing him completely, though her hand remained on his arm.

She didn’t want him moving forward suddenly and falling headlong into the grave she had just pulled him back from.

And *why* didn’t she want that again?

He understood suddenly what she had done, how she had disguised her presence from him, and a slow, knowing smile came over his face as he pressed back against her just slightly, taking a deep breath, inhaling the sweet scent that surrounded him as one hand slipped back between them to brush across the front of her jeans.

The sharp little intake of breath he heard was all the response he needed, and his smile widened slightly as he murmured softly, “Think I’ve got a bit of an idea after all, pet…” He pulled away from her slowly, turning around to face her, his hands blindly finding her waist and pulling her in close to him.

“Magic, though,” he laughed, a low, musical sound that sent a shudder down her spine despite her best efforts *not* to let him affect her. “Didn’t realize that was a talent of yours.”

“I’ve got a lot of talents, Spike,” she shot back with a smile, deciding that it would not hurt to give in to her desires a *little* bit. After all, she was still in complete control. And it wasn’t like any of it was going to matter anymore, after tonight.

After tonight – he would never speak to her again, let alone touch her.

She moved in closer to him, pulling him down into a deep, tender kiss, her hand playing softly through his hair in a rare display of affection.

Spike thought he was in heaven. A small part of him felt a measure of trepidation at her uncharacteristic behavior. Why was she suddenly so gentle, so affectionate with him? Shouldn’t she be trying her best to scare him? To convince him that she was a danger to him?

Unless that wasn’t really what she wanted at all.

Unless…

“So you’re convinced then, love?” he wondered softly when she finally drew out of the kiss to breathe. “You believe me now? This little test of yours is over?”

“Oh, Spike,” the words came out on a breath, very soft and full of some unnamed emotion, as her hand rose to gently caress his cheek. He automatically leaned into the touch, seeking every shred of affection she offered; and she felt the odd little ache building in her chest deepen a bit.

“No, Spike – the test is only beginning.”

Spike was surprised by Buffy’s oddly gentle manner as they made their way slowly and carefully toward – wherever it was that he was allowing himself to be blindly led by the Slayer. He knew that this was not just a kinky little game to her – she had a specific agenda. She had a point to prove.

*You’re out of your bleedin’ mind,* he told himself for the hundredth time since accepting her little challenge.

Buffy had proven over the past couple months that she knew how to push the envelope sexually as well as anyone he had ever been with. She knew how to make it hurt in ways that sent him into heights of ecstasy with every deliriously pleasurable, exquisitely painful touch.

And now – she was going to be doing her best to push farther than she ever had before.

*Yep – stark raving mad, you are, mate…*

But – if she was trying to make him fail her little test of trust, shouldn’t she be trying harder to scare him? To make him think that she intended to hurt him? How could it possibly suit her purposes to behave the way she was right now – tender and gentle, cautiously leading him, careful not to let him lose his footing, walking beside him patiently with a warm, steadying arm around his waist?

Buffy was never this gentle with him, even when she was *not* trying to prove a point.

It was just bloody scary.

They had long since left the soft grass of the graveyard, and he could now feel hard concrete beneath his feet; if his sense of direction was any good – and he knew that it was excellent – they were headed down a residential street in the general direction of downtown Sunnydale.

It was very late by now, and the streets were deserted, he gathered, from the fact that the only sounds that surrounded them were the usual late night sounds of chirping insects, broken every few minutes by the sound of a single passing car.

Spike was actually finding it difficult to be nervous, based on Buffy’s disarming manner, and he smiled at the thought that had just occurred to him.

“What exactly is your plan, love, if someone should happen to look too closely and notice you leading about a man blindfolded like this, mistake you for some kind of deranged psychopathic serial killer and call the police?”

He could hear the smile in her voice, as she shot back matter-of-factly, “Simple. I’ll just explain that we’re playing an elaborate role-playing sex game in which you are a helpless slave to my every desire, and ask them if we can borrow their handcuffs.”

His voice became softer, though it still held a teasing note, as he pointed out, “You don’t really need the handcuffs for *that* game, love.” The words he did not say were clear, none the less.

He was already a helpless slave to her every desire.

Uncomfortable with his unabashed honesty – hating that way he had of taking something that she had intended to be taken only in a casually sexy way, and turning it into something intimate and tender and much deeper than she was willing to go – Buffy grew tense, her arm stiffening slightly around him.

He did this every time.

*Well, not this time!*

“You’re right,” she said aloud, her voice softening seductively as her hand at his waist slid slowly downward, playing teasingly around the waistband of his jeans, and smiling when she felt *him* tense under the provocative touch.

“I wouldn’t need to borrow any handcuffs. Where I’m taking you…” She leaned in close to his ear, her hand at his waist edging slowly downward and inward to trace the line of his hip, torturously near to his rapidly swelling erection, as she continued in a hushed, suggestive whisper.

“…I’ve already got everything I need to make you my *very*…willing…slave…”

She smiled at the soft gasp of surprise and arousal that left the vampire’s lips as she saw his desire for her visibly increase, and did not bother to suppress her satisfied smirk.

It wasn’t as if he could see it, anyway.

He sounded a bit breathless when he finally recovered enough to reply, but there was a low note of intensity and raw desire in his voice that sent a shiver of anticipation through her at the sound, in spite of her determination to remain in control.

“Already there, pet,” he reminded her in a soft, low voice that was almost a growl with his need for her. “remember?”

Buffy felt an unexpected rush of arousal at his words, and suddenly could not wait to get him to the place that she had specially prepared for this night. She had not forgotten about her plan – to make the vampire face up to his true feelings, and her lack of them, and make him be the one to walk away from this damaging little affair of theirs – but she could not help but be a bit distracted, with him speaking those words in that tone, and…and…

Well, if she was never going to be with him again after tonight – she might as well allow herself to enjoy the evening – right?

“And apparently, somebody likes the idea,” Spike added, his tone suddenly shifting to one of self-satisfaction and playful mockery that was strengthened by that all too familiar little gesture of his tongue between his teeth that never failed to both infuriate and arouse her.

This was no exception.

Impulsively, she turned and captured that teasing mouth in a fierce, passionate kiss. For a brief instant, he drew back in surprise – who was this girl and what had she done with the Slayer? – but that instant was all it took for him to recover and respond to her intense kiss for all he was worth.

Buffy felt her knees weaken and her legs turn to jelly beneath her as Spike’s expert tongue worked its magic in her mouth.

*How does he *do* that?* she wondered with a mixture of awe and frustration. A sudden determination came over her as she struggled to steady herself – determination that he would not win this game.

*He’s not going to,* she answered her own question firmly. *I’m not going to let him…*

Her forefingers hooked through the belt loops of his jeans, pulling him forward firmly to press his burgeoning erection against her throbbing center through the thin, flirty skirt that she had worn for this occasion, rotating her hips slightly to increase the contact, moaning slightly at the beginnings of the release she needed.

Spike gasped against her lips, and she smiled with satisfaction to feel the shudder that went through him at the intensified sensation – no doubt even more powerful with his major sense of sight taken away. She had read somewhere that being robbed of one sense made all the others that much more intense – so she took the rare opportunity to press her advantage, pushing forward to plunder his mouth in a fiery quest for dominance.

The moment that Spike realized what she was doing, his own resolve came into play, as he pushed forward himself, struggling to regain the upper hand.

But he was at a decided disadvantage, not being able to see where he was going, and Buffy allowed him to push her – just far enough for him to stumble slightly over a rock in his path. When he went off balance, she took the chance to spin them both around, without even thinking about it, placing her hand behind his head to cushion the blow, and pushing him back with surprising gentleness against the trunk of the tree behind him…

…a tree he would have recognized, had he been thinking about it – after all the many hours he had spent beside or behind it, just staring up through her bedroom window and thinking about her, and how badly he wished that things were different, that he could actually be with her.

Now his wish seemed to have come true in some ways.

And in other ways, he wished it never had.

Buffy was decidedly in control at the moment, the fingers of one hand still hooked in his belt loop, holding him close to her, as she slowly, thoroughly kissed him, and he gave in to the intense pleasure of her attentions, gentle and affectionate in a way that he rarely experienced from her. Suddenly, winning no longer seemed so important to him as simply enjoying a gift that he seldom received.

Could anyone blame him if Buffy being soft and tender and caring was something he did not really feel like fighting?

His hands rested at her hips, pulling her urgently closer as she continued to kiss him, her hand behind his head softly but intently massaging the back of his head, as she released her hold on his jeans and slid her hand slowly down between them.

“Oh, God,” he groaned as her fingertips brushed lightly down, and then up again, along the length of his desperately straining erection. “Buffy…”

She smiled against his lips, relishing the effect she had on him, the fact that he wanted her so badly…

…trying not to think about the strange warmth that stole through her at the thought, that had nothing to do with the heat of her arousal, but more with emotions that had been painfully dormant since her resurrection -- or the fact that she wanted him every bit as badly as he clearly wanted her.

“Buffy, love – so hot…need to have you, sweet Buffy…” he murmured soft words of mingled tender affection and torrid desire, that only fanned the flame of need the was slowly building inside her.

His hand mimicked the action of hers only moments before, slipping down between them, edging toward her throbbing, sodden core, and she knew that he meant to return the favor she had just been bestowing on him.

At least – right now, he still thought it was a favor, she corrected in her mind.

And then quickly tried to put *that* thought and all of its implications out of her mind as well.

Her mind flashed back to a night about a month ago, when Spike had met her in just this very spot, outside her house, and had convinced her to forget about her responsibilities and the drudgery of her everyday life for just a few minutes more, and lose herself to the sensations that only he could make her feel.

She knew she was headed for another such moment – which was definitely *not* on her agenda for tonight – if she did not do something, and fast.

She desperately searched for some part of her that was willing to make him stop what he was just beginning to….

*Oh, *God*!*

“Spike,” she whispered, her hand sliding down from behind his head and reaching to join his between them. “Spike…do you remember…”

“Yes,” he interrupted, his voice low and husky with the fresh desire evoked by the memory he had been reliving as well. “God, love, yes!”

Her hand covered his, which had just slipped under her loose, flowy skirt, just moving with it for a moment and relishing the sweet sensation of pleasure that began moving through her at the teasingly gentle caress of his hand.

She knew she had only moments before he would not be so gentle – and all her resolve would be lost.

“You remember,” she continued, her voice thick and throaty as she struggled for words and breath through the waves of pleasure he was expertly building in her. “…how you wanted me…to say your name…out here, so everyone would hear?”

An overwhelming fire of lust consumed him at the words.

Yes. He remembered.

He had wanted so badly to make her admit what they had, that night. He would never have done anything to traumatize the Nibblet, but that night he had almost *wished* that Dawn would catch them – that Buffy would have all her excuses and lies stolen away, and be left with nothing to hide behind.

She had whispered his name when he had asked her to, and he had drawn out her pleasure, withholding just enough until he was sure that she would give in…but the fear in her voice, the desperate determination not to give in to his demand, had finally broken his resolve, and he had yielded to her the pleasure she had desired, settling for his whispered name in broken, desperate tones.

But the sweet affection, the raw desire and need in her voice that she scarcely ever allowed herself to express, had been more than he usually got – and for that moment, it had been enough.

He was distracted from his thoughts as Buffy’s hand gently but firmly closed over his and pulled his hand away from her. He resisted slightly, opening his mouth to protest, wondering why she was making him stop when she was so obviously enjoying it so much.

But she silenced him with a well-timed kiss that also served to weaken his resistance, as her hands clasped his and pushed them back against the tree beside his head, as her knee shifted up slightly, brushing against the underside of his swollen, desperately sensitive member, making him gasp again at the unexpected sensation.

“Bet I could make you say my name,” she moved her lips from his to whisper enticingly in his ear. “Bet I could make you scream it so that every human, demon, and whatever else is here in this whole town would know the truth…”

She placed several soft, playful kisses along the column of his throat, smiling against his skin, wanting him to know that she was teasing when her next words left her lips. “…that William the Bloody…” She paused for a sweet little kiss on his jaw, working her way back up to his lips. “…Slayer of Slayers…” Her lips met his tenderly for a moment, before she drew back and whispered,

“…is *this* Slayer’s bitch.”

The playful, teasingly affectionate tone of her voice softened the blow of the words. It might be the truth, but he knew by her tone that she did not mean it to hurt him, and the bold, possessive words coming from the usually prim, golden Slayer that everyone but him always saw, were an unexpectedly arousing surprise.

“You know it, Baby,” he muttered, leaning forward slightly to hungrily capture her lips again.

She allowed herself to enjoy the strangely tender moment that was so uniquely – well -- *theirs* -- before she drew back to speak again, her knee resuming its subtle but torturously effective movement.

“So…the way I see it,” a little twist and upward push drew a moan of pleasure from the vampire’s throat as she continued calmly, feigning unconcern. “…you’ve only got one choice here. You can scream my name out here – where everyone can hear it…”

The way she spoke the words was seductive and exciting and intensified the feeling of her touch – which was so much more than usual, due to his not being able to see her – and yet not enough. Never enough.

“…or,” she went on, ceasing all movement suddenly to allow him to concentrate on her next words. “in the nice, magically sound-proofed location that I’ve got all set up for us…that’s only about fifty feet away.”

Frustrated, hardly registering her words at first, he thrust his hips slightly forward toward her, wanting her to resume her movements – but then froze, frowning.

“What?” he asked, surprised. “What place?”

“It’s a secret,” she whispered, placing a finger to his lips playfully, moving in to kiss him just at the corner of his mouth, before pulling back slightly to whisper innocently in his ear, “You’re just going to have to trust me.”

A slow smile crept across Spike’s face, and he shook his head in amusement and disbelief. “You really did think of everything, didn’t you, Slayer? You’ve really thought this out.”

“You have *no* idea.”

The dark, seductive tone of her voice sent a thrill of mingled apprehension and desire through him; suddenly, he was both desperate and a bit frightened to find out just what all exactly Buffy *had* thought of.

“Here’s the thing,” she explained quietly and slowly, wanting him to understand completely. “I’ve borrowed a few spells for the night. The place is completely soundproofed. No one outside will be able to hear anything happening inside until I break the spell. It’s also been magically secured. Meaning that I have to invite you in, and once you come in – you can’t leave until I break the spell.”

She was silent for a moment, allowing the impact of those words to sink in, waiting for him to grasp this next piece of control she was challenging him to give up.

“It’s up to you,” she said softly, one hand releasing his wrist to gently stroke through his hair again as she went on. “You can go with me into this perfectly sound-proof, perfectly secured place, where no one else will be all night, except me…and you…”

Her voice had lowered to a suggestive whisper – and suddenly, he could imagine nothing he would like better.

“…that is…if you feel all right about that…being alone with me, and not able to leave…or see what I’m doing…knowing that no one would hear you if you scream…”

The tone that he knew she meant to be scary only came across as sexy, mostly because of the activities they had just been indulging in – which he was anxious to indulge in again – and the fact that it was adorably obvious that she was *trying* to sound scary.

She was so bloody hot when she was trying to be all bad and menacing -- it *was* scary.

His focus was drawn back to the matter at hand by her soft voice, slightly breathless with anticipation as to his answer, as she pressed him.

“Well? What’s your answer? In…or out?”

“What do *you* think I’m gonna say, love?” the blonde, blind vampire drawled seductively, leaving no doubt as to what his answer would be.

Buffy was very glad at that moment that Spike’s eyes were covered; the brilliant smile that he gave her, the one that always sent a warm, pleasant little shiver down her spine, even when she tried to ignore it -- the low note of desire in his voice, awakening something in her that she reminded herself, with a bit less conviction, that she would never allow to be fulfilled again after this night -- were enough to make her have second thoughts about this little plan of hers and consider making this just another night for them – though at this point it could not help but turn out to be a very interesting one, either way.

Could she *really* give this up? *Forever*?

Yes, she was very grateful for the blindfold.

The lust she could only imagine in those crystal blue eyes would have certainly been the undoing of her resolve.

*No,* she told herself firmly. *You’ve taken it this far. Follow through, Buffy! You have to end this, once and for all!*

Besides – she knew that if she did what she was about to do, *without* ending this inevitably disastrous affair, she would be crossing a line that she knew she was not willing to cross. She was about to make this more personal than she had ever before allowed it to become.

She was about to bring Spike into her home – into her very room.

Spike had been in her house many times before, and had a standing invitation that had been open since the night they had faced Glory, when she had subconsciously known, she thought, what was going to happen – and had wordlessly granted her forgiveness for past sins.

He had earned it, with his own blood.

He knew the house well, having stayed there many nights with Dawn while she had been gone. And she knew – if the word of a lying, cheating, vampire-whore-visiting creep like Riley could be trusted at all -- that he had even been in her bedroom once or twice when she had not been home.

But it had been a very long time since Buffy had allowed Spike to be in her house. Since she had initiated this pseudo-relationship that they were engaged in, her treatment of Spike in front of her friends had become worse than it had ever been, she admitted. The friendship that they had barely begun had been cast aside in the interest of her image in the eyes of her friends.

She realized that she was over-compensating, treating him with contempt and hostility, because she was afraid that her friends might guess the truth – and she knew that it was not fair to him.

He had looked after and comforted her little sister in her absence – and now she herself could hardly look at the girl, let alone give her the love she needed.

He had endured unspeakable torture for her and Dawn – and now she tortured his heart every night to punish him for it.

“You’re beneath me,” she had told him – yet she knew that he deserved better than the meager affection that she had left to give.

*I’m doing this for his own good,* she reminded herself defensively as she led him toward her front door. *He’ll be happier without me constantly using him, jerking his heart back and forth all the time – he can find someone else – some vampire girl who will love him like he is – because *I* sure can’t!*

*I’m not sure I can love at all anymore…*

*I am so unbelievably screwed up.”

“Just checkin’,” Buffy said in a light, teasing voice. “Cause if you’re gonna back out – now’s the time.”

“Not backin’ out, love – lead the way.”

Buffy’s troublesome thoughts continued to circle through her very confused mind, but her demeanor remained unchanged as she led Spike up the porch steps, guiding him carefully so that he would not fall, her arm draped low around his hips in a comfortable yet provocative way.

The vampire was almost unbearably aroused by this point, she knew – and she was glad, because although he was incredibly perceptive, the almost painful-looking erection he was currently sporting should be enough of a distraction to keep him from noticing if anything was amiss.

“All right, love – what’s wrong?”

Damn.

“Nothing’s wrong, Spike,” she purred, turning to face him as they reached the doorway, sidling in closer to him and edging her hand lower to press him against her harder. “Nothing we can’t fix *real* fast!”

She could tell she was accomplishing her goal – quite literally driving him to distraction – by the soft gasp that left his lips as she slowly swiveled her hips once, keeping her body pressed close against him.

He could hardly form a coherent thought, with the way she was touching him, driving him slowly to a greater intensity of need – but he knew that something wasn’t right. There was something – hovering on the edges of his consciousness – some detail he was missing…

*There’s a lot you’re missing, mate, you’re bloody blindfolded!* he reminded himself, sarcastically mocking his own thoughts – as well as his foolishness to allow himself to be placed in this situation.

What was wrong? What was she thinking about, that had her upset? Because he knew that she was.

“Buffy,” his voice came out in a low moan, though he was struggling to regain some measure of control. “Love – wait…something’s…”

“Come on, Baby,” she pouted slightly. “Just let it go, everything’s find. Let’s just go inside.”

*Baby.*

That was it. She never called him that – or any other sweet little endearment, for that matter. She always called him by his name, if she called him anything at all – and she was never this soft and affectionate in the way that she touched him. She usually seemed to resent the fact that she was coming to him at all, and often seemed to be trying to punish him for it with her caustic words and rough affections.

So why the sudden, affectionate words – the gentle, considerate behavior that she *never* showed him?

Someone was trying too hard.

But to do *what*, exactly?

“Unless you’ve changed your mind,” Buffy went on, her voice sly and slightly mocking.

It was annoyingly clear that she still expected him to back out at any moment.

“Not at all, pet,” he assured her with a calm confidence that he knew would drive her insane, his mind racing as he tried to figure out her game. “Don’t you have to…invite me in…like you said?” There was a slightly taunting sound to his even, pointed words, as he added, “Unless of course I already have an invitation.”

Buffy might have thought she was being all secretive and mysterious, not telling him where they were going – but he had known the moment they had reached the porch exactly where they were – had suspected it before that – and that knowledge actually strengthened his confidence regarding whatever was about to happen between them.

Buffy might have thought that holding this little test on her home ground, so to speak, would give her an edge, throw him off his game – but she had no idea how much like home this house had come to feel for Spike during the long months of her absence.

She was quiet for a long moment, and he could picture the dry little expression of irritation she was surely wearing, as she glared at him, surprised and annoyed that he had figured it out.

“You do,” she admitted, confirming what he already knew. “But when I do this spell – you’ll need an invite to come in, and you’ll need an invite, so to speak, to leave, too. It’s a barrier spell for any creature of supernatural origin. Who doesn’t…already…happen to live here,” she added as an afterthought, and he saw in his mind that adorable little frown as she realized that technically, she fell into the “supernatural” category herself.

“Well, go right ahead, love. I’m not afraid.”

He clearly heard the stifled sigh that passed the Slayer’s lips as she turned away from him slightly to face the door, and spoke a few Latin words in an offhand, casual sort of way.

He felt her arm slowly removed from around him, as she opened the door and stepped through. Automatically he moved to follow her – and sure enough, was stopped by the barrier she had described.

She laughed softly at the petulant little frown that came over Spike’s face.

“ ‘S not funny, love,” he said, sounding slightly offended. “Let me in.” He had not expected the sudden sense of hurt and insecurity that came over him at finding himself once again “locked out” of Buffy’s house – even if it *was* only for a few moments.

Buffy felt a slight pang of guilt and sympathy, remembering the look on his face that night, almost two years ago, when she had left him behind on her porch after his catastrophic attempt to profess his love for her – that look of hurt and betrayal and disbelief at being irrevocably, permanently shut out of her home.

Except – it had not turned out to be so permanent, after all. She *had* revoked the removal of his invitation.

But the look on his face now, even without the pain she knew would be in his eyes, said that at the moment, he felt as if she never had.

“Okay,” she said in a teasingly warning tone, concealing the fact that she had seen the painful feelings the barrier had refreshed in him. “but this is your last chance to back out of this.” She took a deep breath before speaking slowly and deliberately. “Come in, Spike – if you dare.” The last was spoken with over-dramatic amusement.

Just as deliberately, he immediately stepped over the now barrier-free threshold and into the foyer beside her – breathing out a sigh of relief, his expression lightening the moment he realized that she was not going to keep him out.

He could feel her heat beside him, could hear the pounding of her heart that belied her calm, cool demeanor. She was either nervous, or upset – or wanting him every bit as desperately as he wanted her.

He reached out for her blindly, yet accurately reaching toward her – and she ducked quickly out of reach, giggling mischievously. When he moved toward the source of the sound, she was gone again, before he could touch her.

“Hey, now,” he chided her, taking another step or two in the general direction she had been, his lower lip jutting out in a pout that he happened to know she found irresistible. “No fair, love…don’t you know it’s not nice to make fun of disabled vam..”

His words were cut off as he was suddenly grabbed from behind, spun around and pushed forward against the wall. He braced himself for the impact, trying to regain his bearings – but again, was surprised when the Slayer was careful not to hurt him, one arm around his shoulders holding him back slightly so that he did not hit too hard against the wall.

He opened his mouth to call her on it, to ask her again about her unsettlingly strange behavior – but rational thought was driven from his mind as Buffy’s small, warm hand closed over his covered erection, squeezing slightly and making him groan at the pleasure bordering on pain of her strong touch.

“Now you’ve done it,” she whispered in his ear, in a tone of playfully dangerous seduction, as her hand stroked slowly but firmly down the length of his aching, swollen member through the restricting barrier of his jeans. “You’ve walked right into the Slayer’s trap, you big, bad vampire! And now you’re *all mine*!”

Spike let out a gasp as she increased the pressure of her hand slightly, before releasing her hold long enough to turn him around to face her – though it didn’t do him any good, as he still could not see her, and only gave her better access to his body, already begging for her touch.

“Good,” he managed to get the word out in a breathless whisper, his full lips turning up in a wicked smile of satisfaction as he added teasingly, “then my evil scheme worked!”

There was a moment’s startled silence – before the surprising sound of the Slayer’s laughter. Buffy’s laugh was almost musical when it was so genuine, like this, he thought – the moment before thought was once again stolen away, this time by a breathtakingly tender, affectionate kiss.

“Buffy,” he whispered when she finally broke the kiss. “What…?”

Her soft fingertips stilled his lips, as she leaned in to whisper softly, “Shhh,” before brushing her lips across his one more time, as her hands found his and clasped them tightly, pulling them up to rest against the wall on either side of his head as she drew back from the light kiss.

She leaned in close again to whisper in his ear, her words slow and hushed and enticing.

“My sister is staying with Tara tonight. I know you can’t see it – but the curtains are drawn – the lights are turned down – there might be candles…” She smiled, so near to him that he could feel the smile against his skin. “…the barrier spell’s in place – so neither one of us is going anywhere for a while…Looks like I’ve got this night…this house…and *you*…all to myself.”

“Killer combination,” he remarked in a husky whisper, his voice slightly strained with his by now desperate, but as yet unfulfilled desire, that she was driving higher with every well-timed, well-chosen word.

“Hmm,” she mused thoughtfully, drawing back just a little, releasing one of his hands, lowering hers to trace a lazy, torturously slow circle over the spot where the tip of his erection was under his jeans – smiling when her efforts were rewarded with a low groan that bordered on a throaty whimper, and served to intensify her own arousal.

“I guess that depends on what I do with it.”

“So, Slayer – what *are* you going to do with me?” Spike’s voice was low and husky with desire, sending a shiver down her spine at the suggestive note it held. “Since I’m all yours for the night?”

“ ‘For the night’?” she echoed, and he could hear the smirk in her voice as her fingertips traced random patterns over the straining denim that covered his desperate member, consuming him with an ever-rising, unbearable need.

“God, Buffy,” he groaned, thrusting slowly forward into her hand without even realizing he was doing it. “*Forever*!”

She leaned in close, her hand closing around him tightly through the fabric of his jeans, suddenly pulling him closer to her in a bold, possessive gesture that brought him into contact with the heat he could feel radiating from her equally needy body – and nearly sent him over the edge right then, as she leaned in to whisper with a satisfied smirk, “That’s what I thought!”

Spike felt a little thrill go through him that had nothing to do with the physical sensations running rampant through his body, at her possessive words of desire. Did she really *want* him to be hers, for more than just a night at a time – whenever she took the notion to have him? He hardly dared to hope that she might actually mean the words, as more than a ploy for whatever sexual game she was slowly building up to.

But he *did* dare – just barely, although he knew it was foolish to do so.

“So – all mine, huh?” she asked in a teasingly skeptical voice, without releasing her hold on his aching shaft.

“Yes!” he gasped, desperate for some sort of movement, friction, needing the continued sensation of the caresses she had been giving him. He tried to thrust up toward her again – but she was unyielding, holding him back against the wall with the firm grip of her hand on his erection.

“You’ll do whatever I want?” Her tone was speculative, calculating now.

It drove him wild with need, with wondering what she might choose to do with such a concession.

“Anything, love,” he vowed, a pleading note to his low, hoarse voice.

“Hmm,” she mused. “Blind obedience. That *does* take a lot of trust.” Her soft, light tone took on a slight edge of warning that sent a shiver down his spine, as she whispered the question, “You trust me that much? Enough to do *anything* I tell you to do?”

He hesitated for just a moment, aware that if he accepted this part of her challenge, he would have no choice but to follow through, or fail her test.

Of course, if he did *not* accept it – he would fail the test anyway.

He nodded slowly. “Anything. Whatever you tell me, love. I’m yours to command.” He paused, his mouth turning up in a smirk as he added dryly, with a smirk, “Just don’t ask me to laugh at your bloody ‘blind obedience’ joke – because honestly, Slayer, your quips are slipping a bit. That was just bloody awful!”

The words had barely left his lips when her hand was suddenly back in motion, her fingers tracing torturously around the covered head of his erection – reducing his mocking smirk to an expression of shocked pleasure, as he leaned his head back against the wall and drew in a sharp, shaky breath at the overwhelming sensation.

The fingertips of her other hand found his trembling, gasping lips, tracing lightly over them in an affectionate way as she pointed out in a soft, seductive tone that held a teasing note as well, “You know – for someone who’s mine to command – you’re awfully mouthy, aren’t you? You ought to be careful what you say to me. You never know what I might decide to make you do.”

*I’ll show her ‘mouthy’,* he thought with a secret smile, surprising her with a quick motion of his head, capturing her fingertips gently between his teeth, nipping lightly at her before gently sucking the sensitive digits for a moment.

She did not pull away for a moment, and he heard a soft gasp of her own at the unexpected sensation that his suggestive action, and the physical sensation, created in her. As she slowly withdrew her fingers from his mouth to lightly caress his cheek, he turned his face to kiss her palm tenderly.

The simple gesture was almost too much for Buffy to bear. She felt a sudden rush of emotion flood her heart, indefinable emotions that swept over her and left her with a deep, aching sense of sadness for what she was about to do.

Why did she have to end this again? she wondered desperately. Right – because Spike was an evil vampire – an evil vampire who showed her more love and devotion than anyone in her life ever had – who somehow seemed to know her better than anyone else ever had, despite her best efforts to shut him out – who somehow managed to touch not only her body but her heart and mind in ways she had never known were possible.

But – it was wrong. She was the Slayer; she wasn’t supposed to even allow his existence, let alone give herself to him, even in the limited way in which she did.

God, why did everything have to be so hard?

*No, Buffy,* she berated herself suddenly. *Stop thinking this way – you’ve got to get things back on track, *now*!*

Spike sensed the sudden difference in her demeanor when she quickly, unexpectedly, pulled her hand back from his face, at the same time removing her hand from his body, both hands suddenly gripping his wrists and pinning him to the wall again.

He let out an involuntary little moan of protest at the sudden loss of contact, his hips thrusting forward in a vain attempt to regain her touch. Further adding to his torment, Buffy raised one leg slightly, pressing against his thighs, just below the one place he *wanted* her to touch, and holding him back against the wall, not allowing him any movement at all.

He felt the warmth of her breath against his skin as she whispered softly, “You’re sure you wanna do this my way? Because if you’re not – we can call this off any time…”

“No!” he said emphatically – or as emphatically as it was possible for him to speak in a voice that was trembling, breaking with his need for her. “I – I trust you, Buffy…I’m not backing out…”

There was a moment of silence that seemed to go on forever, and he knew that his response had surprised her. It shouldn’t have; he had allowed things to go on this far – how could she think that he would back down *now*?

She really did not know him at all.

“All right,” the Slayer conceded softly, her hands slowly releasing their grip on his wrists, as she moved away from him, allowing him to move away from the wall. “Come on.” Her small hand took one of his, and he followed as she led him toward the stairs.

He knew her house well enough to know that much.

She was surprised at how easily they made it up the stairs, even with Spike blindfolded and unable to see where he was going. He didn’t seem to have any trouble – as if he was used to navigating these stairs, and could do it without even thinking about it.

She wondered suddenly with a little pang of guilt, how many times Spike had come up these stairs in the months following her jump from Glory’s tower – how many times he had offered comfort to her grieving little sister.

*He doesn’t deserve this,* she thought suddenly – but that thought was followed immediately by another, ironically justifying her actions again.

*Just the fact that you can think about doing this to him proves that he deserves *better* than you – you have to do this – you have to make him let you go…*

Spike knew when they walked into the Slayer’s bedroom; her scent surrounded him, sweet and heavy and covering nearly everything in the room. He froze for a moment, stunned and a bit awed that she had brought him here. He had longed for her to allow him to be with her here – to accept him that much – but had never thought that it would be possible.

Of course – in his fantasies, they were making sweet love in her bed, not playing a kinky sex game. He shrugged.

He could adjust.

Buffy stopped him suddenly, breaking him out of his reverie, her hands holding his arms for a moment and stilling him, before releasing him and stepping back a couple of steps.

When he felt her heat moving slowly away from him, he frowned slightly, and took a hesitant step forward. “Buffy…?” he began hesitantly, unsure of what he was supposed to do.

“Just – stay right there. Don’t move.” There was a subtle note of command to her voice that he could tell was put on, just Buffy trying to act tough, to go along with the game.

Didn’t make it any less hot.

He froze in place, still, silent – waiting.

“So,” she spoke softly after a long moment, and he could sense that she was in front of him, a few yards away – and sitting down, judging by the sound of her voice. “You’re gonna do whatever I tell you to do?”

The thoughtful speculation in her voice was tinged with a hint of amusement – and he felt a rush of arousal at the thought of her. He could picture her – sitting there in the chair across from her bed, watching him, probably with her legs crossed and one swinging slowly – thinking up dirty, nasty little things to do with him.

Again – the thought should have been frightening. She was the Slayer – any vampire in their right mind would have known better than to give her this much power over him – would have run as fast as he could in the opposite direction.

But Spike – well, it just made him hot.

“Anything, love,” he replied, his voice calm and even. After a moment’s silence, he asked expectantly, “So – what do you want me to do?”

The Slayer was silent for a moment, considering. Then, she spoke – a low, husky sound of dangerous desire in her voice that sent a rush of blood straight to his groin as she gave him her first order.

“Take off your shirt.”

He smiled, a bit self-satisfied. So the Slayer wanted a show, did she? He’d bloody well *give* her a show!

Slowly, taking his time, he slid the black t-shirt he wore up and over his head, running his hands suggestively over the smooth, pale flesh of his chest as he did so. He was careful to stretch the neck of the shirt when he pulled it over his head, so as not to accidentally remove the blindfold and forfeit the game.

“Wanna see what’s yours, do you, pet?” he said in a low, seductive voice, his hands trailing back down over his own body, pausing to circle slowly around his nipples before coming to hover an inch or two from his zipper, in anticipation of her next command.

“Mmm-hmm,” she murmured, a light, teasing note to her voice. “I see – and I like…”

“Quite a bit more to the package, love,” he smirked, and she could imagine the cocky glint that would show in his sapphire eyes, if she had allowed him to reveal them.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she shot back, her voice hardening slightly – and he felt his cock jump slightly in response to the sound. “Take off your pants.”

His hands froze on the button of his fly when she suddenly added, as an afterthought, “And don’t you *dare* touch yourself! You put yourself in my hands for the night -- *I’ll* decide when you get off!” The hard note suddenly faded from her voice as she added sweetly, teasingly, “Okay?”

His breath was coming harder now, his desire driven higher by her possessive, demanding tones. He knew that she was playing a game – but she was certainly getting into it. And the more into her part she became, the more her arousal seemed to fill the room – and the more desperate his own need became.

He nodded, replying in a harsh whisper, “Right, love,” as his hands slowly unfastened the button of his jeans, and tugged the zipper down, careful not to come into contact with his throbbing, weeping erection, before moving to his hips to slide the jeans slowly off of his body, stepping out of them and kicking them a few feet away…

Baring himself to her completely. The little thrill he felt was a combination of desperate arousal, pride at sensing her silent reaction to the sight of his body – and apprehension, though he never would have admitted it to her. He was standing here, blindfolded and naked in the Slayer’s bedroom – waiting for her to decide what to do about it.

“You are so…freakin’…*hot*.”

The low, lusty whisper that came from the Slayer’s lips sent another rush through him, and his hand moved automatically toward his needy member – freezing after going only an inch or two, as he remembered her command. He heard her soft footsteps as she rose and moved slowly toward him; he could wait.

He would much rather *her* hands touch him anyway.

He felt the heat radiating off of her still-clothed body, as she moved in close to him, walking slowly behind him. He did not move, did not speak – just waited to see what she would do.

The next moment, he felt her soft, hot hands on his arms, running down to his wrists and pulling his hands down to his sides. He felt the soft cotton of her loose, flowy skirt falling, shifting slightly, against his butt and thighs, as she moved in very near behind him, her hands sliding around him to rest on his stomach.

“Don’t move,” she whispered in his ear, her voice almost tender – but not quite. The dominant emotion in her voice was most definitely still sheer lust.

Her hands slowly slid up his stomach, taking her time and feeling over his rock-hard, perfectly built abs, moving up to his chest, where she traced slow circles with her fingertips, moving gradually inward to the more sensitive skin around his nipples.

He moaned softly, pleadingly, his hands at his sides trembling, aching with the desire to touch her – or himself, for that matter – to do *anything* but the nothing that she was allowing them to do. His manhood throbbed with need for contact, his erection swelling to a point of desperation – but she did not touch him there.

When she pinched his nipples lightly, her lips falling to kiss his throat gently, he gasped out, “Buffy – Buffy, please…”

“Shhh…” she whispered, her lips on his throat quirking up in a little smile, before she lifted her head – and pulled back away from him, moving a little ways across the room behind him.

He could not help the low whimper that rose in his throat when she stopped touching him, though he didn’t say a word. He wasn’t sure if she would count it, but he certainly wasn’t going to fail her challenge over not obeying such a simple command as the one she had just given him to be quiet.

He heard her low, throaty chuckle of self-satisfaction at the effect she was having on him, and could tell by her voice that she was turned slightly away from him. He heard the quiet sound of a drawer opening and closing again, and then with relief, realized that she was returning to stand behind him again – her steps slow, unhurried – drawing out the torture of waiting.

He shuddered with relief, as he felt her press in against him again, one arm wrapping gently around his body – and then the other.

And in the other, was a familiar metal object, cool against his chest where it fell, as she dangled it slightly, teasingly, in her hand in front of him. He wondered for an instant how and when she had managed to slip the handcuffs out of his crypt – or if perhaps she had gone to the trouble of picking up her own pair…

Then he stopped thinking completely for a moment, as the Slayer repeated the question of the hour, rising up on her toes to whisper seductively in his ear.

“Do you trust me?”

The shiver that went down Spike’s spine in that moment had less to do with the cool metal against his room-temperature skin than with the enticing suggestion in the Slayer’s softly spoken words. She waited silently for his answer, her arm resting across his shoulder, the cuffs swinging slowly from her hand, brushing against his already highly sensitized skin – as he weighed the decision.

He had been with other women before – but never had he been with anyone who could rival the passion, the fire, the raw reckless need, of his gorgeous golden Slayer. The idea of yielding himself to her so completely – deliberately placing full control in her hands, and allowing her to quite literally have her way with him was a thrilling thought – but also frightening.

His instincts recognized what his heart, his body, wanted to deny – that submitting himself to the Slayer in this way was reckless, dangerous, and potentially deadly. His demon roared his protest at the idea of such submission, placing himself at the mercy of his mortal enemy.

Of course, he reminded himself quickly, it wasn’t as if he would be in any *real* danger. After all, if the handcuffs in her hands were his own, or anything like them, they were a cheap, lingerie shop toy – no match for his vampire strength, easily broken if he wanted to – as easily as Buffy could have broken them the night before, if she would only have yielded to him then.

Not to mention the fact that Buffy would never actually hurt him.

Would she?

His thoughts were interrupted by her quiet, calm voice, still carrying a note of hushed seduction, as she went on softly, “Now, before you make up your mind – there’s something you should know.” She paused, and he waited breathlessly, as her empty hand slowly ran up and down his chest, in soft, feather-light caresses that only fanned the raging flame of his need.

“These handcuffs are enchanted,” she informed him, her hands stilling for a moment when she felt him tense in surprise – or fear? – at her words.

Realizing that she had sensed his reaction, he deliberately relaxed his shoulders, taking a deep breath or two to steady himself, as she went on, “They won’t break like ordinary handcuffs, no matter how strong the person wearing them is. They will only open when the person who puts them on you…” She paused, leaning in to whisper, so near that her lips brushed his ear, “…and that would be me, Baby…” She drew back slightly to continue, “…takes them off.”

Moving back, raising her voice again to a normal level, but still with a dark, sultry note to it that sent a fresh shiver of mingled desire and apprehension down his spine, she finished, “So once you put them on – you’re mine, Spike – until *I* decide to let you go…”

His stomach dropped, and his throbbing member jumped slightly, in his reaction to her words. So the Slayer was raising the stakes a bit, was she – so to speak? He quickly reconsidered, his mind racing with the possibilities that this new bit of information raised.

It made no difference, he told himself. He trusted her. So what if the power she would be wielding over him would be just a bit more real than he had originally thought.

But, unbidden, darker thoughts came to his mind. How many times had Buffy threatened to stake him? How many times had she told him that she should have done it a long time ago, or told him that she wished he was out of her life for good?

Was it possible that she might use this little game to accomplish that desire? She wouldn’t do something like that to him – would she?

*No,* he reassured himself firmly. *She wouldn’t.*

Because in spite of the fact that she despised him, looked down on him as the thing beneath her that he was – despite the fact that she did not want to want him…

She *did* want him. More than that, she needed him. He was the only one she had been able to turn to in the past few painful months. She could not destroy her one source of comfort in the darkness that her world had descended into.

She *loved* him…he knew it. Even if she did not know it yet. But she would – eventually. That was what he kept telling himself, what he kept insisting in the quiet, dark moments when she had left him alone, like she always did in the end. Through the tears that streaked his face in those times, he would tell himself over and over that she *did* love him – she did – and in time, she would come to see it.

But the question of the moment was – just how determined was she to prove to herself that she did *not* love him?

And in the next moment, his decision was made.

It was simple, really.

He had a choice – to yield himself to whatever she had planned for him for this evening, to give himself to her and place his pleasure, his well-being, his very life in her hands for her to do with it what she would…

Or to refuse – and give her the justification that she was seeking, the excuse to deny that there was any beauty or goodness to what they shared, and walk away and leave him forever.

It was a simple choice, really.

Did he trust her -- *really* trust her – not to take advantage of this power she was asking him to give her, and use it to destroy him?

It didn’t really matter.

He would rather be dust at her hand than to spend the rest of his unlife without her.

“ ‘M already all yours, pet,” he replied quietly at last. “You know that.”

The poignant emotion in his soft voice smote Buffy’s heart with a fresh pang of guilt. For using him for all these months, when she knew that his feelings went so much deeper than hers – for treating those feelings so callously at times, even if she did not share them…

For what she was about to do…

“Just checking,” Buffy replied, her tone forcedly light. “I mean – this is quite a risk you’re taking…I just wanna be sure you know what you’re getting yourself into. For any vampire to place himself at the mercy of a Slayer – well – that’s pretty dangerous…”

“Not this vampire, not this Slayer,” he replied with a confidence that sounded convincing, whether he felt it or not. “I trust you, Buffy. I told you already.” He paused, before adding with a smirk, “Several times. Are you trying to convince *yourself* I don’t mean it? Cause you’re soddin’ well not gonna convince *me*!”

Her hand on his chest stilled for a moment, and he knew that somehow he had struck a nerve with his words. Then an instant later, her hand was back in motion, sliding down his chest, and further, resting for a moment on his hip before sliding inward.

He gasped, his back arching slightly as she leaned in close again, her voice soft as she replied, “Not trying to convince anyone of anything, Baby…just wanna be sure you know what you’re doing…” As she spoke, her hand came to rest a bare inch above the base of his erection, and her thumb moved slowly in a rotating gesture that sent a new flood of sensation coursing through his body.

“Bloody hell, Slayer!” he gasped, his head falling back slightly, overwhelmed with his desire. “If you think I’m backing out *now*, you’re out of your bleedin’ mind!”

The soft, throaty chuckle that left the Slayer’s lips then sent a little shiver of desire and apprehension down his spine with the realization – she had him right where she wanted him, and she knew it.

He was hers.

“No,” she agreed quietly, her hand rising from where it lay low on his abdomen, and moving to clasp his wrist in a gentle but firm grip. “You’re not.” She paused for a moment, lowering her hand from his shoulder and bringing both of his wrists behind his back. “Not now,” she added, locking them into the cuffs.

He felt a sense of mingled apprehension and expectancy at the metallic click of the cuffs around his wrists, and instinctively tested their strength. The Slayer was not bluffing; the weak metal that should have broken under his vampire strength was unyielding.

Suddenly, he felt Buffy’s soft, warm hand come to rest on his, twisting slightly in the cuffs, still searching for a weakness in them without even realizing he was doing it -- and he froze, waiting to see what she would do next. The Slayer’s hand moved from his, and then he felt her hands on his shoulders, moving down his arms, leaning in and pulling him closer to her at the same time.

“So tense,” she murmured softly, before her lips fell on his throat in a tender kiss – but he could feel the little smile on them just before she spoke again in a whisper. “Scared?”

He shook his head. “No,” he replied immediately. “Not of you. I trust you, Buffy.” He paused for a moment, considering before speaking his next words, a slow smirk coming over his own face with a flash of insight. “But I’m beginning to think that *you* might be.”

He felt her completely freeze behind him, and knew that he had hit on the truth. “What?” she whispered, and he could hear a subtle note of defensive anger in her voice.

“Why are you trying so hard to get me to back out, Buffy?” he asked her, smiling openly now, a teasing note to his voice. “Way I see it, you’ve got me right where you bloody want me. Problem is – maybe you don’t know what to do with me!”

He could almost hear the Slayer’s jaw drop at his bold audacity in the face of his situation. “Yes, I – I most certainly…” she sputtered defensively, only confirming the suspicions he had stated.

He laughed, knowing as he did that he was only further incensing her. “Right…that’s why you’re dragging it out so, right, love?”

“I’m not dragging…I…ooh!” the Slayer nearly growled with the frustration that he prided himself in knowing only *he* could bring out in her. He could picture her struggling to regain her composure – and then he could picture the forced smile on her face, as she fought to stay calm and in control, as she stopped touching him and moved around to stand in front of him.

“I don’t know what to do with you, huh?” she echoed, her voice trembling slightly, though much calmer now, and he could almost hear the tight smile, see the furious flames in her defiant green eyes. “Looks like I’m gonna have to try to figure it out then, aren’t I?”

That dangerously seductive note was back in her voice, and he felt a stirring within him, driving his desire higher. Still, he kept his expression mildly mocking as he agreed, “Looks like, don’t it, love?”

He loved being able to get the better of her, even when she should have been in complete…

“Bloody hell!” he gasped, his thoughts forcefully scattered as he felt a small, hot hand fist around the base of his erection, pulling him firmly closer to her, and a bit off balance, without the use of his hands to catch himself.

Her thumb rested beneath his member, at the very base, and began to rub in a slow, intense circle that made him draw in a sharp, shuddering breath, his knees buckling slightly beneath him. Quickly Buffy caught his arm, holding him up, keeping him from collapsing on the floor right there.

She leaned in close to him, her hand still wrapped around him, too tightly to be comfortable, but not tightly enough to be painful, as she whispered in a tone of amusement and triumph, “How’m I doing? Getting warm yet?”

“God!” he gasped. “Buffy!” He was gasping for breath, incapable of any other speech by this point.

And she had been touching him for all of five seconds.

“Come on,” she ordered brightly, suddenly ending the work her hand was doing for the moment, with a startlingly sharp tug on his manhood in the general direction that she wanted him to go – toward the bed, though he had no way of knowing that.

Through the powerful sensations she was causing him – he didn’t really know much of anything at the moment.

“Bloody hell, woman, what are you *doing*?” he moaned, stepping quickly in the direction she had pulled him, alarmed at the momentary sharp sensation.

But she quickly released her hold on his erection the moment he started in the direction she was leading – not even she was *that* cruel – opting to lead him by the arm instead, and giving him a much needed break from the intense touching that was swiftly reducing him to a babbling, desperate wreck.

“I’m not really sure,” she replied with a shrug, her tone teasing and self-satisfied. “Figuring it out as I go along, I guess.” She stopped him when they reached the bed, turning him around to face her, so that his back was to the bed, leaning in close to his ear, her hand playing affectionately through his hair as she whispered the confiding question, “How am I doing so far?”

He could not even form a response, still trying to catch his breath.

Buffy, however, seemed satisfied. She nodded as she said, “Good. I think that’s enough of a warm up.” He could not see it through the blindfold, but her emerald eyes held a wicked shimmer as she gently took his shoulders and pushed him down to sit on the bed, pushing him back a little before straddling his lap, drawing another gasp from the vampire’s lips at the feeling of her heat so very close to his throbbing need.

Smiling, Buffy leaned in to kiss him again, her lips, her tongue, tenderly caressing his trembling, gasping mouth, before pulling back to murmur softly, “Let’s get this party started, Baby.”

“Bloody hell, Slayer! What are you doing to me?”

Buffy laughed softly, a wicked, gleeful note to the sound, and slowly rotated her hips, pressing her body through the skirt that still covered it against his bare and highly sensitized manhood.

Spike gasped, his head falling back slightly, as she slid one hand between them, stroking slowly down the length of his member in a torturously gentle way.

“Oh, come on, Baby!” she teased. “Don’t tell me you’ve had enough *already*? I’ve barely even touched you! But you know – if you want me to stop…” He could almost see her careless shrug of indifference to match her tone.

“*No*!” the vampire growled menacingly in a mixture of frustration, and fear that she might actually do as she had suggested. “Don’t you bloody dare stop now, Slayer! You can’t just get a bloke all worked up and then quit on him!”

A disbelieving, challenging sort of huff left the Slayer’s lips as she replied, “Actually, Sweetie – I can! It’s my right to stop anytime I want to. Maybe you being evil and all, you wouldn’t know, but the whole ‘She got me so worked up I couldn’t stop,’ excuse stopped being acceptable about forty years ago. I mean, obviously *you* wouldn’t care, but still…”

It was a painful irony that a couple of years earlier, Spike would have taken offense, demanding that she take her words back, if she had suggested that he was *not* evil.

Now, however, her implication that he would not respect her rights to say no, hurt, worse than he cared to admit. He covered it the best he could with his usual, ready defense – a smart aleck response.

“Yeah,” he scoffed. “Like I need a lecture on what’s *acceptable* from the girl who’s got me in handcuffs and is sitting on me on her bed!”

“With your consent,” she pointed out, unfazed by his comment. “And *lying* on you on my bed.”

He frowned in confusion. He may have been blindfolded, but he knew his sense of direction and balance were excellent, and he knew that he was *not* lying down.

Yet.

“What…?”

Before the question could even leave his lips, Buffy shoved him forcefully down on the mattress, falling on top of him, cutting off any words of protest by emphatically kissing him breathless. Well – more breathless than he already was.

When she finally drew back out of the kiss, she noticed that Spike was shifting uncomfortably on the bed, pulling slightly against the handcuffs that held his hands between his back and the bed.

Before she could ask him what the matter was, he volunteered, grumbling, “Not too bloody comfortable, Slayer – my hands under me like this. You know there’s a lot of other ways to do the whole handcuff thing – can’t we try one?”

“You know,” she mused, her tone light and playful, as she slid down his body a bit to place a slow, lazy kiss on his chest. “Somehow, I’m not all that concerned with your comfort at the moment. Huh.” She kissed him again. “Go figure.”

*Yeah. Go figure,* he echoed sarcastically in his mind, not without a bit of resentment. *When has she *ever* been the least bloody bit concerned with my comfort?*

He almost asked the question aloud, but thought better of it. He was beginning to get the impression that it could be a really, *really* bad idea to make her angry right now.

So he settled for reiterating his complaint. “Seriously, love, I could think of a lot more interesting, less awkward ways to use these…”

She startled him into silence when she suddenly rose up and grabbed a handful of his disheveled blonde curls, pulling his head very close to hers, her grip rough and stinging, but not exactly painful – just enough to emphasize his vulnerability, and her control over him.

She leaned in close to his ear as she said in a soft, deliciously dangerous voice, “Are you gonna quiet whining – or am I gonna have to gag you?”

The playful note to her voice made the threat more exciting than frightening – though he had to admit that it was a little bit of both. And there was no concealing from he his reaction to her words – not with his eager member clearly showing its approval of the suggestion, pressing harder against her body as her mouth descended to kiss his throat.

She immediately pulled back, and he heard her laugh softly, as she trailed her free hand down his body to close firmly around the intrusive organ. He gasped as she began to rub slow little circles with her thumb, and a powerful sensation of pleasure coursed through his body at the touch.

She responded to the encouragement, increasing the pressure she was exerting, at the same moment tugging his head back slightly, with a little twist of her hand that caused just enough of a twinge of pain to heighten Spike’s pleasure.

“Buffy,” he moaned in feverish need. “God, *Buffy*!”

He struggled uselessly against the handcuffs that bound him, without even realizing he was doing it – simply desperate to touch her.

“Still uncomfortable, Baby?” Buffy’s voice was falsely sympathetic, as she misunderstood his restless movements. She pressed in closer against him, carelessly pressing his back down harder onto his hands, increasing his discomfort.

Or on second thought, he realized, through the *very* powerful distraction of her touch – probably not carelessly.

Probably more like *deliberately*.

*Sadistic little chit!*

Her lips brushed against his ear, her hot breath a tantalizing caress on his skin as she whispered in his ear, “I think I can make you forget all about it…”

And just like that – he already *had* forgotten about it.

The enticing promise in her words made his entire body tingle with anticipation, as she slowly raised her body up off of him, lowering her lips to tenderly kiss him on the mouth once more, taking her time and slowly, thoroughly caressing his mouth with hers – the sensation intensified by the fact that she was no longer touching him anywhere else at the moment.

He did not think that she had kissed him this much before, in all the time they had been seeing each other. Usually, Buffy would not allow things to reach such a level of intimacy and affection. If it went beyond overwhelming, primal passion, to something deeper, a tenderness, a caring that was too much for her scarred, scared heart to handle – she would quickly shut things down.

But that intimacy, that tenderness – that “something deeper” – was what Spike craved.

He drank it in desperately, like a man dying of thirst.

When she drew away, and he felt the slight depression of the mattress beside him as she got up off the bed, he tried to suppress the sudden, unreasonable sense of pain, the ache of loss, at losing contact with her. Most times, he could keep her there with him at least briefly, hold her close to him, whisper words he knew she did not want to hear – but *needed* to.

This time, he was prevented even from touching her.

“Buffy…” he whispered, in a voice that trembled and broke over her name, his need for her unmistakable in the single spoken word. Instinctively he tried to rise, to follow her – but an instant later, felt her soft, strong hands push him back down on the bed.

“Did I say you could get up?” she whispered in his ear, her tone somewhere between taunting and affection, as she ran her hands lightly over his shoulders, massaging them gently from where she stood beside the bed.

“Relax,” she advised softly. “Just let me do this, Spike.”

*Let her do *what*?* he wondered with a bit of apprehension, troubled by the hint of sadness he heard in her soft voice.

Something had made her relent for the moment, giving him back the affection she almost always withdrew the moment she realized she had given it. The tenderness, the warmth with which she was treating him, once again set loose a jumbled confusion of emotions in his heart.

On the one hand he wanted to allow himself to simply enjoy the rare treasure that was Buffy’s gentle touch, tender kiss – simple kindness and affection. He so seldom got the chance to experience it at all, and he craved it, needed it desperately. The sensitive, broken-hearted poet in him wanted to cherish every fleeting moment of it for the brief time that he knew would be all that it would last.

But a part of him could not help but be very apprehensive and a bit fearful of Buffy’s unusual behavior. She had obviously planned this night out very carefully, preparing for it, making sure that everything would go as she intended it to. The question was – just what exactly *did* she intend?

He kept getting the rather frightening feeling that he had agreed to something that could end up hurting him terribly in the end.

He was not stupid. He had not spent over a century as a master vampire for nothing. He knew – had known from the moment she had first put the blindfold over his eyes in the graveyard and repeated his fateful question back to him – that she was planning something, and that if her treatment of him thus far meant anything, the end result would likely be as heart-breaking as every other encounter he had ever had with her.

But he also knew that if he refused to accept her challenge, or backed out of it now, he would only be giving her the excuse she needed to walk away from him forever.

And no matter what happened to him – he could not let that happen. He was not too stupid to realize the emotional danger he was placing himself in by playing along with her little game.

He simply loved Buffy too much to care.

He obediently tried to relax under her touch, trying to focus on the deep, soothing motions of her hands on his shoulders, slow, even movements designed to relax him and put him at ease, rather than the doubts and insecurities and outright fears struggling for dominance of his emotions.

Or his desperate but thus far sorely neglected cock, for that matter.

The next time he felt Buffy’s hands leave his body, he forced himself to stay put, though he felt all the tension she had just carefully worked out of his muscles immediately return, with his apprehension.

He had no idea exactly where she was or what she would do next.

Whether it was through the use of magic, as her lack of scent before – or through her own well-honed Slayer skills, Buffy was absolutely, perfectly silent.

For all he knew, she may not even have been in the room anymore.

Here he was, blindfolded and bound and naked, lying across the bed sideways with his legs and painfully swollen erection hanging off the side of the bed – just *waiting* for the *Slayer* to do whatever it was she had in mind to do with him – and for all he knew, she might have just left him altogether.

Maybe *that* was her plan for his utter humiliation.

And how bloody pathetic was it, that *that* was the most terrifying thing he could imagine that Buffy could do to him?

He was mentally berating himself for his perpetual state of wankerhood that always brought him into these situations of emotional or physical helplessness to sadistic, insane bints who took his love and used it to torture him – when the Slayer reassured him of her presence in a most unmistakable way.

He nearly came off the bed again at the searing, wet heat that suddenly surrounded just the very tip of his manhood.

“Bloody soddin’ *hell*!” he gasped, thrusting almost reflexively up toward the source of the sudden, shocking heat against his cool, over-sensitive flesh -- Buffy’s mouth – which immediately drew back at his response, leaving him longing and more achingly hard than he had been moments before – more so than he had thought possible, in fact.

“Unh-uh,” Buffy said in a quiet, teasingly stern voice, and by the sound of her voice he could tell that she was kneeling in front of him, between his spread legs. She raised one hand, placing it low on his stomach, directly above his throbbing erection, and pressing him down firmly against the mattress. There was a hardness to her voice that only served to intensify his own…er…*hardness*…when she spoke again.

“Don’t make me tell you again not to move.”

He did not know which thought was more arousing to him – the knowledge that he was bound, virtually helpless, spread out and exposed for the Slayer to do with as she would, completely at her mercy…or the fact that said Slayer was currently kneeling attentively on the floor at his feet, ready to attend to the need she had been creating in him.

He fervently wished the blindfold away; *that* was a sight he would give just about anything to see.

While Buffy was not opposed to pleasuring him with her mouth, and actually did it quite often, she never -- *never* -- did so on her knees, as she was now. In bed was one thing – but although she could not possibly make herself more physically vulnerable than she had made herself during the heights of their passion, she refused to give herself to him in that way, refused to lower herself to that level, he supposed.

He didn’t really think it was about *physical* vulnerability, actually – judging by the fact that the one time she had ever done it in that way, on her knees in front of him, had been while she was invisible – and he could not…see her…

Understanding came to him in that instant, in the midst of his desire and need and the rampant, desperate sensations coursing through his body – as he understood that particular little foible of his Slayer.

It was all about power.

This whole thing had started because her friends had stolen away any sense of control she might have had, dragging her back from the most important choice she had ever made, making her feel unspeakably helpless and vulnerable and more out of control than she ever had in her life.

But with Spike – Buffy was in control.

She knew how he felt about her. She knew that because of how he felt about her, she could get him to do just about anything she wanted.

*Case in point, mate,* he reminded himself grimly.

Of course Buffy didn’t mind getting him off with her pretty, hot little mouth – so long as he could not in any way see her as submissive to him because of it.

*No chance of that,* he thought dryly. *A bloke can’t get much more helpless than…*

His thoughts were cut off when he suddenly felt her forefinger and thumb close around the head of his erection firmly – not painfully – but very, *very* close – and sending a wave of powerful sensation through his body.

“I don’t think you were listening to me, Spikey,” Buffy said, her voice calm and mild, but with a tone of false hurt, as she squeezed just slightly, eliciting a moan of intense mingled pleasure and pain from the vampire’s throat. “Listening now?”

“Yeah!” he gasped out, his back arching as he struggled to focus on what she was saying. “God, yes, Buffy…I’m listening…”

“I *said*…” Buffy went on, a bit over-dramatically, easing her hold on him and sliding her fingers idly down his shaft on either side, then back up again to the tip, back and forth, up and down as she spoke.

How the bleedin’ hell did she expect him to actually *listen* to her?

And yet he did.

He knew better than to not.

“…don’t…move…” Buffy went on, her voice hushed, barely over a whisper, as she continued the cruelly slow, intense motion of her hand on his sensitive skin, driving him ever nearer to the edge.

“…don’t speak…” she continued, whispering now, as her warm fingertips slid under his erect member to lightly caress the sensitive, rarely touched flesh there, and he moaned, his body shuddering with his desperate efforts not to move.

“…and whatever you do…” she whispered, leaning down close to him, as she slowly slid her thumb and forefinger back to their original position, emphasizing her final point with a pinch that was harder than before, hard enough to draw a desperate, strangled whimper from the vampire’s throat as his back arched again.

But he managed to keep himself still for the most part, under her hand.

Her voice lowered even further, taking on a commanding intensity as she whispered, “…don’t….*come*…until I tell you you can!”

Now that was just bloody cruel!

The command itself, the dark, sultry tone of her voice, the danger and excitement of the whole scenario, did more to push him toward disobeying her command than anything she had done to him so far.

But he *didn’t* disobey. There was one thing the Slayer had taught him so far this night.

He had been wrong.

A bloke could get a *lot* more helpless than he had been before.

As Buffy finally released him, returning to kneel in front of him again, and taking him into her hot, hungry mouth, drawing him cruelly toward an intensity of pleasure that she would not yet allow him to fulfill – Spike had the feeling that before the night was through, the Slayer would have a lot more to teach him – but he was not afraid. In fact, he relished the opportunity.

He had quite a bit he wanted to teach *her*, too.

Within about five minutes, Spike knew without a doubt that he was thoroughly, completely buggered.

There was no way that he was going to be able to obey the Slayer’s merciless, utterly unreasonable command, her knew – not with the expert actions of her hot, wet mouth working him closer and closer to the edge of sweet oblivion.

Did she even know what she was *doing* to him?

*Of course she does, mate,* he reminded himself. *That’s why she’s doing it. And she calls *you* evil!*

“You know, pet…” he gasped out, around a strangled moan of pleasure as the Slayer employed her teeth, gently but firmly, on the underside of his erection, “…some things – are bloody well – out of a bloke’s hands, love…I’ve only got…*gah!*…so much control, B-*Buffy*! Bloody hell!” He moaned, hardly able to maintain a coherent thought, let alone get it out properly, under her expert ministrations.

Much to his dismay, however, as soon as he *did*, the soft heat of the Slayer’s mouth immediately left his member, intensely more desperate now than it had been before she started. The cool air of the room felt frigid against his hard, quivering manhood, and he immediately longed for her to touch him again.

“Well, maybe you’d better get *more* control, Spikey,” Buffy suggested in a light, mocking tone of wicked amusement, and in the next moment, he felt her fingertips lightly stroking over the sensitive underside of his balls.

His back arched and his body thrust involuntarily upward toward nothing, as he drew in a sharp breath at the unexpected powerful touch – just before she withdrew her hand completely. “*Please!*” he gasped. “Buffy, *please*!”

“Maybe I shouldn’t,” she mused playfully. “I mean – if you can’t take it and still do as I say…” There was a false concern in her voice, as he heard it move as she stood up from where she had been, on her knees between his legs, to a spot nearer to his head. Her voice was soft and wickedly enticing as she added, “I’d hate to have to punish you.”

He stifled the groan of mingled desire and frustration that rose up in him at her words, the reaction that would have made it even more obvious to her just how well her little torture act, refusing to grant him the satisfaction that he craved, was working.

*Yeah – like she can’t tell by the ‘you moaning her name and begging for more’ bit!*

“You know you’re bloody eviler than I am, right?” he gasped, his voice breaking slightly, as he struggled to regain his breath. It was easier than before, because of the fact that she was currently *not* touching him…

Though that was certainly not a fact he was pleased with in any way.

“You know,” Buffy said thoughtfully, and he could imagine the pensive little frown that would be crinkling her flawless brow, the adorable little wrinkle of her nose as she considered before speaking, a hard note to her calm, quiet voice, “I’m fairly certain I told you *no* talking!”

*Adorable my arse! Soddin’ bint’s a bloody sadist!*

“Buffy, love,” he objected softly, his tone pleading and apologetic, aware that any attempt at salvaging his pride in this particular situation would be useless. “I didn’t mean to, pet…please…I swear, pet, I’m gonna dust if you don’t touch me…”

He was handcuffed, naked on the Slayer’s bed, with an erection to end all erections that he was currently refusing to touch because he had failed to go along with her unreasonable demands.

Pride lost all meaning when a bloke was in a position like that.

However, his humble pleading did not have quite the effect he wanted on the impassive Slayer, who merely moved around the bed behind him, leaning across it so that her head was near his shoulder, not saying a word – yet.

“Please, Buffy,” he babbled breathlessly, as the Slayer began to kiss his throat, his shoulder, his chest, moving down his body in a slow, leisurely way. The feel of her soft, silken hair against his bare skin as she moved only served to drive him to a greater level of need, without her ever touching his mercilessly teased and now cruelly neglected cock.

“I won’t talk, I won’t move, won’t do a bloody thing unless you want me to! Please, I’ll be quiet…please, Buffy…”

The Slayer raised her mouth from its torturously mild attentions at those words.

“And yet,” she murmured softly, with a faint note of amusement. “you’re still talking.”

He felt her soft, warm hand reach down to rest on his side, just above his hip, her fingertips sliding upward in a slow, sensuous, feather-light touch that sent deliciously pleasurable little shivers up his spine, and a jolt of sensation straight to his aching, desperate manhood.

“Wonder what the problem is?” Buffy whispered in his ear, in a low, suggestive tone, lightly scratching up his ribcage with her fingernails, smiling against his neck when she felt the shudder that went through him at her touch.

She brought her other hand to his other side, wrapping her arms around him from behind, employing both hands to drive him made with soft, enticing touches, moving slowly from his sides to his chest, as she lowered her mouth again to kiss her way from his shoulder to his throat, pausing for a moment over the faded but still present, century-old scar from his sire’s bite.

He held his breath when he realized what had caught her attention, wondering what she would do. He was desperately craving an intensity that she was at the moment deliberately withholding from him, teasing him with playful, suggestive moves which served only to *increase* his desire, without doing a bloody thing to satisfy it.

But now – her attention was focused on the scars on his throat – and the intensity seemed to have returned to the equation for the Slayer, as he heard her heartbeat quicken slightly, and her hands stilled for a moment on his chest.

But then, just as quickly, Buffy recovered – at least outwardly – and her hands resumed their slow, sensuous tour of his body, coming to rest on his chest, her fingertips tracing light, tingling little circles around his sensitive nipples as she leaned in to whisper in his ear in a low, almost dangerous voice,

“I thought you said you were all mine.”

The unmistakably possessive note to her voice, in combination with her sensual, intimate touch, nearly brought about the climax he was desperately fighting not to achieve – not yet.

“I am,” he whispered in a low, husky voice of deep emotion, the words coming out without his really thinking about them. “I *am* yours, Buffy – completely.”

She froze again, and he suddenly felt a little sick feeling begin in the pit of his stomach, the beginnings of a sensation he had felt many times, over and over throughout the time he had spent with Buffy these past few months.

He had done it again.

He had said precisely the wrong thing, something too intimate and intense to allow her to continue to pretend that there was nothing between them but physical lust – and any moment now, she would be standing up and hurrying out, fleeing the depth of feeling that always seemed to terrify her so, and send her running from his arms.

He only hoped that she remembered to take the handcuffs off first.

The fact that this time, they were in *her* house did not even occur to him.

But Buffy surprised him again, when instead of immediately moving away from him, she only raised one of her hands from his chest to cover his mouth, whispering in his ear with playful, mock severity, “*Shhh*!” She took him by surprise when her other hand, still playing idly over his chest, rose to pinch his nipple sharply.

She pressed her hand more firmly over his mouth, muffling the little cry that rose in his throat, as she whispered against his ear, “What does it take to shut that mouth of yours up, Baby?”

The playfully threatening tone of her voice, demanding his silence – the increased sensation of being out of control due to her hot little hand *enforcing* his silence – and the slight twinge of pain mingled with pleasure that came from her touch on his body sent him hurtling dangerously closer to the edge at breakneck speed.

He gasped for breath as her fingertips gently soothed the spot she had pinched, pressing hard enough against the sensitive flesh to stimulate him further as she did so.

Her light, gentle kisses moving up his throat again sent a fresh tremor of desire all through him that was only intensified when she moved her hand from his mouth to his forehead, pressing his head back and baring his throat to her attentions.

Her voice was low, lusty, and possessive as she whispered, “You better *believe* you’re mine!”

He didn’t know which shocked him more – the throaty, desirous words that thrilled him to his very core at hearing them – or what she did next. He was still processing the fact of what she had said, when she lowered her mouth directly over the scar on his throat and bit him – gently, not hard enough to break the skin.

Honestly, Buffy had no idea what sort of effect it would have on the vampire. For a Slayer, she was painfully clueless about things such as vampires’ sexual habits, bonds such as that between a sire and a childe, claiming and such.

She was actually quite lucky, all things considered, that she had not accidentally broken his skin, because whether or not she meant it, she would have gotten herself in far deeper than she meant to go right then.

The simple truth was, she was curious – but she was doing more than just playing.

Some part of her had not known what to expect, wanting to see what sort of a reaction she could get out of the vampire. But she instinctively knew, somehow, that it was not exactly the appropriate or accepted thing to do, to bite him on his sire’s mark – and she found herself actually hoping that her presumption would anger him.

But anger was the farthest thing from the reaction that she got.

Even such a light, gentle bite, a mystically powerless parody of his sire’s bite, had an incredibly powerful effect on the vampire she had beitten.

Maybe it was the reminder of the intense, existence-altering experience that she was playfully re-enacting, bringing to mind the first time in William’s existence that he had felt desired, wanted, like something beautiful and capable of inspiring love and devotion – anything besides repulsion – in a beautiful woman.

Or maybe it was the fact that he wanted to badly to *be* Buffy’s, to have her claim him – not necessarily in the traditional vampire sense, with the biting and bloodletting and all that went along with it – because that was more than he ever dared expect from the Slayer.

But just to have her claim him, in the sense of *not* treating him like a dark, dirty secret of which she was horribly ashamed – to have her kiss him casually, or even hold his hand, in public, with her friends – admitting what they had to the people who were close to her.

Acknowledging the gift he had already given her long ago – of himself – and openly accepting it, for all to see that he was hers – and she was his.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was all of the above, in combination with his desperate physical need of the moment, that drove him over the edge of ecstasy, consumed with pleasure he could no longer control, as he allowed the sensations he had been struggling to overcome to finally overcome *him* instead, allowing his release to engulf him completely, with a primal roar of passion as he came, hard.

“Buffy,” he gasped as the wave of sensation began to ebb, passing over him, and he began to regain control of such basic functions as speech. “Bloody hell, Buffy, what you do to me!”

The awe, the almost worshipping reverence of his voice, sent a little thrill through the Slayer’s heart, of pride, satisfaction – and a warm, gentle affection that was deeper than that – than mere affection – the one feeling in the whole mix that she desperately tried to ignore.

She frowned in frustration, trying to push all the other, more confusing emotions down. The bite had been intended to cross a line – to anger Spike, upset him, draw out of him the mistrust that she knew had to be buried somewhere within him, under the false feelings he *thought* he had for her.

She had been certain that when she had made the bold, presumptuous move of biting him as she had done, even *hinting* at obliterating the mark of his sire, the vampire he had loved for over a hundred years – it would make him furious.

She had imagined him bucking her off of him, calling her every filthy name he could think of, demanding that she free him, stalking off and, with any luck, never speaking to her again.

*With any bad, rotten, horrible luck…*

*No!* she corrected herself fiercely. *You *want* him to get over this! You want him to stop wanting you! You do! It’s for the best! You don’t love him – you *can’t* -- and he deserves someone who can…*

No, she had never imagined the surprising reaction that Spike actually had to her actions. The thought that her simple words of possessive desire, and a simple, play-acting sort of gesture, a bite that he must have hardly felt physically, could bring him enough pleasure to shove him over the edge into ecstasy, when he had been fighting it so hard, trying so hard to do as she had told him…

The idea that among all the physical pleasure she had been giving him, it was the idea of being *hers* -- of her acceptance and desire for him – that had brought him off…it was just…just…

*Disturbing,* she decided forcefully in her mind. *Upsetting. Weird…*

But the hard knot in her throat, the heavy feeling in her chest, the strange prickling sensation behind her eyes, spoke of very different emotions than those.

The slight frown that formed suddenly on the vampire’s face reminded her of his powerful sense of smell, intensified by his current lack of sight, that allowed him to smell even the faint scent of the salt of her unshed tears.

“Buffy?” he said in a soft, slightly worried voice, hoarse, barely recovered from the past few moments. “You all right, love?”

She was quiet for a moment, closing her eyes, squeezing back the tears, swallowing hard and making a concerted effort to fight back the softer -- *weak, selfish* -- emotions that were trying to take her over.

After just a moment’s hesitation, she forced a bright smile to her lips, knowing it would show in her voice, as she replied, “Just fine, Spike – wondering something, though…”

“What’s that, love?”

Damn it, that soft, gentle concerned sound was still in his voice.

Buffy did her best to ignore it.

She moved to stand beside the bed again, as the vampire was struggling unsuccessfully to pull himself up slightly on his bound arms. With a sudden, quick movement, she had seized a handful of his disheveled platinum hair, pulling his head back slightly in a dominative sort of gesture.

He relaxed his head, leaning it back into her hand, slow smile spreading across his face. It was quite obvious that she was not going to talk about what was bothering her at the moment. On the contrary, it appeared that the Slayer wanted to play – so he would go along with her little game.

As she had known that he would.

She leaned in close to his face, her free hand trailing across his chest and up to his throat, ghosting over the marks she had bitten and smiling at the shudder she had known she could get from him, before trailing her fingertips up to trace the line of his lips as she replied in a hard, dangerous voice.

“Why you’re still talking.”

She pulled his head closer to her by her fist at the back of his head, tangled in his hair, her lips descending aggressively on his and kissing him with an intensity that had him already becoming hard again. She pulled back long before he wanted her too, yet remaining so close that he could feel the movement of her lips into a wicked little smirk as she spoke softly, seductively – and yet with a hint of danger that sent a shiver down his spine.

“Looks like I’m gonna have to punish you.”

“Looks like I’m going to have to punish you.”

Spike felt an odd combination of fear and excitement shudder through him at the Slayer’s dangerously suggestive words – and although it had only been about a minute since her bit had sent him soaring into ecstasy and brought about his climax, he could feel his manhood slowly stirring to life again as she spoke.

“Guess so, Baby,” he smirked, cocky in spite of his incredibly vulnerable position – a position that no master vampire in his right mind would ever allow himself to be placed in – and yet, a position he had willingly, even eagerly, submitted to. “Told you I’ve always been bad.”

*Yeah, mate…bad poet…bad luck with the women…bad judgment…*

If his current situation in life – and in the current moment – was any indication.

“Yeah, you did, didn’t you?”

Buffy laughed softly, and Spike was surprised by the reluctant sound of affection he heard in her voice at the memory he knew she was recalling, the same one that filled his mind, of a conversation nearly a year ago over a plate of chicken wings and a game of pool and grandiose stories of his past that were only partially true.

“To tell you the truth,” Buffy confessed softly, her voice drawing him back to the present, a slight mocking lilt to it as she went on, “I really didn’t believe you at the time.”

*Probably because it was a bleedin’ pack of lies for the most part,* he thought, suppressing his own slightly bitter laughter at the memory of the way he had embellished the story of his early years, toughening up his image in an effort to disguise the softness, the weakness, that had once been his nature – only to have his lies designed to impress her earn only her disgust and repulsion.

“But you know,” she went on slowly, calculatingly, “I think you’ve just about got me convinced.”

He gasped in surprise at the sudden sharp sting as she pulled his head back, hard, by the fist still tangled in his hair, a strange contrast to the tenderness that followed as she leaned in to kiss his throat, very slowly, sensually, before raising her lips to just behind his ear to whisper in a low voice that was half menace, half seduction.

“You know what I do to bad vampires?”

Spike’s lip curled up in a lascivious sneer as he replied, “Of course, love… *intimately*…”

He could hear the reluctance in Buffy’s soft laugh, knew that she was probably shaking her head, wishing that she could keep the amusement from her voice, but unable to.

“*Besides* using their bodies as my personal playthings and screwing them senseless every night,” she corrected flatly, and he was a bit surprised at the honesty and self-mockery in her voice.

“Well – yeah,” he replied with a smirk, to his credit, not missing a beat, despite the strong reaction of his body to her words. “But something tells me you’re not planning on staking me, love. Not yet, anyway. Seems to me you want me too much to be rid of me just yet.”

The smug, self-satisfied grin on the vampire’s face reminded Buffy that although he was blinded at the moment, Spike was still in possession of supernatural senses that betrayed her arousal to him.

“Awfully sure of yourself,” she commented dryly. “For someone who’s tied up and at the mercy of his mortal enemy.”

“Not so much sure of *myself*,” Spike corrected in a quiet, even voice that was suddenly very serious, and infuriating to Buffy in its calmness and control, “as I am sure of *you*. Sure you won’t dish out anything you know I can’t handle.” He paused before adding slowly, emphatically, “I…*trust*…you, pet.”

He was silent for a long moment, allowing the words to sink in for her once more – hoping that this time she would get the idea through her head, accept it as truth.

And then, maybe he could work on convincing *himself*.

He went on with a poor attempt at a careless shrug, made very difficult by the awkward position of his arms under his body, nearly numb by now. “And anyway – ‘s not like this particular scenario really proves anything either way, love. I mean – it’s fun and all – but – trust you or not – if you decide you feel like hurting me, there’s not a lot I can do about it. ‘S not like I have a bloody choice at this point.”

“Oh, but you do,” Buffy countered immediately, with a dark, cunning note to her voice that sent an odd little quiver of mingled desire and apprehension through Spike at the sound. The calm, self-assured tone of her voice told him that she had expected him to bring up that point, and had been prepared for it.

“You *always* have a choice, Spike.”

He tensed without meaning to, when she took his arm and gently helped him to sit up on the bed, silently cursing the unconscious reaction of his body that would serve to reveal to her the fact that she was getting to him – a little.

All right. More than a little.

He felt himself being pulled off balance for a moment, the mattress behind him pressed down slightly as Buffy slowly climbed onto the bed, on her knees behind him.

Her hands held onto his arms for a moment, steadying them both on the bed, before they began to trail slowly up and down his arms, drawing him closer to her in a subtlely possessive way.

Spike did not mind a bit.

Unresisting, he leaned back against her, resting his head on her shoulder behind him.

“You had a choice to accept this challenge or not.”

Buffy went on, her voice soft, hushed and mesmerizing, as her hands continued down his arms to close momentarily around his bound wrists. She then brought them up to rest on his hips for a moment, her thumbs sliding slowly inward, just an inch or two down the line on each side, leading to his manhood – which was by now aching for her touch all over again.

“You had the choice to do as I said – or not – and you didn’t,” she reminded him in a voice that was an odd combination of gentle reproof, laced with a wickedly teasing note of menace.

“Which brings us to the whole ‘punishment’ thing,” she concluded, sliding her silky warm hands back up his hips, behind him, back to his wrists, resting against his back, at the very base of his spine.

She caught him off guard, eliciting a shocked little gasp of mingled pain and pleasure, when her hand left his wrist to come down sharply in a stinging slap to his bare backside, an unexpected touch that sent a rush of heated sensation straight through to his cock, which instantly and obviously hardened at the feeling.

Buffy let out a low, throaty giggle at his reaction, her fingertips lightly teasing over the spot she had just struck, in a mockery of soothing the sting, before she slid a single finger inward to trace slowly up the line of pale flesh leading to his tailbone and the base of his spine.

She relished the little shudder of shock and desire that went through the vampire at her provocatively bold, intensely intimate touch. A soft, strangled cry left his throat, as he pulled forward away from her touch – not because he did not want her to touch him, but simply in a reflexive reaction to the intensity of the sensation, of the feeling of vulnerability it brought on.

She immediately reacted, putting her other arm around his waist, jerking him back into close contact with her in a dominating, aggressive gesture that served to increase his arousal – but also to birth a cold knot of apprehension in the pit of his stomach, as he began to wonder, not for the first time…

*Just how far is she actually willing to *take* this little game?*

“You chose to agree to this, Spike,” she reminded him a soft, dangerously calm voice that made him wonder if she had somehow guessed his thoughts. “You chose to put yourself in my hands – at my mercy. And now,” she went on, trailing her fingertips slowly up his spine, intensifying the tingling sensation created by her words, “I can do – whatever…I…
want…”

As she finished speaking, her slowly progressing hand, in a sudden motion both exciting and frightening, fastened high around his throat -- not too tightly, but firmly enough to dispel any notion he might have had of his ability to break her grip if necessary – pressing his head back against her shoulder and exposing his neck to her in an unmistakable position of vulnerability.

Which she, ironically, used only to caress his throat with soft, feather-light kisses -- for now, anyway.

Anyone walking in on the scene would have thought that *she* was the vampire, and he was her helpless victim, about to be consumed by her.

Which was only half untrue.

*Yep. You’ve got yourself into it, this time, mate. She’s right. Your bleedin’ unlife’s in her hands.*

Again echoing the thoughts in his head, Buffy whispered in his ear, her breath hot against his cool yet somehow fevered skin, “Don’t you wish you’d given this a little more thought before you decided to place your total trust in me? I *am* the Slayer, Spike. It’s in my very nature to destroy you…and I *can*…” Her voice lowered even further, mesmerizing, terrifying, utterly hypnotic, as her arm around his waist slid down the front of his body, her hand tracing lightly, torturously up the length of his throbbing erection.

Instinctively he bucked up against her hand – and he was not sure if his own reaction was one of impending panic, an attempt to escape her -- or desperate desire, seeking deeper contact than the feather-light, teasing touches she was allowing him at the moment.

He was utterly consumed with both.

The Slayer’s awesome power was demonstrated in her reaction, as she closed her hand firmly around the base of his erection, both that hand and the one at his throat yanking him warningly nearer to her – holding him in an unbreakable, yet painless grip of iron – silently making her point very clear.

If she did not want him to move – he wasn’t going anywhere.

His mind raced with conflicting thoughts, as he struggled to maintain some semblance of control.

*Buffy wouldn’t really hurt me – wouldn’t take advantage of this – nothing to be…*

*Bloody soddin’ hell, mate, are you daft? Of *course* she’d take advantage of this situation! There’s *everything* to be scared of, she’s got you right where she bloody wants you!*

*No! I do trust her! I do! She wouldn’t!...would she?*

*You are So. *Beyond*. Buggered.*

“*Whatever* I want, Spike,” Buffy reiterated in a low, lustful voice of desire, and her racing pulse, the potent, musky scent of her arousal, told him just how exciting the thought was to her. “I could make you do *anything*.”

She just held him against her like that for a moment longer, her hands on his body and throat firm and restricting, reinforcing the message of her words: *she* was in control. And then, slowly, she eased her grip, releasing him.

He did not want her to see how she had managed to disconcert him – how uneasy he *still* was – so he did not move away from her. He remained as he was, his head relaxed back on her shoulder, not moving – silent.

That was the biggest clue to the Slayer that her little act had made quite an impression on the master vampire.

*He *doesn’t* trust me,* she thought. *I knew it! He really thought I might hurt him!*

Somehow, instead of triumph – all she felt was a cold, bereft feeling of loss.

*But if I call him on it,* she went on in her mind, trying to push back the painful feelings and focus on her goal, *he’ll just deny it. Stupid vampire! No rapid breathing or sweaty palms or any solid evidence to call him on to give away the fact that he was freakin’ scared out of his mind. I’ve got to make him admit it somehow…*

But despite the lack of physical evidence as to his rising apprehension, his lack of trust – she knew that he was too unsure of her motives by this point to continue to remain under her power – if he was given the choice to refuse.

And he was about to be given just that.

“I told you I was gonna punish you, Spike,” she repeated softly, her hands returning to the handcuffs locked around his wrists. “And I could. I could do anything I wanted right now, whether you like it or not.”

She paused, and he nodded silently, his unnecessary breath coming in soft but ragged gasps, revealing emotion that she suddenly wished she could read in his concealed eyes.

She surprised him completely when she whispered a Latin word – and the handcuffs snapped open.

“But I won’t.”

He did not move for a moment, stunned and still, as he heard the soft rattle as the handcuffs dropped onto the bed. Suddenly, he very much wanted to see her face, to attempt to read the motivations for her strange actions in her eyes, which were much more expressive than she often wished them to be.

Automatically, without conscious thought, his hands rose toward the blindfold.

Gently, she caught his wrists, stopping his hands without pulling them back.

“Now, you really don’t wanna forfeit *that* easy, do you?” Buffy asked, the lighter, teasing note back in her voice.

No. He didn’t.

And he could tell, by the tone of her voice – the Slayer’s front was back in place. If he took off the blindfold now, there would be nothing to see. Her mask was back on.

“No, I’m sure you’ve got a much more interesting method designed of making me forfeit – don’t you, pet?” he replied slowly, his voice low and serious, but his mouth turned up in just the hint of a knowing smile.

“Like I said,” Buffy replied, and he could hear the hint of frustration in her voice that she was trying to suppress. “I’m not going to make you do anything.”

She paused, before going on softly, “It’s up to you. How much do you trust me?”

When she did not say anything else for a moment, Spike admitted quietly, “Not quite sure I follow you, pet.”

“I already told you. I’m going to punish you. But then – that could mean many different things,” Buffy explained quietly, and he could hear the sly smile in her voice. “The question is – what do you think *my* definition of punishment is – and do you think you can handle it?”

He was silent, just trying to understand what she was getting at.

He heard her voice, nearer again, very close behind him, as she added in a near whisper, “Because if you don’t…if you think I’d take it farther than you want to go…if you think I’d hurt you…you can walk out that door right now. I won’t stop you. It’s just a game, after all. I’m not gonna blame you if you wanna stop playing.”

Spike’s head tilted slightly in an unspoken question, as he waited for the catch.

“On the other hand,” she went on in a soft, calculating voice, “if you *trust* me…”

Ah. There it was.

Spike did not need to hear anymore. Without saying a word in response, or waiting for any further explanation, he placed his hands on the mattress, feeling along it until he found the handcuffs she had discarded – clearly not having expected to be using them anymore – and, holding them, moved carefully away from her, to the head of the bed.

She watched in confusion as he felt the headboard, confirming that he was where he meant to be, then quietly lay down on his back, locking his own hands over his head around one of the slats of the headboard.

The complete silence that met his actions told him that he had stunned Buffy speechless.

Well – for all of a good five seconds.

“Spike – w-what…?” The slightly flustered sound of her voice made him feel a slightly vindictive sense of satisfaction – and pride. Even handcuffed and in quite possibly the most vulnerable position of his entire life – he still had the power to effect her in ways she could not understand.

“I’ve told you already. But I’ll keep telling you – and showing you – until you get it, love…” Spike began softly.

“You trust me…” Buffy finished for him, an oddly sad, desolate note to her whispered voice.

“I *love* you,” he corrected her, a quiet intensity in his voice. “I love you, Buffy. And I’ll do whatever it takes to prove it to you. And no – I don’t think that you’re going to hurt me – any more than I like, anyway,” he added with a self-deprecating little smirk. “I *do* trust you. And if this is what it takes to prove it to you, then – so bloody well be it.”

Buffy was silent for a very long moment. Finally, she spoke, in a whisper so soft that a human could not have made it out.

“What if you’re wrong?”

Spike replied immediately, without hesitation, “I’m not.”

There was a long moment of silence before the Slayer spoke again, in a soft whisper of resolve, and an unreadable tumult of confused emotion.

“We’ll see.”

Spike waited in silence, lying there on the bed on his back, his hands locked above his head to the headboard. He knew he had surprised her with his actions, thrown her off her game a bit with the unexpected display of trust – and given himself a decided advantage in the situation, if only for a moment.

The next move was undeniably Buffy’s.

But only silence met his actions.

After a moment, he could hear the soft rustling sound of Buffy moving about the room, though she did not say a word. He heard a drawer open now and again, the soft shifting thumping sounds of objects being picked up and set down.

But still, the Slayer did not say a word.

“So,” he began, a bit cautiously, though his tone was teasing. The silence was getting to him, and he wanted to try to lighten the mood a bit. “Just how bad have I…”

His words were cut off in an instant, as the Slayer suddenly made her presence known, very near to him at the head of the bed, with her hand pressed forcefully over his mouth, holding his head back hard against the pillow beneath it and effectively silencing him for the moment.

The feeling of utter helplessness was alarming – and exciting.

Her voice near his ear spoke in a low, hushed warning. “Too bad to be allowed to open that smart mouth of yours,” she informed him, removing her hand from his mouth to trace the line of his jaw with the backs of her fingertips, as she went on in a voice that was more playful, less threatening – but still unmistakably sincere, “You keep quiet unless I tell you otherwise – or I’ll just have to punish you more.”

Spike relished the little shiver of arousal and fear that went down his spine at the words. He considered for a moment, before coming to a decision. The Slayer wanted so badly to make him believe that she could really hurt him? To prove that he did not trust her?

Why not call her bluff?

“Well, what if I *want* to be punished?” he countered cheekily, his tongue darting out between his teeth momentarily in a gesture of mockery and suggestive intent that never failed to get a reaction out of her, whether good or bad.

The Slayer did not miss a beat, as he suddenly felt her sharp fingernails close a bit too tightly around his right nipple, and he gasped in pleasurable pain as she pinched him sharply.

“Then I guess you’re on the right track – aren’t you, Baby?” she replied, and he could hear the smirk in her voice, as she twisted slightly, drawing a reluctant groan from the vampire’s throat.

The sound turned into a soft whimper of protest when she released him, and he twisted against the bonds that held him, his body arching upward toward her hand that had abandoned him – but he did not say a word.

It was quite possible that he was not actually capable of speech at the moment.

He heard the soft sound of Buffy’s footsteps, moving away from the bed, and then back again, though she did not say another word for a few moments.

“Buffy,” he said in a breathless, petulant voice bordering on a whine. “I’ve been a lot worse than that, pet…need lots more punishing, I swear…”

There it was again, that low, dark little laugh in her throat, as he heard her nearing him, heard the soft thud of something heavy being set down on the small nightstand beside the bed, followed by several smaller somethings – and then, a new sound – different in this setting, but recognizable clearly enough to send a little chill of apprehension down his spine.

The soft scratch and hiss of a match being struck.

“Of course you do,” Buffy agreed, her voice soft, mild, conciliatory – and suddenly a bit frightening. “I completely agree. Don’t worry, Baby. I haven’t even started yet.”

He swallowed reflexively as he heard her blow out a soft breath, the quiet little *whoosh* as the flame she had struck went out, and the acrid, woody smell of the burnt match filled the air around him. A small tremor of mingled relief and apprehension went through him. She had blown out the match she had struck…

…but why had she struck it in the first place?

“W-what are you doing, pet?” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm, light – but unable to keep a slight waver from it as he felt the mattress sink slightly beside him.

In the next moment, he felt the pressure of her weight across his stomach, as the Slayer straddled him, the soft, slightly rough folds of her skirt pressed between her body and his, the silky feel of her thighs on either side of him driving him mad with renewed desire, that was nevertheless given quite the competition for control by his rising apprehension.

“Practicing,” she replied cryptically, her tone light and unconcerned.

She leaned forward across him, reaching for something on the nightstand beside his head, and he could not help but tense slightly at the increased nearness, and the anticipation, not knowing what it was she was reaching for. Instinctively, unconsciously, his hands pulled against the handcuffs that bound him, his breath accelerating just slightly.

He cursed his weakness when the Slayer went still above him, still leaning forward so that her face was near his.

“Want me to let you up?” Her voice was gentle, understanding, without a trace of mockery or derision. She was sincerely asking.

Somehow – that made his decision easy.

He shook his head, drawing in a slightly shaky breath. “No,” he whispered. “No, love…I’m fine…”

Her tone changed, light, wickedly playful, as she smirked, “Okay…let’s see if we can change that!”

Her hands apparently found what they were reaching for on the nightstand, because he heard soft sounds of contact as she did something, though he had no idea what, and then she leaned back again, straddling him low over his hips, her knees on the bed on either side of him. The heady scent of her arousal carried easily to him in this position, and he felt his erection swelling behind her, pressing up against her backside.

He could hear her moving slightly, and her tone was a bit distracted as she focused on whatever it was she held in her hands, as she mused in a thoughtful tone, “Someone once told me…in no uncertain terms…that I didn’t have the first idea about…certain types of foreplay…”

Spike let out a surprised yelp of pain and shock as a sudden drop of searing moisture fell against his bare skin, just a bit to the left of his navel.

“…candles, for example…” the Slayer explained coyly. As she spoke, she reached down and idly scraped the already hardened bit of wax from his skin with one perfectly manicured fingernail. “Hmm…pretty,” she remarked with a quiet glee that was both child-like and chilling.

As soon as she spoke, he recognized the sounds he had heard, the rhythm of her motions a few moments before. He had played these sorts of games enough to know that the heavy object was mostly likely a large candle, which she had lit with the match, and had used to light one of several smaller ones – which she was now casually allowing to drip all over his exposed, sensitive skin.

“Bloody hell!” Spike gasped, his voice a bit ragged. “Slayer – y-you gotta remember, love…no body heat, here…it’s a bit more…extreme, for me, than it’d be for you, pet…so…so you might wanna -- *bloody hell*!”

He let out a moan as another drip of hot wax landed on his chest, near his right nipple. Against his room temperature skin, it cooled and hardened rather quickly, but the heat was intense, sending a searing jolt of pain through him that oddly translated to pleasure, increasing his desire for her.

Buffy leaned forward slightly, her hand fisting in his hair and jerking him closer to her for a moment as she replied in a wicked voice of amusement, “I know – hence the word ‘punishment’, Spike…which you’re only earning more of every time you open that sexy mouth of yours, Baby…”

She released him, straightening back up again, giggling quietly in surprise when she felt his burgeoning erection against her backside.

The hand that had gripped his hair reached behind her to swirl a torturously light finger around the head of it slowly.

“Somebody wants to play…gonna have to wait his turn, though…”

The suggestion in her words was both thrilling and terrifying to him. Surely she wouldn’t actually…*gah!*

Another searing drop of wax landed on the pale skin of his ribcage, and he released a pleading moan at the sensation, his back arching as he strained uselessly against the handcuffs, and felt his need for her increasing, wondering *very* distractedly if she could feel the increased pressure against her bum.

Her musical little laugh of amusement told him that she could.

He was never going to get out of this if his over-eager member didn’t stop nudging its encouragement of her actions against her rear.

“Okay, okay,” she teasingly relented, reaching behind her to gift his manhood with a single, infuriatingly gentle upward stroke. “Fine. Impatient,” she muttered good-naturedly as she got up off the bed.

*Bloody buggering hell.*

“Buffy,” Spike began in a desperate, trembling voice. “wait…don’t…”

“Don’t?” she echoed, stopping and turning slightly to face him. Her pointed tone was very clear.

He swallowed reflexively, desperately wanting to give in to her ploy. The thought of what she appeared poised to do was pretty soddin’ scary…and yet…if he refused…he would lose her challenge.

No bleedin’ way.

“N-no,” he recanted quickly, shaking his head. “Not ‘don’t’…I just meant…” He hesitated, but was unable to hold back the anxious whisper, “…be careful, love…”

“Whatsa matter, Baby?” Buffy teased him as she moved around to the foot of the bed and climbed up slowly between his legs, spreading them further apart as she did, increasing his sensation of helplessness, the utter lack of any control over the situation.

“Dontcha trust me?”

“Either I do or I’ve got a death wish, pet…” he muttered through clenched teeth, his body already tensing in anticipation, rueing the blindfold that prevented him from having a bloody clue what to expect from her next.

“You just might,” she shot back with a slightly warning tone. “You’re still talking.”

He bit his lip with a little grimace, reminding himself to just shut the bloody hell up.

A moment later, he frowned in confused apprehension, at the feeling of a round, heavy weight placed low on his hard, flat stomach. His stomach did an odd little flip a moment later when he realized that it was the weight of the large, round pillar candle, now rested on his stomach, as her own personal table.

“Knew those perfect abs were good for more than just looking dead sexy,” Buffy murmured in a low, playfully seductive voice, taking advantage of having both of her hands free, to run them slowly, leisurely up his thighs to the juncture where his legs met his groin, easing his legs slightly further apart.

He felt the candle on his stomach shift slightly with the movement, and could not hold back the gasp of fear that rose in his throat.

“Oh, yeah,” Buffy said casually, as an afterthought. “Try not to move. Might not feel too good if you manage to spill hot wax, straight from the candle, all over yourself. Or tip the candle over and set my bed on fire. That could be bad.”

She paused before adding with a smirk, “I *like* these sheets.”

“Buffy,” he whispered, pulling slightly against the handcuffs, as much as he dared, struggling against the impulse to yield to her, to tell her he’d had enough, and ask her to let him up. “Buffy…”

“Yes?” she asked softly, expectantly – an almost hopeful note in her voice.

And suddenly – he knew that he could not give in. Not now. The tone of her voice had unconsciously given her away.

She did not want to hurt him – not really. With any luck, he guessed, she was probably nearly as close to breaking as he was.

“Nothing, pet,” he whispered, shaking his head slightly, trying his best to keep perfectly still.

“Hmm,” she mused. “Pretty expensive nothing.”

He did not have time to wonder what she meant, before he felt a searing, unusually large drop of wax land on the sensitive flesh of his inner thigh. He jumped, without meaning to, cringing in expectation of greater pain when the wax from the candle on his stomach spilled from his movement.

But it did not – and he let out a shaky breath of relief, struggling to still the tremor that went through his body of mingled fear and relief.

What he could not know, was that the candle resting upon him, the Slayer’s silent warning to stillness, was the type that burned down in the center, while leaving the outer edge intact, round and broad, and burned down much too far to allow any wax to actually spill, unless he *completely* lost it and tipped the whole thing over entirely.

He also missed Buffy’s little gasp and tensing at his movement, and the way her eyes – and hand – shot to the candle instantly, wanting to be sure it was steady and did not actually hurt him.

What he *did* hear was the soft little hiss of her sucking her teeth, followed by a little clucking sound of disapproval, as she remarked in a casually observant tone, “That was close…you might wanna be more careful, Sweetie.”

Spike bit his lip and forced himself not to respond. At this point, it was probably best just to do his best to do as she said and get through it as quickly as possible, with as little actual damage as possible.

Which, of course, really depended on how much damage the Slayer intended to do.

One soft hand, not really seeming terribly damage-bound at the moment, began tracing a slow circle around the base of his erection, slowly working her way upward toward its weeping head, ending with a light but firm pinch about an inch from the tip, that elicited a low moan of pleasure from the vampire’s lips.

“Wow. You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” she remarked in a taunting tone, trailing her finger back down, retracing the spiraling path it had taken up his member. “Getting off on being my helpless sex toy?” she went on, her voice low and suggestive, and entirely too stimulating to his already over-aroused member.

His cock jumped slightly when she employed her nail an inch from the base of his erection, as she continued, “All tied up and exposed for me to have my way with – all laid out for me like Christmas morning…”

When her hand left him, he let out a soft, strangled cry, aching for her touch, unspeakably aroused by her words, and the lustful sound of her voice.

“Just enough helplessness and pain and degradation to get you off, huh, Baby?” she smirked, a harder, bitter edge to her voice, nudging her knees in closer to his erection, spreading his legs slightly further to emphasize her point.

Her voice lowered to a whisper as she applied another generous dose of the wax, an inch or so above the base of his erection. “Sick little slut,” she said in a voice of mocking accusation. “Only one thing you’re good for – but we already knew that, didn’t we?”

Buffy herself didn’t even know where she was getting this stuff. It seemed to fit with the game she was playing – and apparently, was having quite an effect on her bound, helpless vampire.

She smirked when his cock twitched in reaction to either the heat of the wax, or her words, pleased in spite of herself that she was able to get such a reaction from him. There was plenty of time before the night was through to get him to back down.

She smiled as she looked up to his face, his mouth open slightly and gasping for breath, his body trembling slightly, revealing his arousal. For now, there was no harm in enjoying the power she had over him, to make him want her, even when she was mercilessly tormenting him, using cruel, biting words that should have hurt, but apparently….

…did.

Her eyes widened with dismay, as she noticed the damp spot, barely visible, on the surface of the blindfold around his eyes. He was probably counting on the blindfold to conceal his emotional reaction – but it had failed him.

Tears.

*God.*

She had brought him to tears.

Buffy froze completely, the world around her seeming to stop, as a cold, sick feeling settled in the pit of her stomach.

God, what had she done?

*You’ve been using him for months,* she reminded herself bitterly. *What’s so much worse about saying it out loud?*

She was suddenly stricken with the truth of the thought she had not meant to think – and the reason for the tears Spike thought she could not see. His body reacted instinctively to her expert attentions – but her words had gone too far, and shattered his heart.

Again.

*Okay – I think you’ve had enough…*

Her mind composed the mocking words to end this little scene – because Buffy herself *certainly* had had enough – but she could not make herself speak them, could not make herself carry on the act. Not right now.

Instead, she wordlessly rose up on her knees, removing the large candle from his stomach and shoving the others to the floor, as she moved from her position between the vampire’s legs, rising up so that her center hovered above him.

*Do it…use him again…hard and rough and reminding him that everything you just said is true,* she told herself, fighting to shut out the powerful emotions threatening to engulf her. *It will crush him…and he’ll walk out of here, and never come back. He won’t be able to deny what you’ve been doing to him anymore, and he’ll be done with you.*

But somehow – she just couldn’t do it.

She did descend onto him, lowering her body to take him into her – but it was slow, and gentle, and as affectionate as she ever allowed herself to be with him, as she lay herself down on top of him, her hands, her mouth, her very being treating him with a rare tenderness, bestowing warm, gentle kisses and soft caresses that he longed for – but rarely received.

He quickly, and with unusual silence, reached the climax she had driven him so ruthlessly toward, though she did not, and she rolled to her side beside him, her arm wrapped gently around his chest, lying there quietly, neither speaking a word, the soft sound of Spike’s ragged breathing the only sound that broke the stillness.

Buffy herself felt rather breathless.

*What are you doing, Buffy?* she asked herself. *This is not what you’re supposed to do…*

But somehow, at the moment, she could do nothing else.

When Spike could finally find words again, his voice came out hoarse and thick with emotion, though he was trying for casual. Buffy was not surprised to see that the blindfold was more soaked with tears now than it had been before.

“So, no more punishment, then? I’ve learned my lesson?” He was asking her, not telling her, with a desolate sorrow in his voice that sent a bitter ache through her heart.

*For now,* the smirking, slightly threatening response echoed in her head – what the game would have dictated that she say.

But she could not say those words.

In fact, at the moment, she couldn’t say any words at all. So she passed on words entirely, lowering her mouth to cover his in a slow, tender kiss that was gentle and reassuring and affectionate and all the things she had sworn that she could never be to Spike again.

When she drew away from him to breathe, lowering her forehead to rest against his as she caught her breath, she barely heard the soft, yearning words he spoke – words he had said to her a thousand times, yet this time carrying an ache of loneliness, of pleading, that tore at her emotions with an intensity she thought would consume her utterly.

“I love you, Buffy…I love you…”

*I lo…*No!*…I don’t…I can’t…not him…not…not again…I just…*

Her tumult of confusing thoughts gave way in that moment to a single central fact.

*God, I can’t do this! I can’t!*

“B-Buffy?”

There was a soft, vulnerable question in his voice, and her heart was struck again with remorse as she realized how near she had come to breaking him, not with fear of physical harm – but with words of simple cruelty. She had no excuse, no response, and yet no reassurance to offer him. She had none to offer even to herself. So she did the only thing she could think to do in that moment.

She lowered her mouth to his and kissed him again, as one anguished thought filled her mind.

*Oh, God…what am I going to do?*

“I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry, Spike.”

The soft, tender words left Buffy’s lips before she could stop them. And then, she realized that she didn’t *want* to stop them. Her hand rose from Spike’s chest to gently caress his cheek, and her heart swelled, aching with emotion, when he leaned into the tender touch with an obvious thirst for her affection.

He did not say anything, did not attempt to deny that she had hurt him, as she had half-expected – or tell her that it was all right, as she had not dared to hope. He just nodded slightly, and swallowed hard, and she could tell that he was trying very hard to control the flood of painful emotions she had caused him.

She could not remember the last time she had felt so guilty.

“Spike,” she whispered, raising up on one arm, her hand moving to the blindfold that covered his eyes. “Baby…” This time there was no malice, no mockery or ulterior motives, in her use of the tender endearment.

She was surprised when he flinched away from her hand, jerking against the restraints that bound him in an apparent effort to get away. Buffy drew her hand back immediately, aghast at the thought that she had somehow managed to frighten him that badly.

“Please don’t, Buffy,” he whispered, his voice low and hoarse with tears. “Please – leave it.”

She froze when she realized that his reaction was not out of fear that she was going to hurt him – but out of fear that she was going to remove the blindfold – and therefore reveal how much she had hurt him already. That tiny scrap of fabric was the only thing that was even partially shielding his hurt and vulnerability from the Slayer’s eyes.

Tears welled up in Buffy’s own eyes as she gently put her arms around him again, laying her head on his chest and whispering, “I’m so sorry, Spike. God, I’m so sorry!”

He did not say a word for a very long moment. Then, he lowered his head to softly, almost reverently place a tender kiss amidst the tangled riot of her blonde hair.

“Don’t cry, love,” he murmured soothingly. “Not worth it.”

She slowly raised her head, staring at him in disbelief. *He* was trying to comfort and reassure *her* -- after the things she had said to him! And – “not worth it”? She did not know if he meant that her apology, or his feelings, were not worth her tears – until she looked at his face.

The sad, self-deprecating little smile he gave her was answer enough.

*Yes, you *are* worth it,* she wanted to tell him, wanted to throw away the handcuffs and the blindfold and just hold him and tell him everything she had wanted to tell him, before the ill-fated kiss she had initiated that had destroyed their fledgling friendship. All about her confusion, her fears, the loss and hurt of being ripped out of heaven – the painful emotions that kept her constantly hiding, defensive, and terrified of allowing herself to love anyone again – the resentment she held toward him, for loving her, when she herself knew that she was so utterly unworthy of it.

But she did not say any of that.

She raised her hand again to gently brush through his sweat-dampened, disheveled blonde curls. “Why do you let me do it? Why do you let me do this to you, Spike?” she asked softly, an aching sorrow in her voice.

A soft, sarcastic smile came over the vampire’s lips as he replied in a quiet, teasing tone, “Not much ‘let’ about it, pet. I’m handcuffed to your soddin’ bed!” His tone was as light as he could manage, and she knew that he was trying to ease the situation back to more comfortable territory.

Trying to let her off easy for her cruel offense.

She reached for the handcuffs around his wrists, ready to let him loose and end this cruel charade she had started. She had hurt him more than enough for one eternity already, she thought bitterly.

“No,” he objected sharply, pulling away from her as much as he could, and she froze.

“What?”

“Leave them, Buffy,” he insisted softly. “Until you’re convinced. You set out to prove something tonight – well, so did I! And I don’t want the bloody hell out of this until you’re bloody well certain.” He paused before adding in a soft, sure voice full of conviction and emotion. “I love you. And I trust you, too, pet. You *have* to see it.”

Buffy stared at him, absolutely stunned by his words.

Even now – he still claimed to trust her?

“H-how?” she asked in a broken whisper. “How *can* you? After…everything…”

Spike was silent for a long, weighted moment, and Buffy knew that he was carefully considering how best to respond to her question.

Finally, he took a deep breath and replied quietly, “Because I know you love me, Buffy. I know it. Like I know that I need blood to survive, or that Harris will always be a bloody wanker.” He smirked disarmingly as he gave a slight shrug and declared, “Bloody law of nature’s what it is.”

His expression became serious as he went on, “You’d die without air. The sun rises in the east. I’ll dust the moment anything ever happens to you again…” He paused, before stating the last “law of nature according to Spike” in a low, intense voice, “And you love me. You’re just afraid to let yourself see it.”

His honest, simple words struck her with breathtaking force, as a part of her had no choice but to acknowledge the truth of what he had said. She was not sure about love – but she knew that she cared much more than she wanted to admit for the frighteningly perceptive, incredibly sensitive, absolutely gorgeous blonde vampire.

She knew that it was wrong – knew that allowing herself to love another vampire could only lead to heartbreak and devastation of the worst kind – but could not seem to quell the feelings that overwhelmed her, the incredible desire and affection that drew her back to Spike’s door, again and again, no matter how many times she told herself that it could never, *ever* happen again.

Yes, a part of her had to admit that Spike was right.

And that admission put the rest of her immediately on the defensive, her guilt and heartache hiding behind a shield of anger and indignance.

“You sure about that?” she snapped, pulling away from him and sitting up on the bed beside him. “You so sure that I’m just afraid to admit it? What if there’s just nothing to admit?”

“Then I wouldn’t be here,” Spike answered immediately. “I’d be dust long ago.”

There was a simple but profound truth to his words. She knew it was true.

Still, she denied it.

“Maybe I’m just being generous,” she suggested, though it was obvious even to her own ears that she was grasping at straws. “After all – you’re helpless.”

“Not anymore,” he reminded her, his voice taking on a slightly sharper edge. He was determined to make her face the truth this time. “Remember? I could kill you anytime I wanted to now. And yet – I’m still undead.”

“You could try,” Buffy corrected him in an angrily trembling voice, rising slightly with her defenses. “But you couldn’t kill me – and you can’t hurt anyone else…”

“But there’s still a lot of things I *could* do, Buffy,” he reminded her. “I’ve been master of this town before – and I could do it again. There’s dozens of vamps out there just looking for someone strong enough to tell ‘em what to do, who’d be more than willing to do whatever I bloody tell them to. I could have someone else do you and yours in if I wanted to…”

“Maybe before,” Buffy scoffed derisively, standing up. Even blindfolded, the vampire saw far too much. She needed a little distance; she needed *not* to be touching him. “Now,” she snapped, aware as she spoke that the words were cruel, but too desperate to stop, “you’re nothing but a pathetic joke. Every vamp in this town knows that you can’t even feed anymore! That chip in your head…”

“Could stop working,” he interrupted, his own anger rising at her deliberately hurtful words. “Could wear out and leave me free, and you none the wiser. Or I could find a way to get it out completely…”

“God, Spike, are you *trying* to get yourself staked?” Buffy demanded, a threatening note creeping into her voice. “Are you just trying to convince me to stake you, because you’re doing a hell of a job!”

“Couldn’t convince you if I tried, pet,” Spike shot back, unable to keep the note of triumph from his voice. “That’s my bloody point! You just can’t do it!”

The Slayer in the girl could not let the master vampire’s challenge pass unanswered. She stalked back to the side of the bed, reaching under the pillow beneath Spike’s head, for the stake that she always kept there.

“You sure about that, Spikey?” she sneered. “Let’s find out!”

She raised the stake and brought it down swiftly toward the vampire’s exposed, vulnerable chest.

No vampire could have missed the sound as the weapon sliced through the air with a deadly rush of speed. She knew he would flinch, cry out, in some way betray a genuine fear that she might actually stake him. But Spike did not move, even when the tip of the stake came into contact with his chest, inches above his heart, pressing into his skin without quite breaking it.

He did not flinch – did not even make a sound.

In fact – he was smiling.

“You can’t do it,” he whispered, shaking his head slightly. “You can’t do it, Buffy. And there’s a reason why.”

Buffy froze, staring at the weapon in her clenched fist, the slight indentation its tip made in the pale, flawless flesh – and a sense of horror began to steal over her. She tossed the stake aside forcefully, sending it clattering loudly into her dresser, as she took a backward step away from the vampire on the bed, shaking her head in denial.

*God – what did I almost do…?* she wondered, horrified.

“Buffy?” Spike’s voice was uncertain, concerned. “You okay, love?”

*And why couldn’t I do it?* was Buffy’s next thought, as she continued slowly backing away from the vampire, trying to process what was happening here, how her carefully thought out plan had spun so quickly and completely out of her control.

*I can’t do this! I can’t lose him! But – I shouldn’t need him! This is wrong! He’s evil! I’m the Slayer! I should be able tot stake him…but…*why*? He hasn’t hurt anyone in so long – he loves me – he wouldn’t – oh, *God*, I almost…*

The breakdown that overcame the Slayer in that moment was in no way soft or gradual. It came upon her all at once, leaving her sobbing, great, wracking sobs that stole her breath and left her choking, gasping – stole her strength and left her collapsed, half-sitting, half-kneeling on the floor, her fist pressed hard against her mouth as she fought uselessly to suppress the sound – the unmistakable sign of her weakness.

“*Buffy*!”

She had no idea how Spike had gotten free of the handcuffs, but an instant later, she was enveloped in cool, strong arms that pressed her closer, holding her together so that she could allow herself to fall apart in his embrace.

“Shhh,” he whispered soothingly. “Buffy – Buffy, love – what is it? What’s the matter, pet?”

Buffy could not yet speak, too overwhelmed by the intensity of her emotions – so she just clung to him and cried. She knew she should be pushing him away – should not be allowing herself to become so vulnerable in his eyes.

At the moment, it did not matter to her. She needed him – and through the pain of her emotions that shook her so completely, an accusing thought surfaced.

*Yeah – that’s it, Buffy. *You* need him. So just use him again, when you know it can never be anything more than that. You know you don’t love him. You tried to break his heart and make him leave you – couldn’t even do *that* right! So you’ll just use him again until you’re over it for the moment, and then push him away until the next time you’re ready to use him again!*

“Buffy? Pet?”

She finally forced herself to look up, into wide sapphire eyes full of concern and affection, as he held her gently by the arms and asked again, “What’s all this, pet? You all right?”

She forced a tremulous smile and nodded hesitantly. “I just – wow – I could have – I almost – yeah. I’m fine.”

Spike laughed at the sardonic tone of her last few words, but the sound was not harsh or mocking, rather soft and full of sympathy and understanding.

“I almost staked you, Spike,” Buffy stated dubiously, searching his eyes. How could he be so concerned with her, and so unconcerned with the fact that she had nearly taken his life only moments before?

He just shrugged calmly. “No, you didn’t, love. Didn’t even come close.” He paused, smiling as she disentangled herself slowly from his embrace and climbed to her feet. He stayed on the floor for a moment longer, looking up at her with a smile that was brilliant and breathtaking, if a bit sad, and guileless blue eyes full of undisguised adoration.

“I knew you couldn’t do it,” he said softly.

Buffy just stared at him for a long moment, amazed. In spite of herself, she reached down to touch his cheek, a smile of reluctant affection coming over her face, as he gazed up at her, unflinching, unbothered by the fact that he was on the floor at her feet, utterly naked and vulnerable, moments after she had just tried to stake him.

“Is there *anything* that scares you?” she asked softly, unable to keep the admiration from her voice.

To her surprise, he looked away suddenly, his smile faltering, as he moved away from her hand and climbed to his feet as well. Seeing his discomfort, Buffy found herself attempting to steer the conversation toward safer territory, though her curiosity was piqued by his unexpected reaction to the rhetorical question.

“How’d you get out of my magic handcuffs, anyway?” she asked him mildly, as she made her way to the bed and sat down on the side, her fingers running idly over the metal he had cast aside in coming to her rescue. “I’m gonna have to ask Will for a refund on this gift – get my non-existent money back.”

“No,” Spike shrugged, his back turned to her as he faced her dresser, apparently finding her collection of various knick-knacks incredibly interesting. “They work just like you said they did.” He turned slightly for a moment to give her a sly smirk. “Only the one who *put them on* can take them off.”

Her eyes widened as she remembered how he had taken the handcuffs and chained himself to her bed. A slow smile of disbelief and amusement slid over her face as she looked up at him through new eyes, impressed. His back was turned to her again, and he was absently toying with random items on her dresser – still apparently oblivious to the fact that he was doing it completely naked.

Buffy, on the other hand – was anything but oblivious.

She allowed her eyes to slowly savor the sight of Spike’s perfectly formed, absolutely amazing body. She felt her lust for him building up inside her again; she had all but given up on her plan by this point.

Oh, she still intended to put an end to this disastrous affair, and quickly – and yet – he was simply so tempting, so irresistible to her.

How could she possibly let him go?

*You shouldn’t do this, Buffy…you need to break it off. Yeah, you’ve ruined the game. He’ll never believe you don’t care now – but you have to be strong. End it…end it…get over there and end it, now!*

She found that her feet were indeed carrying her across the room, gliding effortlessly toward Spike – but the rest of her body did not seem willing to comply with the other half of her mind’s command.

God, how she wanted him!

He was lost enough in his thoughts at the moment that he did not sense her approach, until she was directly behind him. He gasped in surprise as she put her arms around him, one sliding under his arm to wrap upward around his chest, pulling him back toward her, as the other moved around in front of him to gently squeeze his half-hardened member.

The common figurine he had been so intently studying crashed to the floor, shattering into a thousand jagged pieces, as she began to slowly, firmly, pump his cock with her hand.

“Buffy!” he gasped, his hand falling to rest on her arm, encouraging her actions.

She smiled, relishing the knowledge of how responsive he always was to her touch, how eager and desirous he always was for her.

*Why should I have to give this up?* she wondered desperately. *He wants me – I want him – why should I…*

“Buffy!” Spike moaned, his other hand rising to clasp her hand against his chest, his thumb caressing a slow circle on her palm, as he thrust slowly into her hand, gasping softly, “Buffy – love you, Buffy, so much!”

*That’s why.*

A heavy weight of guilt settled over Buffy’s heart, as she realized anew her reasons for this night in the first place. She could continue these passionate nights with Spike, giving him her body while withholding everything else – and could little by little destroy him.

Because Spike loved her.

She tried to tell herself that he did not – but she knew that he did.

And she could not let herself love him.

She had to end it. No matter how hard it was, she *had* to. Tonight.

“Buffy – need you – I want you, Buffy, so bad…” Spike was still babbling out random words of need and adoration. “Love you, Buffy -- *God* -- feels so good…”

Buffy ran her hand one more time, slowly, sensually, down the length of his throbbing erection, harder than before, making him release a desperate, strangled cry of pleasure at the increased intensity of her touch.

And then – she removed her hand from him completely.

A soft, throaty whimper of protest was all that the vampire could manage, and instinctively his hand moved toward his aching cock.

Buffy’s hand caught his wrist, in one swift motion pulling it and his other wrist behind his back and holding them there.

“Now, Baby,” she said in a teasingly warning voice. “What did I tell you about touching yourself?”

She locked the handcuffs that she had retrieved from the bed around his wrists again, feeling a sense of satisfaction at the knowledge that this time, they would stay on until *she* was ready for them to come off.

She turned him around to face her, flashing him a wicked smile at the slightly bewildered look on his face, as she pushed him gently but firmly to his knees in front of her.

“You know,” she went on in a playful tone, eyes falsely wide and serious. “Some people say it makes you go blind.” She cocked an eyebrow at him suggestively, glancing toward the discarded scarf, where he had left it a few feet away. “Wouldn’t you rather touch *me*, anyway?”

She rested one hand gently on his shoulder, the other tangling firmly but not painfully in his hair to tilt his head back, as she slowly, suggestively, rotated her hips, inches in front of his face. She watched with a smile as he caught the scent of her arousal, and his eyes widened, and then became hazy with desire as he raised them to meet hers. Those incredibly blue eyes were wide and longing, his parted lips trembling with need and anticipation.

God, he was beautiful!

“Not to sound selfish, Sweetheart,” she pouted lightly, lowering her and from his hair to trace gently along the line of his full, luscious lips. “but I’m starting to feel a little neglected here.”

She knew she was starting to think like Anya, but it was the truth. If she was keeping score, he was up two to zero in the orgasm department.

“So what do you think, Baby?” she pressed gently, swiveling her hips toward him again as she let her hand fall from his mouth to rest over her throbbing, longer center, relishing the flash of lust in his eyes as he watched her every move.

“Wanna taste?”

Spike was no fool. He knew that she was trying to manipulate him.

He may have been on the brink of losing all control and being driven to a point of mad desire where he simply didn’t care – but at least he bloody well *knew* it!

He wanted so badly to give in to her. Buffy knew just how to touch him, just what to do to him to make him desperate for her; and now, faced with her obvious desire for him, there was a part of him that wanted nothing more than to simply give in – to lose himself in her, and prove that he knew how to get her at *his* mercy, too – to make her moan and scream his name and beg for more.

He could do it. He had, many times before, and in this helpless situation he was in, there was nothing he would have liked more than to prove to Buffy beyond all doubt that he still had the power to affect her in ways that no one else ever had, to make her feel things that no one else could. He knew he could do it – and he wanted to.

But – something was off.

The Slayer’s agenda was becoming clearer to him with every flawed step of her little plan. She wanted for him to back down – to admit that he did not trust her – or perhaps to make him see that she had the will and ability to hurt him more than his love for her was willing to bear. She wanted him to run from her, so that she could stop running, and yet not have to face her fears.

What the Slayer did not understand, but was becoming clearer to Spike with every moment, even in the midst of this overwhelming encounter, was that love and trust did *not* always have to go hand in hand, as Buffy thought – and that sometimes, love *did* hurt – terribly.

But that did not mean it stopped.

Buffy did not seem to understand that – but she would, before the night was through. Spike did not mean to let it end until she did.

“Well, Spike?” Buffy murmured, moving closer to him, her fist tangling in his hair and tugging his head back slightly as she ran her other hand up her own thigh, pushing the thin, flowy skirt she was wearing up her leg as she did, in a tempting manner. “What do you want?”

His swollen, aching member protested its current state of neglect, as her words, her inviting actions, stirred him to deeper desire. He had to hand it to her, the little chit knew exactly what she was doing.

Fortunately, so did he.

I think the better question, pet,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and breathless with need, as his penetrating sapphire eyes found hers, and held them with an arresting gaze, “is what do *you* want? Do you even know?”

He felt a little thrill of satisfaction as he recognized the emotions that swept through her darkened eyes at hi words – a startled fear at his perception – followed by a defensive anger – and then, just as quickly, her feelings seemed to be closed off to him, as she gave him a predatory smirk.

“I think it’s pretty clear what I want,” she countered in a soft, dangerous voice. “And I’m thinking maybe you should give it to me, Spike -- *now*!”

The commanding tone, made less convincing by the slight tremor of need, nearly broke Spike’s control right then. But he forced himself to stay strong for just a few minutes more. It was difficult to even think clearly, when faced with such a powerful temptation – but inspiration had struck, and he knew what he had to do, no matter how difficult it was.

Spike looked the Slayer in the eyes with an impudent grin as he spoke calmly and certainly.

“No.”

The little double take that Buffy did at that made his smile widen, as her eyes grew large with shocked disbelief at the thought that Spike would ever refuse her.

*Bloody hell. Have I really become that soddin’ pathetic?*

“No?” Buffy echoed incredulously, her seductive movements stilled completely as she tried to process the word that she had rarely heard from the vampire’s lips – at least in recent months.

His smile became a mocking smirk as he asked her lightly, “You *do* know what the word means, don’t you, Slayer?”

He might have been imagining it, reading too much into her expression, but he thought he saw a flash of hurt in her eyes at the use of her title instead of her name, and the mocking tone of his voice.

It took all his strength not to tell her he was sorry, not to back down.

Buffy quickly recovered, however, donning her own smirk as she shot back, “Yeah. Just didn’t think you knew how to use it.”

He knew that the hurt showed in his eyes, in the instant before he quickly looked away.

*And we’re back to the whole ‘nothin’ but her soddin’ whore’ routine,* he thought bitterly. *Bollocks. I *am* really that pathetic.*

The pain in his eyes had a softening effect on the Slayer, who was suddenly kneeling in front of him, her hand releasing his hair to touch his cheek gently and turn his face back toward her.

He was surprised at the regret, the sadness, he saw in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, leaning in to follow her words with a slow, tender kiss.

It was hardly enough.

He was as unresponsive as she had ever seen him be to her, submitting to her kiss, but not actively returning it. She withdrew her mouth from his, slowly, a frown of concern forming on her face, as she took in the firm set of his jaw, the way he leaned slightly away from her, keeping his eyes averted – everything in his stance speaking of hurt and anger.

Buffy froze, a cold feeling akin to dread building in her chest. Was this it? Had she finally succeeded in hurting him badly enough that he would walk away from her? It was what she had wanted – wasn’t it?

Then why was the thought so terrifying to her?

“Can you forgive me?” she whispered, unconsciously holding her breath in anticipation of his answer. For a long, excruciating moment, he did not move, did not look up, as she waited for him to speak.

When his eyes finally rose to meet hers, wide and honest and glistening with tears, her breath was stolen away from her again, as he whispered, shaking his head slowly, a sad, ironic, yet beautiful smile on his full, slightly trembling lips.

“Buffy – Buffy, love – how can you even ask me?”

The tone of his voice made his answer clear – so full of love and devotion, even after everything. Her chest ached with a deep sorrow as she thought about the exercise in torment and pain that had been her treatment of Spike over the past few months. He gave her absolutely everything he had to give, submitting his very life into her hands – and she gave him nothing but punishment and pain in return.

She knew by now that her words could hurt him much worse than her fists ever could – so of course, that was what she dealt him. Harsh, demeaning comments designed to belittle him and crush his spirit.

And yet he loved her.

Was there *nothing* that he would not forgive her?

As she gazed into those open, expressive blue eyes, unable to tear her own away, she knew that she could not abandon her plan, now more than ever. He loved her -- *really* loved her. And regardless of her feelings for him, her confused, mixed-up desires and dreams and longings for how it might be – she was irreversibly, hopelessly screwed up beyond any help.

She would only ever end up hurting him.

She had to break it off – had to *make* him move on, so that in time, he could find someone else, someone who would love him like he loved her, completely, holding nothing back, and without the crippling fear that always left her more confused and conflicted – and Spike broken and wounded.

She did not know if she loved him, but she felt strongly that she did not love him *enough* -- couldn’t – if she always ended up hurting him so badly. But she knew that she *did* care enough to stop herself from using him, from hurting him, again.

And she cared enough – or was selfish enough – to give them this one last night.

She held his gaze for a moment longer, before leaning in for another kiss, her hand gently cupping the back of his head, caressing tenderly, where before she had been hard and forceful. This time, Spike responded to her kiss, with a desperation, a thirst that made her heart ache with the power of its intensity.

When she finally broke the kiss to draw breath, she looked into his wide, stunned eyes, surely mirroring the expression in her own, as she whispered intently, earnestly, “What do *you* want, Spike? Please – let me – let me give you – what do you want?”

Their faces were mere inches apart, and she could clearly see the surprise, the doubt and disbelief, in his startled eyes, in the moment before he leaned forward to rest his forehead against hers, still breathing hard with the intensity of the moment as he gave her his soft, heartfelt response.

“You, Buffy…just you.”

She could not respond. There were no words. She swallowed back a sob, closing her eyes against the tears that rose there, as she raised her hands to gently cup his face, without lifting her head from his.

*God, it’s too much…it’s too…I can’t…*

“I love you, Buffy,” Spike went on, his voice quiet but trembling with passion and intensity. “You’re all I want, Buffy…just you…just…you and me…and no…no games…”

He shook his head slowly, and she felt his tears fall onto her bare leg, pulled up under her. Her own tears slipped down her cheeks as she lowered her arms to gently wrap around him, and he struggled to go on.

“No – no posturing and mind games and trying to out-brave each other…just…just you and me, and you…you…letting me love you.” His voice broke slightly over his last words, and as she pulled him closer to her instinctively, he lowered his head to her shoulder and let out a gasp that was almost a sob.

“I – I don’t expect…I mean…” he fought to get the words out in a dangerously shaking voice. “I understand if you can’t…but…God, Buffy…why won’t you just let me *love* you?”

Buffy felt her heart ripped out with the raw pain of his words, and just held him, allowing her own tears to roll down her cheeks and fall in her own hair and on his pale skin, as she just embraced him gently, wanting to utter words of comfort – having no words to offer. As the vampire quietly broke down, revealing once again the tender, loving nature that she had tried to deny so many times, it became real to her just how terribly she had hurt him.

After a few moments, she gently pushed him back. She watched as he swallowed reflexively, his jaw setting as he steeled himself for another rejection – because that was what he had assumed she was doing, when she ceased the warm embrace she had held him in.

But with a softly spoken Latin word, Buffy reached behind him and gently took off the handcuffs she had used to bind him, dropping them to the floor – and slowly took both of his hands in hers, pulling them around in front of him and holding them between them, still clasped in her own.

Spike stared down at their joined hands in front of him for a long moment, a frown of confusion forming on his tear-drenched face, before he slowly looked up at her, a tentative, apprehensive question in his eyes.

“Buffy…what…?” he whispered, shaking his head slightly – his words falling away in wonder as she shook her head, drawing one hand up close to lay a feather-light, tender kiss in his palm as she turned it toward her, holding his gaze as she gently pressed his hand to her cheek.

She stared at him for a long moment, a solemn, sorrowful look in her shimmering emerald eyes, as she shook her head slightly and whispered, “I’ve been so blind…”

His eyes widened, as he tried to process her words, tried to think what they might mean. It seemed far too good to be true that she might be offering him what it sounded as if she was offering him.

He had to know.

“Buffy – what – what is this?” he whispered, swallowing back his apprehension, desperately wanting to yield to his hope.

She released his hands, shifting her body nearer to him, so that their folded knees were touching each other, as she put one hand around his waist to rest gently on his back, her other hand rising to lie at the back of his neck, as she gazed into his eyes.

“This is me…and you…without the games,” she whispered, a new certainty in her voice, as she raised her lips slowly to his, holding his gaze until the last possible second. “Just us,” she affirmed, as she kissed him…

He had never felt anything to rival the power of that kiss.

It was tender, and intimate, as she allowed herself to yield to him in a way she never had before, her arms sliding around him and pulling him close to her as she gently caressed his mouth with her tongue, taking her time, thoroughly, lovingly, cherishing every second, until the kiss ended, all too soon.

She pulled away from him without a word, standing slowly to her feet – and he watched her closely in wonder, the fearful question still in his eyes. She did not look at him as she picked up the handcuffs, then moved a few feet away to pick up the blindfold, and walked to her nightstand, putting them in the tiny drawer beside her bed and shutting it firmly, deliberately.

She turned to face him, a soft, serious expression of affection on her face as she met his eyes. Never breaking eye contact with him, she began to step slowly toward him, as she did, slowly unbuttoning her blouse, and shrugging it off her shoulders, allowing it to slip to the floor.

Spike’s eyes widened, and he swallowed hard, feeling the erection that had weakened under the pain of her cruel words, slowly swelling to life again.

The hint of a smile – soft, tender, not the least bit mocking – began on Buffy’s lips, a flash of something tentative and perhaps a bit insecure in her emerald eyes, as her bra went the way of her shirt – and there were only a few short feet separating them.

A feeling of apprehension came over the vampire, and by the time the skirt fell to the floor, his eyes were focused on hers again, missing the show entirely – searching her eyes for some sign of her intent.

If this was just another game…just the cruelest one yet…

“Buffy…” he whispered, his voice hoarse and thick with emotion. “…what are you…what…”

His voice trailed off as her hand rose to tenderly stroke the back of her fingers down the side of his anxious, uncertain face.

“Giving you me,” she whispered, her eyes solemn and sincere as she returned his gaze, trying to reassure him with the warmth and tenderness in her smile and in her voice. “Like you wanted…like *I* want…”

His unnecessary breath was stolen away with the next words she uttered, in a low whisper of love and desire.

“Make love to me, Spike.”

Spike was not sure if his trembling legs would hold his body up, as the golden goddess before him slowly closed the distance between them. His longing eyes were focused not on the vision of feminine beauty that was her body, completely exposed to his perusal – but rather, his gaze was fastened on her eyes, searching, hoping, though scarcely daring to.

“Buffy,” he whispered, barely audible, as she reached him, her hands moving to rest gently on his hips. “Buffy, love…please…” He was shaking his head, and he closed his eyes, swallowing hard as he struggled vainly to keep some hold on his emotions. “Please…”

Buffy frowned slightly, lifting one hand to tilt his chin up slightly, her solemn emerald eyes seeking his averted gaze. “What?” she gently pressed him, her hand falling back to his waist, sliding around behind him to pull him closer to her. “Please what, Spike?”

He did not open his eyes, despite her efforts, and kept his arms awkwardly at his sides, refusing to touch her, yet -- though he did yield to her hand and allow her to raise his head. The pain she saw in his expression nearly took her breath – and she knew that had she been able to see those unbearably expressive eyes, it would have broken her heart, as he whispered his achingly desperate response.

“Don’t…don’t ask me to do this. If you don’t mean it, Buffy…I don’t think I could…I would…” He hesitated, before he finished on a soft, barely heard breath. “It would break me, Buffy…please…”

Her hands froze on his waist, her body going very still, and Spike held his breath, his heart sinking with every moment that passed without a response to his poignant plea.

*Here it is…she doesn’t mean it…she’s gonna back out…*

“Spike,” she whispered finally. “Look at me.”

After a moment’s consideration, the vampire looked reluctantly up, his wide, tearful eyes desperately searching hers for some sign of falsehood, any indication that there was some ulterior motive behind the tenderness she was showing him in this moment.

“I mean it, Spike,” Buffy assured him, holding his gaze unflinchingly, her hands unconsciously pulling him nearer to her. “I *really* mean it. I – I do have feelings for you. I don’t know if it’s love – yet – but I know this. I *want* you to make love to me, Spike. I’m tired of the games, too.”

He studied her face for a long moment, his shaking hands slowly moving to rest at her waist, as his hopes began to rise, and he began to allow himself to believe the words he had longed to hear for so long. He could see no trace of deception, no guilt or sign of secrecy, in her eyes; heard nothing but sincerity in her soft, longing voice. Perhaps, finally, she had realized what it was that she really wanted, and was ready to accept it.

Or perhaps -- he was only seeing and hearing what he wanted to see and hear.

“Buffy,” he said softly, in a trembling, earnest voice, “I – I love you…so much…” The words were an honest declaration, and a desperate plea, as he laid his emotions bare to her mercy once more, and silently begged her not to use them to crush his heart.

She was silent for a long moment, though she did not look away, did not attempt to withdraw from him, as she had so many times before at those words. There was a wealth of mingled emotions in her wide, open eyes, as she opened her mouth to speak, hesitating over her response.

“I know,” she whispered, in a tone of compassion and affection, with a note of apology that she could not return the sentiment – yet.

But her words actually meant much more to him than she had expected them too. He did not expect her to tell him she loved him – not yet. There was no way she was ready for that. But just the fact that she was finally willing to acknowledge the depth, the truth of what he felt for her – to admit that it was *real* -- that he really loved her – said so much, and filled his heart with joy and relief.

It was enough that she was giving him what he had asked for – the chance to *love* her.

When she took his hand and led him toward the bed, he followed her, his heart in his throat, his breath coming hard and fast with anticipation, as his mind raced with wondering what this would mean for them.

But then, she had released his hand, and lay down on the bed, gazing up at him with a tenderness, a warm invitation in her eyes that stole all other thoughts from his mind, as she waited for him to accept the gift she had just offered him.

“Buffy,” he whispered, shaking his head slowly in disbelief that it was real, that this was actually happening. “God, you’re so beautiful, love…” His voice held a near-reverence, as he lowered himself onto the bed beside her, a single hand trailing lightly, barely touching across the silky skin of her golden stomach.

“Spike!” she gasped, her head rolling back as his hand reached the part of her body that was now aching, throbbing for his touch. “Oh, *Spike*! The way you touch me – God, I want you!” There was an awe, an amazed disbelief in her breathless voice, her words ending in a little cry of pleasure as his fingers found their goal – only to steal away again, offering her only a torturous temptation – a mere hint of what was to come.

She had offered herself to him this night – and he meant to take his time, to make the most of the gift.

A frustrated whimper of need rose in her throat, as he gently tipped her head back with his hand, his lips finding hers and slowly, thoroughly kissing her, as his hand slid down across her shoulder to gently knead the smooth, firm flesh of her breast. As he deepened the kiss, his thumb rubbing slowly in a circle around the hard peak of her nipple, her lips broke away from his as she gasped for breath.

“Spike – need you…” she moaned softly, a desperate need in her voice as her hands fell low on his back, sliding down to cup his buttocks, tugging him urgently on top of her, and toward the source of her need. “…please…need you…inside me…*please*…”

A low chuckle rose in the vampire’s throat, as a slow smile of pride and pleasure spread across his face. The reminder of how easily he could affect her, how much he could make her need him, gave his confidence a healthy boost that it needed at the moment.

“Patience, pet,” he murmured in a voice like warm honey, as he drew back slightly, rising up off of her on his knees, to trail his hands slowly, seductively, down her sides, and back up again. “This is about me – loving you…not about the bloody act itself…you asked me to…so I’m gonna show you, love…”

“Show me what?” Buffy gasped, breathless and desperate already, a note of frustration in her voice at the sweet torture of his hands, all over her, but not touching any place that she actually *wanted* him to.

His smile widened slightly, as his eyes found hers again – and once again she lost her breath.

“Love,” he repeated softly, a bemused expression on his face, as if he had already stated the answer, as he lowered his mouth to kiss her again.

Spike took his time, gently, thoroughly exploring her body, his hands and mouth slow and worshipful as he did everything in his power to prove to her what she so often tried to prevent him from revealing – the depth of his love.

Many nights he had longed for this, had attempted to take things in this direction. But at the first moment that she began to feel his tenderness, his adoration – anything besides the raw, animal passion and shock of feeling that she believed she had sought him out for – she would withdraw, attacking with words or fists, until he had reached a point where he never dared to attempt such intimacy anymore.

Until tonight.

She had asked him to make love to her – and he was going to show her all the things he’d been feeling, all the powerful emotions she had forced him to suppress, for the last two long, aching, lonely years.

He drew it out, wanting to savor every moment, using only his hands and mouth to pull her gently to the edge of fulfillment, then easing back from it, again and again, until she begged him, pleaded for release – pleaded for the connection and intimacy that she had refused him so many times.

And – because he *did* love her – he could not withhold it from her for long.

Finally, he raised up over her, his own throbbing, longing member hovering over her sodden, desperate core. He was completely still for a long moment, and her wide, hazy eyes sought his out in a silent, urgent question, wondering desperately why he was waiting, when her need was so great, when she was hovering on the edge of explosion.

Once her eyes were focused on his, he smiled softly, his adoration clear in every facet of his expression, as he whispered slowly, tenderly, emphasizing every word, “I…love…you…Buffy…” as he plunged downward, burying himself inside of her heat.

The strangled cry of shock and pleasure that he heard in his ear only increased his own pleasure, and he let himself believe that it was as much due to his words as to the increasingly urgent motion of his body, driving intensely deeper inside her, seeking the completion, the full acceptance, that she was offering – desperately hoping that she would not withdraw it now, once she had given it.

If she did – he knew it would kill him.

“Spike…want you…I need you…God, *Spike*…!” Buffy gasped, her hands clutching at his back, clasping him to her in a desperate embrace that spoke of her need…and…possibly more?

“Love you, Buffy…love you…” he whispered, as with one final thrust that brought a hoarse scream of fulfilled pleasure from the Slayer’s lips, he emptied himself inside her, and they collapsed on the bed, clinging to each other, gasping for breath, and shaking from the intensity of their union.

As the haze began to slowly pass, Spike raised his head from her shoulder, his eyes seeking hers, anxious, uncertain. She was smiling softly up at him, a look of utter contentment in her shining emerald eyes.

“Buffy,” he whispered, swallowing back a hard knot of tears that had risen in his throat – though he could not tell if they were caused by happiness or sheer terror. “Buffy, I love you so much…”

He could see a wealth of confusion in her eyes, watched with a sinking heart as her smile faded slightly. But then, she opened her mouth to speak – and some glimmer of something in her eyes told him beyond all doubt what it was that she was about to say.

“Spike…I lo…”

The soft whispered words were gently cut off by trembling fingers against her lips. She looked up to see the fear, the uncertainty in the vampire’s eyes, as he shook his head slightly.

“What?” she mouthed silently beneath his hand, a gentle concern in her eyes.

He was silent for a moment, his breath coming hard and fast as he struggled for the courage to speak – to stop the words he had longed so desperately to hear.

“Buffy – if you say it…please…” His voice broke slightly, and he lowered his head, closing his eyes, struggling for control of the rampant emotions coursing through him and threatening to consume him.

Her hand rose to gentle brush away a tear that found its way past the barrier of his closed eyes and down his cheek. “Spike…” she whispered again, with a tender urgency, not comprehending why her yet unspoken words would cause him pain. “…*what*?”

He swallowed back a sob that rose in his throat before drawing in a gasping breath in preparation to speak. His eyes still closed, his head still bowed, he whispered softly, “If you don’t mean it, love – please don’t say it…*please*…” He paused, dropping his head to her shoulder for a moment, trying to regain his composure.

Her hand rose automatically to rest at the back of his head, stroking comfortingly through the tousled blonde curls, her eyes wide and staring at the ceiling as the impact of what he was saying hit her – the gravity of his simple plea.

After a moment, he raised his head and continued softly, with a bit more control, though still not looking at her, “You asked me…earlier…what I was afraid of.” He was silent for another long moment, before troubled, fearful blue eyes suddenly met hers, and she found that she could not look away as he went on.

“It’s this, Buffy. It’s us – sharing this – you…saying it…and then…waking up…and you’re…you’re…” His hoarse, aching whisper trailed off, and he looked away again, the pain of the scenario he feared – had lived through so many times – overwhelming him again.

“Gone,” Buffy finished for him in a soft, compassionate whisper.

He nodded as he lowered her head to press his face against her shoulder again. “Please,” he whispered, broken, desperate, “please, Buffy…please don’t…”

She was silent for a long moment, considering. Finally, her hand at the back of his head stilled, gentle fingers tugging slightly to urge him to look up as she spoke.

“Spike,” she whispered soothingly. “Hey…Spike…”

He reluctantly looked at her, his eyes wide and filled with a desperate hope mingled with terror.

She gave him a soft, reassuring smile, as she whispered in a voice of tender, compassionate reproof, “Do you trust me or not?”

He studied her expression for a long, breathless moment – before nodding slowly, a soft, barely audible whisper escaping his lips.

“I do.”

She nodded slowly in approval, her smile widening slightly as she held his gaze, warmth and affection in her own. “Then listen to me, Spike,” she instructed gently but firmly, her hand shifting from his hair to tenderly caress his face.

“I -- *love* -- you.”

His eyes widened in disbelief, then slowly filled with tears of joy as he drew in a shaking, gasping breath – and his shoulders began to shake with sobs of relief, of powerful joy and other emotions that he could not have named, as he collapsed into her embrace, his head buried in her neck.

No other words were necessary, as the Slayer just held him close to her, gently soothing the fears that had been consuming him, cradling the vulnerable vampire in her arms, until he fell into a peaceful, sated sleep.

Buffy stood beside the bed, staring down at the sleeping vampire who lay there, a peaceful, contented smile on his lips as he slept. She could hardly believe that he had remained asleep, through the preparations she had been making during the last few minutes.

Preparations to make right the damage she had done to him by allowing things to go this far; preparations to take what he had given her and use it to make him give up on her once and for all…

To do what she had brought him here to do in the first place…

To leave him.

The fact that his sharp vampire senses had not caused him to awaken as she had gently rolled him off of her, onto his back, and bound him to the bed again with the handcuffs, was surprising to her. Even when she had lifted his head to replace the blindfold over his eyes, his sleep had not been disturbed – and as much as she tried to deny it, she knew what his deep, peaceful sleep despite her actions spoke of.

His trust in her.

Whatever she was doing to him, even in his sleep, his senses revealed only *her* presence – no one else’s – and he therefore accepted that he was safe, trusting her not to hurt him.

He never even stirred, his expression peaceful and untroubled, blissfully oblivious – no doubt lost in dreams of the night before, when she had finally declared her love for him, the love that she knew now was real and genuine, fulfilling the dreams he had longed to come true, for the past two years.

Only to dash them now.

Gazing down through a sheen of tears at the breathtaking form that she longed for, even now – remembering his tender, heartfelt declaration of devotion the night before – Buffy felt the edges of her resolve beginning to crumble under the sweet weight of the memory.

*No,* she told herself in a mental tone of angry frustration. *No, you have to do this! You have to show him once and for all that you don’t deserve his trust – or his love! What you’re about to do just proves it – he deserves so much better than what you have left to offer him.*

Buffy took the tiny silver key in her hand and reached down to press it into the sleeping vampire’s palm, gently closing his fingers around it – allowing her hand to cradle his a moment longer than she had to. She had removed the spell from the enchanted handcuffs a few moments earlier, allowing them to be opened with a key like any other handcuffs, and by anyone.

She would not have the chance to tell Spike about the change, the significance of the key he would find in his hand.

She would not have to. He was smart; he would figure it out.

She envisioned the scene that would take place in this room a few hours from now, when Spike woke up, a slow, deep ache building in her chest as the images played out in her mind.

When he awoke, he would probably call for her, as soon as he realized the position he was in again. At first, he would probably try not to believe that she had actually left him there – that she could do that to him, after what they had shared – the fears he had confessed to her – the night before. He would probably try to wait it out, try to believe that she was coming back for him – that this was just another test of his trust.

Except – it was not.

In time, he would come to the painful realization that she had actually left him there, with no plans of coming back to him. The fact that he was in *her* room would not ever serve to protect him from her desertion. She had it all planned out so that she would not have to return to the room until after *he* would have to leave.

It was so viciously, chillingly simple.

She had taken the deepest fears that he had confessed to her, making himself more utterly vulnerable to her than he had ever been, and was using those fears to destroy his hope of ever knowing her love – to make him see that she did not even know *how* to love anymore.

*Shouldn’t he have known it by now, anyway?* she thought with bitter self-loathing. *After the way I’ve treated him…*

He would know it by morning.

Buffy had a plan. Leave the house now, go patrol until morning. Work off some of the frustration at her own state of hopeless screwed-up-ness – her pain at giving up the only thing in her life at the moment that brought her any shred of happiness – her utter rage at herself for doing what she was about to do to someone who loved her so completely, so purely, with such a breathtaking intensity that, for a few moments each night, actually made her *glad* to be alive again.

And she was throwing it away.

She had an early shift at the Doublemeat Palace that day, so she would be kept away from the house from the moment she left – any moment now – until that afternoon. Surely he couldn’t hold out *that* long. Surely he would give up on her, release himself from the handcuffs, and leave her home – never to waste his time with the girl who had so cruelly shattered his heart again.

It was vicious, and brutal, and would break his heart.

But not as much as spending the rest of *her* life, loving someone who was no longer capable of real love.

No – she had to leave him.

She resolutely turned her back, moving toward the door to her bedroom – only to freeze in the doorway. She couldn’t seem to make herself take that step, out of the room and into the hallway.

*Go on. Just go patrol. That’s easy enough, right? And when you get back – he’ll be gone. He’ll have had to come to terms with the fact that you don’t love him – that you only said it to hurt him now – and he’ll be shocked and devastated – into moving on. He’ll be gone, and you’ll *both* have to move on. Just go – he’ll be gone when you get home.*

He would have to be – she had deliberately left her bedroom curtains open.

At the very latest, at sunrise, he would have no choice, as he felt the deadly hour approaching, to accept that she had left him there, and was not coming back; to free himself, and thus acknowledge the breaking of the trust he had held for her.

He *would* free himself, when it came to that – wouldn’t he?

Suddenly worried, against her will, Buffy found her legs turning her around, leading her across the room and to the chair need the foot of the bed. She brushed tears from her eyes, clearing her vision to take in one last, yearning look at the amazing creature that, soulless and dead, loved her more deeply and freely than anyone ever had in her life.

*I really don’t have to go *yet*,* she told herself. *There’s plenty of time. Just – a few more minutes…*

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

Hours passed in sweet dreams that had become his reality, as Spike slept deeply, utterly exhausted from the emotional roller coaster the Slayer had put him through that night. But gradually, the bed began to cool in the absence of Buffy’s warm body – and the blonde vampire gradually became aware, as he drifted back toward wakefulness, that he was alone in the bed.

Drowsily he moved to reach for her, to pull her back to him – only to find that he could not move his arms. He awakened fully then, with the troubling realization that he was once again tied to the bed. He opened his eyes to try to find Buffy…

*Right. Back to *this* game, then…*

“Buffy?” he called softly in a quiet but calm voice, still hoarse and heavy with sleep.

The Slayer in the chair froze – though it was an unnecessary reaction. She had realized a couple of hours ago that Spike could very well wake up before she could find the strength to go – a task that seemed to be getting harder by the moment – and had employed one of the spells Willow had shown her to mask her presence from the vampire’s senses.

He could not hear any sound she made, smell her, or even see her, had the blindfold not made that point moot, anyway. There was no way that he could possibly know that she was….

“I know you’re here, love.”

That rich, warm voice, full of such intense desire and affection, filled her ears, and Buffy stood up quickly, eyes wide with surprise. How could he possibly…?

“Thought I’d forget that little trick of Red’s from the graveyard, did you? Not likely, pet. I know you’re still here with me. You wouldn’t leave me. Not – not after last night…”

Buffy felt her heart go still for a moment, at the calm, simple assurance mingled with the emotion in his voice. After everything she had put him through, and not only tonight, he still had such a confidence in her feelings – such a trust in her – her *goodness* - as to believe, in spite of what his senses were telling him, that she had kept her promise of the night before, and had not left him, as he had begged her not to.

And the funny thing was – she *was* still there, wasn’t she? she realized with a bitter feeling of tragic irony. She had stayed here for hours, just watching him sleep, after the hours they had already spent together this night -- the sun would be up in a very short time, and she needed to be gone when he unchained himself and got up.

And yet here she sat -- somehow unable to tear herself away from his side.

That thought spurred her to action, and she headed with determination toward the door. The fact that he still trusted her was reason enough for her to get on with this. Because, for him to still place so much faith in her, when she was capable of doing to him what she was about to, was terribly dangerous – for *him*.

“Buffy?” The slightly questioning note in his voice halted her, a few feet from the door, as she turned to look at him, wondering briefly if her spell had failed – if he really *knew* that she was still there.

His next words soothed that fear – but weighted her heart with the heaviness of guilt.

“I know you’re still trying to make me think you’re not here, love…I don’t expect you to respond, or show yourself – not yet – but I just wanna tell you,” Spike went on, in a quiet, conversational tone touched with a note of awed gratitude. “I never thought – I mean…”

Buffy watched with wide, tear-filled eyes, as Spike swallowed hard in an effort to control his powerful emotions, before going on with a soft, self-deprecating little smile.

“I know I don’t deserve you, love. I know I’m nothing but a monster, and I never expected you to love me. But – just to hear you say it – to know that you…” His voice grew shaky, then trailed off toward the end, as he fought to regain his composure again before finishing softly, “Thank you, Buffy. You have no idea how much – how much it means…”

Buffy stood there, very still, as ingle word from his heart-felt statement reverberating in her mind.

*Monster…*he’s* the monster? I’m the one who’s deliberately breaking his heart! I’m the one who’s capable of telling someone I love them, only to use those words to devastate their dreams and make their worst fears come true! Human – demon – whatever I am now -- *I’m* the monster!*

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

Buffy did not respond to his words – but Spike knew she was there.

She *had* to be.

He had poured out his heart to her the night before, given her his body, his mind, everything that he had – placed it in her hands for her to do with as she would. And she had given him her love in return. He had confessed to her his deepest fears – and he knew that if she truly loved him as she said, she could not then proceed to make those fears reality.

No – she was there. He knew she was.

The tiny silver key he was absently turning in his hand was proof to him that this was simply another test. She had masked her presence, like she had done back in the graveyard; she was silently waiting, waiting for him to give in – to believe the fearful voices at the edges of his mind, whispering dubious warnings – to believe that she had abandoned him, and release himself from the handcuffs.

But he knew that the moment he did, she would reveal herself to him, would tell him that he had just proven that he did not trust her, even after her admission of her love for him, and that therefore she *obviously* could not be with him.

It did not really come as a surprise. Buffy had been terrified for so long of the words she had spoken last night – just because she had finally found the strength to say them once did not mean that she would not have panicked second thoughts – and those panicked second thoughts did not mean that she had not meant the words in the first place.

He knew this was not going to be easy for Buffy – but he was willing to do whatever it took to reassure her, to go along with whatever little game she felt was necessary, if only it could convince her that she was safe in giving him her heart.

It was a precious, priceless gift – and he had no intention of relinquishing it.

Yeah. She was just a bit skittish – nervous – needing one last proof of his trust in her.

That was it.

Still – the silence that met his words was, at best, terribly unsettling.

“Buffy?” he repeated her name softly into the silence, but gained no response. He released a quiet sigh of resignation, relaxing back against the bed.

“You know this isn’t necessary, right, pet?” he said after a moment, resignation and gentle understanding mingled in his calm voice. “You know I’m going to pass this bloody test of yours, just like I passed all the others – and you’re gonna see that I *do* trust you, Buffy. With my life. With my heart. I – I’d think you’d know it by now, pet. There’s not a bloody thing I’ve got that I’d withhold from you.”

The poignant, utterly sincere words sent a stab of remorse through Buffy’s heart – but still, she made no move to stop him. He paused, a pensive frown visible on his face, even under the blindfold – and Buffy tried again to make her legs carry her out the door – to no avail, as he began to speak again.

“All right then. If you’re not feeling talkative – I’ll talk. I’ve got a little theory I’d like to try out on you, pet. You wanna know what I think this is all about?” Spike asked softly, and Buffy saw the hint of a smirk on his lips, and suddenly knew exactly why.

If she was pretending not to be there, she couldn’t very well stop him from speaking his mind, could she? Whether she wanted to or not, for once she could not interrupt him.

*Get out of here, Buffy!* she told herself, a warning sensation making her stomach roll. She was quite certain she did not want to hear what he had to say.

But she could not make herself move.

“See, I think,” Spike began slowly, his smug smile fading away to a solemn, thoughtful expression. “I think – this isn’t so much about testing *me* - as it is about testing *you*. I’m not the one who’s got a problem trusting you, pet. It’s you. You don’t trust *yourself*.”

He paused again, thinking through his next comment, before he spoke with utter certainty, hitting the mark with deadly accuracy.

“I’m not the one who’s afraid of what you might do -- what you're capable of, pet. You are.”

Buffy stood frozen to her spot, her eyes wide, welling with fresh tears that she refused to let fall. She couldn’t seem to move, no matter how hard she tried – so she just stood there, listening to the vampire’s painfully perceptive assessment of the situation.

“See – and correct me if I’m wrong here, pet, or if I overstep my bounds…and at this point I almost hope I do, just to hear your bloody voice, love -- even if it's screamin' at me,” Spike confessed in a casual voice that never-the-less held a note of vulnerable uncertainty that caught at her heart, “but I think it happened kind of like this…”

“See – I think it all started, like it does for a lot of people. Like it did for me. When you fell for the wrong person, pet. Of course, *you* were still barely more than a child at the time – not the capable woman that you are now – and the wanker managed to talk a good game – came over all dark and mysterious, bleedin’ strong and silent type – which in his case basically just translates to ‘great big boring poof who has the creepy tendencies of constant brooding and stalking little girls!”

“But you’d never been with anyone before, and he managed to come across all noble, tortured, tragic hero…how in the bloody hell were you supposed to see through it, you were a soddin’ sixteen-year-old! The pervy ponce!”

Buffy laughed softly through the tears that had fallen, against her will, to streak her face. A bittersweet smile crept over her face as she thought back to the time Spike was talking about, and her ‘first love’. Spike’s words *did* have the ring of truth to them – but she had never thought of her relationship with Angel in quite the negative light that he presented it before, and it was difficult to think of the dark, brooding vampire as being wrong simply for wanting to be with her…

She knew that Spike could not hear her laughter or see her reaction, but when he laughed softly, seemingly in respone, she looked up at him sharply in surprise – realizing a moment later that he had not heard her, but had only guessed…correctly…at her reaction to his words, and responded accordingly.

“It’s the truth, pet. You know it. The Niblet’s almost the same age you were when you were with Angel.”

Buffy gasped softly in surprised realization that it was true. Her eyes suddenly narrowed in anger at the very thought, the images that his words evoked. If some 200-year-old vampire – souled or not – got it in his head to go after Dawn…he would meet a quick, dusty end.

Or not so quick, if he got to Dawn before she got to him.

“Yeah,” Spike chuckled deeply, again giving her the odd sensation of feeling as if he had read her thoughts, though she knew he hadn’t. “Puts a whole new spin the the ‘noble souled vamp’ thing, don’t it, love? The way I see it -- *Angel’s* the one what should have known about his own curse – what would happen if he got too happy. *He* should have had the control to keep his hands to himself. He’s the one that’s responsible for unleashing Angelus on you and yours, and the world for that matter – and if he got sent to hell in the process, then maybe it’s what he deserved!”

Buffy flinched at the reminder of that painful time in her life, her eyes downcast as she sniffed back tears, though she continued calmly listening as Spike went on.

Spike’s voice had softened when he spoke again, relenting slightly, “I’m sorry, pet. Don’t mean to be so bloody frank about it – really wish you’d say something so I’d know what you think of all this,” he sighed, “but I've thought a lot about this...and here's what I think. When Glory’s portal opened, supposedly to the hell dimension she came from – and you saved us all, you went to heaven. Because no matter where the soddin' portal was supposed to lead to, you *deserved* to go to heaven for your sacrifice…”

His voice lowered, barely over a whisper, as he added in a tone of surprising conviction tinged with anger, “and you deserved to *stay* there….”

“But…my point is, pet,” he continued after a moment, “Didn’t seem to much matter that Glory’s portal was supposed to lead to a hell dimension. I figure one soddin’ mystic portal’s the same as the next – and I figure if Angel’s *soul* hadn’t deserved hell – it wouldn’t have gone there. *You* didn’t have much to do about it either way, short of doing what you had to and saving the world.”

Buffy’s eyes widened, and she suddenly felt a bit unsteady on her feet, with the force of such a life-altering thought. She realized suddenly that has he had been speaking, she had been slowly making her way back across the room toward him, without realizing it; and now, she stood before the chair in which she had been sitting before.

Staring off at the wall, she sank slowly back into the chair, her eyes distant and a bit unfocused as her mind tried to process the idea that she might *not* have been responsible for what she saw to be the first of many terrible mistakes, serious hardships she had caused those that she loved.”

Angel’s losing his soul – all the horrific crimes he had committed during that time -- his subsequent condemnation to hell – was it possible that it was *not* all her fault, after all?

“It wasn’t your fault,” Spike said softly. “Nothing you could have done. But your friends – your Watcher – made you feel like it was, because you were the one that loved him, and it was your love that was the catalyst to his losing his soul.” He paused, before stating with certainty, “And that one thing’s affected the way you see yourself – the way you see your ability to love – ever since.”

“It’s like I said, pet. You don’t trust yourself. You’re afraid of what you – your *love* -- is capable of. So, you’re afraid to get too close, Buffy – afraid to let yourself go and love someone else – since the first time went so badly.”

Spike’s voice was gentle, sad, as he went on, “It wasn’t your fault – but there’s something inside you that keeps telling you that if you do it – if you love again – something terrible is going to happen. You’re going to hurt the one you dare to give yourself to – or someone else – without meaning to. Or you’re not going to be -- *enough* for them. You’re going to make a mistake – and it’s going to be the end of the soddin’ world.”

“And it’s all lies, pet,” he shook his head with a sad, ironic smile. “All lies. The truth is – how many times have you *saved* this bloody ungrateful world? How many choices have you made that have protected the ones you love? The few you let close to you are safer than anybody else on the bloody planet, pet! How could they not be, with an amazing warrior woman like you looking after them? You’ve done more good than any one person I know – any *Slayer* ever – and yet you blame yourself for every little mistake…”

Buffy just sat there, quietly falling apart in the chair, tears streaming down her face, choking back sobs, as his perceptive words struck right to the heart of the secret fears and insecurities that had haunted her for years.

God, he was *right*!

How could he read her so well, see her so clearly – always? Even when she did everything in her power to hide herself from him?

“I’ve seen you with the ones you love, Buffy. And your love – is *amazing*.” Spike’s voice was low and intense, and held a slight tremor of emotion, as he swallowed hard before speaking again, a desperate, yearning sound to his voice, “If you’d just let yourself feel it again – if you’d not be afraid of it -- *trust* yourself to love again…”

Spike’s voice trailed off again, and he shook his head momentarily at a loss for words, before he remarked in a voice that was little more than a whisper, “Really wish you’d give me some little crumb here, pet…something to let me know you’re…listening.”

Earlier in the evening, Buffy would have pounced on the too-cautious wording, the hesitation that revealed the doubt that was starting to slip into the vampire’s mind. He had been about to say "here", and had changed it to "listening" at the last moment. In the predatory mode she had been in all night, she would have clutched at that tiny shred of weakness in his faith in her, and thrown it in his face for all it was worth.

Now, she did not even notice it, lost in her own private battle of wills, caught between courage and fear.

“Just step out on a limb here, Buffy, and try to trust yourself again.” Spike paused, before adding in a slightly lighter tone, his voice still quiet and trembling slightly, “*I* do – I’m lying here chained to your bed, running my soddin’ mouth about things that you probably don’t wanna hear, saying things that’ll make you wanna stake me if they don’t change your mind.”

He was silent again for a moment, hoping for a response – which of course, he did not receive. He released a weary sigh, before going on softly in a voice of uncertainty, a soft vulnerability in his wistful words.

“Sure wish you’d say something, pet. Anything. Wish I knew what you were thinking. I wish…”

His voice broke off there, surprising the Slayer out of her painful reverie with the choked little sound on the end. Buffy looked up to see that Spike’s jaw was working with some repressed emotion, as he pulled slightly – without even realizing he was doing it – against the handcuffs that bound him to the bed.

Then, suddenly, the vampire stopped struggling, his arms relaxing onto the mattress, though it seemed more a gesture of defeat than of acceptance. And then, in the next moment, to Buffy’s dismay, his shoulders began to shake, and he released a soft, shuddering breath, finally giving in to the painful emotions that he had been trying to suppress as he had given her his imploring appeal.

After all – there was no one there to hear him, was there?

“Wish I – I knew you were – still here,” he finished weakly in an aching, heartbroken whisper, finally making the admission he had held himself back from allowing only moments before.

And Buffy’s heart stopped for a moment, as she stared at him, eyes wide with horror and flooding with tears.

Because she had finally done what she had set out to do.

Spike was right. She had been running from what she was feeling, too afraid to face the possible effects of the frighteningly deep emotions that had been building inside her for Spike – too afraid of what *might* happen to allow herself to experience the boundless possibilities of what *could* happen. She was the Slayer – she was not supposed to let fear stop her from acting when she knew she needed to.

Spike was right. It was time she started learning to trust herself again.

But she was right, too, she thought with a cold certainty settling in the pit of her stomach, as her mind registered the last words that Spike had spoken. She was right -- *now*.

He *didn’t* trust her – not anymore.

He was still speaking to her, his voice broken and tearful, but she knew that he did not believe she could actually hear him.

“You promised me, Buffy,” he choked out, in a voice that was almost a sob, pain and wounded anger in his words. “I bloody well told you what it would mean – what it would do to me – and you promised me you’d be here…”

She hadn’t, really, she noted numbly. She had merely asked him again – “Do you trust me?”

She hadn’t *promised* anything.

*Please, Buffy!* she snapped at herself in disgust in her mind. *Quit trying to excuse your *disgusting* actions! You knew what he thought you were saying, what he would assume, you heartless bitch! You don’t deserve him!*

*But -- isn't that the whole *point*?* she asked herself weakly, confusion mounting within her.

“I know – I know you wouldn’t…know you wouldn’t…leave me, Buffy,” he gasped out in a hoarse, painful whisper. “Know you’re here…gotta be here…” he sobbed in broken desperation.

She wanted nothing more than to get up – to go to him and take the key from his hand and loose the bonds that held them both in torment. But something held her back. She realized in a moment of clarity what it was.

She knew that if she walked to that bed and unlocked those handcuffs – if she set him free before he freed himself – it would not be simply relenting on the test and calling it quits. No, it would not be the end, not at all.

It would be the beginning.

She had told him how she felt the night before, and she had told him the truth. But if she could get him to give in now, if she could win this, and make him walk out on *her* -- as he seemed so near to doing – then she could forget she had ever spoken those life-changing words. She would never have to follow through on her admission, and would be free to get over it, move on, and go on with her life.

Well – without the forgetting, getting over, and moving on parts.

She noticed suddenly with alarm that he was writhing slowly, feverishly on the bed, gasping for breath, and seemed to be in physical discomfort, as if the emotional agony she had heaped upon him was not torment enough.

What suffering he had earned with his love for her!

Realization struck her as her stomach sank with a sick feeling, when she glanced toward the window and saw the faint grey light of dawn in the east. Her eyes returned to the vampire on the bed, fastening on his hand – clenched into a tight fist around the tiny silver key that would save his life.

She rose to go to him, forcing her numb body to respond to the orders her mind and heart were screaming at her.

*Get over there! Get him out of those chains, *now*!*

But she froze when his voice rang out again, anguished and aching with sorrow as he cried, “I love you, Buffy! Doesn’t matter what you do to me! Doesn’t matter if you leave me here to burn! I love you! And nothing you can do can make me *not* love you, no matter how hard you try!”

Her eyes widened, as a desperate, heaving sob rose up in her throat at the awesome power of his simple, heartfelt words. Her eyes moved to the tight fist that held the key – stunned to see a tiny trickle of blood coursing out from the closed hand, down the chained wrist and the sinewy, tightly flexed arm below it.

And suddenly, she understood.

Yes, she had finally managed through her cruelty and utter disregard for his emotions, to convince him that she was capable of abandoning him, even after the sweet intimacy they had shared the night before. The painful lesson she had set out to teach him had been learned well.

But -- there was still some part of him, deep down, no matter how badly she had hurt him, that was still clinging to the belief that she *was* there -- that no matter what she was capable of, she could not leave him here, forced to make a cruel, impossible choice.

Forced to choose between his own death in the morning sunlight -- or acknowledging that the cherished words she had spoken to him the night before had been nothing more than a vicious lie.

It was quite clear, in this moment, which of the two options he would choose.

Some part of him, deep down, despite his doubts and fears, had to believe that she would yet come to his aid – and refused to use the key in his hand to free himself, no matter what the cost.

If it cost him his life – he would not give up on her.

“Spike! Get up! Use the key!”

She was practically screaming the words in her panic, as she suddenly became painfully aware of the danger to the vampire – the danger she had never imagined could have mattered so much to her. It took Buffy a moment to remember that he still could not hear her, because of the spell that masked her presence from his senses.

Suddenly, her concerns and fears about what it would mean to them if she were to free him, to end this challenge that had spun so terrifyingly far out of control, did not seem to matter anymore. All she knew was that she could not allow Spike to sacrifice his life out of his love for her.

A love that she absolutely did not deserve.

“Buffy,” he whispered her name in desperation, his voice thick with tears, but she knew by now that he did not really expect a response.

Not anymore.

“If you don’t want me…if you’d do that to me…I’d rather dust…if you’re here, you’ll let me up…or I’ll meet the sunrise…but I haven’t come this far to fail your soddin’ test now!”

The broken anguish in his voice tore at her heart, but not as much as the despair, the agony of fear she heard there, that his words were to be heard by no one but himself.

And yet – he held on.

He was on the verge of accepting that she had done as he had begged her not to, and abandoned him here, even after speaking the words that he had pleaded with her not to, unless she was willing to follow it up with her actions. He was almost to the point where his trust would be completely shattered, and he would accept the fact that she was not worthy of it.

Almost.

Something deep within him still held on to the hope that every sense he possessed, every reasonable thought in his mind, was lying to him, and that she had *not* left him – that she *did* love him.

And he would keep holding onto that – until his ashes were all that remained as the proof that he had been wrong.

Stumbling in her haste, her body suddenly feeling clumsy and too heavy, Buffy made her way across the few feet that separated them, trembling hands reaching for the shaking fist that clutched the key.

She was stunned when he did not yield to her touch, did not allow her to open his clenched hand – until she remembered that he would not be able to feel her, either, because of her spell. To him, it must have just seemed that it was his own physical or emotional weakness that was compelling him to open his hand and release the key.

“No,” he whispered, shaking his head weakly, and confirming her speculations. “No…bloody well won’t do it…love you, Buffy…gonna prove it…love you so much…”

Tears streamed from her eyes as she cried, “God, Spike, *give it to me*!” Her unheard words were almost a scream in her panicked frustration.

*The spell – gotta end the spell – what’re the words? Oh, God!*

Buffy’s mind raced, struggling to come up with the simple Latin phrase that would reveal her continued presence to the vampire who was so desperately hoping for just such a miracle – but in her confusion and fear she couldn’t remember them.

“I love you, Buffy…love you…love you so much…” he repeated over and over in a soft, distant sort of whisper.

Buffy’s alarm increased at the almost delirious sound of his haunted voice. *Oh God – just how far did I push him?* she wondered with frantic horror. *How could I – oh why didn’t I stop…? Please…please…please…* she thought desperately as she tried again, uselessly, to pry Spike’s fist open and retrieve the key.

A sudden flash of common sense broke through her mindless panic, as the answer to her silent prayer. In her consuming terror, the simplest solution for the moment had not even occurred to her.

*Close the curtains, Buffy…stupid, stupid, stupid…*

She left his side, rushing to draw the curtains shut – just as the first rays of bright morning sun began to appear over the horizon. Spike’s half-crazed murmured words suddenly ceased at the sound of the drapes being drawn, and in the stillness that suddenly filled the room, Buffy’s own ragged breathing and choked sobs of mingled pain, guilt, and sheer relief, were the only thing she could hear.

She clutched desperately at the windowsill in order to keep herself from collapsing to the floor, as an overwhelming feeling of sick horror and shame came over her at the realization of what she had almost allowed to happen.

“Buffy?”

The single whispered word, spoken with an aching, desperate hope, from the vampire on the bed, drew Buffy’s attention, and she turned with an effort to face him. He was lying perfectly still, his feverishly restless stirrings ceased in an instant as he realized that he was not – could not be – alone in the room.

But the uncertainty, the heartbreaking vulnerability in his voice told her that he was not completely convinced that *she* was the one who had drawn the curtains and saved his life -- the life that would not have been in danger had she not seen fit to put him through a battery of cruel, vicious tests that, in the end, had only served to prove his love for her more fully.

“Buffy?” he repeated, his voice trembling, but a bit stronger. “Are you – are you there, pet?”

Now that the threat had passed, ironically, the Latin words to end the spell came easily to Buffy’s mind. She opened her mouth to speak them, to end this savage charade, but could not seem to form the words. A sudden shame, a fear of facing this creature of awesome love, whom she had so cruelly broken, overwhelmed her – and the thought of his seeing her, sensing her, was dreadful and terrifying.

But she could not hide any longer.

Her refusal to face the truth – to acknowledge her own feelings and insecurities – was what had nearly destroyed Spike tonight.

She whispered the Latin words into the still silence of the room – and Spike froze completely, drawing in a sharp gasp of shock as the overwhelming signature of her presence made its imprint on his senses again.

All at once, he could hear her frantically pounding heartbeat, the rapid, shuddering breaths that she was drawing in – could smell the powerful scent of her fear, the cold sweat she had broken out in moments before at the thought of his losing his life to her foolishness.

And above it all, that strange sixth sense that allowed his demon to sense the presence of its mortal enemy – the Slayer – renewed in him that odd combination of primal, natural fear and the thrill of excitement and need that always fell upon him when he knew she was near.

And then, the feel of her soft, hot, but dangerously shaking hands on his, as she gently tried again to pry his hand open and retrieve the key to the handcuffs.

“Buffy?” he asked, though he already knew it was her, his voice breaking slightly over her name. He knew she was there, but needed to hear her voice, to prove to himself that it was real, and not just a cruel trick his desperate mind and heart were playing on him. “Buffy, love?”

“Yes,” she whispered, in a voice so soft and scared he barely caught it – would not have had he been human. “I’m here. I’m here, Spike…”

And Spike completely fell apart.

Violent shudders of relief and the fear, the deep sorrow and heartache that he had tried to repress while he had been trying to convince himself that he had not been abandoned by her, coursed through him, shaking his body. Hoarse, ragged sobs shook through him, as he realized that she had been there, the whole time – just as a part of him had always known she would be.

Buffy’s hands were shaking so hard that she barely managed to get the bloodstained key into the lock on the handcuffs, and even then had a hard time getting them open. Finally, she managed to pull them from Spike’s wrists, throwing them forcefully, disgustedly, across the room as she reached down to take his shoulders and pull him up to a sitting position on the bed.

“Buffy,” he sobbed softly, his hands blindly reaching for her, finding her waist and clutching at her desperately, shaking uncontrollably as he rested his weary brow against the firm, flat pad of her stomach. “Buffy, love…God, Buffy…”

Tears rolled down her face as she raised her hands to rest at the back of his head, holding him to her tenderly, a hard ache of regret and remorse forming in the pit of her stomach. She did not deserve this – this desperate, adoring affection and obviously continued love that he somehow still held for her. She did not deserve to be held by him like this, to feel his hands still clutching her to him, as if she was the most important thing in the world.

Somehow, in spite of it all, she *was* the most important thing in *his* world, though she did not deserve him. Her guilt and shame made a part of her want to push him away, want to flee and hide from the truth of what she had done. She did not deserve this love, this sweet tenderness they were somehow still sharing in this moment. Only one thing kept her there, holding him close to her.

Spike *did* deserve it – and so much more.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered tremulously, the words sounding weak and useless to her own ears. “I’m so sorry, Spike.”

He did not respond, just clung to her, whispering her name again and again with heart-breaking desperation in his voice, as if simply trying to convince himself that she was really thee, and not a figment of his desperate, longing imagination.

Her hands moved gently through his hair in a soothing, reassuring caress, holding him to her tenderly. Suddenly, one of her hands slid downward slightly, encountering the knot of the blindfold, and her eyes widened in a shock of dismay. She had forgotten that it was even there.

Apparently, so had Spike.

Her hands shook as she hurriedly, urgently, worked at the knot, her emotional state and the tears that blinded her making it take twice as long as it would have under other conditions. Finally, she managed to get it loose, and to pry the shaken, sobbing vampire away from her just long enough and far enough to free the now abhorrent scrap of fabric and toss it down beside the bed.

Immediately Spike lowered his head again, pressed to her stomach, his sobs now having reached a painful depth that made them silent, though utterly wrenching. His shaking hands clutched her hips, pulling her nearer, desperate for the reassuring contact she had denied him for so long.

*You cruel, disgusting bitch,* she berated herself darkly, a sense of self-loathing rising up in her.

She was surprised and disgusted to feel a vague sense of relief at the pain and shame that kept the vampire from looking up at her and meeting her eyes – from seeing her own shame that she knew would be so obvious there. After what she had done, she just wasn’t sure she could face him just yet.

It was just another thing she had to hate herself for – but she really couldn’t help it.

The thought of being exposed to those deep, expressive eyes that seemed to see through any mask she had ever thought to hide behind was simply terrifying to her.

So she just stood there, holding him gently and allowing him to pour out the hurt, the fear and confusion of the past few hours.

*All your fault…you put it there…*

“Spike, I’m so sorry,” she sobbed softly, her own eyes closed against the flood of tears that streaked her face, her head bowed as her fingers gently ran through the tousled blonde curls, now dampening with her tears that fell there. “I’m so, so sorry! Forgive me! I was so wrong, Spike!”

“Buffy,” he gasped breathlessly, finally drawing his face back a bit, though his eyes were still downcast and his hands still clutched at her waist. “Buffy, love – love you so much – couldn’t *not* -- forgive you…love you, Buffy…”

His gentle acceptance, the poignant simplicity of his statement that she knew to be true, only increased the flow of the tears from her eyes – of remorse, and gratitude, because she knew now that it was a precious gift that she had almost thrown away so cruelly – a love so deep and boundless that it would forgive her even the vicious, heartless cruelty she had subjected him to this night.

How she loved him – she did! She knew it now. The thought of losing him a few moments before had been more than she could bear. As she thought back over the past few hours, the whole night, she realized with sudden clarity just how well Spike knew her – what a sharp understanding he had of her fears and motivations.

He had known all along that she would not actually leave him – that when it came right down to the line, she would choose him.

Spike was finally beginning to regain control of his emotions, as he drew back a little, trembling, gasping to catch his breath. A sense of dread mingled with hope in Buffy’s heart, as she realized that the time had come to face up to the damage she had done. Slowly, she turned and sat down on the bed beside him, her arm sliding around his waist and pulling him closer to her, as her troubled eyes sought his – though she was afraid to find them.

She was granted a brief reprieve, as the blonde vampire lowered his head, his brow resting against hers, his eyes closed, his breath slowing as he regained control. She just held him for a few moments, one arm wrapped around his waist, the other protectively cradling the back of his head, as the ragged sounds of their emotions faded slowly away to stillness.

After a long moment, Spike whispered in a voice low and husky with tears, “I knew you wouldn’t, Buffy – knew you wouldn’t – leave me…knew it…”

“You knew it before I did,” she whispered, swallowing back a hard, aching knot of pain, her own eyes closed against her overwhelming emotions. “You knew I wouldn’t…I wouldn’t have, Spike…ever,” she assured him a soft but fervent voice.

“I know,” he murmured, nodding against her brow. “I know, Buffy…”

“I couldn’t do it…I just…” she struggled for the right words to express something that she did not quite understand yet herself. “I just – wanted you to *think* I’d left you – so you’d – you’d leave me. I wanted – to make you be the one to leave, since – since I just couldn’t…”

The vampire went very still against her, not making a sound, not even breathing – but still it took Buffy a moment to realize that something was very wrong. When he pulled back away from her, she finally looked up, wincing inwardly before she finally met those crystal blue eyes.

And wished that she hadn’t.

The freshly wounded look of pain, of startled hurt, that she saw there took her breath away and sent a stab of pain through her heart, with the realization that he had not yet realized the full extent of her intentions for that night -- not until that moment.

“Spike,” she whispered, shaking her head slowly in response to what she saw in her eyes. “Please…”

She tried to pull him closer to her, but he suddenly jerked away, scrambling to his feet and backing up a couple of steps – taking himself outside her reach.

The lost, bereft feeling that came over her took Buffy by surprise, and left her with a feeling that was close to panic.

“S-spike?” she whispered in a small, fearful voice.

He just shook his head, staring at her in hurt, angry disbelief. “How could you – Buffy – how could you…” he struggled to put into words the accusation forming in his heart, his eyes wide and glistening with fresh tears, before he finally whispered in an aching, wounded voice that made her heart go still.

“How could you *hate* me that much?”

Time stood still for a moment, as her mind tried, and refused to process his words. She did not understand. As the vampire suddenly turned away from her -- scanning the floor for his discarded clothing, she realized suddenly – the panic that had been building in Buffy grew a little stronger.

“Spike – wait – no,” she whimpered tearfully, standing up and moving toward him.

He shrugged her hand off of his arm, reaching down to pull on his jeans.

“But – but I thought that you – you forgave me…?” she whispered, stepping back a bit in shock and hurt, the uncertainty of knowing that she did not deserve it anyway making her voice small and tremulous.

Spike stopped, staring at her with some indefinable emotion in his eyes – something she had never seen there before.

Not for her.

“This isn’t about me, Buffy,” he informed her in a voice that was soft but certain, a deep sorrow and regret in his eyes. “This is about you.”

“What – I – I don’t understand!” Buffy stammered, confused.

When the vampire headed toward the door without another word, she nearly lost it. She caught him at the door, grabbing his arm and turning him around.

“Spike, *wait*!”

He once again jerked away from her hand, the violence of his reaction surprising her – and sending a cold, desolate ache through her heart with a painful realization that resonated through her mind, nearly drowning out his soft but firm words.

“Don’t bloody touch me, Buffy.”

And with that, he walked out, without so much as a second look, leaving her alone with the devastating realization, the single thought echoing in her mind.

*I lost him.*

She had done it. She had accomplished her goal.

And she wanted to die.

“Spike?”

The Slayer’s voice was unusually timid and uncertain, as she stood in the doorway of Spike’s crypt – which she had, for once, *not* violently slammed open with the full force of her Slayer strength, as if she owned the place and had the right to destroy it if she pleased.

If the meager gesture was meant to show a change of heart, it really wasn’t very effective.

Too little, too bloody late, as far as Spike was concerned.

The blonde vampire was sitting in his chair, his back turned to her, watching television. At her soft, tentative call of his name, which she *knew* he had heard, he did not turn around, did not respond in any way for a very long moment – so long in fact that Buffy was painfully sure that he meant to ignore her completely.

Not that she could blame him.

Swallowing hard to choke back a sob, she turned to go.

“You were raised by one of the most gracious, well-mannered women ever to walk the face of this earth. You’ve been trained under a proper British gentleman as your Watcher. You’ve been to hell, and to heaven, and back again. You’d think someone…somewhere along the way…would have taught you…to *knock*, Slayer.”

The words came out in a measured tone, his voice one of calm, controlled annoyance, tinged with a note of sarcasm that was flat and cold. The hard anger that was almost never present in his voice when directed at her left her with an empty, aching, desolate feeling.

*I’ve really done it. I’ve really made him hate me.*

The thought was terrifying, and devastatingly painful.

“I – I’m sorry,” she stammered, feeling awkward and self-conscious in a way she never had before – not with Spike.

She was constantly throwing her rather diminutive weight around, prancing around as if she had the right to invade his only sanctuary any time she felt like it, taking what comfort she could from him and then using her words and her fists to be sure that he remembered that that was all it was – he was too far beneath her for it to be anything more – unworthy of anything more than she should see fit to give him.

And even now, though her entrance had been less – er, assertive – than usual, she had still taken it for granted, without meaning to, that she had the right to enter the crypt, with or without Spike’s permission.

Had she ever *once* knocked on the door of Spike’s crypt? she wondered suddenly with a sense of shame.

He was right. Her mother would have been appalled.

“I’m sorry” she whispered again after a moment, when he did not respond to her first apology.

“Are you now.” The blonde vampire’s response was flat, and a bit impatient; he never took his eyes off the television screen in front of him.

“Yes,” Buffy said, struggling to make her voice firm and certain. She had to make him understand – had to make him see that this was not just lip service. Finally, Buffy had made up her mind – she *knew* what she wanted.

If she had not already managed to push it beyond her reach.

It had been nearly a week since Spike had walked out of her bedroom and out of her house, and this was the first she had seen of him since then. Her patrols had taken her nearer to his crypt than usual each night – by some odd coincidence – but still, he had not found her in the cemetery as he usually did, had not come by her house – had in no way made his presence known to her, if he had been around at all.

And yet in spite of everything, Buffy had not really accepted the fact that it was over. Maybe it was a desperate sort of denial that made her tell herself over and over – he just needed time and space to cool down, to get over it. She had hurt him badly, and he was naturally angry – he had every right to be. But he *would* calm down, and eventually come back to her.

Spike always came back to her.

Always before, she had tried to avoid him – tried to push him away, emotionally, if not physically. But this time, she found herself desperately hoping, *needing* to believe, that he would prove true to his old pattern and eventually come to her to reopen the gates of communication between them.

But as the days had slowly passed, with no sign of the vampire, and her own guilt and regret and utter fear that what she had done had driven him away forever, had slowly eaten away at her, she had finally faced the fact that he was *not* coming around – not on his own. *She* was the one who had ruined the beginnings of what could have been building between them.

She was the one who was going to have to make the effort to make it right.

That realization had come three days ago – and she had only now been able to work up the courage to make her way all the way into his crypt. Several times she had made it as far as his door, but her nerve had failed her before she could enter and attempt to ask for his forgiveness.

But desperation had finally driven her through the door – and now there she stood, facing the judgment of the one she had wronged.

Except – judgment refused to face *her*. And that was worse than anything, though she knew that she deserved it. If he had yelled, cursed her, told her how selfish and stupid and childish she had been – she could have accepted it, knowing that she deserved it all. But this refusal to acknowledge that her presence was even important enough to merit a proper response…

Well – she knew she deserved that, too.

But that was not going to keep her from trying for more.

“Spike,” she repeated his name in a slightly stronger, but still trembling voice, slowly advancing into the room on shaking legs. “Please – I just – I just need you to understand…”

“I understand, Slayer. Really,” he cut her off in a cool, carefully unconcerned voice.

“Please talk to me,” she whispered desperately.

“Nothing to say.” He gave her a careless shrug, not looking at her as she moved hesitantly around to stand within his line of vision, to the left of his television.

“Then please *listen*!” she cried out in tearful frustration, stepping between him and the television, completely blocking his view.

The slight flicker of emotion that crossed the vampire’s face at her display of hurt and sorrow was so brief as to be almost completely missed by the Slayer, as he glanced up at her instantaneously, before looking back down to the spot where he should have seen his television screen, his lips slightly pursed in annoyance.

“Tryin’ to,” he retorted, gesturing past her toward the television. “Difficult, what with all the bloody drama.”

His dismissal stung, and she felt her cheeks flush with the heat of embarrassment – but she was not willing to give up – not yet.

She had abased him, humiliated him, manipulated and abused him, using his love, his emotions, as weapons against him – and that was all *before* the unparalleled cruelty she had shown a few nights before. If she had to face some embarrassment and rejection – well, it was barely a start in making up for all she had put him through.

“*Spike*!” she repeated insistently, turning around and flipping off the television before turning back around to face him.

When she did, she was startled to find him standing right behind her, inches from her and trembling with anger, his blue eyes blazing with a fury that made her blood run cold.

“You don’t have the right to do that, Slayer!’ he informed her, his words cold and accusing. “This is *my* home! You can do what you like in your own, but you think you can just waltz into whatever soddin’ part of my life you bloody well please, rearrange it to suit you, and *then* decide it’s not worth your time after all and walk away? Not anymore, Slayer! I’m…*through*.”

His final two emphatic words sent a shock of fear through her – fear that inspired anger and defiance.

“I’m not the one walking away, Spike!” she reminded him, her voice trembling with emotion.

“No,” he shot back bitterly. “Not this time. You finally managed to find a way to make *me* do that!”

“I’m *sorry*!” Buffy repeated, desperation and frustration in her voice. “I don’t know what else to say but I’m so sorry, Spike!”

She paused, wide emerald eyes focusing on his through her tears. He immediately averted his gaze, though he did not back down – did not move at all. He swallowed hard, and Buffy noticed his jaw set in stubborn determination. He wanted so badly not to give in – yet did not seem to have the will to shut her down completely – not yet.

“Spike,” she whispered softly, drawing in nearer, her hands reaching cautiously toward him. “I *love*…”

“*Don’t*!” he snarled, jerking backward away from her in anger, his sparkling blue eyes suddenly focused on her again in searing accusation – mingled with a deep sense of hurt and betrayal. “Don’t you bloody *dare* say those words to me!”

Buffy flinched, stung by the accusation in his voice, her eyes suddenly downcast, welling with fresh tears. She wanted to protest, but had no words – no right.

“You’re not going to – to *use* those words to – to get what you want, Buffy. What you’re after tonight’s not on the soddin’ menu anymore,” Spike informed her in a low, carefully controlled voice.

Buffy looked up at him sharply when she realized what he meant, shaking her head in denial and opening her mouth to speak – but he cut her off before she could.

“You knew what it meant to me, Buffy.” His voice was soft but intense, touched with a slight tremor of emotion. “You knew how much I – I wanted it to be true. And you – you used those words to – to destroy me, Buffy. You used them to – to break me…”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again.

“There’s *another* set of amazingly meaningless words, coming from you,” Spike snapped bitterly – then bit his lip, turning his head away from her, obviously immediately regretting the words, but having too much pride, too much awareness of his own status as the wronged party in this situation, to take them back.

Buffy closed her eyes, swallowing back a sob of despair and hurt at his scathing words. “I – I don’t understand,” she whispered finally, desolation and resignation in her voice. “I thought you said you forgave me.”

Spike was quiet for a long moment.

“You can forgive someone for hurting you, pet – doesn’t mean you’re gonna put the bloody weapon in their hand the second time.”

Buffy was silent, her desperate, confused mind trying to process what he was saying. “Spike, I – I don’t understand this…”

“No. You don’t,” he stated flatly.

“Then *help* me,” she pleaded in a soft, imploring voice, stepping forward and taking his hand in hers. “Please help me understand this, Spike.”

She felt an instant’s resistance, as he tried to make himself pull away from her – but the desperation, the sincere desire to understand, and make amends, that he heard in her voice, would not allow him to completely deny her.

He never *had* been able to deny her.

God help him, but he still loved her so much!

A heavy, weighted silence fell between them for a long moment, as Buffy waited breathlessly for his response – and he tried desperately to put his feelings into words in his mind instead of recklessly just spilling his heart out his lips to her.

That tactic never seemed to go too well for him.

“Buffy – I don’t know how I can make you see…”

“*Try,*” she pressed him gently, moving in closer, seeking his cautiously averted eyes. “Please…I know I deserve for you to shut me out, and never let me in again. You let me in before, and I – I used it to hurt you. But…” Her voice trailed off slightly, her expression somewhat sheepish as she finished softly, “But you told me…you forgave me…and…”

She stopped, finding it difficult to press him on the issue of his forgiveness when she knew that she did not deserve it in the least. Finally she finished slowly, “What – changed your mind?”

“I didn’t. Change my mind,” Spike admitted begrudgingly, a note of agitated annoyance in his voice at being forced to admit it. “I said I forgave you, love – and I bloody well meant it. It’s not that I don’t forgive you, or even that I’m angry. You know I could never hold anything against you for long…it’s just…”

He paused for a moment, shaking his head as if lost for words – before suddenly meeting her eyes in an arresting gaze.

“You obviously don’t want me, Buffy – not like I – I want to *give* myself to you.”

Buffy was struck speechless, just staring at him, wide-eyed and stricken, as she waited for him to go on.

“I told you not to say it, Buffy – not to use those words if you weren’t – if you weren’t going to stay. And then…” His voice grew halting and cautious, and strained with emotion, and Buffy felt a sharp pang of guilt as she realized that he was feeling again the painful emotions of that night. “…then you – you weren’t there…and…”

He paused, swallowing hard as he struggled to maintain his control.

“If – if it was like all the other times – if you’d run – because you were…afraid, or confused…or…” he paused, shaking his head slightly, before going on, “I could have gotten past that. Would’ve hurt. But I could’ve understood it. But – you *were* there. You chose to stay, not go – but *still* to hurt me. Deliberately.”

He was silent for a long moment, before looking up again to meet her eyes, his gaze solemn, intense and piercing, far too perceptive for her comfort.

“You deliberately, systematically, set about trying to hurt me. To destroy…”

His voice was hushed, haunted, when he finally went on. “I *begged* you, Buffy – I told you – what it would do to me if you left. So of course, what did you decide to do? Come up with a way to make me *think* you’d left, but where you could still stick around and enjoy the bloody show…”

“No!” Buffy cried, shaking her head, horrified and sickened by that thought. “I didn’t mean…”

“I thought – if I could pass your tests – if I could prove to *you* that *you* could pass your own tests – than maybe, maybe I could get through to you. Maybe you’d – let yourself love me…” His voice broke slightly over the words, and Buffy moved in closer automatically, wanting to comfort him – momentarily forgetful that at the moment, she was the source of his pain.

“Even if you’d told me, Buffy – even if you’d broken if off, sent me packin’ – it’d have been kinder than what you tried to do.”

“Spike – please,” Buffy whispered tearfully, shaking her head in confusion as she slowly edged closer to him – and he did not withdraw from her. “I just don’t understand. What do you think I tried to do?”

“You tried to destroy my love for you!” he replied, his own tears streaming down his face as his voice shook with hurt accusation. “It wasn’t enough for you to just leave me. You couldn’t *face* me and tell me that you wanted nothing to do with me! You had to play the coward and try to manipulate *me* into doing it! It wasn’t enough for you to take away every dream I ever had of being with you -- *really* being with you, Buffy! Not just the way we’ve been for the past two months! You had to make it your goal to make me not love you anymore!”

He paused, his head bowed, swallowing hard, before he went on in a lower voice, more controlled, but still trembling with pain.

"Could you not even leave me my feelings for you, Buffy? Is there *nothing* that would stop at taking from me?"

Her eyes widened with dawning understanding, and he paused for a moment, catching his breath as he allowed his words to sink in. Buffy stepped back, stunned and taken aback by his words. She shook her head slowly in denial.

“Spike – Spike…no…”

He didn’t even seem to hear her words. When he spoke again, his voice was soft and sad, his eyes wide and downcast.

“I never wanted this, Buffy. Not – not *just* this. Not just – your body, though that's all you've ever seen fit to give me. I’ve been giving you mine – because you wouldn’t accept anything more…but it’s always been just a means to an end.” He shook his head with a sad, ironic laugh that broke Buffy’s heart. “I hoped that someday, you’d – you’d want – more…but…”

He looked up at her through tearful but much calmer eyes, as he explained softly, “That’s why I left, Buffy…why I *won’t* play this game anymore. Because if you don’t *want* anymore than just my body…if the thought of my loving you is so bleedin’ repulsive to you that you have to come up with this complex bloody plan to – to take even that away from me – my very *love* for you…if you can *do* something like that to me…”

His voice lowered as he added in a calm, desolate sort of voice of painful resignation, sending a cold ache through her chest at his words,

“You wanted to prove your point, Buffy? You wanted to make it clear that I didn’t trust you? Well – I *did* trust you. You were wrong.” He paused, a bitter, sad smile coming over his lips.

“But you’re not wrong now. Because now I *don’t* trust you, pet. Not anymore.”

Buffy felt a deep, anguished ache in her chest, as if her heart literally split in two at his words, although she knew deep down that there was no way she could blame him for speaking them. They were the very words that she had sought to draw from his lips.

They were the least that she deserved.

What reason did he have to trust her, after the way she had treated him? He had begged her, pleaded with her specifically *not* to hurt him in that single devastating way – and yet, that was exactly what she had chosen to do. She had, as he said, deliberately set out to take even his very love for her from him.

*Well, you got what you wanted,* she told herself bitterly. *Happy now?*

“Spike,” she tried again in a quiet, broken voice, her aching heart spilling out her words with an openness she had rarely offered to the blonde vampire, who was often painfully open and vulnerable to *her*. “I’m *so sorry*. I was wrong…I thought that was what I wanted – for you to get over me and stop wanting me – I thought I *knew* what I wanted, but I was *so wrong*! I – I need you, Spike! Please! I *love* you!”

“Do you need me, or do you love me, pet? Because you do realize that there’s a *difference*, right?” Spike remarked in a flat, painfully blank tone, drawing away from her and half-turning so that he was no longer facing her. The raw pain and desperation in her voice was like a knife through his heart, and he wanted nothing more than to turn and take her in his arms and soothe it away.

But he could not do that. Not now.

Buffy shook her head, her emerald eyes wide, deep and sorrowful, yearning for a response from him that she feared she would never receive again. “No there’s not,” she whispered. “Not for me.”

“And therein lies your problem.”

Buffy just stared at him, confused, shaking her head slightly..

“You’re scared because I’m suddenly talking to you like this – ‘Spike’s never done this before, maybe I’ve actually bloody pushed him too far,’” he assessed in a hard voice tinged with anger and disgust. “so now you think you’re losing me and you’re willing to call the craving, the desire you’ve got for me *love* – and the bloody ironic thing is that’s what scared you out of your mind to begin with -- to think you’d sink so low as to love a thing like me.”

Buffy could not tell if the cold, disgusted tone of his voice was aimed at her and her betraying feelings, or himself for having accepted so little from her for so long.

*But he’s wrong! I *do* love him!* she thought, bordering on panic. *I have to make him see…!*

“No, Spike…”

“Just let me finish, pet,” he snapped, and Buffy immediately stopped talking.

In spite of her intense need to make him understand what she was feeling, the epiphany of sorts that she had had over the past week -- the least she owed him at this point was to listen – no matter how wrong she thought he was.

“I thought you loved me, too, Buffy,” he continued, his hurt now evident in his voice. “But obviously you don’t. Or you couldn’t have done what you just did to me. You don’t hurt someone you love – not like that.”

“I didn’t mean to, Spike…Spike, I love…”

“Don’t say that,” he snapped, glaring up at her furiously. His words came out slow, emphatic and even as he stepped closer to her, his eyes suddenly boring into hers with a blazing truth of accusation. “Yes you bloody well did! It was your goal from the start, wasn’t it? To *hurt* me so bad I’d run, so you’d be able to take the coward’s way out!”

“You deliberately set out to *hurt me*, Buffy. It was your goal. So do *not* soddin’ tell me that you…” He stopped suddenly, looking away, before his voice could break over the longed for words that now were a source of nothing but devastating heartache.

He tried again, lower, with more control, “Do not tell me that. Because I can’t believe it.”

Buffy was silent, her eyes focused on the floor at her feet. She had no argument, no defense.

“See, that’s the thing about solitude, pet…been spending a bit of time on my own this past week…and it’s bloody amazing how clear my thinking’s gotten without you filling my head up with your vicious little games,” Spike informed her calmly, and Buffy flinched as much at the even, matter-of-fact tone of his voice as at his actual words.

Spike went on, not acknowledging her reaction if he noticed it, “And I believe I’ve had a bit of a revelation about *love*, pet…you can’t tell how much you love someone by how much you trust them – it’s how much *they* can trust *you*.”

He was silent for a moment, allowing her to take that in. Buffy frowned slightly, struck by the thought, and thinking it through, slowly realizing what he was saying, before he went on to explain.

“I loved Dru for over a hundred soddin’ years. Would have given my bloody unlife for her a thousand times over. But did I trust her?” He shook his head with a soft, sadly ironic laugh. “No,” he admitted quietly. “Couldn’t. She was unpredictable in the worst of ways – littlest bloody thing could set her off – and I always knew that if her precious Daddy came back, I’d be second fiddle to him. Didn’t even take *him* to take her away from me. First bloke come along to pay her a bit of attention managed to catch her eye.”

He paused for a moment, shaking his head before he concluded with a sort of distant sorrow, a regret for a past that was long lost, beyond changing, the pain of which had faded considerably with time, “She never really loved me. I can tell – by how easy it was for her to hurt me.”

Buffy’s gaze was fastened on the floor; she was unwilling or unable to raise her eyes to meet the fiery sapphire gaze she knew was boring into her, making the silent accusation that she knew to be true. How many times had *she* hurt him, without hesitation or a second thought?

“I on the other hand -- *did* love her,” Spike went on after a moment, looking away again. “I would’ve done anything for her. And it didn’t matter how bad she hurt me, how well I knew that I was nothing more than a – a *convenience* to her…”

Buffy flinched at the clear hurt in his voice over that painful word, the one that she had used herself to describe him more than once.

“…just someone to take care of her in Angelus’s stead,” Spike finished softly. After a moment, he added, “I knew it. But it didn’t make me love her any less. *She* could trust *me* to lay down my life for her – to do whatever it took to make her happy – for longer than I *should* have loved her – though she never once in a hundred years managed to prove that she loved me as much.”

He looked up at her again; she could feel it, though she still could not look at him, as he added softly, “You know it *is* possible to kill love, Slayer.”

The words sent an icy shiver down her spine, and she felt the aching sobs of despair rising in her throat – but fought them back. She did not have the right to cry over the pain she had caused him -- not when his eyes were dry and tearless.

He had given Drusilla a hundred years – was it possible that she had killed his love already, in a single night of cruelty?

When he spoke again, there was a surprising gentleness to his mildly sarcastic voice, as he said, “And forgive me if I’m crossing a line, here, Slayer – not like we’re ‘talking buddies’ or anything like that – but I’d dare say you still loved Angelus, at least for a time. With or without the bloody soul.”

Buffy opened her mouth to protest, automatically – but somehow…could not.

She knew it was true.

“Takes quite a bit to make love stop, Slayer. Real love – takes a lot of hurt to take it out – but it *is* possible,” Spike went on. “There’s no way you trusted the bloody git – not after some of the things he did to you and yours – but you still loved him. Don’t deny it.”

Buffy was silent for a long moment, as he gave her time to respond if she felt like it.

“I wasn’t going to,” she whispered sadly, shaking her head.

Spike turned his head and regarded her for a moment, taking in her bowed head, dejected expression, and red, tearful eyes, a slight flicker of sympathetic pain in his eyes the only indication of the regret he felt for drawing up the most painful events of her past. Finally he looked away again, nodding slowly.

“See – you loved him, whether you could trust him or not. And for a time – until he managed to go too far and kill that love – he could trust you still, though you didn’t know it. You couldn’t kill him – because you still loved him.”

“So you see, the conclusion of the matter,” Spike said, his voice rising slightly, shifting the oddly intimate tone of the conversation as he raised his eyes to hers again, “is that you *don’t* have to have trust to love someone, pet. You don’t.”

“But to love someone you can’t trust – it hurts, pet. It bloody well hurts – and it never ends well.”

The calm, distant sound of his voice sent a sense of cold foreboding down her spine, though she knew that it served only to mask the pain he was feeling. Because it also spoke of the decision he had made – the decision to reject the pain that seemed to be all she had to offer him.

Her desperation showed in her eyes as she suddenly moved closer to him, closing the distance between them and taking his arm in a strong but gentle hand, turning him to face her.

“But you *do* still love me,” she half-asked, half-stated, her low, intense tone revealing just how much the answer mattered to her.

He did not pull away from her hand, but did not look up to meet her eyes either, swallowing back a painful knot of emotion that had risen in his throat, as he blinked back the tears that formed in his crystal blue eyes, determined not to break down in front of her -- not again.

“Buffy,” he whispered his aching admission, shaking his head slowly, “I can’t help it. No matter how hard I try.”

Buffy’s eyes widened, a wild, desperate hope building inside her. “Then let me show you, Spike!” she insisted in a pleading, urgent tone, as the tears she had not wanted to allow herself somehow managed to escape anyway, streaking her face. “Please let me show you that I know the truth now! I know you really love me – and I love *you*, Spike. I do. Please just give me a chance to prove it to you…”

“Not that easy, pet,” he shook his head resolutely, with an effort drawing his hand, albeit reluctantly, out of her hand and taking a step backward. His voice softened as he repeated, “Never that easy…”

“It doesn’t have to be easy!” Buffy insisted, her voice trembling with a passionate intensity that drew his eyes up to hers, despite his determination to keep that distance between them. “I don’t care how hard it is! I’ll do whatever it takes to show you, Spike…”

She paused, holding his gaze with a desperate, pleading intensity, taking both of his arms in her hands as she added in a softer voice, though just as certain, “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking this past week, too, Spike – and I’ve realized something important. Love is a *choice*, Spike it’s not just about feelings…”

A harsh bitter little laugh left the vampire’s lips, and he shook his head in disbelief. “You’re telling *me* that love is a choice,” he stated flatly.

Buffy flinched, but bravely persisted, “You’re right, Spike. I was scared of what I felt. You told me a long time ago. So – I chose actions to prove to myself – that it wasn’t true. That what I was feeling – for you – was not – not real. It wasn’t fair to either of us, but especially to you. I hurt you in ways that disgust me to even think about it now – and you still stayed by my side, Spike…”

She edged in closer to him, feeling him tense under her touch, his jaw setting in determination to resist her, not to allow her to make him give in, though she could sense his desire, knew that he was close to breaking down.

“I’m done running, Spike,” she informed him in a voice that was quiet and steady, with only a slight tremor from her tears, seeking his gaze until he met her eyes. “I’m ready to face the truth – and what I feel for you – it *is* real. And I *choose* to love you – if you’ll let me. *Please*.”

Spike was silent for a long moment, reluctantly lifting his downcast eyes to search hers. There was a reserve in his intent gaze, a hesitance to yield too much to her too soon – but she could see the traces of hope in his eyes, the yearning desire for her words to be true.

After a long moment, he looked away again, visibly choking back a sob that rose in his chest, before he replied in a haunted, trembling whisper, “I want to let you, Buffy – I do – but – how can I possibly know – that this isn’t just – just another bloody test? How can I know you’re not gonna change your mind, or get scared and pull another runner on me – or just decide that you need an extra laugh today, so why not make the joke on Spike again?”

Buffy flinched away from the bitter accusation in his voice, but did not look away, did not back down. She knew she deserved every word, as painful as it might be to hear them.

“Because I would never do that to you again, Spike. I’ll spend as long as it takes to make you see how sorry I am for that…” she began, an imploring note to her heart-felt apology.

“I never thought you would have done it to begin with,” Spike pointed out quietly, sounding suddenly so very tired, as he sighed wearily, “but I was wrong. It’s easy to *say* the words, love – not so easy to prove it.”

“I don’t care how hard it is,” Buffy insisted. “Please…please, Spike – give me a chance. I love you so much – please…”

Spike was silent for a long moment, and Buffy held her breath, her heart pounding with apprehension and hope in anticipation of his response. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and even, cautiously restraining the emotions he obviously felt in spite of himself.

“A chance, Buffy,” he conceded with a nod. He looked up at her, crystal clear, painfully expressive blue eyes meeting hers honestly. “I *do* love you, Buffy – couldn’t stop – not ever – but I can’t let you keep hurting *both* of us like you’ve been doing…”

“I know, I’m not…”

“Buffy, please,” he cut her off gently but firmly, raising a hand between them and pushing her slightly back to create a little distance, while still holding her gaze firmly as he went on.

“I want to believe you – I do – but it’s hard to accept it…hard to trust…after – everything. It’s gonna take time, love…no promises, not overnight…”

“Okay…I know…” Buffy nodded, excitement and relief showing in her suddenly tear-filled eyes. “I promise I’m gonna make this up to you, Spike! You won’t regret this, I promise! I love you so much, and I’m gonna prove it…”

As she spoke, she leaned in impulsively, raising her head toward his in preparation for a kiss.

To her surprise, and hurt, he drew back quickly, holding her gently at arm’s length.

“No, Buffy,” he said in a soft, firm voice. “No more. I won’t let you use me, and I won’t let you use yourself that way to convince me.” He paused, allowing her to process that, searching her eyes to be sure she understood, before continuing, “It’s easy to say you love me – easy to use your touch to make it feel like you do – proving it’s another story altogether…”

“I will, Spike…I’ll prove it,” Buffy assured him, her voice quiet but firm and certain, as she bravely met his eyes in spite of the tears that filled her own. His rejection of her kiss hurt – but she understood it perfectly. She had used her touch as a weapon against him for far too long. “I’m going to make you see that things aren’t going to be like they were before, I promise.”

Spike nodded his acceptance of her words slowly. “No promises, Buffy,” he reminded her. “Don't promise something you don't know if you can give. A chance -- that's all this is. I can’t go through – I can’t…”

His voice trailed off and he looked away for a moment, before focusing his solemn, certain, pain-filled eyes on hers. "We're not going back to the way things were -- ever. I can't do that again. None of the bleedin' benefits you're used to, pet...they only complicate things. I'll be your friend as far as you'll allow me to be -- but I can't promise you when -- if ever -- I'll trust you to be mine."

Buffy bravely held his gaze, though fresh tears welled in her eyes, then fell, as she reminded herself again that this "probationary status" -- these hard and fast ground rules -- were the least that she deserved from him after what she had done to him.

She was lucky that he was forgiving her at all.

She nodded slowly, accepting his terms. "I'll earn your trust again, Spike. I will."

He was quiet for a moment, only nodding once in acknowledgement of the words he was not sure if he could believe -- not yet. He hesitated, fighting back his emotions, before finishing in a trembling voice, “I'm sorry I can't offer you more, Buffy -- but I just can’t let you do it again. All I can offer you is this -- just a chance.”

Buffy looked up at him, her expression softening with affection and remorse as she realized anew just how badly she had hurt him. Truth be told, she had no idea how she was going to do it -- if she even *knew* how to genuinely love anymore -- but if she didn't, she would learn.

And she would make it right.

Though she longed to seal the conversation, the generous concession he had just made her, with a tender kiss, she satisfied herself with simply raising a gentle hand to brush away a lone tear that had fallen to streak his face, accepting the small token sign of his acceptance, when he allowed her the brief touch. Her voice was tender, yet tinged with a determination that gave them both hope as she replied.

“Then that’s all I can ask.”

Without another word, she turned and headed toward the door -- well aware that in some ways she had already gone far past wearing out her welcome at the moment. Tears of mingled relief, gratitude, and fear that she would not be able to do what it would take to win back his affections, streamed silently down her face as she reached the door -- and stopped for a moment.

She half-turned, not facing him, as she said softly, "Next time I'll knock."

Spike did not move, did not respond at all -- he did not trust himself to. As she quietly closed the door behind her, he tried to force back the deep, aching sob that had been building in his chest throughout the entire conversation.

Couldn't.

In the safe solitude of his own home, without the fear of allowing the person who had dominated his heart, his thoughts, his entire life for the past two years to walk over him and break his heart again -- Spike finally gave vent to his emotions. He collapsed into his chair, his hand raised to cover his face as he allowed himself to break down, his mind already racing over the entire conversation again, analyzing it -- his heart committing it to memory and wondering desperately if there was still a chance for them...someday…

...and wondering if by giving her the chance she had asked for, or by sending her away at all -- he had just made a terrible mistake.

“I told my friends about us.”

Absolutely nothing the Slayer could have said could have been more utterly astonishing to Spike than those few, simple, matter-of-factly spoken words. For months he had longed to be lifted out of the status of being her “dirty little secret” and acknowledged by her in front of the people who were most important in her life…for some unearthly reason.

And now, finally – now that he had taken the either monumentally admirable or devastatingly stupid step of actually breaking up with *her* -- *now*, she had decided to tell her friends about them?

He didn’t know whether to be frustrated and angry that she had only found the courage to tell the truth now that they were working their way slowly back toward being friends – or to be relieved and hopeful that she had managed to tell the truth at all.

Instead of either option, at least in front of her, he chose the cool veneer of indifference that he had used with her ever since that night at his crypt, when she had begged him for another chance, tearing his heart out and taking it with her when she walked out his door – not for the first time in any sense – though he had known at the time that to let her see that would be to give up everything he had gained back.

His pride, his self-respect, any chance at a truly loving, healthy relationship with her -- *everything*.

“No ‘us’ to speak of, now, is there, pet?” he reminded her calmly, not taking his eyes from the book he was reading. He was stretched out comfortably on his bed, an open classic novel in front of him – though he had no idea what the last two pages had actually said.

“I know,” Buffy replied immediately, in that carefully calm voice that let him know that his words had stung, but she was trying hard to hide it. “I mean about before. I told them that we -- *were* together – before.”

“I’d wager they’re bloody relieved to know that you’ve come to your senses, then, aren’t they?” he retorted, allowing his insecurities and past hurts to push his anger into his voice.

“Actually – they’re all kind of freaked out,” Buffy calmly informed him, glancing up at him out of the corner of her eye to subtlely gauge his reaction. “They keep telling me how foolish I’m being – trying to win you back.”

Spike felt his heart leap up into his throat at her simple, honest words. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking that moment to regain his composure before he visibly lost it – and then focusing his eyes on his book again, pretending to read it – while his mind raced, trying to process her startling words.

He was not surprised – or even bothered – by the reaction of the Scoobies to Buffy’s revelation about their relationship-that-wasn’t. He *was* surprised by the fact that the revelation had taken place at all – and by the fact that she had admitted to her friends that she was actually pursuing *him* now – actually *trying* to get him back.

“Maybe they’re right,” he finally replied, his voice soft and just barely under control. “Maybe you *would* be wiser not to – to do what you’re doing. Not to – to risk the pain – for something that you may never have.”

He waited breathlessly in silence for a long moment, anxiously anticipating her response on the inside – composed and unconcerned on the outside.

“Well -- *you* did it -- risked the pain,” she replied finally, in a quiet, brave sort of voice. "I told them that it's really not their business. I'll decide what's best for me, and if they want to be a part of my life they'll just have to live with it -- because after all, it *is* *my* life.” She paused before looking him in the eye and finishing softly, “I think -- the pain might be worth it -- for something that’s that important to me.”

Spike’s eyes widened momentarily, stunned – and touched – by the simple honesty of her words. His eyes welled with tears that he refused to let fall – not in front of her. She had not seen him cry since that awful night in her bedroom when he had fallen apart in the wake of her cruel betrayal, in his confusion and pain clinging desperately to the very person that had nearly destroyed him.

Never again.

Buffy would *not* see his tears – not yet. Not until he knew that he could trust her with his pain.

He cleared his throat, sitting up and setting his book aside, rising from the bed and moving across the bedroom to stand with his back to her, pretending to busy himself with something in the battered old dresser where he kept his meager clothing.

His distracted mind could not even process what it was that he was touching.

“Well, Slayer,” he said, his voice guarded and distant. “I’m a bit tired, love…don’t mean to be rude, but…”

“I know,” Buffy smiled, a hint of sadness to the expression, though her tone was light and understanding. “Time for your lovestruck stalker to get lost.” She rose from the chair she was sitting in and headed toward the ladder leading up into the crypt and out of his haven.

“Good night,” she said softly, pausing at the base before heading up.

His pensive nod was all the response she got this particular night – and probably a good indication to her of the effect her words had had on him.

Tonight, he couldn’t bring himself to care. His mind and heart were full, flooded with a swirling myriad of thoughts and feelings that desperately needed sorting.

He needed to get out.

Buffy’s evening visits were always after her patrols, so he knew that he could safely go for a walk without running into her, or any nasties requiring killing, either, since she had probably already cleared the place for the night. Shrugging into his duster, Spike climbed the ladder quickly and headed out into the night.

He had to admit, Buffy had surprised him during the last few weeks. In fact, it had been a little over a month since he had given her her “chance” – and she had definitely managed to get his attention – in a very good way.

Not that she had ever *really* lost it to begin with, he reminded himself with a weary sigh.

He still loved her as much as he ever had.

Yes, she had hurt him badly, had shattered his trust so cruelly as to leave him devastated, and his heart too sore to risk bearing any more hurt just then. As he had told her, her actions did have consequences; even love was not invulnerable. It was possible to kill it.

His love was just a bit harder to kill than most – which meant that Spike ended up suffering for his love quite often.

But even so, Buffy had honestly not done a single thing to cause him to regret the chance he had given her – not once.

The next time she had shown up at his crypt had been a few days later, after patrol. True to her word, she had knocked, instead of bashing her way in as was her usual manner. Spike had been too caught off guard by her unusual courtesy to even consider turning her away – as if he could have, anyway! – and they had spent the evening just talking quietly.

Well – mostly Buffy had talked.

Spike listened quietly as she spoke in a voice of controlled emotion, about her hurt, her confusion, at being dragged out of heaven and facing life on earth again – about the guilt and pain that had gradually built into layers of anguished secrecy, as the lies, the distance, grew and grew beyond her control – forming an impenetrable wall between her and her loved ones.

He did not say much – was not ready yet to open up to her in return, as he had done so freely before – but it meant a lot to him just to know that she was finally willing to *talk* to him – to renew the friendship that their ill-timed physical union had cut short so many months ago.

She had ended the conversation that night by softly repeating that she was sorry for hurting him, and that eventually she would earn his trust again – thanking him for being there for her, even when she had rejected his loving, supportive friendship, in favor of a shallow, physical distraction that had allowed her to feel – without *really* feeling the painful things that really mattered.

That night, she had left him speechless, but with a tiny, barely-there seed of hope in his heart.

With each late night visit that had followed, she had tended that seed, watered it, helped it to grow, as she opened herself up to him, and made herself available to him as well, should he choose to do the same.

He hadn’t, yet – could not quite bring himself to, after the way she had used his trusting confidences against him before. But he found that he began to look forward to her visits – though he never told her that.

He made a point of letting her know that her frequent visits, the tentative closeness building between them, were no guarantee of the ultimate result of this little experiment. It was a struggle for him, considering that most of the time he wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms – to take her back, *now*, without the painful, awkward phase that they were working their way through at the moment.

But he knew that if he did that, it would only send her the message that the way she had treated him before was acceptable, even if only subconsciously – that she could get away with it again, if she wanted to.

And the scary thing was – she probably could have.

So he kept himself at a distance. He did not discourage her spending time with him, but he did not act as if the visits meant that much to him, either. In fact, though it had taken an extreme force of his will, he had even made a point, a time or two, of not being there when he knew she would be coming by.

It had been sheer torture, knowing that she would be knocking on the door of his crypt, and not being there to see her. He wanted to see her so badly! In spite of what he told her, in spite of the façade he had created to defend his fragile emotions, her visits were the high point of his days. He reveled in her presence, her attentions – all the while making believe to her that it did not matter to him – he was through with building his whole bloody unlife around her.

At least – she had to believe that he was.

Occasionally he would join her on patrol – when she asked him to, but not *every* time she asked him to. And *that* was harder than anything else. He kept reminding himself that she was the Slayer, that she was more than capable of defending herself, and did not need him or anyone else to protect her. Going with her every time she asked him only made him appear to be at her beck and call again, as he had always been.

Still, a very strong part of him longed to be there for her, to protect her and look out for her. He still loved her more than his own unlife, and could not stand the thought of her being hurt, or worse, because she had asked him to fight by her side and he had refused.

*What if there’s a reason she asked me *tonight*?* he always asked himself. *What if she’s tired, or sick, and really needs me to help her?*

He would fiercely fight back the protective instinct for the moment and tell her, “Not tonight, Slayer. Got a bloody headache,” or some equally mocking, suggestive snark designed to cover his true feelings, while drawing attention to hers.

And then, once she had left, he would follow her at a distance, keeping her under his watchful eye, without letting her know he was there.

After all – he couldn’t let her actually get hurt, now, could he?

Gradually, little by little, she was chipping away at the defensive wall she had forced him to put up around his heart. Not once in the past month had she put him down, insulted him, mocked him in any way.

In fact, she seemed to be making every effort to be open with him, honest and sincere, telling him the things about him that she admired, the things about him that made her want him, like him -- *love* him – though she had yet to say the actual words again since that night.

He had told her in no uncertain terms that he did not want to hear those words from her – so she did not say them.

Except – he *did* want to hear them. Desperately.

She told him in every way she could without saying the actual words – or touching him.

She was careful never to overstep her bounds with him physically, either. She knew enough to know that he would only see physical affection from her now as a means of manipulating him, of getting what she wanted from him. After all, hadn’t she always used it as such before? He could not know whether she really meant the soft, tender touches that he missed so much, or if she was only using his need for that tenderness to bend him to her will.

So they both kept their distance physically, Spike not allowing her to confuse him, even accidentally, with the enticing, addictive, but devastating pleasure of her touch.

But it got harder every night to resist.

He knew how badly she wanted him – couldn’t bloody miss it, vampire senses and all. But she always restrained herself, never made a move to initiate the intimacy that he had been craving, missing, so much – which he would certainly have denied her anyway, at this point.

He *would* have. Really. He *knew* that he would have…

*Oh, sod it all – you know you’d cave the minute she touched you – she probably knows it, too – good thing she doesn’t…*

And – was that the beginnings of a cautious, fledgling trust he was beginning to feel for her again?

*Well,* he thought. * ‘S not like she’s done anything lately to prevent it.*

Buffy really had been working very hard to rebuild his trust in her. The lies, the subtle and not-so-subtle emotional and verbal abuses she had inflicted on him, the utter disrespect and derisive, belittling treatment she had given him before – all had vanished completely.

He actually felt like asking a time or two, “Who the bloody hell are you, and what have you done with the Slayer?”

But it *was* her, as difficult as it was to believe sometimes – in fact, much more so “her” than the cold front she had presented him with before had ever been. She was giving the best effort she had in her to being real, honest, opening herself up to him and making herself as vulnerable to him as she had once made him to her.

*Once? Right!* he thought with bitter sarcasm. *I was *always* at her bloody feet! Her soddin’ dark little secret, her whore, her willing slave for her to do with as she bloody well liked whenever she liked, but tucked away from the delicate eyes of the people she *really* cared about!*

And that thought brought him back to the surprising, and somewhat disconcerting, revelation she had made tonight.

He could hardly believe that it was actually true. Had she really finally told the Scoobies about their relationship, if he could even call it that? And about the fact that she genuinely wanted him still, and was pursuing *him* now, instead of the other way around as it had been for so long?

He glanced suspiciously around him for a moment.

*Might oughta look out for a stake to the back after that little bit of news,* he thought. *Her mates’ll be looking to take me out, either for touching her to begin with, or for having the nerve to reject her now!*

Again, he wondered if perhaps the time had come to let her in a little bit more. He wanted to, desperately longed to – but he had *wanted* to from the moment he had shut her out to begin with. What he had to think about was whether or not he could trust her enough to let her in again.

This “taking things slow” was sheer bloody torture. He wanted her, craved her, and every part of him shouted for joy at the signs that seemed to prove that she was finally coming around, that he could trust her enough to try again. But his wounded heart was still afraid that it might be too soon.

Yes, waiting was painful.

But he knew that if he *didn’t* wait – and she broke his trust again – it would be more than painful.

It would kill him.

“Not yet,” he told himself aloud in a firm, yet trembling whisper, as he turned around and made his way back toward his crypt.

“Not yet…”

“I – I don’t know, pet. I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

“Please?” Spike had never heard the Slayer’s voice sound so small, so childlike and pleading – at least not with him. “I *really* want you to be there. *Please*, Spike.”

He could hardy believe that they were even having this conversation at all, let alone fathom what his answer should be. A few weeks earlier, he would not have been able to imagine Buffy’s tolerating his presence at her upcoming birthday party, let alone making a point of inviting him, and actually pushing the issue when he politely declined her invitation.

She had told him a couple of days ago that her friends knew about them now, but he had not had the opportunity to see any of the Scoobies since then – not in weeks, actually, since he had stopped trying to see Buffy – and the thought of facing them now, facing their reactions to the current precarious situation that he and the Slayer were in, was oddly unsettling.

Odd – because their opinions had never mattered to him much; at least, that was what he told himself – and everyone else.

They were children.

Mere mortals whose life experience was a fraction of his, who could not begin to understand the things they professed to know so much about. They had spent a few short years in the fight of good against evil, and therefore thought themselves to be bleedin’ experts.

He had spent over a century in that same fight – granted, most of that time on the opposite side – and he had learned a great deal during that time. Yet now that he was actually making somewhat of an effort to earn their trust, to help where he could – they still rejected him, blowing him off as a useless leech simply in search of the chance to have any miniscule sort of contact with the Slayer.

Which was only partly a false assessment.

Still, they rarely gave him any credit at all for the actual attempts he had made at being good, and dismissed any possible knowledge or insight he might have to offer without a second chance. They had decided a long time ago to despise him, and were not likely to change their minds anytime soon.

And he highly doubted that Buffy’s recent revelation would have done anything to help earn his way into their good graces. In fact, it probably had only served to increase their mistrust and hostility toward him – which was in and of itself a whole separate unsettling issue. He may have been able to fight the Slayer now, but his chip was still fully functioning when it came to anyone else.

He did not fancy a birthday staking just for showing up.

But those emerald eyes were staring up into his with such a hopeful, pleading, adorable expression – and before she could stop herself, Buffy had moved a step nearer to him, as she repeated softly, “Please, Spike,” reaching out to take his hand in hers in a gesture that could have been completely platonic.

Could have been – if not for the history that they shared.

He really didn’t mean to jerk his hand out of hers as if it had burned him.

Didn’t mean to put that wounded, crestfallen expression on that lovely, startlingly open face.

Didn’t mean to give in – even a little bit.

“Oh, bloody hell. I’ll come to your soddin’ party, Buffy. Don’t get all teary-eyed over it. If it means that much to you…” he conceded in a weary voice of defeat, his eyes focused on the floor at his feet.

He glanced back up – and immediately received his reward for his generosity. The look of gratitude and elation on Buffy’s face was worth it all, though he would not have wanted her to know that it meant so much. She bounced lightly up and down on her heels in excitement, and he could tell that she wanted to hug him – but didn’t dare. Not after his reaction moments before when her hand had merely touched his.

Good. It was better that she didn’t hug him, he told himself.

Didn’t want her to, anyway.

*Yeah,* he sneered at himself mentally. *So you’re a bloody liar *and* a right ponce.*

“Thank you, Spike,” Buffy told him, with complete sincerity. “You have no idea how much this means to me!”

“You’re quite welcome, pet,” he sighed, his tone making it sound like a bit more of a sacrifice than his words suggested. “Just be sure none of your mates get it in their heads to take a stake to my back while it’s turned.”

She waved her hand dismissively at that suggestion as she headed toward the door, as usual these days, cutting her visit much shorter than he would have liked for it to be.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that…they wouldn’t dare,” she replied in a dark tone that was a bit cryptic to him. “They know that you are basically – well – untouchable,” she shrugged lightly, with an ironic, wistful little smile.

He turned to face her before she reached the door, one eyebrow raised over just the hint of a smile, his tone flat and a bit sarcastic – but not bitingly so.

“Am I.”

Although he feigned an air of nonchalance at her words, they were strangely touching, inspiring a fresh sense of hope in him, mingled with other emotions that he could not have put names to if he’d tried.

Had she actually said something to her friends that would render him “untouchable”? Did she actually care enough to have warned them about hurting him – defended him to her friends?

*Untouchable, eh?*

“Unfortunately, yes,” Buffy replied without hesitation, continuing on toward the door, calling over her shoulder, “Tomorrow. Seven. See you there.”

And then she was gone – leaving Spike to process the double meaning of her final words, and to spend the rest of the evening wondering restlessly about the coming evening and what it would bring.

*Best call a friend, mate,* he told himself with grim resignation. *Better not try to do this alone.*

++++++++++++++++

“I know you must feel so alone sometimes, Sweetie – it’s hard losing someone you love – but that’s what I’m here for,” the sweetly smiling stranger said, her warm eyes meeting the young girl’s gaze honestly, openly. “I’m here to help you, Dawn.”

Dawn had no idea what catty, self-important fellow student of hers had gone and reported her as potentially dangerously depressed to the school officials, why she had been called in here to talk with a strange new guidance counselor that she had never even seen around school before, much less met – but she wanted to kill them for giving her such a scare.

At first she had thought that she had somehow been caught in one of the many petty thefts she had committed lately, and her heart had dropped to the pit of her stomach with that sick, guilty feeling that accompanies *knowing* that you have been caught and you are therefore completely and utterly screwed.

But this woman – Hallie, was it? – hadn’t mentioned anything even remotely related to stealing. In fact, she seemed to be much more interested in Dawn’s emotional state at the moment, following the major loss she had suffered in the death of her mother.

Hence Dawn’s assumption that one of her nosy classmates had ratted her out.

And she *wasn’t* depressed – well – not *that* depressed – but – the woman was so warm and open and friendly… She had a comforting, disarming, almost -- *motherly* air about her.

Before she knew it, Dawn was opening up to her much more than she had intended to.

Which had been not at all.

“Well, yeah,” she admitted. “I guess I do feel – lonely – sometimes – but – that’s not the worst of it. I thought it was – but I just found out *why* my sister’s been leaving me alone so much…”

Hallie’s concerned frown of question encouraged her to go on.

“My sister’s been really distant lately – and I thought it was just because – well, last year she was really sick, and – and she’s been kind of – depressed, and stuff – but – she just told me, all this time – she’s been keeping this *really* big secret from me. With my *best friend*,” Dawn explained, her voice tinged with hurt and resentment.

“Oh,” Hallie shook her head, her voice sympathetic and soothing. “that must have been very hurtful, Dawn.”

Dawn nodded, her expression flat and emotionless. “Yeah, you might say that,” she said with bitter sarcasm in her voice. “All of a sudden it makes perfect sense that my sister and my best friend are never around – they’re busy being ‘never around’ together!”

“You must have felt very betrayed,” Hallie assumed, her voice still soft and reassuring.

Somehow, she had a way of making Dawn feel safe to talk to her openly.

“Yeah, I guess,” she nodded in agreement. “I mean – the weird thing is – I’ve known that my friend had a crush on her for years now! It’s not like I would have minded them hooking up – I would have been thrilled! But it’s like – why couldn’t either of them tell me?” At the end of her question, the anger in her voice faded to hurt and insecurity.

“I mean – I would have understood. I just don’t understand why they had to keep it a secret for so long…” She paused, shaking her head and looking up at Hallie to gauge her reaction.

The silent, sympathetic nod she received encouraged her to go on.

“…there’s just been – so many secrets lately. I wish – I just wish…”

“What, Dawn?” Hallie pressed gently in a calm, patient voice. “What do you wish was different about your situation?”

“I just wish – that everybody would stop hiding everything from everybody else like they’ve been doing. I’m sick of the secrets – you know? I just wish there would be no more secrets!” Dawn summed up her feelings, her heart heavy and weary with the pain of all the huge, traumatic drama that her sister and her friends had been dealing with lately.

Hallie nodded slowly, her eyes shining oddly for just an instant as she gave the teenager a compassionate smile. “I know, Dawn – I know.”

+++++++++++++

“Spike – hi.” Buffy’s voice was unusually subdued, her eyes wide and a bit anxious, when she opened her door to see Spike standing there on the porch with – some demon that looked vaguely familiar, though she couldn’t remember from where. “And…”

“Happy birthday, Buffy…you’ve met Clem,” Spike nodded, his voice low and trying a bit too hard for nonchalant as he shrugged toward his friend, leading him in through the door into the foyer.

“I…” Buffy’s voice trailed off, and she shook her head slightly, though she took the friendly hand Clem offered in greeting. “I’m sorry – I don’t…”

“Kitten poker?” Clem offered helpfully, his eyebrows raised hopefully. “Spike was cheating?”

Or at least – the folds of skin directly over his eyes that probably passed for eyebrows. She wasn’t sure if he actually had *actual* eyebrows, buried somewhere under all that skin.

“Right – Clem!” Buffy remembered suddenly – sort of – with a nervous laugh. “Of course! I’m – sorry, I was a bit drunk at the time – don’t think I caught anyone’s name.”

Once the greetings were out of the way, however – a slightly awkward silence fell.

And her friends did not even know Spike was here yet.

*Oh God…oh God…oh God…can’t do this…can’t do this…* The panicked words ran through Buffy’s mind as she smiled politely at her former lover and his friend.

“Drink?” she offered.

“No, thanks, love,” Spike said, offering her a gentle, reassuring smile that barely served to mask his own nervousness.

“I’d love a Coke – please?” Clem replied, a bit hesitantly.

He still could hardly believe that he was attending the Slayer’s birthday party. But, a friend had to do what a friend had to do, and he was not about to let Spike go to this little shindig alone. From what the blonde vampire had told him, he was not likely to be very popular at this thing.

*Someone* had to watch his back.

Buffy hurried into the kitchen, her hands shaking unreasonably as she got a plastic cup and poured a Coke for Spike’s friend. Willow and Xander were standing by the island talking quietly when she entered, but she was too nervous and distracted by Spike’s arrival to notice the way they stopped the moment she came into the room.

“Spike’s here,” she announced tersely. “And he brought a friend. *Be nice*.”

“A friend?” Willow echoed dubiously, giving Xander a sidelong glance. “Like a – lady…friend?”

She didn’t care *what* had gone on between Spike and Buffy. If the vampire had brought another woman to Buffy’s birthday party, she was going to be breaking out the shovel.

“No,” Buffy assured her, shaking her head. Then she frowned, considering. “I don’t – think…so…no!” she decided, shaking her head again. “Not that kind of friend. But he *is*…”

“Need help with anything?” Clem asked politely as he walked into the kitchen. “Anything I can do?”

Buffy tried to outshine Xander’s and Willow’s slack jawed, wide eyed looks with a brilliant, though false, smile. “Nope. Everything’s under control. Where – um…”

“Your sister waylayed him,” Clem explained with a little smile and a shrug.

Buffy wondered if it should bother her that no one had to even wonder what – or who – she had been asking about. She nodded before nervously performing the introductions and heading off in search of the waylayed vampire.

Whatever “waylayed” meant, anyway.

There was no sign of Spike in the living room, just Anya and Tara setting up a small card table for gifts, and Xander’s friend from work, sitting awkwardly on the couch, looking up at her much too expectantly when she entered the room.

*And the awkwardness level just went up a notch…* she thought wearily, flashing him a false but sweet smile as she headed toward the stairs.

*And why am I working so hard at making everybody *else* so comfortable? Isn’t this day about me?* she wondered absently, as she stepped onto the bottom stair.

At that moment the doorbell rang, and she went to answer it.

“Sophie! Hi!” she cheerfully greeted the nervous-looking girl at the front door.

*Great!* she thought sarcastically, her smile never shifting. *One more person who doesn’t know anybody and is going to need me to make them feel comfortable all night!*

Maybe it was the presence of Spike and Clem in the house – or maybe it was just her nerves going all haywire at the moment – but as Buffy closed the door behind her Doublemeat Palace coworker, her Slayer senses failed to pick up the presence of yet another demon on the porch, hiding in the shadows.

As the door closed firmly behind the last of the party guests, Halfrek stepped out into the glow of the porch light, a wicked smile of satisfaction on her face as she said softly,

“Wish granted.”

“So what do you think? Do you think she’ll like it?” Dawn’s voice was a bit insecure, as she glanced uncertainly up at the face of the blonde vampire, who was staring into the open gift box on Dawn’s bed with barely disguised shock.

Dawn rarely got to see Spike anymore, and missed him terribly. So, when she had walked down the stairs to see him standing, a bit awkwardly, in the foyer, she had wasted no time in hustling him up to her room to show him her gift for her sister.

“I think she’ll love it, Bit,” Spike replied, his tone strangely non-committal and almost distracted as he reached to take the butter-soft, rich leather jacket from its box.

Dawn’s attempt to grasp the jacket away from his hands before he could touch it came just a moment or two too late, as he lifted the jacket and turned smoothly away from her, examining the rich garment closely. His eyes narrowed when he saw the security tag on the sleeve, and he gave Dawn a piercing look that made her look away.

“Yeah, Bit,” he said dryly. “Nothing says, ‘Happy Birthday, Sis – I’m turning into a bloody delinquent before your very eyes’ like stolen goods as birthday gifts.”

Dawn took the opportunity he provided by turning to face her to snatch the jacket from his hands, glancing anxiously toward the bedroom door as she urgently shushed him, smoothing the leather and carefully replacing it in the box before turning to face him again, eyes large, damp with unshed tears – the picture of broken innocence and vulnerability.

“I just wanted Buffy to have something nice for her birthday. Since – since Mom – we – we haven’t been able to – to afford…”

“No, Bit,” Spike said firmly, cutting her off – not about to buy the line of bull she was selling. “Don’t use your blessed mum’s memory to bloody guilt trip me…”

“Speaking of ‘bloody guilt’,” Dawn shot back without hesitation, her arms crossed defensively over her chest and her eyebrows raised in a challenge, “like *you* can talk, anyway! You’re the one who helped me break into the Magic Box last year!”

“That doesn’t count!” Spike objected hotly. “Last year, I was…” His words broke off suddenly as he realized that he wasn’t really sure how best to respond.

“Evil?” Dawn smirked, rolling her eyes to show her opinion of Spike’s old standby claim. “Oh, yeah, I forgot.”

Oh, yeah. He was evil. *Right*.

If he was evil then she was a smurf on crack.

“I’m *still* evil,” he insisted, grateful to grasp at the change of topic that allowed him to escape what was obviously a losing argument, at least for the moment.

Oh, he knew that he could have proven his point, given the right setting and enough time – or at the very least managed to scare the girl back onto the straight and narrow where her sister wanted her – on another night, when his mind was more clear.

When it was not utterly focused and consumed with thoughts of her older sister downstairs, whom he was *not* supposed to be thinking about like that! Not anymore!

Yeah. At a moment when he was not thinking of Buffy, he would have been able to win that argument.

*Right, then…Bit’s won this one,* he acknowledged with a weary sigh.

“Be careful, Bit,” he warned quietly, resignation in his voice. “Just don’t want to see you get into trouble.”

Outside on the front porch, unbeknownst to the pair talking in the upstairs bedroom, the vengeance demon Halfrek did her work.

“Anyway,” Spike added matter-of-factly with a little shrug. “I was going to say that I was too bloody pathetic last year to care *what* it was, so long as I could do something to convince myself that I wasn’t turning into the Slayer’s bloody lapdog. I was so bleedin’ consumed with her – had to prove to myself that I was still bad. If I couldn’t eat people, well – I’d just have to settle for a little breaking and entering with corrupting a minor on the side.”

Dawn laughed in surprise at his incredibly frank words, assuming that he was at least partially joking, not looking at him as she closed the gift box and headed toward the bedroom door – completely missing the look of horror on Spike’s face at his unintentional confession.

“Well, convince yourself you’re still bad, and don’t tell my sister how I got her present,” Dawn told him dubiously as they headed for the stairs. “If she says anything about the tag, I’ll just say they must have forgotten to take it off.”

“Right, Bit,” Spike replied distractedly, still puzzling over why he had said what he had. “Wouldn’t wanna get you in trouble – or ruin Buffy’s special day. But we *will* be talking about this later!”

“Right!” Dawn snorted as they neared the bottom of the stairs. She registered the sight of her sister heading toward them, in a clear path to meet them at the base of the stairs -- but somehow still could not seem to keep her mouth from blurting out what it was already headed toward saying.

“Like you care to talk to me at all anymore. You’re too busy screwing my sister!”

All three froze completely as their paths converged at the bottom of the stairs, staring at one another in shock.

Spike could not believe that Dawn had just said that to him.

Neither could Dawn.

“Actually, no he’s not, unfortunately,” Buffy replied flatly, not seeming overly perturbed by her sister’s words. “Not for weeks, now, in fact. Which kinda sucks.”

Dawn stared at her sister, aghast at her words.

Of course, Buffy had not really said anything that Dawn had not already known. Buffy had made it perfectly clear to her sister and her friends that, due to something *she* had done – which she had thankfully not gone into detail about – Spike had broken things off with her, weeks ago…and she was not very happy about it, in fact was desperately trying to win him back.

Still…somehow, hearing it…

“Buffy, please! Hearing you say that is just – disturbing. You were sleeping with Spike – now you’re not – you hate it. Got that. Could do without the visual,” Dawn informed her flatly, adding not quite under her breath, “It’s weird enough my sister being with someone I used to crush on, and *still* think is incredibly hot…”

Suddenly her eyes grew wide and panicked, disbelieving at what she had just said, as she looked frantically at Spike to gauge his reaction to the words she had not intended or meant to say.

“Oh, God,” she muttered, thrusting the package in her hands into Spike’s hands and turning to go immediately back up the stairs.

Just at that moment, a commotion was heard heading toward them, and a moment later Anya appeared around the corner from the kitchen, stalking furiously toward the door, Xander following close behind her.

“But, Ahn…I didn’t mean it like that! Haven’t *you* ever wondered?” he asked her in a pleading voice, taking her arm and turning her around. “I mean – it’s pretty scary thinking that our kids could turn out half demon or something…and how permanent is this whole human thing for you, anyway? Do we really *know*?”

“Why should it matter?" Anya demanded, her voice higher than usual with the pain his words had caused her.

"You know what’s ‘pretty scary’, Xander Harris?” she shot back, green eyes narrowed and blazing as she jerked her arm out of his grip and placed her hand on the doorknob, pausing only to answer her own question, “Knowing that I’m about to promise to spend the rest of my life with someone with the emotional maturity of a six-year-old, and that I’m not gonna *live* another thousand years to give him time to grow up to my level!”

With that, she stormed out.

Xander stood there for a moment, jaw dropped in shock at her words, his anger visibly rising as he suddenly followed after her, yelling across the lawn, “Oh, yeah? Well you know what *else* is scary about you, Anya…?”

The slamming door hid the rest of his words from Spike and Buffy, who just stood where they had stopped at the staircase, staring at the door where her friends had just been.

Then Buffy shook herself out of her shock and headed for the door, alarm in her eyes. This could not be happening -- not to Xander and Anya. Their relationship was the light at the end of her tunnel -- the one that made it clear that love *could* survive, no matter what.

"You guys," she said urgently when she stepped out onto the lawn to see them standing facing each other in a furious staredown of sorts. "Calm down for a minute..."

Neither of them even seemed aware she was there.

"You make me feel so incredibly stupid all the time, Xander," Anya was declaring in a voice of raw anger and hurt. "You're always putting me down -- hushing me -- telling me '*humans* do it this way' or 'that way' -- if you don't want to be with *me*, Xander, then find some perfect little human girl who's a thousand years younger than me and has been human all her life!"

She paused, before added with an anguished glimmer of tears in her eyes, "Except don't! Because I love you and it would hurt and I'd miss you too much! Just -- just why can't you just -- love me for *me*?"

"Because you're not *normal*, Anya!" Xander snapped, his eyes widening in shock at his own words as Anya flinched in hurt. "I'm so freaked out because I don't know *what* you're gonna say or do to embarrass me next, and I don't know if I can live up to what you want after a thousand years, and I just don't know if this is gonna last!"

Anya stared at him, wide-eyed with hurt, speechless.

And that said a lot in itself.

Xander's voice was softer, but sad, and still tinged with that stunned note of disbelief that he was even saying these things out loud. "I don't know if I can love you like you deserve -- because I don't know if I can *love*, period, Anya! I'm just like my father -- everyone but him's always said it -- and someday I'm just gonna end up hurting you like he hurt Mom!"

There was complete, stunned silence for a moment as they all took that in -- and suddenly, both Buffy and Spike felt as if they were intruding on a very private moment.

Except that -- it *wasn't* private. It was out in the open for everyone to see and hear.

“Something is seriously wrong, here, Slayer,” Spike said in a low, calm voice that was still weighted with an ominous note.

“You’re telling me…” Buffy said softly, still staring at the door, her mind racing as she tried to process what was happening. “Is it just me or is everybody being a little – well…”

“Brutally honest to the point of self-humiliation?” Spike finished for her. “Yeah. That’s what I’m thinking.”

“Truth spell?” she guessed.

“Red.” He nodded grimly.

Together the vampire and the Slayer headed back into the house and toward the kitchen, where Buffy had last seen Willow, sitting at the counter with Tara and shyly making small talk with her former lover, who had fortunately seemed every bit as happy to see Willow as Willow was to see her.

They made it as far as the stairs before Dawn stopped them, apparently recovered from her humiliation.

"Can we do presents now?" she asked too brightly.

Buffy's eyebrows raised in a concerned, skeptical question. "You're okay?"

"Well, know," Dawn shrugged matter-of-factly. "But I figure presents are distracting and I'm getting so nervous that you're gonna find out where I got your present that I just want it to be over with."

That was even *more* confusing to the Slayer, who frowned. "Where did you get it?"

"Ammmphh..." Dawn covered her own mouth and headed back up the stairs, stopped by Buffy's hand that caught her arm and whirled her around.

Even as she pulled her sister back onto the main floor, Buffy looked at Spike and repeated her question, "Where did she get it?"

"Nicked it from Barney's," he replied immediately.

Dawn let out a frustrated little sound that was almost like a growl before she snapped in anger and disbelief, "Spike!"

"Well, I couldn't help it, Bit -- I *really* couldn't help it," he clarified pointedly, alarm in his eyes.

Suddenly, a very frightening thought occurred to Slayer and vampire alike, who exchanged a look of alarm.

"We've gotta get this spell off," Buffy declared to him, before glaring at her little sister. "This is not over. We just have to figure out whatever's making everybody tell their deepest darkest secrets and stop it..."

"And other people's too," Dawn muttered. Then, her eyes widened as something clicked in her head. "Wait a second -- Buffy..."

"No time, Dawnie," Buffy snapped, angry and scared at the realization that her sister had been shoplifting, but wanting to get whatever dark magic her friend had done this time out of the house before she handle it. "We'll talk later. Go to your room," she instructed as she released the girl and headed for the kitchen.

"But Buffy..."

"*Now*!" Buffy nearly yelled, turning to face her sister again with eyes blazing with fury.

"Fine!" Dawn snapped in tearful frustration. "I hope you humiliate yourself! I hope you say so many stupid embarrassing things you can never show your ugly stupid face again!"

Buffy did what she always did when Dawn went into brat-kid-sister mode.

She ignored her.

Spike and Buffy entered the kitchen just in time to hear Willow say with a strange calm, matter-of-factness – not overly emotional, just stating a truth that she ordinarily would never have spoken aloud,

“Sometimes I miss you so much I think I’m gonna die. I need you so much, Tara – Baby, I just need you so much…”

Buffy stopped in the doorway, hesitant to go on, a part of her not wanting to interrupt the scene, although she knew that it was a magically created scene, and that Willow was most likely the one who had created it. That same part of her cringed slightly, expecting Tara’s usual rebuff to Willow’s usually-more-tentative advances.

What the blonde witch actually said startled her.

“Me, too, Willow – me, too,” Tara whispered, an aching hurt in her soft grey eyes. “But I’m just so scared that if I give myself to you again – you’re just gonna try and change me again the next time something doesn't go your way. Your need to control everything around you just terrifies me, Will. I’m afraid to trust myself to you just to have you change it to suit you and – and eventually change so much that you lose *me* in the process…do you understand?”

Willow nodded, tears in her eyes, shining with her regret and sorrow over all she had lost.

“That's just it, Tara. I just – I’m just so scared that I’m gonna lose you. That’s why – why I…I just…I never had -- *any* of this, growing up…friendship…love…confidence…all the things you’ve given me…and I’m so scared of losing it…I was just trying to hold onto you, Tara…”

“It was trying to hold on to me that made you *lose* me, Willow,” Tara pointed out softly, her hand crossing the island between them to rest on the redhead’s trembling hand.

There was a moment’s silence before Willow asked in a trembling whisper, “*Have* I lost you?”

Tara was silent for a long moment, and Buffy knew that had she been in control at the moment, not forced to utter the truth by whatever magic was affecting them all, she would have been a bit more evasive – not made herself so open and vulnerable.

As it was, the timid blonde simply shook her head, her eyes welling with tears. “No,” she whispered.

Buffy stood frozen in the doorway, Spike at her side – neither of them willing to interrupt the scene playing out before them – because whatever was causing the utter honesty that was occurring, what was being said was *true*, and real – and probably needed to be said.

*Maybe this whole thing isn’t *all* bad,* Buffy thought wistfully.

Suddenly, her eyes widened with realization, and she looked up at Spike with dawning inspiration. He was steeling himself to interrupt the tearful reunion gearing up in the kitchen, though he was clearly reluctant to do so.

Buffy took him by surprise when she grabbed his arm and pulled him with her back out of the kitchen doorway and into the relative privacy of the hall.

“Buffy – what…?” he objected, slight irritation in his voice as he pulled his arm out of her hand.

“Spike,” she interrupted, her voice intense and earnest as she met his eyes, “whatever this is – whatever’s happening – it’s making everybody tell the truth – how they really feel – what they really think, even if it’s embarrassing or hurtful or makes them vulnerable to say it…right?”

“Right,” he replied slowly, hesitant to go along with her, glancing back toward the kitchen. “But it’s bloody dangerous, pet. We need to…”

“I love you.”

Spike stopped immediately, doing a bit of a double take, his eyes widening as he focused on her, his lips parting in shock. In spite of his defenses, in spite of the fact that he did not want to soften to the feelings he could not deny for her, he felt a lump rising in his throat, a dull ache in his chest – and had to look away.

“Buffy,” he whispered in a voice of gentle reproof, aching with hurt and uncertainty, shaking his head. “You can’t…we have to…”

“Spike,” she interrupted softly. “Please…I can’t lie to you right now, so whatever I say, you know I’m saying it because I mean it…I…*love*…you.”

Spike did not move, did not respond for a long moment, as the two of them stood there in silence, trapped by his indecision. Suddenly, Buffy watched as his jaw set with determination, and he looked up at her with something akin to defiance in his challenging eyes, as a soft but piercing question left his lips.

“Why did you do it?”

Buffy could not hold his gaze, alarm rising up in her, a sick feeling in her stomach at the knowledge that she would not be able to withhold the truth from him -- and that was why he had chosen this moment to ask her.

But then – did she really *want* to hide the truth, anymore? No matter how painful it was?

No. Not from him.

“You can’t tell me it was for my own good,” he went on softly. “What you did hurt me more than anything anyone’s ever done to me, Buffy, bloody well broke me – and you had to know that it would. I’ve loved you for so long – you’ve been my whole bloody world – can’t live without you and you knew it. So don’t say it was for me, because I know better.”

He winced slightly, and she knew that he had not wanted to say so much.

At least perhaps his own involuntary honesty would serve to make her own that much more convincing to him.

“I couldn’t if I tried,” Buffy reminded him softly, raising uncertain, vulnerable eyes to his, full of a deep remorse for the pain she had caused him, as she opened her mouth again, taking a deep breath, pausing as she tried to put the swirling thoughts in her head into words.

She needn’t have bothered; the words pretty much came pouring out on their own.

“It wasn’t for you. It was for me,” she admitted quietly. "I was so scared, Spike. So -- *terrified*. I came back so messed up, I hated myself and everyone around me -- and I was so mad at you -- I *wanted* to hate you, for -- for loving me, when I couldn't love myself. Except -- I *couldn't* hate you," she said in a soft voice, barely over a whisper, her tearful eyes focused on the floor at his feet. "Not ever."

“I needed you, loved you so much -- being with you was the only time I ever felt anything but miserable, and I was starting to think that if I *had* to be living in this world again, there was no way I could live without *you* --but I was scared too. I was too afraid of what everyone would think of me – what loving you would make me – but I wasn’t strong enough to end it myself. So I tried to make you do it.”

She was silent for a moment, and he knew instinctively that she was fighting whatever it was that was making her pour her heart out so freely – but she lost the battle.

“It was wrong – but I thought that I could somehow prove to us both that what I was feeling for you wasn’t real – that what you felt for *me* wasn’t real – and get past it…except….it *is* real. It’s – it’s *everything* to me, Spike – and I just…I just can’t…I wanted to…to end it…but now, I’ve – I’ve done it, and – and all I want is to…”

Buffy paused, swallowing back a sob that rose in her throat, trying to regain control, before she finally echoed the words her friend had spoken in the kitchen a few moments before.

“Have I lost you, Spike?”

The words came out in an aching, terrified, breathless whisper, saying without words that if his answer was yes, it would devastate her completely.

He wanted to say yes.

He wanted to tell her that she could not treat him the way she had, ever again – he would not allow it. He deserved more – better – he could and would find it, without her. There was no room for that kind of a risk in his life anymore; his heart simply couldn’t take it.

But the truth was – his heart couldn’t take being without her.

Against his will, the truth came out in a whisper, accompanied by a slow, simple shake of his head.

“Never. Couldn't. I'll *always* love you, Buffy -- always.”

A moment of still, stunned silence followed his heartfelt, tender confession, while both of them took in the powerful impact of what he had said.

And then, the Slayer broke down.

Tears of relief, sorrow, happiness and shame, myriad mingled emotions poured from her eyes as she moved forward instinctively to put her arms around him, forgetful of the rules he had set in place for the cautious advancement of their relationship-that-wasn’t.

The powerful wave of emotion that swept over him at her long-missed, tender touch was almost too much for the vampire to bear. He wanted it so badly – needed her, desperately – and yet…

He was terrified.

He knew that she was telling the truth – knew that the spell would not allow her to lie at the moment – and still, there was a part of him insisting with alarm that this was dangerous, emotionally deadly, trusting himself to her arms once more.

He could not do it.

Gently, but firmly he set her off of him, pushing her back and stumbling past her toward the front door.

He couldn’t do this.

He had to – to not be there.

“Spike?” she whispered, confusion and hurt in her voice as she turned to face him, but did not follow him.

If she had learned anything, it was to respect his boundaries – his right to *not* have her touch him.

“I can’t, Buffy…I can’t,” he told her in a voice that trembled with unshed tears, pausing at the door for a moment, the handle in his hand, as he shook his head with sorrowful resignation.

And in the next moment, he had disappeared into the night.

Spike only made it to the end of the block.

As the corner came into sight, his footsteps seemed to slow of their own accord, until he was standing at the corner, not moving, his eyes closed as a deep sigh of resignation and defeat left his lips.

Buffy’s trembling lips and tearful eyes and heartfelt, tender words were etched into his memory irrevocably, and not just because it had happened only moments before. He knew that hours, days, years from now, he would still be able to picture the pain, the vulnerability, the desperation he had seen in her in that moment.

Because it was the same earnest need that he had felt for her, for the past year and a half.

And then there was the whole bloody truth spell mojo that was going on, that was probably another of Red’s bloody bollixed up brainstorms – but possibly not. Buffy had told him that the little redhead was actually doing very well at staying away from magic lately.

What if it was some other magical nasty that had it in for the Slayer and was just trying to mess with all of their minds? What if they had some other clever little trick in mind? Could he really just leave Buffy and Dawn and all the others there alone to face – whatever it was?

That settled it; he was going back.

At least until they figured out what it was they were dealing with, he told himself. Then, he would be on his way.

Harris and his girl were still out on the lawn engaged in their argument. Except, it was not so much with the argument anymore, and more with the tearful, tender embracing and confession of fears that had been hounding them both for months now. It had been only a matter of time until they came out, Spike realized.

Better now than later on down the road, when it would *really* hurt.

He paused before going inside, clearing his throat a bit awkwardly to gain their attention, just before they began a kiss that would surely lead to one of their infamous sexual escapades – and right on the Slayer’s front lawn, too.

“Eh – just so you know, there’s some sort of magic afoot…Slayer’s trying to figure out what’s goin’ on, but you might wanna come in and get with the program on it. Could be dangerous,” he informed them.

“Shut up, Deadboy,” Xander muttered before proceeding with his original plan to kiss his fiancé.

“Soddin’ stupid wanker,” Spike muttered as he turned back toward the door. He was in no mood to put up with Harris’ bloody attitude. “Not like you even deserve the bird…”

Before he could open the door, Xander was standing in his way, disbelieving fury in his dark eyes.

“What did you say?” he demanded angrily.

At any other time, Spike would have said that it was none of the boy’s bloody business and pushed past him, while being careful not to actually hurt him.

But tonight – he was bound to the truth.

“I said you bloody well don’t deserve her, you bleedin’ ponce! You’re still so bloody obsessed with the Slayer that you’ve no room in your heart for anyone else – least wise not as much as you need to *marry* someone and give ‘em the rest of your life. She’s a brilliant, beautiful woman with a lot of wisdom to offer – and you treat her like a child. You’d be best sending her on her way, and giving her a chance with an actual adult male who might be able to *really* make her happy.”

Spike followed up his little speech with a belittling downward glance and a sneer, before he tried to follow his original plan and push past the boy.

Xander would have none of it.

His dark eyes narrowed in rage as he grabbed the vampire’s arm and pushed him back away from the door. “Shut up, Spike,” he snarled, drawing back his fist and launching a furious blow at his head.

Spike ducked out of the way just in time, stepping back warily as Xander slowly advanced on him, looking for a way to get a blow in against the skilled fighter, who might not be able to hit him back at the moment, but was still pretty good at blocking.

“Who are you to talk about being obsessed with Buffy anyway?” Xander demanded angrily. “You’ve spent the past two years mooning over her, following her around like a puppy – an…annoying…rabid…toothless puppy…” Xander frowned, puzzled in the end by his own analogy, before shaking his head and returning his attention to Spike.

“When you know you’re not good enough for her – she’ll never *really* love you…The truth is, nobody really wants you here, Spike, so why don’t you just get lost?”

“No, the truth is, you stupid wanker, that you’re bloody jealous because she chose me over you!” Spike shot back angrily, forgetting himself and moving up into the larger man’s face challengingly.

Xander did not seem inclined to hit him at the moment; he was too caught off guard by his comment. Eyes wide in indignation he opened his mouth to retort.

“That is so – absolutely and completely true!”

A stunned silence followed the boy’s awkward admission.

Spike cringed inwardly at the look of hurt on Anya’s face.

She was a nice girl, if a bit different – honest and forthright and helpful, and utterly devoted to her fiancé – and he hated to see her hurt by Harris’s immaturity and insensitivity. Still, he thought, it was probably better that she find out now than later on down the road, when it was too late for her to drop Harris like the useless wanker that he was.

And said useless wanker was still running his mouth, though Spike could tell by the expression of near panic on his face that he was not really meaning to.

“I hate you, Spike! And you know why I hate you? Because Buffy lowered herself to be with you, when I’ve loved her for years and fought by her side, been right here waiting the whole time – and still she chooses an evil, soulless monster over me!”

“What can I say?” Spike shot back with a smirk. “Buffy’s got good taste!”

“Buffy’s lost her mind!” Xander retorted in a voice trembling with rage and hatred. “You’re so far beneath her it makes me want to vomit to think of her being with you! You’re disgusting, and *she’s* disgusting for touching you!” Xander punctuated his vicious words with a derisive glare – just before he leaned forward and spit in Spike’s face!

The combination of the age-old mother of all insults – which was also just bloody gross – that Xander had just dealt him, and the boy’s derisive, insulting words about Buffy, drove all thoughts of the chip or Buffy’s disapproval or any other consequences out of Spike’s mind, and he simply saw red.

Heedless of the various very good reasons why it was a *very* bad idea, Spike drew back his fist and brought it down hard across the boy’s face, knocking him to the ground, but not out.

Of course, the very next moment – he was also on the ground.

With a groan of pain, the dark-haired youth pulled himself to his feet, regarding the gasping, agonized vampire with a look of hatred and disgust.

“Yeah, Spike – I *am* jealous of you,” Xander admitted, glaring down at him as he reached into his back pocket. “Have been for a long time. Can’t understand what Buffy sees in you – just can’t stand it. In fact, I’ve just been *waiting* for this moment – waiting for you to give me the reason I need.”

As he spoke, he wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, looking down at it for a moment as a cruel smile formed on his lips.

Spike was only vaguely aware of his advance, still in too much pain to focus, as Xander drew his stake, closing the distance between them as he muttered, “I am *really* going to enjoy this!”

Just as Xander pulled his hand back to strike the killing blow against his kneeling, helpless rival, a remarkably strong hand grabbed his arm and spun him around – bringing him face to face with five feet, two inches and one hundred pounds of furious blonde Slayer.

“What the *hell* do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, horrified, as she snatched the stake from her friend’s hand, pushing him behind her more roughly than necessary as she rushed to Spike’s side, crouching down beside him with concern in her anxious green eyes.

“You okay?” she asked him, frowning as she looked him over.

He had just about recovered from the chip’s assault, and he nodded a bit wearily, gratefully accepting the hand she offered to help him to his feet, while returning his disgusted, derisive gaze to Xander, as he wiped the boy’s saliva from his cheek with the back of his hand.

“Yeah, pet. Never better,” he said dryly – and then frowned, wondering for a moment how he could have said that while under the truth spell that was affecting them all.

He shrugged it off, realizing that the sarcasm in his voice was clear enough for the comment to slide by.

His attention was immediately drawn from his thoughts by the furious sound of Buffy’s trembling, angry voice. She was right up in Xander’s face, as intimidating as her small frame would allow.

Which was actually -- *very* intimidating.

“Just what did you think you were doing?” she demanded of her friend furiously. “I told you to leave Spike alone! What made you think for two seconds that it was suddenly okay to try to stake him?”

Xander’s expression was defensive, but his words were hopelessly honest and revealing as he replied without hesitation, “He *did* manage to hurt me – I thought I could get away with it if I told you his chip had stopped working.”

Buffy’s fiery anger suddenly faded with the sheer shock of his words – shifting to something much worse, from Xander’s perspective. Disgust – disappointment – horror…

Betrayal.

“I told you I was in *love* with him, Xander,” she said finally, her eyes wide and shocked, shaking her head slowly in disbelief. She didn’t *want* to believe that Xander could do something like that to her. “How could you – how could you even *consider* killing the man that I love, and then lying to me to cover it up? What, were you going to just -- *lie* to me while I was grieving him? For the rest of my *life*? How could you? *Why*?”

That anguished question was Xander’s doom – because he could not but answer with the truth.

“Because I thought if he was dead then maybe you’d finally notice what’s been right in front of your eyes all along – me.”

Shattered. That was the only word for the expression on Anya’s face at that moment, as she took in her fiance’s bitter, jealous words, revealing his intense desire for another woman.

Buffy was aghast at the troubling revelation her “friend” had just made. She had known that Xander had had a crush on her back in high school, but he had been with Anya for – well, for years now – and she had never even considered the idea that he might still harbor such disturbingly intense feelings for *her*.

Spike had never made it past the part of the conversation where Buffy had referred to him as the “*man* she loved”.

He was slowly reaching a cautious acceptance of the fact that he had once held so firmly – that she *did* love him. But to hear her come to his defense so emphatically, so firmly, to hear that she thought of him as the *man* that he had thought he could never really be again…

It touched him beyond expression.

“Xander,” Buffy replied slowly but emphatically, a quiet incredulity in her expression. “I *don’t* love you. Not like that. You’re my friend – but I’m in *love* with Spike…”

“He’s a monster, Buffy! He’s not even human! How can you do this to us? To *yourself*?”

“It’s *my life*!” Buffy nearly shouted her frustration. “I’m not doing *anything* to you! I’m doing whatever I’m doing because it’s what *I* want for a change! If I wanna be with Spike, it’s none of your business!”

“Fine, Buffy!” Xander shot back, his voice trembling with rage. “But don’t expect me to stand by and watch you ruin your life!”

“Fine!” Buffy retorted without hesitation. Gesturing dramatically toward her door without thinking about it, she declared, “There’s the door!” – before suddenly realizing that the standard comeback did not really fit at the moment. “And you can feel free to – stay on – this side of it – if you want,” she adjusted awkwardly, an adorably confused frown on her face that Spike had always found irresistible, even when she *wasn’t* taking his side against her best friend.

Xander’s eyes widened in shock. “Are you telling me that you’d really choose that – that *thing* over me?” he demanded, disbelieving and accusing.

“I don’t want to choose, Xander,” Buffy said sadly, shaking her head. “You’ve been my friend for so long – but – if you *make* me choose…”

Xander caught the hesitation in her voice, and latched onto it. “I am. I’m making you choose, Buffy. This is it. Him or me.”

Buffy’s eyes widened for a moment before she looked down at the ground, suddenly sober and subdued. Spike could see the glimmer of tears in her eyes, and would have loved to attack the stupid soddin’ wanker right then and there for putting her in such a painful spot – would have, too – if not for the remnants of the electric current still tingling through his head from the last time.

“Fine, then,” Buffy said softly. “I don’t like it – I don’t want to – but if that’s the way it has to be…” She raised her eyes slowly to meet Xander’s, sorrow mingling with a fiery determination in her gaze as she gave her answer.

“Him.”

Without waiting for Xander’s reaction, she turned, reaching out to take Spike’s hand as she headed back toward the house, hoping against hope that he would allow it, and would not shame her by rejecting her hand in this intense moment.

Whether it was from shock, or acceptance of her declaration of her feelings – he *did* accept it, clasping her hand in his as she led him through the front door and into the living room, where everyone had apparently finally gathered.

Maybe Spike would never be hers again. Maybe she had spoiled that.

But regardless of the result, there was something she needed to make right.

She gave Spike a long, meaningful look that told him without a word exactly what she meant to do -- and his eyes widened in open astonishment, his lips parting to object -- but he could form no objection.

Not when he had *wanted* her to do this for so long.

Buffy gave him a reassuring smile as she squeezed his hand, and and turned to lead him with her to the center of the living room.

“Guys,” she said softly, clearing her throat to get their attention, and the murmur of various conversations gradually died down. “There’s something I need to say.”


Outside on the lawn, Xander’s jaw had dropped completely, as he stared after his best friend, stunned and devastated by her decision. Automatically he turned toward his fiancé for the support that she always provided, incredulous.

“Ahn, did you *see* that? How could she…?” His voice trailed off when he turned to see the stricken look on her unusually pale face, green eyes wide as they focused on his face, trying to read the love there that she had always thought she had seen.

“Anya,” Xander said softly, shaking his head in remorse as he remembered the things he had said – things he had never intended to be known to either her *or* Buffy. “Anya, honey…”

She drew back as he attempted to put his arms around her, stating in a low, trembling voice of emotion, “*No*.”

Xander froze, watching her, waiting breathlessly, as a cold sense of fear began to steal over him.

*No – no, not her too…*

Anya’s deep, open eyes searched his for a long moment before she said softly, her words and tone of certainty making his heart skip a beat.

“Choose, Xander. Her or me.”

Xander’s eyes widened in disbelief. It was an impossible choice. He loved Anya – he did…but…he would *always* love Buffy…how could he possibly…

He stood there as the seconds ticked by, shaking his head slightly, unable to respond at all.

Anya swallowed hard, her expression setting with resignation, as she whispered, “That’s what I thought.”

And without another word she turned and walked away, down the walkway to the sidewalk.

“Anya!” he called, taking a few steps toward her. “Anya, wait!”

He started to go after her – but then suddenly stopped, remembering Buffy’s furious exit and the state of their friendship at the moment. The two most important women in his life were both walking away from him – and he could only go after one of them.

He stood there for a moment, torn by indecision…

…before turning and making his way quickly back into the house.

Spike suddenly found that he could not bring himself to meet the questioning gaze of those gathered in the Slayer’s living room – which suddenly seemed far too small for the large group.

Ordinarily, he would have had no difficulty in presenting most of the people assembled here with the most cocky, defiant attitude he could muster. The only ones he considered to be truly friends were Clem, and Dawn. A few of the others were not outright hostile to him, but did not seem to dare to actually extend the hand of friendship, for fear of the opinions of the others -- namely Xander, who was so openly vocal about his hatred for the blonde vampire.

And Buffy – the very core of their group.

They had taken it for granted that she merely tolerated him, despised him, but pitied him too much to actually take his life. Often he had noticed that Anya, who probably understood his situation better than the rest of the group, having lost her own powers – or Tara, who clearly knew what it was like to be an outcast – had felt a certain sympathy for him, which they had been afraid to express, for fear of what the Slayer might think about it.

And all the while, she had been seeking him out, making her way into his bed on a nightly basis – while sneering and deriding him in the light of day to her friends.

She had told them the truth, apparently, at least to a point – but still it did not seem real to him; he could hardly believe it, after so long.

Perhaps Buffy had sensed that.

Now, it seemed that she was going to set the record straight for everyone regarding the past few months, and the nature of their relationship – and openly, before them all, where he could see and hear it and know that she had. It was what he had longed for, dreamed of, but never expected to actually happen, ever since that first kiss she had granted him in the wake of the musical spell that had taken over the town a few months ago.

But somehow, in the meantime, he had become used to being her “dirty little secret”, something she hid away from the people who were *really* a part of her life, for fear of what they would think of her. He had hated it; it had made him feel ashamed and foolish and terribly hurt that she could treat him like that. He had wanted nothing more than for her to be able to look at her friends and *tell* them what he was to her.

Even if what he was to her was nothing more than a bit of cold comfort – just to be *acknowledged* by her.

He had imagined how it would go, the shock on the expressions of the Whelp, Red, the others – had imagined the sense of satisfaction he would feel at having them realize that he was not so far beneath them all as they had thought – that he had been chosen, for whatever reason, by the greatest one among them. He had imagined throwing it in their faces, boldly and defiantly, telling them just what he thought of them and their self-righteous, self-important attitudes.

He had never imagined the feeling of uncertainty and – and almost *shame* -- that came over him. He began to think that once she had said what she had to say, they would look at him not with the respect that he had hoped for, but with horror, disgust, disbelief, seeming him not as the man he had aspired to be – but as less than a monster.

Unworthy.

He realized with a sort of cool, clinical understanding that it was her treatment of him over the past few months that had done that to him – that had convinced him that he was less than her, unworthy of her affections, even after all *she* had done to devastate and destroy *him*.

*That’s why you can’t do this again, mate,* he warned himself. *In time she’ll only change her mind again – and destroy you again…maybe for good next time…*

Even as the warning voice echoed in his mind, he felt a stirring of hope in his heart as Buffy opened her mouth to speak.

“Hey, guys…um…I need your attention for a minute…please…” she began, much more hesitantly than she usually spoke. “Well,” she amended with an apologetic little half-shrug, “more than a minute – actually…”

She paused, suddenly feeling very much on the spot – though admittedly she had put *herself* there – as the eyes of everyone in the room turned to her expectantly. From the looks on their faces she knew that most of them had already figured out that there was something strange going on in this house.

Sophie and Xander’s friend – what was his name again? – both looked about ready to bolt any second, standing awkwardly near the door, talking quietly, though they had stopped when she had begun to speak. Tara and Willow were standing by the kitchen door, both looking at her with serious expressions. Dawn and Clem sat on the sofa – and Buffy realized suddenly by their manner with each other that tonight was not the first time they had met.

And why didn’t that thought bother her more than it did?

Just as she began to speak, Xander had rushed back into the house, and was now standing just inside the living room, catching his breath as he listened to what she had to say.

“I think you’ve all probably guessed that there’s something kinda weird going on in here tonight,” she began with a deep breath. She met each of their eyes briefly before explaining frankly, “Someone’s put a truth spell on us. No one in this house can tell a lie until – well, until we find a way to break it.”

“Someone’s put a what on us?” Xander’s friend echoed in a shaky, incredulous voice.

Amazingly, Sophie did not seem as shocked as him – only disappointed, as she looked at the boy standing beside her – whom she had been hitting it off with remarkably well -- and then back at Buffy. “Oh,” she said in a small, slightly sad voice, “I just thought he was remarkably open and genuine. Figures.”

Tara’s eyes were focused on her estranged lover’s face in a look of wounded betrayal.

Willow’s eyes widened as she realized what the blonde witch was thinking. “No! *No*!” she insisted, shaking her head emphatically as she looked between Tara and Buffy. “No, I didn’t do this! Buffy, I didn’t!” She looked back at Tara pleadingly. “Tara – Baby – I didn’t…”

“Will, come on,” Buffy interrupted in a weary voice that betrayed her impatience with her friend’s habit. “I know this is hard for you, but if you’ve done something you need to…”

“But she hasn’t!” Tara exclaimed, a brilliant smile of overjoyed excitement on her face as she looked at the Slayer, though tears of relief glistened in her eyes.

“What?” Buffy frowned, puzzled.

“Buffy, you just said it! No one in this house can lie! If she said she didn’t do it – then – she didn’t!” Tara explained.

The tremendous sense of relief that Buffy felt at finding out that this was *not* the work of her best friend was quickly overcome by her worry.

She frowned. “Then – what…?”

Dawn opened her mouth to speak, but Buffy missed it, shaking her head emphatically as she cut herself off, “It doesn’t matter. Well, it *does* matter – but that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about. There’s some things I need to say – right now, while everyone can know that they’re completely true…and once I’ve said them, *then* we can worry about fixing this…”

She paused, glancing around the room, turning slightly so that she was facing everyone at once, her hand still clasping Spike’s in hers like a lifeline. He was standing beside her, his demeanor tense and careful, his eyes strangely downcast when he realized that she was about to say what she had come here to say.

Her gaze finally came to rest on him, as she addressed the others, a softness of sorrow and affection in her eyes and her voice.

“I love Spike,” she stated simply, quietly, but with a firmness of conviction that no one in the room could miss.

When only silence met her words, she turned her eyes to take in the varying expressions of her friends and family, ranging from sheer utter horror on Xander’s face, to near elation on Dawn’s.

“I – I told you guys that we’d been – seeing each other – for a few months now. And – and that he broke it off because – because I screwed up,” she said softly with a little grimace as she blinked back tears. “I was scared, and stupid, and didn’t want to admit what I was feeling – so I went out of my way to hurt someone who loved me with everything he had…and I drove him away.”

She looked down for a moment, swallowing back the sob that rose in her throat before continuing, “I’ve been so miserable…I had heaven…and…and it was stolen from me.”

The hardness in her voice made the redhead flinch, and Tara’s hand instinctively went to her arm in a steadying, comforting gesture. She did not support Willow’s addiction – but she could not help but support *Willow*.

“Part of the reason I turned to Spike in the first place was because – he was the only one who would just *listen* to me – without wanting to try to fix it, or wanting me to just ‘feel better, Buffy! Be happy!”

The mockery in her voice was without malice, simply full of a hurt that made Tara, Willow and Xander all flinch with the realization of what they had taken from her, albeit unintentionally.

“Everyone wanted something from me – wanted me to get over it, wanted me to be happy – Spike just wanted to be my friend,” Buffy went on, a tear slipping down her cheek as she remembered the early days of their friendship – before she had thrown it away. “I needed that – needed *him* -- so much…”

“And partly it was because – I wanted *not* to think about it. I wanted him to make me feel so much that for a few minutes, I wouldn’t have to think about the heaven I’d lost, or the sister who needed me to be a mom, or the friends who wanted me to deal with all their problems, or the – the *world* that needed saving!”

Buffy’s voice had risen with emotion as she went on, and suddenly she stopped, not wanting to lose control completely. She paused for a moment, reining in her emotions before she went on.

“Once I – did what I did – once I hurt Spike so bad that he broke up with me,” she continued in an aching, trembling whisper, “I didn’t have anything to distract me from – from all the things I’d been trying so hard not to think about.”

She was silent for a long moment, until when she finally spoke, her voice echoed softly into the stillness of the room.

“A few weeks before I died – I lost my mother. I didn’t even have time to grieve before Glory had taken Dawn – and I didn’t know she was safe until I gave my own life to be sure of it. Then, just when I thought it was over – and I was happy, and at peace -- *that* was ripped away, too.”

“I didn’t feel anything but pain and grief and sorrow once I came back – not until I started opening up to Spike – not until he – he gave me his friendship – his love – without asking for anything in return. But – I wasn’t happy with giving him nothing in return,” she shook her head with a bitter smile of self-disgust.

“No – I gave him something, all right – I gave him hurt and pain and abuse – made his life a living hell – when all he was trying to do was give a little bit of heaven back to me.”

“I don’t know if he can ever forgive me for that,” she went on, her voice soft and calm, as she looked slowly around the room at them all – but not at him.

Somehow, she couldn’t.

“I don’t know if I can ever have what he once offered me again. Don’t know if there’s still even a chance. But what I *do* know is that I will *not* stand for his being treated the way all of you – all of *us* -- have treated him these past few years. Not anymore. He has *earned* so much more from us.”

Her voice was slow, clear, and unmistakably emphatic as she stated firmly, “He protected Dawn the best he could – he was nearly killed trying to protect her on Glory’s tower – must have been pretty badly hurt, falling that far -- and I ask you – when it was all over and you were all crying over my body – did even *one* of you think to make sure that he got out of the sun before morning?”

Their guilty silence was all the answer she needed.

“It can’t be that way. Not anymore. Whether or not he wants to have anything to do with *me* anymore – as far as I’m concerned he’s one of us. No more putdowns – no more threats and insults…he would as soon hurt one of us as to stake himself. He’s fought with us, helped us – and it’s time we repaid him with more than hurt and mistreatment. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

A set of tentative nods and murmured assents met her question – from all but Xander, who stood silently by the door, not answering – but not arguing, either.

Which was at least something, coming from Xander.

“And – if he *does* at some point choose to take me back,” Buffy went on, her voice softer, more uncertain now, “that’s really nobody’s business in this room but mine and his. You’re all entitled to your opinions – but I’m through making my decisions based on what you all want me to do. I’m the Slayer – the weight of the world is on *my* shoulders. That’s an awesome responsibility – and I think that the right to make my own choices should come with it.”

No one could argue that for a moment, though they knew that they all had, at some point or another, in some way.

Buffy finally raised her open, terribly vulnerable gaze to Spike’s face – stunned and awed by the tears that streaked his face, the tender gratitude and love that shone in his crystal blue eyes as he stared at her in wonder.

“And for what it’s worth,” Buffy went on in a voice barely over a whisper, her eyes focused on Spike, barely aware that the others were even still in the room, “I choose Spike.”

No one said a word – not even Xander daring to intrude on this intensely personal moment between them.

Spike was too moved for speech, as he simply met her eyes, shaking his head slowly in disbelief at the words she had spoken, his fingers gently intertwining with hers, clasping her hand tighter, all the response he could manage at the moment.

“Um…excuse me?” Xander’s friend – who had no way of understanding half of what had just been said, let alone knowing the tremendous weight of this moment for the group assembled here – tentatively spoke up. “I – I realize this is – is kind of intense, but – what was this about a – truth spell?”

The spell of a different nature was momentarily broken, and Buffy sighed, looking away from Spike as she was reminded of their current predicament, forgotten in the midst of her emotional confession.

“Yeah,” Tara frowned thoughtfully, looking from Willow to Buffy and back again as she asked slowly, “If Willow didn’t do it…then who did?”

Dawn sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes. “I tried to tell you earlier, but you wouldn’t listen, Buffy! There was this weird lady at school today – she said she was the guidance counselor…I told her I – I wished there’d be no more secrets between us -- *any* of us.”

She glanced apologetically at the few innocent guests. “I guess you guys just got – um – caught in the crossfire.”

“I don’t mind,” Clem shrugged. “Kind of exciting, actually,” he admitted with a self-conscious sort of laugh.

“This lady – did she have a funny looking necklace with a big stone?” Xander asked.

“Yes,” Dawn answered with a curious frown. “Why?”

“Any has one just like it. She said she had it made to remind her of the one she wore in the ‘good old days’ – when she was a vengeance demon.”

Buffy sighed wearily, dropping her head into her free hand. “Okay, so – we’re dealing with a vengeance curse. Question is – how do we break it? We have no idea where this vengeance demon is now!”

“I don’t know,” Xander admitted quietly, pausing a moment before adding, “Anya would.”

“Where is she?” Buffy looked up at her friend suddenly, frowning, as it occurred to her that the ex-vengeance demon was not among them. “Xander?”

“I – I don’t know,” he confessed, his gaze lowered guiltily. “She – she took off.”

“And you didn’t go after her?” Spike asked in a tone of mild disbelief, one eyebrow raised questioningly.

Xander made no smart remark – no incensing comments or glares. He simply shook his head in dejection.

Buffy waited a moment, simply studying her old friend’s demeanor, thinking.

“Xander,” she said finally, waiting until he looked up to meet her eyes before speaking. “Don’t you think you’d better?”

Xander stared at her for a moment blankly, his eyes traveling downward to her hand linked tightly with Spike’s – and suddenly it all became real to him.

Like it or not – Buffy was in love with Spike.

Not him.

Never him.

And – it didn’t hurt as much as he would have thought.

Was it possible that all this time, the main obstacle standing between him and Anya and happiness had been nothing more than the dream of something that never had been and never could?

*Oh, God…*Anya*…*

His eyes widened, as suddenly all the pieces came together for him – and he became aware of what he was about to lose.

He nodded slowly, earnestly, as he met Buffy’s eyes again with near panic in his own. “Buffy,” he began, shaking his head. There was so much to say – so much to make right – but no time in which to do it

Buffy understood.

“Run,” she replied firmly, with a sympathetic, affectionate half-smile.

And Xander ran, like his life, his destiny, his every future happiness depended on it – because it *did*.

A heavy silence fell over the room as the door shut behind Xander’s retreating form, and Buffy slowly returned her attention to the assembled group in the living room. Everyone was looking at her, with varying degrees of myriad emotions -- expectancy – shame – confusion.

Some had tears in their eyes.

But in every last one of their expressions, there was an unmistakable sense of renewed respect – and not only for the Slayer, but for the vampire that stood at her side as well.

Buffy’s heated words had rung true.

With the possible exceptions of the few relative strangers among the group tonight – and not even them, if they were to consider the apocalypses that Spike had helped to avert -- they all owed their lives, in one way or another, to the blonde vampire who was standing there, looking so uncertain, his eyes downcast, his expression solemn – trying so hard to seem as if what they thought of him did not matter to him…when in truth, it *really* did.

And even after all he had done for them, they had despised him – treated him like less than garbage.

No one had the first idea what to say – except Buffy.

“Anya will know what to do about the spell,” she told them all in a soft voice of clear authority. “Until Xander finds her and they get back, I think it’d be best if everyone just sort of – stayed put for the moment. I don’t know if we’ll all *have* to be here in order to undo the spell, but there’s no sense in taking chances with this. Besides – it’s probably -- safer, anyway.”

She paused before adding in a dubious tone, “But I understand if some of you would rather be alone until we can find a way to stop this – this rampant truth telling. There’s a lot of rooms in this house – and there’s the basement – just…just don’t go too far,” she instructed.

They all glanced around at each other speculatively. The funny thing was, for most of them, now that the truth of their dark secrets had come out – it did not seem so horrible, after all. It was clear in almost every face, the simple relief it was just to *not* have to hide.

Willow and Tara silently slipped back into the kitchen to continue their conversation, while Sophie and her new friend sat down on the stairs, talking quietly. Clem took one look at his best friend, his hand still clasped in the Slayer’s as if neither of them ever wanted to let go, and knew that his “supportive friend” services were no longer needed, at least for the moment – and the best thing he could do right then was to keep himself busy and allow Spike and Buffy to talk.

He grabbed the television remote control from the end table beside him and flipped on the set, reaching for the bowl of chips on the coffee table with his free hand.

“Wanna see if there’s anything good on, Dawnie?” he asked the girl sitting beside him and looking a bit uncomfortable, with a hopeful, reassuring smile on his face.

Dawn was not uncomfortable to be with Clem – she was just uncomfortable *being* here at all, having her secrets so vulnerable and out in the open. So far, only Buffy and Spike knew the truth about her recent activities – but that could change in a moment if someone asked the wrong question.

“No, thanks,” she said in a quiet, distant kind of voice, as she rose from the couch and made her way up the stairs past the couple sitting there.

Unaware of her dilemma, Clem just shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said, turning his attention to the television, and the channel to TV Land to catch his favorite show.

Buffy and Spike were unaware of any of the others, too caught up in their own private drama to notice what they were doing. Spike’s eyes were still cautiously averted, as the Slayer’s wide, pleading green eyes looked up at him, seeking, searching for some response to her heartfelt confession.

“Spike?” she ventured finally, her voice trembling and hesitant. “Please – can we…?”

Abruptly he broke contact, turning away from her, pulling his hand gently out of hers and heading toward the door in silence. Buffy felt her heart sink as she watched him walk quietly out the front door, closing it behind him without a sound.

She stood there for a long moment, stunned – and yet somehow, not surprised – by his actions. She could not blame him, really – in spite of the dramatically powerful scene she had just played out in her living room.

*What did you think?* she asked herself wearily, angry at herself for her own disappointment. *Did you think you could just make one great big grand gesture, and undo the months of emotional abuse and mind games you put him through? So you said you love him! Great, Buffy. But it takes a little longer than a few moments to actually prove it.*

She stood there for a few moments longer, deliberately giving him time to get as far away as he needed to get. She did not have the right to go after him – to try to chase him down and emotionally bully him into accepting her acts of apology, granting her the forgiveness and trust that she craved.

It had once been hers – all the love and trust and openness she could have desired, hers for the taking, with no need even to ask -- but she had willingly thrown it back in his face.

Now, it was only his to give as he would.

Once she was certain that Spike would be no where near her house – would be halfway back to his crypt by now, in fact – she slowly walked out the front door and onto the porch, intent on finding the only trace of privacy that existed around this house tonight, and enjoying the sweet, comforting agony of a good cry.

Alone.

Hence her surprise when she stepped out onto the porch – and saw Spike sitting there, on the top step, his back turned to her, his arms crossed on his knees, staring off into the night.

She knew that he knew she was there, but somehow she could not bring herself to speak for a long moment. Finally, she forced herself to break the silence.

“I thought you’d gone.”

Spike was silent for a long moment, not turning to face her, not moving. “Yeah, well,” he answered finally, his voice calm and even, sarcastic without being harsh or angry, “I never seem to get very far, do I?”

Buffy just stood there for a moment longer, before asking in a soft, timid voice that she barely recognized, “Can I – can I sit with you?”

Spike laughed quietly, shaking his head, “Your bloody house, Buffy – I’d say you can do as you like.”

Buffy steeled herself against the hurt at the thought that he really didn’t want her there, and turned slowly to go back into the house. Her hand was on the doorknob, but had not opened it yet, when Spike’s low, rich voice stopped her, his tone quiet and full of restrained emotion.

“Stay.”

Hesitantly, Buffy made her way to the step and sat down beside him, not looking at him, her eyes gazing solemnly into the night that seemed to have his attention so thoroughly. For a moment, neither of them seemed to know what to say – but the silence seemed to be bothering him a lot less than it bothered her.

Partly wanting to break the silence, and partly wanting to clear the air, Buffy spoke quietly, haltingly, “I – I’m sorry if I – if I embarrassed you, Spike…I didn’t mean…”

“Didn’t,” he cut her off simply. He waited a moment, considering, before he went on slowly, his voice much softer than she had expected, and with a note of awed emotion in it that surprised her, “What you said in there – it was – I mean – no one’s ever…” He gave up before his emotions could overcome him completely, lowering his head and turning it slightly away before she could see him blinking back the tears that rose in his eyes.

But she knew him well enough to know.

His words troubled her.

“No one’s ever what, Spike?” she asked him, frowning in confusion. “No one’s ever…?”

Any other night, he could have dismissed her questions, waved them away as unimportant, or made up some halfway convincing answer that would serve to distract her.

Any other night, when he was not under a soddin’ truth spell.

“Took up for me like that,” he replied softly, his voice hushed and heavy with emotion. “Told off their nearest and dearest – over *me*…” He shook his head slowly. “Never seemed to matter that much to anyone before.”

“What didn’t matter?” Buffy asked gently, turning slightly toward him, earnest eyes seeking his, though he would not look at her. “Spike,” she said softly, daring to reach out a gentle hand to touch his face, to turn it toward her. “What didn’t matter?”

The fact that he did not pull away from her, did not reject her affection, her touch, was a good sign, she thought – but he did not seem willing to answer her. His eyes were closed, and he was biting the inside of his lip seemingly in determination not to respond to the question.

It didn’t matter.

Suddenly – she understood.

“*You* didn’t matter enough?” she guessed in a hushed, horrified voice, seeking his gaze, which he would not yield to her.

His silence, his refusal to look at her, was all the answer she needed.

A wave of remorse washed over her, for the part she had played in making him feel the way he did right now. She wondered if in his life as a human, he had ever once been made to feel worthy and valuable and – and *lovable*. From what she had heard of his past, in the few and fleeting unguarded moments in which he had opened up to her – though she had never reciprocated – he hadn’t.

And she knew enough of Angelus and Darla, and even his own sire, mad though she was, to know that life with them could only have served to reinforce the painful lesson that he was worthless, useless, except for the amusement and pleasure of those who sought to take what they wanted from him – emotionally or physically.

Suddenly, it all made a perfect, painful sort of sense in her mind.

“Spike” – the arrogant, dangerous, hard persona that had made up a fourth of the Scourge of Europe and wreaked such havoc as to go down in history as the second most dangerous vampire to ever exist – was nothing more than the poet William’s defensive wall.

The sensitive, affectionate, *good* man that he had been had been forced to retreat behind a façade of deadly menace that had begun as a means of defense against the abuse and belittlement that he faced every day – but had gradually become the reality.

Eventually, Spike had become every bit as real as William.

But that did not mean that William had ceased to exist.

No, she knew, as she looked at him now -- broken by his love for a woman who had, until recently, only treated him as the dirt beneath her feet – the poet William was still very much alive.

And she very much wanted to get to know him – to love him as he had loved her.

But – was it too little, too late, at this point?

“Spike,” she whispered, a deep, longing ache in her voice, as she gently tugged him around to face her, leaning in close to him, seeking his gaze. “Spike – you *do* matter to me…so much…you – you mean *everything* to me…”

He shook his head, a bitter expression of disbelief crossing his face. “No,” he whispered. “No, I don’t…”

“Spike – what I did in there…” she insisted, one hand resting at his waist and trying to draw him in closer, while the other slipped around to rest in a comforting, reassuring gesture at the back of his neck, playing slowly through his soft curls, “…I did because I *meant* it – every single word.”

A soft, tearful little laugh left her lips, as she shook her head and reminded him, “I couldn’t *not* mean it – not tonight…I said those things – because you *deserve* it…you’ve protected my sister – who is the only person in this world who means as much to me as you do…when I lost heaven – you were the one who pulled me back from the very gates of hell.”

He looked up at her suddenly, startled by those words, and that she could think to attribute such a feat to him. She held his piercing, searching gaze unflinchingly, willing him to see in her eyes how deeply she meant her words.

“You saved my life, Spike. You *did*. You don’t know how many nights I wanted to die – wanted to kill myself – and *you* -- just the thought of being with you – kept me going. I didn’t want to tell you – didn’t want to admit how much you were coming to mean to me – honestly, I probably wouldn’t have the nerve to tell you now if it wasn’t for this spell – but I’m *glad* I’m telling you, Spike.”

Her voice was passionate, certain, as she stared into his eyes honestly and openly. “I *love* you. I really do. I understand if you can’t believe that – not yet. But it’s the truth.” She paused, looking away for a moment, before meeting his gaze and going on, her voice quieter, but every bit as firm and sure.

“You loved me for years, when I wouldn’t even speak to you without putting you down – when all I could do was hurt you. If I have to go through a little of that myself – then so be it. I wasn’t ready then – but I’m ready to love you now, Spike. I’m ready to give you *me* -- whether you can give me even the slightest crumb back, or not.”

He just stared at her, his eyes wide and barely believing, his lips slightly parted, as he tried to make his mind process what he was hearing. It was almost too much for his heart to bear, after so long – it hardly seemed real.

But it was – it *was* real.

Buffy loved him.

But the beautiful dream that he had envisioned in his mind, over and over again, was marred by the painful past they had already shared. She loved him – he knew that much was true, *had* to be – but that did not mean that she loved him *enough* not to hurt him again.

He had been deeply wounded, not only by the single painful incident that had passed between them a couple of months before, but by the preceding months of consistent use and abuse that had driven him to the point of breaking, desperate emotion he was feeling now. There was no doubt in his mind, no matter how badly she had hurt him.

He still loved her.

But could he trust her, enough to place his heart in her hands again?

As if echoing the aching questions in his heart, Buffy’s soft, uncertain voice, full of mingled hope and pain and love, rang like sweet, sad music in his ears.

“I love you so much, Spike. Please – give me a chance to show you how much. Can we – can we try again?”

Xander ran for all he was worth – but he knew that Anya had already gone too far for him to easily catch up. He stopped on the sidewalk about a block from the house, trying to catch his breath – unaware of the irony as he stood in exactly the same spot where Spike had decided a bit earlier that night to return to Buffy’s house – and forced himself to just slow down and think for a minute.

*Ahn, Honey – where are you?* he thought desperately, not sure if the dull ache in his chest was from running so fast when he was so out of shape, or from the fear and pain at the thought of actually losing her.

Suddenly, it occurred to him where she might have gone.

*Our place,* he thought, adding to himself with a little grimace, *Even if she’s only there to pack her things.*

He took off at a run again, headed for the little apartment that he had bought in the first place mostly for her. Maybe he could catch her in time – he had to make her understand, how foolish, how wrong he had been.

How very much he truly *loved* her – in spite of the unintentionally cruel things he had said.

*Stupid truth spell...*

He had known that she would be there, and was not surprised when he walked through the front door to see her standing in the kitchen, near the window, her back to him as she gazed out at the clear night sky. The soft sound of a sniffle told him what he already knew would be true.

She had been crying.

She did not move, though he knew that she had heard him come in – couldn’t have possibly missed it, with all the racket he was making with his clumsy, hurried entrance – and that was vaguely unsettling to him.

He didn’t know what else he had expected, really – for her to turn and face him with the same hopeful adoration in her gaze that she always seemed to give him no matter how impatient or hard on her he had been? For her to yell and scream and threaten him with all the things she could and would have done to him, if only she’d had her powers back – things that they both knew she would never actually do to him, even if she could?

He knew one thing – what he had expected was definitely *not* the total ignoring of his presence that she was actually doing.

It made him feel suddenly uneasy, vulnerable – and drove all of his prepared words right out of his mind.

Hesitantly he stepped toward her, his voice quiet and timid as he said softly, “Ahn? Honey?”

She did not respond at all – did not even look at him.

“Please, Anya – please talk to me,” he persisted cautiously, as he slowly closed the distance between them – at least physically.

That was all that was in his power to do at the moment.

Just as he had nearly reached her, she finally spoke, though she did not turn to face him. “What is it exactly that you want me to say, Xander? ‘Hi, Honey – I’m so glad your childhood love whom I can never compare to gave you permission to come home to me – your *actual* girlfriend. Wanna have sex now?’”

He barely had time to register the sarcasm in her voice, before she turned suddenly to face him, her eyes shining with hurt and tears, looking so lost and bewildered and betrayed that it hurt his heart just to look at her – knowing that *he* had made her look at him like that.

“I don’t even *want* to have sex with you, Xander!” she said in a voice of incredulous disbelief. “Do you realize what that means? How bad this is?” she demanded in a trembling, tearful voice.

Her simple, honest way of speaking made her words all the more painfully effective.

Yeah, coming from Anya – that meant it must be pretty freakin’ bad.

“Anya,” he said in a near whisper, holding her gaze with deep, sorrowful brown eyes, as he moved in as close as he dared. “Honey – I am *so*…*sorry*. I don’t know why I did such a stupid thing! I don’t know why I didn’t – why I didn’t come after you, and went after Buffy instead, Anya – why I couldn’t – couldn’t make up my mind…”

His frank wording reminded him suddenly, with a sense of alarm, that he was still bound to the absolute truth. But then, he reminded himself – maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing, after all.

Maybe it was actually of the good.

Maybe it was time *everything* came out in the open between them. They couldn’t go into a marriage hiding things from each other, big things that could later come back to hurt and haunt them for the rest of their lives. It was time to just be completely honest with each other – for better or worse.

He just hoped that when all the cards were on the table, all his frailties and fears revealed to her perusal – she would still choose him.

“Really?” Anya replied bitterly, “ ‘Cause I do! It’s because I’m your second choice, Xander! You’re still secretly in love with her, but it’s all too clear, especially now, that you’ll never be with her—so you *settled* for me!”

“I’m not ‘settling’ for you, Anya! I *love* you!” Xander insisted. “How can I be settling when you’re exactly what I want?”

“You *want* Buffy!” she shot back accusingly.

“Until I met you I didn’t *know* what I wanted!” he nearly exploded, frustration and fear of losing her evident on his face and in his trembling voice.

The surprise in her vulnerable green eyes softened his tone, as he went on, quieter, “I thought I wanted Buffy – but I was only fooling myself, Anya. It’s you that I want – for the rest of my life.”

“You did a pretty good job with the whole fooling yourself thing,” she said in a bitingly sarcastic voice, born of her hurt and jealousy. “You even fooled me!”

“Anya – I’ll admit to you – I loved Buffy, for a long time, long before I ever met you. She was always just this – this beautiful, strong – completely unattainable woman…” Xander tried to explain.

“*So* not helping,* she muttered, rolling her eyes as she turned away from him again before he could see the fresh tears his words were creating.

“No, Ahn,” he said urgently, trying to draw her attention back to him, reaching out to take her arm – relieved when she allowed him to turn her back around to face him. “Please listen to me – it’s like – Buffy was my very first love – you know? You know that first person that you ever really fall for? No matter what else happens for the rest of your life, you kind of – keep them on this pedestal, and it’s not really them, it’s like this – perfect picture of the way you saw them back then – but they’ll always be kind of special in your eyes…you know?”

When she just stared at him with a blank, expectant look that told him that she was still waiting for the part that was supposed to make her feel better, he sighed wearily, looking down for a moment before searching her eyes again.

“You had a first love – didn’t you?” he asked, almost timidly.

“Yes,” she answered flatly with a little shrug. “Really wasn’t all that great. He was an unfaithful creep and I turned him into a troll.”

“Yes, but,” Xander continued a bit impatiently – wondering briefly at how frighteningly normal that statement sounded to him after living all his life on the Hellmouth, “you actually got to be with your first love, for a while,” he pointed out, a bit awkwardly. “You got to see all the flaws. I never did. So – I guess a part of me just kind of – kept Buffy up there on this pedestal, like this – I don’t know – I know I’m messing this whole thing up – do you kinda get what I’m trying to say though?”

He gave her a hopeful, sheepish, questioning look – that was met with the same calm, blank stare.

“Yes, Xander,” she snapped back, her voice slowly rising in incredulity at his words. “You’re expecting me to somehow believe that if you could be with *Buffy* for a little while, then it will help you to love *me* better! That it’d be good for our relationship! You’re actually expecting me to *believe* this crap?”

“No! I mean yes – I mean – it’s not crap, Anya – and I *don’t* want to be with Buffy!” Xander protested, fighting back his own temper at her apparent refusal to understand. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter! I love *you* -- not Buffy. I can see that now. What I thought I felt for Buffy was never anything more than a fantasy. What we have, Anya – that’s real.”

He paused, his voice soft and earnest as he continued, meeting her eyes imploringly, “I’ve never felt for anyone what I’ve felt for you, Anya. Buffy may have been my first love – but you – you’re my last, Anya. This is it. Me and you -- *forever*, honey. And I don’t want anyone else.”

Anya’s eyes widened as she took in his demeanor – gentle and humble and pleading – his words full of a love and affection that a part of her still thirsted for desperately – and then, her eyes narrowed in suspicious recognition.

“Now, where have I seen this before?” she spat out bitterly. “Let me think – oh, right! On the faces of a thousand different liars, philanderers and abusers – right before I ripped their entrails from their bodies and shoved them right back down their throats!”

Xande recoiled slightly from the vivid imagery, alarmed – and the sad accepted that suddenly flooded Anya’s eyes, wiping out the anger, sent a pain through his heart worse than anything she had said.

“You don’t love me, Xander,” she said, shaking her head. “The only way you can even convince yourself that you do is to pretend that the greater part of my existence -- *didn’t* exist.”

Her eyes welled with tears, but her jaw set in a firm line as she went on quietly, in a trembling voice of hurt accusation, “You think you can just come in here and spout of a bunch of pretty words and beautiful promises that you won’t be able to keep, and make this all better just like that?” She snapped her fingers, shaking her head slowly in denial of the idea. “It doesn’t work that way. I’ve heard it all before, Xander…”

“But I mean it, Anya! Every word! Ahn – I couldn’t lie to you if I tried! The…”

“Stop, Xander.”

She cut him off firmly, pausing for a moment to collect her thoughts, before going on softly, “You constantly put me down. You tell me all the time how I’m not normal – how much I embarrass you – sometimes the way that you look at me…” She shook her head slowly, trying to find words for her painful emotions. “…as if – as if you’re not really sure who I am – Xander – how can you marry me when I make you so scared and unhappy all the time?”

“*You* make *me*…?” he echoed incredulously, shaking his head in disbelief. “Anya – I worry every day if I’m going to be able to make you happy – to live up the expectations you must have after so long – to be the man that an amazing woman like you deserves! If you catch me looking at you funny – it’s because I can’t believe that you’re actually mine – that *I’m* going to get to spend the rest of my life with someone as incredible as you…”

“That’s very easy to *say*, Xander,” she dismissed his heartfelt words in a sad, tired voice, though she longed to embrace them – and him. “It’s easy to lie when you think you’re sparing someone’s feelings.”

“But that’s just it, Anya! I can’t lie to you! Not tonight! Because of this whole vengeance truth spell…”

Anya frowned, confused. “What vengeance truth spell?” she asked.

Xander was a bit taken aback. “Um – the truth spell that’s been over everyone at Buffy’s party all night? Turns out Dawn accidentally made a wish to a vengeance demon that nobody could keep secrets from each other.”

Anya shook her head, her expression surprised but calm. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Ahn, how could you not notice?” Xander asked, disbelieving again. “Everyone was just blurting out their deepest darkest secrets, saying whatever was the first thing that popped into their heads, just being completely and brutally blunt and honest….”

He stopped suddenly.

“No, wait – never mind, you *wouldn’t* have noticed.”

The brief flash of hurt in Anya’s eyes as she pulled away took him by surprise. He had only been trying to lighten the mood a bit with his teasing.

“See, that’s what I’m talking about! You’re always making fun of me, Xander – pointing out what a bad human I make!” she declared in frustration, turning away from him again.

“No, Anya – I was only teasing – that’s one of the things I love about you! Really! How totally real and open you are…” He paused, suddenly looking a bit surprised by his own words. “See? I *have* to mean it!” he laughed, nervous and hopeful at the same time.

Anya stared at him for a moment, processing the truth of what he was telling her.

“Anya,” he pressed gently toward her, taking her arms in his hands and gazing into her eyes. “I’m telling you right now, and you know it’s the truth. I love you – more than anyone else, ever. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. And if you ask me to choose between you and *anyone* else – I’ll never make the same mistake again. I’ll *always* choose you – I promise.”

She looked up at him a bit dubiously, her expression oddly unreadable.

“We – need to get to the house. If it’s a vengeance wish then they could be in real danger,” Anya said abruptly, changing the subject as she pulled out of his gentle grasp and turned toward the door.

“But – Anya – we need to talk about this!” Xander insisted. “You know I mean it, right?”

Anya stopped at the door, glancing back over her shoulder at him, hesitating before she replied. “Yes,” she said finally. “I know you mean it.”

“Then – why do you need time – if you know that I mean it?” he asked, his voice small and fearful.

God, if he still lost her, after all this…!

Anya was silent for a moment before giving her answer, just before leading the way out the door.

“I need time – to figure out how much difference that makes.”

And without another word, she headed out the door, making her way back towards Buffy’s house.

And in an ironic, poetic justice-y reverse of their usual positions -- all he could do was follow in her wake.

“Bloody hell, Buffy – you have no idea how much I *want* to try again.”

The Slayer’s emerald eyed lit up with hope at the heartfelt yearning in his words. She leaned forward automatically toward him, her hands reaching to take his arms and draw him nearer to her. To her surprise and dismay he drew back quickly away from her before she could touch him.

“*But*…” he went on firmly, pointedly, though holding her gaze unflinchingly, willing her to understand – bravely facing the disappointment and hurt in her eyes at his words, in a way she had never had the courage to do when their positions had been reversed. “…I don’t know if I can, Buffy – not yet.”

Buffy visibly, physically withdrew from him; he could actually see her close up into herself, her arms crossed defensively – but not angrily – over her chest, her eyes downcast and her cheeks flushed slightly with embarrassment and shame. He wanted to say something to ease her hurt – but did not know if he was capable of it at the moment. All he could say right now would be the truth.

And the truth in this particular situation was and always had been painful.

“Wow,” she said flatly after a moment, shaking her head slightly. “I – I had no idea…I mean…” she broke off her rambling suddenly, looking up at him with wide, honest eyes full of sorrow and remorse. “I’m so sorry, Spike…”

“I know, Buffy, I really do…it’s just…”

“No – for – for doing *this* to you…over and over,” she clarified, holding his gaze with a slightly bewildered look of dawning understanding in her eyes. “Because *this* -- this back and forth, yes and no, now I want you, now I don’t crap – it hurts. Bad.”

He did not respond for a moment, surprised by her statement.

Buffy gave a little half-shrug, not quite able to pull off indifference, looking down at the porch between them. “I deserve it – I know I do – it’s all I ever did to you…”

“Buffy,” he cut her off, gently but firmly, moving in close to her and catching her arms in his hands, trying desperately to focus her attention back on him before her hurt and embarrassment at his rejection took her beyond his reach. “Buffy, no – that’s *not* what this is.”

She met his eyes again, questioning, imploring and uncertain, but did not say a word.

Now, he found that he was the one who could not look at her, his eyes lowering to the rough wood of the porch between them. “Buffy,” he tried again to make her understand what he was trying to say. “I *do* want you. I always want you – and that’s not bloody likely to change, even if I wanted it to.”

“Do you?” she asked, her voice soft and calm, and yet heavy with the weight of her fear of what his answer would be. “Want it to change?”

Spike was silent for a long moment. Finally he replied quietly, evenly, “Sometimes.”

Buffy swallowed hard, and Spike could smell the salt of her tears even before he looked up to see them glistening in her eyes. A part of him wanted to apologize, to tell her he hadn’t meant it, he was privileged to have ever been with her and would not take back a moment of it – but another part was grateful that the truth spell would not allow him that lie.

And maybe, he realized, looking into her stricken, pain-filled – but finally understanding – eyes…maybe…that was as it should be.

She needed to know.

He looked down between them again, opening his mouth to speak, his voice coming out hoarse and achingly vulnerable, sending a stab of remorse and guilt through the Slayer’s heart at his simple, honest words.

“You hurt me, Buffy. So much. Again and again…and sometimes…sometimes I just wish I could forget you – wish I could never have come here, never have known you, never wanted you – just because then – then you couldn’t hurt me, Buffy.”

The tears fell from her eyes then, at that quiet confession, reminding her once again of how shamefully she had treated him, when he had only ever wanted to love her. Although the words sounded useless to her, a hollow echoing of the depth of feeling in her heart, she couldn’t help but whisper, “I’m sorry…”

He hardly heard her, as he went on, his eyes wide and focused just beyond her, as he remembered their painful, tumultuous relationship. “…and yet,” he continued in a voice barely over a whisper, “yet…there’s a part of me that’s still so bloody desperate for you – still hears your voice when you’re not there – still hopes every time my bloody door opens that it’s you…misses you so much…”

He lowered his head, but not before she saw the single tear that escaped down his cheek, as he whispered in a voice that ached with sorrow and loneliness and despair.

“I still need you, Buffy.”

The fact that the feelings for her that he still held could fill him with such pain and despair was overwhelming to Buffy. She felt the slow ache that had been building in her chest intensifying, until she felt that her heart would burst under the pressure of her guilt and shame, mingling with the intense love she felt for Spike.

How could she ever have denied it?

“Spike,” she whispered, edging nearer, trying to regain eye contact. “you *have* me – now. And – and for the rest of my life. I promise you, Spike – if you’ll just give me the chance to love you – I’ll never make you regret it again.” She paused, smiling a bit sadly into tentative tear-filled blue eyes that rose to meet hers. “And you *know* that’s the truth.”

“I know you mean it,” he corrected softly, searching her eyes, his own wide and solemn. “I *don’t* know it’s the truth. There *is* a difference, love.”

She understood what he was saying, though she was certain that in this case, there *was* no difference. She could very well intend to do as she said, and still let him down later – but she knew that that was not going to happen. It had taken a long time, and a lot of heartache for both of them, though mostly for Spike.

But Buffy had learned her lesson.

If she could only ever get Spike back – she would never be foolish enough to let him go again.

“I know,” she replied softly. “And – I’m not promising that I’ll never make a mistake. But – I’ll never willingly hurt you again, Spike. You have to know that. It took – it took completely losing – the one thing that I needed the most, but didn’t know that I needed it – to realize how much I *did* need it – to really appreciate it.”

Her awkward wording caused a slight frown in his fine features, as he tried to follow the twisting path her statement had taken. She smiled affectionately, raising a hand to touch his cheek and draw his uncertain eyes to hers again.

“*You*, Spike,” she clarified gently. “I need *you*. And I promise you, I’ve learned my lesson. I won’t hurt you again…”

“You – you might not mean to,” he countered, his voice hesitant and unsure, and she knew that she was getting through to him, though he was still a little afraid to accept what she was offering. “You might want me now – because you feel like you can’t have me at the moment. But – but I’ll never be – never be good enough for you in your eyes, Buffy.”

“And one day – you’re gonna remember that I’m *not* the man you’ve hoped for all your life – and I won’t be able to blame you, Buffy – but that won’t make it hurt any less. I just – I just don’t know if I can – if I can set myself up for that much bloody pain, love. I just – I just don’t know,” he finished miserably, his eyes downcast and closed, his head bowed as tears streaked his face.

Buffy leaned instinctively toward him, her head bowing to rest against his, her heart aching with what she had done to him – how badly she had shaken the foundations of his courage and confidence – how thoroughly she had broken him.

“Spike,” she whispered, her words coming out slow and even, in a voice that was heavy and thick with her tears, as she tried to choose just the right ones to express what she was feeling. “I wish you could trust me right now. I wish I could make you believe that I’ll never hurt you again. But – I know – it took more than words to destroy your trust in me – and it’s gonna take more than words to build it back up again, too.”

“But,” she went on, pulling back slightly and attempting to meet his eyes again, though he was still reluctant to look up at her, and completely reveal his emotional reaction to her eyes. “I wanna do that, Spike. I want to earn your trust back – step by slow, painful step.”

When he did not look up at her, Buffy lowered her head to rest against his again – and they were both quiet for a long moment, each fighting back tears, neither daring to look at the other, engulfed in a wave of powerful emotions that swept over them, carrying them away beyond their control.

What remained to be seen was whether that wave would bring them together – or tear them apart forever.

“I want to show you that I mean what I’m saying, Spike,” Buffy went on, her voice more controlled now, but still low and heavy with the depth of her emotions. “I want to – to patrol with you, and have you know that I’ll have your back, not just count on you to have mine. I want to take you where my friends are, and treat you like my equal, respected, cherished partner – let them and you both see that you’re *not* beneath me – never were – and that anyone who wants to be a part of my life is just going to have to accept that you’re a very big part of it. If – if you still want to be,” she added, her words ending in a soft sob, her hand rising to stroke softly through the hair at the back of his head, in a tender caress.

“I want to hold your hand and kiss you in public, where everyone can see what you are to me – I want you to know that you can tell me anything, and I’ll never say a word if you don’t want me to, and always love you just the same -- I want to wake up with you morning after morning after morning, until finally, one day you know that *every time* you wake up – I’m still gonna be there,” she whispered, her every word infused with the sorrow and pain of knowing how she had hurt him by making him believe that she had left him alone.

The pain of that memory filled him as well, at her words, and he drew in a sharp breath, swallowing back an anguished sob as tears washed down his face like rain. Buffy’s hand slid around to gently rub the tears away from his cheek with her thumb, without raising her head.

“I love you so much, Spike,” she whispered earnestly, her tone leaving no doubt as to her sincerity, “and all I want is to start right now and spend the rest of my life loving you. But – but I know that – it can’t be like that. Not – right away. I know you still need time – to be sure. I know I have to prove that I’m worthy of your trust, Spike – because I wasn’t before.”

She paused, thinking her words out carefully, before going on in a soft, still, tentative voice, “But – but Spike – there’s no way that I can prove that I deserve your trust – if you don’t give me a little to begin with.”

She did not say anything else right away, and he was silent, taking in those stunning, profoundly simple words. He wondered why he had not considered that point before.

She was right, of course.

He could hope that she had changed, he could hear her say it over and over again, but until he actually *gave* her some treasured piece of his heart, his devotion, again – there was no way of knowing what she might do with it.

He could not bring himself to speak, his trembling lips parted and breathing hard, as he struggled for control of his emotions. He knew she was right – wanted to give her what she was asking…but…

“I’m just so bloody scared, Buffy,” he whispered, shaking his head slightly against hers, before slowly pulling back and meeting her eyes, his own red and glistening with tears. “I’m so scared to – to let you in…”

“I know,” she whispered back, holding his gaze unflinchingly. “I know, Spike. I understand if you – if you can’t. It’s just – if you don’t *ever*…then…” Her voice trailed off, as her pretty features shifted into an apologetic little grimace, her eyes searching his for understanding.

He nodded, drawing in a deep breath. “I know,” he sighed softly. “I know, Buffy.”

They were both quiet for a long moment, and the weight of the decision that the vampire had to make became heavier on the Slayer’s heart with each passing moment. She somehow sensed that he was struggling over the issue in his heart, his mind, trying to come to a decision, to muster up the courage to test her words.

His full, trembling lips parted to speak – and Buffy thought that in that moment, her heart stopped completely.

“Okay – so where’s the vengeance demon?”

Anya’s harsher than usual voice instantly shattered the atmosphere that had built between the two former lovers, and they both looked up self-consciously to see the former vengeance demon and her fiancé heading quickly up the walkway.

Buffy tried not to let her heart shatter as Spike immediately shifted back away from her, turning so that his knees were no longer facing hers – effectively placing a distance between them for the eyes of her friends.

Although she knew it should not surprise her, it hurt to think that even after all she had just said to him, all she had said to her friends earlier that evening, a part of him still believed that she would not want them to see her so close to him.

“Haven’t seen her tonight,” Spike replied calmly to Anya’s question, not quite looking at her or the Whelp as he stood to his feet on the porch step, and then stepped down onto the ground, sniffing back tears and wiping quickly at his eyes in a gesture that could as easily have been rubbing at them because they were tired. “Though she must have been here at some point. The Niblet made the wish at her school today.”

“Wait – this was *Dawn’s* wish?” Anya clarified.

“I told you that already,” Xander whined, an insecure note to his voice as he reminded her of what he had told her earlier.

“Yeah, well, I was trying to pretend you weren’t there,” Anya shot back matter-of-factly before turning her attention back to Spike and Buffy. “Anyway – kid with hurt feelings makes a wish against her caretaker – think I know who we’re dealing with here,” she said.

Without warning she raised her voice to a near yell, stepping back away from the others and looking up at the sky as if expecting the demon to materialize there.

“*Hallie*!” she snapped. “Get out here!”

With an over-dramatic puff of smoke and a heavy, put-upon sigh, Halfrek materialized before the astonished little group on the Slayer’s front porch, standing impatiently right in the midst of them.

Well – all but Anya were astonished.

“Hallie, just what do you think you’re doing?” she demanded in irritation, crossing her arms over her chest and raising her eyebrows expectantly in an expression she had practiced on her fiancé a few minutes before. “Did you actually *curse* us?” There was a disbelieving reproach in her voice directed at her friend.

Halfrek blinked, honestly puzzled, as much the picture of wide-eyed innocence as a hideously veiny, evil demon could be.

“Curse *you*, Anyanka? Well – no – um…were *you* in the Slayer’s house, dear?” She seemed genuinely confused by the situation, unsure of how the curse had managed to affect her best friend.

“Well, yes,” Anya replied blankly, as if Halfrek should obviously have assumed that already. “My fiancé is kind of her best friend. Well -- *was* her best friend. And -- *was* my fiancé. I’m not really sure if he’s actually either at the moment,” she amended matter-of-factly.

“Oh, I’m so glad,” Hallie replied, reaching out a companionable hand to rest on Anya’s arm, completely sincere in her satisfaction that her friend had finally come to her senses.

“Hey!” Xander started to protest, even as Anya uncomfortably smiled at her friend and freed her arm.

“Shut up, Xander,” she and Buffy chorused in near perfect unison.

“You *know* her?” Buffy turned to Anya, eyes wide with surprise.

“Well, I *was* a vengeance demon for a thousand years, Buffy!” Anya reminded her with a careless little shrug. “We worked together for a long time. Hallie’s been my best friend for – what’s it been now, Hallie, a hundred years?” she guessed casually.

“More,” Halfrek remarked, nodding in agreement to the basic idea of her friend’s words. “Honestly, Anyanka, if I’d had any idea that *you* were in this house…”

“That’s her!” Dawn suddenly declared from the doorway – and Buffy suddenly wondered how she had noticed the demon’s presence so quickly – unless she had been watching the little scene that had taken place on the porch between her and Spike, from her bedroom window.

Which would not have surprised Buffy in the least.

Dawn was the only one of all her loved ones who seemed to completely support her pursuit of the vampire.

“Buffy, that’s her! That’s the woman from…”

“We know,” Buffy cut her off tersely, turning her attention back to Halfrek. “She did this to us. And now she’s going to *un*-do it. Isn’t she?” She fastened her best Slayer glare on Halfrek, a pointedly questioning look on her face.

“Well, I’m not so sure about that actually, Sweetie,” Halfrek corrected in a sugary sweet voice, the flash of anger in her eyes revealing just how much she disliked Buffy’s manner. “That’s not really the way it works.”

“It is tonight,” Buffy shot back, determination in her voice, as she took a threatening step toward the vengeance demon.

“Oh, please!” Halfrek scoffed. “I could teleport out of here before you could move another step, Sweetie! I’m *so* not scared of you, even if you *are* the Slayer. And besides,” she continued, looking toward Dawn, with a certain softness of compassion in her eyes. “I don’t care who you are or what your excuse is – this child was hurting. All I’ve done is to help her.”

“But you *haven’t* helped me!” Dawn snapped, her blue eyes blazing with fury. “All you’ve done is to get me into the worst trouble I’ve ever been in, in my whole entire life! Now my sister knows all *my* secrets, too – and you have *no* idea how bad that is,” she declared with a dark little laugh, shaking her head. “Besides,” she added, “I never asked for your help, anyway. At least – I didn’t mean to…”

“Hmm,” Halfrek mused carelessly, a slightly defensive note to her light voice showing that she was more than a little offended by the Slayer’s threats and her sister’s lack of appreciation for what she had done. “That’s not *my* fault. I was trying to help you, Dawnie…”

“Don’t call me Dawnie!” Dawn snapped, taking a step toward the vengeance demon herself, though Buffy caught her arm and pulled her back.

At that point, Spike became angry at the whole scenario. Here this strange demon was, intruding in all of their lives, messing with their minds and emotions, and then treating it so lightly, as if she had done nothing wrong, as if it didn’t even matter. Buffy and Dawn were both terribly upset, and his emotions were already on edge from the intense, dramatic conversation that he and Buffy had not quite managed to finish.

Truth be told, he still felt as if he was on the edge of an emotional meltdown – and he bloody well did *not* feel like dealing with this at the moment!

“Nobody asked for your soddin’ help, and we bloody well don’t need it, so you can just…”

His angry words broke off abruptly as his glistening, red-rimmed sapphire eyes came to focus on the strangely familiar face of the creature before him. Strangely familiar, despite the veins and dark streaks that marked her as other than human…where had he seen her before…?

And suddenly – the mind games, the condescending attitude, the falsely sweet smile and demurity that even after a century she couldn’t quite hide…suddenly, it all made sense.

And Spike felt his heart drop into his stomach, as time seemed to freeze around him, and go spirally backward at breathtaking speed – both at the same time.

“*William*?”

A moment’s silence fell over the group, each staring at the vampire and the vengeance demon in bewilderment.

“You two – know each other?” Buffy asked, her voice coming out somewhat timid and unsure, suddenly, though she felt a flare of jealous anger rising up within her. She knew she had no right, at this point, to question Spike’s friendships, or – or other relationships, but – but who *was* this demon, anyway?

*Maybe it’s time I start slaying…* she thought darkly.

“Yes,” Spike replied almost automatically, even as he was shaking his head emphatically in a “no” gesture that the truth spell would not allow his words to support. He immediately grimaced; he had not intended to be so honest, to acknowledge his history with this vengeance demon, to her or to anyone else. “We knew each other,” he admitted with a sigh, knowing that he had no other choice. “A long time ago. Nothing that matters now.”

Halfrek’s wide-eyed look of disbelieving surprise faded into a soft, though clearly condescending smile, not without a certain amount of nostalgic affection. “My, how time changes things,” she murmured, looking Spike up and down with obvious appreciation. “It’s been a *very* long time, William.”

Strangely, Spike could not hold her gaze when her eyes returned to his – still the same deep, rich brown that he could nearly lose himself in – and he looked away uncomfortably.

Buffy found herself wondering if vengeance demon’s dusted when you staked them, or left a nasty mess to clean up like most demons.

Then she found herself thinking that it didn’t really matter.

She wanted this demon *gone*.

“More tears, I see, William” Halfrek commented in a soft, sympathetic voice that was still somehow cold and mocking. “Have you any pretty poetry to go along with them this time?”

Her carelessly cruel words caught him off guard, and Spike flinched, looking up at her again in startled hurt, unable to find words to respond. But Halfrek thought that she understood the source of the anguished emotions so clearly visible in his expression.

“Still aiming a bit higher than our station, are we, William?” she remarked, taking in the scene with new comprehension, recognizing suddenly who the current object of the affections of the “bloody awful poet” must be. Her smile widened slowly with mean-spirited amusement. “One hundred years and you still haven’t learned?”

Buffy could not possibly have known the history that had passed between these two – how this woman had broken his heart and driven him to his destructive destiny over a century earlier. She had no way of understanding the significance, to Spike, of her cruelly pointed words.

All she knew was that Spike’s tears were flowing down his face again, and she could almost feel the ache of lonely pain and age-old hurt that was so evident in his all-too-expressive blue eyes.

“Excuse me – just who do you think you are?” she demanded, in an angrily challenging tone, stepping protectively between the smirking vengeance demon and the uncharacteristically subdued, emotionally vulnerable vampire, who still had not managed to overcome his shock and hurt enough to respond in his own defense.

“Excuse me?” One eyebrow shot up – or at least Buffy thought it was an eyebrow – causing Halfrek’s hideously veiny face to look nevertheless regal and intimidating. She was clearly ready to take offense at the Slayer’s words and tone.

“Um – Buffy? Vengeance curse? Still in place?” Xander reminded her in a nervous voice. “Maybe it’d be a better idea to *not*…”

“I don’t like you,” Buffy stated, eyes narrowed, looking very scary in her own right as she took another step toward Halfrek, ignoring her friend’s warning and speaking to the demon who was currently attempting to stare her down.

“Um – Buffy…” Anya attempted this time, becoming a bit concerned herself, despite her annoyance with her maybe-not-fiance. She knew her friend well, and she could tell that Halfrek’s temper was rising.

This was a definite clash between two very powerful personalities, poised to become violent at any moment.

“A vengeance demon’s wish granting isn’t her *only* power,” Anya reminded Buffy cautiously. “She’s also very skilled in a fight.”

“I know,” Buffy smiled, her eyes glittering coldly as she took a step toward Halfrek. “Maybe I’m looking for one.”

“Why would you want to fight me?” Halfrek scoffed, looking unconcerned, though her hand flew to her pendant as she watched the Slayer with wary eyes. “What have I done?”

“I’m really not sure,” Buffy admitted with the frank, simple honesty dictated by the curse. “But whatever it is, it’s upsetting Spike, and I love him – which pretty much means I want to kick your butt back to your own dimension without the use of your ugly little necklace.”

“A Slayer in love with a vampire?” Halfrek sneered, her eyes widening with surprise, as she added in a contemptuous voice, her eyes finding Spike again. “*Anyone* in love with *him*? *There’s* a new one.” As an afterthought, as if she had only just registered the words, she frowned, offended. “And my necklace is *not* ugly!”

“Doesn’t come as a shock to me,” Xander muttered darkly from behind her, at the exact same moment.

His words registered with the vengeance demon a moment later, and she turned to look at the dark-haired youth, aghast. Only when Xander realized that Anya and Buffy, and even Spike, were all giving him the same look, did he realize just how the words had sounded.

Defensively looking around at all of them, he quickly amended, “On the *first* count…not the…in love with Spike…count…”

Buffy was the first to recover from the shock of Xander’s ill-timed comment.

Before Halfrek could turn again to face her, she had lunged at the vengeance demon, knocking her forcefully to the ground and plowing her powerful fist into her face. Although the demon probably could have put up a very good fight, she made it her immediate goal just to escape, her hand reaching instantly toward her pendant – her power to go home.

Buffy did not intend to let that happen.

The Slayer gripped the pendant’s chain in her hand and jerked it off in one quick motion, tossing it across the grass, to land at Spike’s feet. Halfrek lunged after it, but her progress was jerked to a halt by the very determined Slayer, who caught her legs and yanked her back across the grass, slamming her fist into her face again.

*Then*, the vengeance demon started to fight back.

Halfrek and Buffy traded blows for a few minutes, neither gaining an obvious upper hand, while Anya and Xander stood back, staying out of their way. Anya’s attention was caught by Spike’s motion, across the lawn from them, as he leaned down to pick up the gaudy jewel on the broken chain that had landed at his feet.

He stared at it for a moment, recognizing the power it gave its bearer to do harm – aware that her power to do harm lay far deeper than in the glittering jewel he held. Still, his eyes suddenly hardened, and his jaw set with determination.

Anya knew immediately what he meant to do, and despite the trouble that Halfrek had caused for them this night, she could not bring herself to wish the same crushing, confusing agony that she had gone through upon being turned human, onto her best friend.

“Spike – no!” she cried out, stepping forward, but unable to get past the grappling pair fighting on the ground in time to stop him.

Spike dropped the gem onto the wood of the porch – and before anyone could stop him, crushed it there under the heavy heel of his boot.

And with it, the power that Cecily’s cruel words had held over him for all those many years.

“Buffy, she’s *human*!” Anya cried out, realizing it was too late to save Halfrek from her fate – only wishing to save her from the surely life-taking blow that Buffy was about to deal her.

The Slayer froze with a horrified gasp, over-correcting and tumbling backward off of the gasping, wide-eyed, confused *woman* on the ground, struggling to pull herself up. Her face was no longer that of a vengeance demon, but of a reasonably pretty brunette, *human* woman.

At least – she *would* have been pretty…if not for the various bruises and cuts that marred her face and arms from the worthy walloping the Slayer had dealt her.

Halfrek struggled to her feet, feeling her arms, looking down at her body in panicked bewilderment, trying to make sense of the suddenly necessary breaths she was drawing in, the human heart that now beat in her chest.

Her wide, fearful eyes rose slowly – to meet the steely blue gaze of the blonde vampire standing beside the porch, regarding her with a cool, calm expression that sent a shiver down her spine, as she realized who was responsible, and how, for her return to the humanity that had once been hers.

The humanity that suddenly, did not seem *enough* for her, somehow.

“You got it wrong, pet,” Spike’s soft voice cut through her thoughts.

Buffy rose slowly to her feet across the lawn, focused on the face of her ex-lover, trying to read the myriad emotions moving across it in a tangled confusion that he could not have put into his words if he had tried – not even with the help of the vengeance curse that had been broken with the demon’s pendant.

“I’m *not* beneath you – not beneath anyone, anymore,” Spike went on in a quiet, certain voice. “Only reason I ever was, was because I let you put me there.”

“Never again,” he added in a voice barely over a whisper, shaking his head as he walked calmly past her, not acknowledging her further, though she turned to follow his movements with her wide, panicked eyes, breathing hard in disbelief over what had just happened.

“William,” she whispered, her voice choked and bordering on tears. “*William*!” she cried out, louder.

But he did not acknowledge her – did not stop, just kept on walking, away from the house, away from the pain and uncertainty of the encounter – just *away* -- to try to make some sense of the muddled, painful tumult of emotions swirling through his mind.

Buffy stood there frozen for a few long moments, not sure how to react – and then suddenly she ran after him, unwilling to let him leave things as they were.

“Spike!” she cried as she caught up to him. “Spike – wait!” She caught his arm, pulling him to a stop and around to face her, halfway down her block.

Not angrily or in a hostile way, Spike pulled his arm out of her grip, turning to continue down the sidewalk. “Not now, Buffy…” he said in a tired voice – again, not angry or hateful or bitter – just so very, *very* tired.

“But Spike – we have to…”

“No, we don’t, Buffy,” he cut her off, his tone a bit shorter now as he stopped and turned to face her. His tone softened when he saw the vulnerable, uncertain look in her wide emerald eyes. “Please – I…” He hesitated, pondering over his words for a moment before finishing gently, meeting her gaze, his own eyes damp with unshed tears, “I know you want an answer, pet…but I can’t rightly give you one ‘til I’ve bloody well found one for myself, can I now?”

She had no response, no choice but to acknowledge the point he was making. She shook her head slowly in reluctant acceptance.

“And I’ve bloody well got to figure out the soddin’ question before I can come up with the answer,” he muttered, shaking his head with a weary, sad smile that faded away as he sighed. “Just – just let me go,” he requested softly, holding her gaze pleadingly for a moment before turning and walking away again down the sidewalk.

And this time, Buffy did not follow him, or try to get him to stop. She did the only thing she *could* do, under the circumstances.

She let him go.

Spike strode quickly down the sidewalk, away from the Slayer’s house, away from the surreal clashing of his past and present heartaches, with no thought for where he was actually headed – he just needed to get *away*…away from the swirling, tumultuous confusion that filled his mind and made his heart ache with a bitter loneliness that had followed him for well over a hundred years.

Finally – only when his legs began to ache with the pace he was keeping and a sense of weakness stole over him that was more emotional than physical – he stopped, simply unable to go any farther at the moment. His mind was spinning, his heart attacked by an ache that was changing from purely emotional to become physical as well, and he could feel the tears welling in his eyes, the hard knot building in his throat.

Without thought for where he was, how careless what he was doing could prove to be, he simply sank to the ground on his knees, in the cemetery he had somehow found his way to, and allowed the deep wrenching sobs rising within him to overwhelm him, shaking his body with the depths of sorrow and confusion and loss that he was feeling, some for recent hurts – and some for injuries his heart had sustained a century ago, that had never been allowed to heal.

After a few moments he realized vaguely that he was only a few feet away from the haven of his own crypt – but it didn’t seem to matter anymore. After turning tail and running away like a bleedin’ coward at the Slayer’s house, he had finally realized the truth of the matter. He could walk away, refuse to face it, try his best to put it off – but it was all to no avail.

It was impossible to flee what was inside him.

Buffy and her uncertainties and need for control that had led to his devastation of a few months back – Cecily or Halfrek or whoever she was, and her cruel rejection that had driven him into the clutches of another, darker, more exotic beauty – that very beauty, who had claimed his life, his soul, and his devotion for over a century, only to throw it away like so much used up garbage the moment the notion took her to look elsewhere for the comfort and affection he had offered her so freely…

It was suddenly, overwhelmingly, all just too bloody much.

He was crying too hard, hurting too deeply, to be aware as the strange demon crept up behind him, intent on taking advantage of this strange stroke of luck, Spike’s unusual state of discomfiture, to take out the traitor, the Slayer’s pet vampire, and earn himself some bragging rights at the demon bars in the next few weeks.

Spike was not aware as the creature advanced on him slowly, not even bothering to take any care to conceal his approach – not aware, as the wooden spear in the creature’s hand was drawn back for the killing blow…

…not aware, as it was silently wrenched from the monster’s hand and run through his own chest by the Slayer’s powerful hand.

Only once the strong smell of the creature’s blood, mingled with the unmistakable scent of Buffy, reached his nostrils, did Spike realize that he was no longer alone with his tears, as he had thought. He looked up, turning slightly to see the Slayer moving slowly toward him, a look of sorrow and compassion in her shining green eyes.

As she neared him, she tossed the bloodied spear to the ground, and his eyes followed it, glancing then behind her at the fallen form of his would-be attacker. His eyes widened as he realized just how near his emotional breakdown had come to bringing about his death – and he could not help but flash back to another such emotional breakdown, a hundred years before, that *had* resulted in his death.

*Just goes to show,* he thought bitterly, as he raised wary, defensive eyes to Buffy’s face. *William’s not dead at all. Bloody ponce is still alive and well and mucking up my unlife!*

“You know,” Buffy said softly, kneeling beside him and meeting his eyes with a gently reproving, smile, “I’ve found you get a lot more mileage out of these big dramatic emotional displays when there’s actually someone around to see them – someone who’s *not* creeping up behind you trying to kill you,” she amended, glancing past him grimly at the still form on the ground behind him.

“It’s a lot safer, too,” she added, her eyes becoming serious as they met his again, and she raised a gentle hand to touch his cheek.

As he studied her expression, keeping his own carefully neutral – not willing yet to give anything more away than he already had -- he found that he was *not* surprised to see the concern, the underlying protective anger in her eyes at his recklessness and the fate that had almost befallen him.

As her thumb stroked a slow, soothing circle on his cheek, without meaning to or even realizing that he was doing it, he found that he was leaning into the touch of her hand, his eyes falling closed as he swallowed back a fresh sob that rose unexpectedly in his throat, his emotions further heightened by the tender sympathy she was showing him.

Buffy took his reaction as permission, and slid in closer to him, wrapping her free arm firmly around his waist and drawing him in closer to her, as her hand at his cheek rose to run slowly through his tousled blonde curls.

She knew what the rules were – knew that she was breaking them – but somehow, she knew that in this moment, that was what she *had* to do.

“I thought I told you to let me go,” Spike said in a hoarse, weary voice without anger or accusation, a part of him still intent on not giving in to her – not yet.

However, he reminded himself with a certain level of self-derision, the fact that he was utterly unresisting, leaning into her embrace, resting his head on her shoulder, even as he protested her very presence with his words, probably served to make those words a bit less convincing.

“You did,” she acknowledged calmly with a nod, before adding firmly, “But I saw how upset you were – and I was afraid something like this might happen.” She paused, before declaring softly, “I’m *glad* I didn’t listen to you.”

She gently shifted away from him a bit, forcing him to raise his head and reluctantly look at her. “Don’t ever do anything like that again – okay?”

He stared at her for a moment, trying – really trying – to muster up some genuine defiance and some of his trademark snarky wit, to remind her that he was not yet agreeing to anything.

He couldn’t even come close to managing it – not tonight.

“Okay,” he agreed softly, lowering his head again to her shoulder.

His mind kept warning him away from allowing this to happen – kept reminding him that this was how he had gotten into this mess in the first place…but deep down, his heart knew that there was no risk here. His acceptance of her comfort was every bit as instinctive and natural, in this moment, as her offering it, in spite of the rules he had set, had been.

They sat there together in silence for a few moments, Buffy simply holding him close to her, running a soothing pattern through his hair with her fingertips, his arms gently returning her embrace, without the restraint or caution that had marked all of their communication lately, as he allowed himself to draw strength from her, and gradually regained control of his emotions.

Buffy didn’t dare make a sound, or even move too much, for fear of somehow startling him back to his senses, and shattering this perfect moment. Her heart soared with hope as she simply relished the closeness that Spike was allowing – that he had not allowed in so long.

God, it felt like forever!

“I love you, Buffy.”

She felt her heart do a funny little flip that was a combination of joy at his softly whispered admission – and regret at the desolate acceptance she heard in his voice – as if loving her was a dreadful sentence that he was forever doomed to carry out.

Perhaps, in some part of his mind -- it was.

“I try to stop,” he went on softly, his treacherous eyes buried against her shoulder, where he knew that they could not betray the depth of his emotion. “I know I should – know it’s gonna bloody kill me one day – but I can’t stop loving you, Buffy, no matter how hard I try!”

“Please,” she whispered earnestly, tears streaking her face as she pulled him desperately closer to her, rocking slightly without really meaning to in a comforting motion, though she really wasn’t sure which of them she was trying to comfort. The icy tendrils of fear slowly wound their way around her heart at his words – fear of losing him, again.

“Please *don’t* try!” she pleaded, her whisper breaking over the poignant words.

He did not reply, simply clung to her, holding her to him desperately, as if she was his lifeline – but they both knew that she was not.

She was the water in which he was drowning.

After a moment, she pulled away slightly, turning toward him and earnestly seeking his downcast, tearful gaze. “Spike,” she whispered, gently tipping his head up in an attempt to get him to meet her eyes. “You don’t have to stop loving me to stop hurting. I promise you, Spike – if you’ll just give me the chance…”

He shook his head slowly, pulling away, albeit reluctantly, from her gentle hands. “Love hurts, Buffy,” he whispered with a dark finality of resignation to his soft, quiet voice. “I know it now; there’s no getting around that for me. When it comes to me and my bloody miserable existence – love is pain.”

“Well of course it is,” she replied without hesitation, her hand rising to touch his face, her intense, piercing gaze drawing his eyes back up to hers, “if you just give and give and give all you’ve got and never get it back!”

He had no answer for those unexpectedly insightful words, so he simply looked down at the ground between them, thinking through what she had just said, allowing it to sink in.

“Spike,” she whispered in a tender voice full of compassion and affection, one hand on his arm drawing him in nearer, the other coming to rest under his chin, tipping his head up slightly so that her wide, upturned eyes could search his with a deep, honest look of regret and tenderness.

Once he finally, reluctantly, met her gaze, she went on softly, in a voice of sorrow and compassion.

“She rejected you – didn’t she? You loved her – and she rejected you,” Buffy guessed at the nature of his connection to Anya’s friend, now the *other* ex-vengeance demon.

There was a stunned sort of disbelief in her voice, as if her mind could barely comprehend the concept that the gorgeous, flawless creature with such a loving, generous heart could have been nothing but passed over time and again by all those he had sought to love.

The fact that she herself had passed over him for so long was a bitter irony that they both tried not to think about at the moment.

The silent sob that left his lips, as he lowered his head, caught off guard by the simple, painful truth of her words, was all the response that she needed to know that her assumption had been correct. No one had ever cherished this incredible creature, ever loved him and made him feel worthy, *deserving* of the love that he longed for, and gave so freely.

If he would only let her – she wanted to change that forever.

“Spike – you are *so incredible*,” she spoke in a soft, slightly awed voice, as she edged nearer to him, her arm resting gently around his waist, though not insisting on drawing him nearer, not attempting to push him to meet her eyes again. His emotions were too raw, too deep and painful, to allow him to make himself that vulnerable at the moment – and she would not attempt to force him.

“She must have been out of her mind -- *I* must have been…” Buffy’s voice trailed off, and she shook her head slowly. “You’re the most amazing, strong, beautiful *man* I have ever known, Spike,” she told him in a soft, certain voice, speaking clearly and emphatically, wanting to leave no room for doubt in his mind.

“The way you love – so completely – with everything you have to give – Spike, it’s amazing. *You’re* amazing. And the fact that in your whole life, no one has ever made you feel that way – that way that only you have *ever* made me feel…”

Her words broke off again – but he did not fill the silence with an objection, did not in any way indicate that she was wrong.

Because, as much as both of them would have liked to believe that she was -- she wasn’t.

Tenderly, Buffy tipped his chin up again, his lips nearly brushing hers as she did, they were sitting so near to each other. His clear blue eyes, vulnerable and uncertain, searched hers for the security he needed, as she tried to tell him without words how deeply she meant what she was saying.

“It’s a crime, Spike. An unspeakable shame – that no one’s ever appreciated the – the wonderful person that you are,” she whispered, holding his gaze firmly, the intensity in her eyes not allowing him to look away. She was quiet for a moment, staring into his eyes intently, before adding in an earnest, emphatic voice of yearning that took his breath away,

“I *want* to. I want to show you, Spike – the way that you *should* be loved – what you deserve. The fact that love doesn’t have to hurt. If you’ll only let me – please – let me show you, Spike…”

His fearful blue eyes focused on hers in uncertainty and wonder, desperately longing to believe her – scared to death of what might happen if he did.

“I – I want that, Buffy – I want you to,” he whispered, an aching need in his hushed, trembling voice. “I want *you* -- so much – but…”

He broke her gaze, his breath catching in his throat, as he shook his head, unable to both continue, and keep control of his emotions, at the same time.

“You’re scared,” she finished for him, nodding in solemn understanding, her hand gently caressing his cheek as she tried to coax his gaze back up to hers. “I know – and it’s my fault…”

“Not – just yours,” he admitted in a soft, lost sort of voice, not raising his eyes to hers. “Every – every bloody time…”

Again he found that he could not finish, shaking his head as he swallowed back a sob of hurt and confusion, loss and rejection. Deep in his wounded, broken heart, he wondered desperately why no one he had loved and sought after over the past century and a half had *ever* seen fit to love him in return.

What was so ugly and wrong about him, that he was so thoroughly unlovable?

“Spike,” she urged him gently, her hands moving to his waist to draw him nearer to her, “let me be the *last* time. Let me love you, Spike. You’ve shown me what it means to love someone – to really love them…” She paused, waiting, until he drew hesitant, tearful eyes up to hers again, shining with a light of barely birthed hope as she finished in a voice of quiet intensity.

“Let me show *you* -- what it is to be *loved*, Spike. Please – please let me…”

It sounded like a beautiful dream – an impossibility. At this point in his life, he could hardly imagine that it could be. But she was looking at him with such simple honesty, such tenderness and compassion in her soft, emerald eyes.

God, how he wanted it to be true!

“Buffy,” he interrupted her, his eyes wide and stricken with fear and hope mingled together. “If you – if I let you in – if you – hurt me again…” He shook his head, unable to bring himself to finish. “It would – I couldn’t…”

“I won’t,” she assured him gently, a promise in her eyes. “Spike, I *won’t*. I’m not just – setting you up to fall again. I *love* you – and I’m *not* gonna let you down again. I promise, Spike. Please – please just give me a chance…”

As the words fell from her lips, slowly and clearly, emphasizing each one to be sure that he understood how completely she meant them, Spike found his attention gradually becoming torn between the beautiful, hope-inspiring words she was speaking – and the flawless lips that were speaking them.

It had been so bloody long since he had kissed those lips.

The words slowly trailed off as she realized where he was looking – leaving his attention suddenly undivided.

He could feel it – his need for her, the connection they shared – drawing him in, consuming him, leaving him with little choice but to give in to the beauty of surrender to those soft, warm, inviting lips, inches from his own. The enticement of her tender, heart-felt words – the desperate desire to accept them – the tantalizing temptation of her nearness – it was all swiftly becoming too much to resist.

Even as he felt himself edging nearer to her, his body moving almost of its own accord, he felt a sense of panic creeping into him. Once he did this – took this step – he knew there would be no turning back. He had been without her for so long, longing and alone – once he had allowed himself to taste her kiss again, he knew that he would have placed his heart at her mercy once more, would be incapable of escaping again.

“Buffy,” he whispered in a tremulous, pleading voice, his hands finding her arms, shaking as he tried – failed – to make himself push her back. “Buffy – please…”

He could hear her heartbeat quicken, racing in time with her rising desire, as her gentle hands pulled him in closer. If he had actually been trying to escape, he could not have broken her grip.

But if he had actually been trying to escape – she would have let him go.

“Spike,” she whispered, his name coming out in a desperate, broken gasp, “Please -- *trust me*…”

He wanted to – oh, how he wanted to!

“I love you,” she whispered, leaning in closer, her lips parted and pleading. “I love you, Spike…*please*…”

In that instant, time seemed to freeze for the blonde vampire, poised on the edge between trust and doubt, wanting so desperately to accept that what she was offering him was real and genuine – terrified that he would do so, only to find that it was not.

He had a choice.

He could surrender to the familiar, long-missed heat of her embrace, the siren’s call that would lead him to either the bliss she promised, *real* love like he had never before experienced – or to the doom of the eventual rejection that seemed to be his fate, no matter how desperately he tried to hold onto the one that he loved.

Or, he could refuse her pleas, stay away from her, where he knew it was safe, away from the fire – but cold and empty and lonely – and never know the heat of her passion again. If he made that choice, she could never again break his heart – but he would never know if she had ever intended to – ever would have.

“Let me give you this, Spike,” Buffy whispered imploringly, breathless with her longing for him, her eyes closed as she leaned forward and rested her head against his. “Please – I want to give you -- *everything* -- *myself*, Spike. Please let me love you…let me…”

The heat of her love, her passion, so real and sincere and intense, called to him – and he could not deny her, regardless of the danger to his often-wounded heart. The creature of love and passion that he was could not resign himself to an existence without the one his heart burned for – and the man who loved her so deeply could not reject her – not when she was here before him, begging him simply to accept her love.

When the Slayer reacted to his subtle, barely visible cues, and leaned forward, unable to resist any longer, boldly moving in to claim his mouth with her own, the allure of what she had promised, something that had never been his before – real, genuine love – drew him to accept the advance, and then return her kiss – tentatively at first – and then, fervently.

Whether to the bliss she had promised, or to his own destruction, only time would tell for sure – as Spike surrendered to the flames.

Buffy could almost have believed that she was in heaven again.

After several long months of being without him, of longing for him and yet knowing that she had lost him, possibly forever – here he was, finally in her arms. His cool, smooth lips sought hers hungrily, returning the kiss she had initiated with an intense fervor, as if trying to make up for all the time they had lost due to her tragic mistake.

He had been wanting *her*, too, she realized with a sense of relief and satisfaction, mingled with overwhelming joy.

As she pressed in nearer to him, she could feel the rising evidence of his desire for her, straining against the fabric of his jeans – knew that this encounter was quickly nearing the point of no return, reaching a place where neither one of them would be able to stop, even if they knew that they should.

And though a part of her desperately *wanted* it to reach that place, wanted to use this moment to solidify the connection that was slowly reforming between them -- she knew that she could not let things go that far – not here, in the middle of the graveyard, where they would be vulnerable and exposed to any nasty thing that might happen by.

Not here, and – not yet.

“Spike,” she whispered, pushing him gently back away from her, but only a few inches, just enough to break the kiss. “Spike – Spike, wait…”

Reluctantly, he complied, leaning back and looking into her eyes with a question in his hazy, lust-darkened gaze. “What is it, pet?” he asked in a low, husky voice. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she assured him, shaking her head with a small, almost shy smile. “Everything’s – perfect.” She paused, considering her words, before adding softly, with a smile of warmth and tender affection, “And let’s try to keep it that way.”

He tilted his head slightly to the side, his brow creased in a puzzled frown. “Love?” he made the single word a question, not quite understanding what she meant.

She slid in closer to him again, her hands at his hips, her eyes downcast as she thought about what exactly it was that she wanted to say. Spike sensed her uncertainty, and unconsciously mirrored her pose, his hands at her waist, his head slightly bowed, gently swaying just slightly with her, as he waited patiently for her to find the words to go on.

“I messed things up with you last time, Spike – by rushing things. By taking what could have become a beautiful friendship – and turning it into something dark and ugly that I had to be ashamed of – not because it was you,” she hurried to tell him, raising her eyes to his momentarily to be sure he understood, “but because it was *anyone* that I would give my body to, without giving my heart, too.”

She paused, before adding with a bittersweet softness to her voice, “Things could have been so much different – better.”

“We can make them better, this time around, love,” he reminded her, gracefully trying to help her move past her guilt and regret, while not acquitting her of her blame in the matter. “We will…”

“Yes,” she agreed softly, looking up to meet his eyes, “we will…but that means *not* making this all about sex.”

He blinked, a bit surprised by her blunt honesty, but said nothing as he waited expectantly for her to go on.

“I want to get to *know* you, Spike – inside and out,” she explained, a quiet yearning in her voice. “I want to be your friend, before I’m anything else. Yes, I know – we can never really be just friends again,” she amended before he could say anything in protest, “and I never would *want* to do that – but…”

She gazed earnestly into his eyes with a solemn, open expression, as she finished, “I want you to know that I’m going to be here for you in more ways than one. I want this relationship to be built on a stronger foundation this time around.”

Spike nodded slowly, accepting the truth and value of her words, respecting the wise decision she was making. She was right; if they were going to make this work, it had to be done differently this time.

As hard as it might prove to be, they were going to have to take things – slower.

“So,” he said in a low, quiet voice, carefully calm, looking down for a moment before meeting her eyes again, “what do we do now?”

Buffy smiled softly up at him, her love for him shining in her eyes, as she raised up slowly on her toes to kiss him gently, almost chastely, on his slightly parted lips. She drew back then, holding his gaze as she replied in a near whisper.

“We say good night.”

There was a look of longing in his eyes as they searched hers, and he moved unconsciously toward her a bit as she drew back – but he did not argue with her. He knew that she was right – as hard as it would be. And he also knew, with a sense of gratitude, that he would not have been able to resist the allure of the union his heart and body craved with her, if she had not been strong enough to resist it, too.

“Good night, Buffy,” he breathed out with an air of mingled relief and resignation.

“Good night, Spike,” she replied, and turned to go back toward her own house, leaving the slightly bewildered vampire to make his way back into his own crypt a few yards away, to ponder over the whirlwind events of the evening.


Halfrek’s vengeance curse had been broken in an instant, with the crushing of her pendant – but the effects of it took a bit longer to play out, for the guests of the birthday party, that fateful night.

Willow and Tara had continued the open communication that had begun that night, gradually spending more and more time together as they got to know each other again, slowly rebuilding the trust and closeness that had been broken by Willow’s serious, though unintentional, betrayals.

Tara’s leaving had helped Willow to face the fact that she *did* indeed have a problem with magic; and now that she knew it, she was able to accept the loving help that Tara offered her in overcoming her problem. They worked out an arrangement that would make Willow accountable to Tara, for whatever magic she performed, and why.

Willow knew that just *knowing* that she would have to tell Tara about it later, would help her to use more discretion in when and how she used her magic. She knew that it might take a while for things to get back to where they had once been between them – but she was beginning to believe that it might actually be possible to get there, given enough time.

Dawn was not quite as thrilled with the outcome of the vengeance wish she had made, though it had not turned out quite as badly as she had feared, either. When Buffy had returned to the house that night, Dawn had been certain that she was never going to be allowed to leave the house again, after the revelation of *her* little secret.

But strangely, in the end, her sister had seemed more concerned with the revelation of how deeply her emotional absence had been hurting her little sister, then she was with the stealing, that had only been the outward result of Dawn’s pent-up, out-of-control emotions.

Of course, Buffy told her in no uncertain terms that he would be returning what she still had, and paying back every penny of the rest, letting her know that the difficulty of the past year of Dawn’s life, while understandable, did *not* excuse turning to a life of crime. Dawn *was* grounded, and forbidden to go shopping at all, indefinitely, unless Buffy or another adult Buffy trusted was with her.

But then – in the same conversation, Buffy had also promised that she *would* go with her – shopping, or anywhere else she wanted to go – that weekend…and that she would be spending a lot more time at home from now on. While Dawn had rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically that now she would *never* know the taste of freedom again – a secret warmth of relief and reassurance had washed over her with the words.

It almost seemed worth the trouble she had gotten in, just to actually have her sister back again.

Xander and Anya, on the other hand, had not had such unexpectedly positive results from the whole situation.

Anya had told Xander that she still loved him, still wanted to marry him – but simply wasn’t sure at this point if she could…not yet. He had made it very clear to her, desperately, earnestly, that he was now ready to choose her over *anyone* else – he loved her completely, with everything in him.

But the fact that after being with her for several years now, he had only just come to that conclusion, did not tend to make Anya feel comfortable and secure in the idea of getting married on the date they had set, just a few short weeks away.

She surprised everyone – and devastated Xander – when she told him that she would not marry him on the day they had planned.

She told him that she simply needed more time, to be sure that he was ready to *really* commit to her, before she made that ultimate of human commitments, and pledged her life and love to him alone. She *did* love him, she assured him – but she had seen enough to know that sometimes, love was *not* enough to make a marriage work. She wanted to keep dating him, keep working on their relationship, until she was sure that they were both ready.

Surprised at the calm, reasonable manner of the ex-vengeance demon, who had spent a millennium inflicting torture on men who had made lesser mistakes than his, a very humbled Xander had accepted her terms with quiet resignation.

He really had little other choice.

Out of all the individuals affected by Halfrek’s curse – Buffy was sure that she and Spike had made out the best.

The honest, open words that had passed between them that night – both during and *after* the spell – had served to lay a foundation for the two of them to begin to rebuild their mangled relationship. The tense awkwardness that had characterized Buffy’s visits to his crypt – mostly due to his own determinatin not to let her get close – had shattered, leaving them both infinitely more vulnerable…

…but bound together with a closeness they had never shared before.

Buffy made it clear to her friends that Spike was welcome anywhere that she was, and that if he was not welcome – then neither was she. At her encouragement, he began to regularly attend the Scoobie meetings that Buffy started up again, on a regular basis, whether there was a new nasty to deal with or not.

The close knit little group had been drifting apart – and no one had really even noticed it.

But she was determined to get them back together again.

On the nights when everyone else seemed to be off doing other things – which became more and more frequent as Willow and Tara, and Xander and Anya, gradually began to repair their broken relationships – Buffy began to invite Spike over to the house to spend those evenings with her and Dawn.

One of their earliest genuine, open conversations as “friends” had been the one regarding Dawn and the emotional danger she had come to be in without their noticing it. They determined together, as the two adults who loved her more than anyone else did, to help give Dawn the support and affection she had been lacking – ever since her mother had passed on, really.

The common goal they shared, in Dawn’s best interests, only served to draw them closer together.

Although a part of Spike’s mind retained a certain wariness, he had made the conscious *decision* to place his trust in Buffy; and little by little, he began to feel safe and comfortable in the casual, mostly platonic intimacy that was gradually building between him and his former-and-hopefully-future-but-not-present lover. He looked forward to the quiet, comfortable nights at Buffy’s house, spent watching movies, or playing games, or just talking idly until Dawn was ready to go to bed.

The teenage had not seemed so contented and happy in a *very* long time.

After Dawn went to bed, the Slayer and the vampire would sometimes go and patrol together, depending on how tired they were. Sometimes, they would just stay there on the courch and talk, about nothing and everything, and all points in between.

The no-touching rule had fallen by the wayside completely, and their time together was filled with casual affectionate touches – a sideways half-hug as they passed in a doorway – a brief touch to the arm or back while they were talking – sometimes, they would even sit very close together on the courch during or after the movies, and Spike would allow her to rest her head on his shoulder – or rest his on hers.

Buffy cherished these tender, easy moments between them – but she could not deny that she wanted more.

And judging from the physical reaction she felt from him at some of these times, while resting pressed against him on the couch – so did Spike.

But he made no move to take their relationship that crucial step further – and she did not push him to. She knew that he was slowly growing to trust her again, as she took the chance he gave her to prove that she really meant what she had said, that she really did love him. She made a point of making her feelings for him clear in private and in public – letting Spike know that she loved him, and was not ashamed of the fact or of him.

And gradually – he was coming to truly believe it.

The cool, cautious demeanor he had held with her had slowly given way to a warmth and affection that she had never had to work for before, before she had shattered his heart so ruthlessly. Now, she was slowly earning back the right to Spike’s trust and affection, and the truth was – it was a difficult and painfully slow process.

The last thing she wanted to do was spoil it.

For too long, she had used sex as a tool to control and manipulate him, to get him to do what she wanted – and to keep from *really* having to get close to him, to keep from opening up and developing the emotional intimacy he had craved. Now, she knew that physical intimacy had to come *after* she had given herself to him emotionally – and he had given himself to *her* as well. When they finally *did* make love again, she wanted him to know that she had no ulterior motives, that she was doing it solely because she loved him.

And the only way that she could be sure that he would know that, was if she was already sure that she held his trust in every other area.

So it was that she was sitting in her living room a couple of months after the vengeance wish incident, with Spike’s head resting comfortably on her shoulder, and Dawn’s head leaning back against her knees from wher the girl sat on the floor in front of them, watching the credits roll across the television screen at the end of “The Princess Bride”.

And wanting to be doing so much more.

She glanced down at the silky brunette hair spread out in a riotous mass across her knees, and the incredibly relaxed posture of her sister, the dead weight against her legs that indicated that once again, the girl had fallen asleep before the end of the movie.

Spike did not move or speak – seemed content to simply rest his head against her shoulder, one cool hand resting lightly on her leg. The easy familiarity of his simple touch was encouraging.

But, God, how she longed to touch him – a bit less casually!

She wanted to quickly hustle her little sister off to bed, then come back to this couch and kiss him and touch him and make love to him all night, until neither of them was capable of moving anymore.

Of course – she didn’t.

“I think Dawnie’s asleep,” she spoke in a hushed, husky voice, just wanting to break the silence, shifting slightly in her seat.

“Mmmm…” A soft murmur of assent was the only response to her comment; Spike made no move to rise and help her move Dawn to her room – so apparently, he was a bit on the sleepy side himself.

Buffy stifled a little sigh that would certainly have tuned the very perceptive vampire in to her mood.

But then – maybe that would not have been such a bad thing, after all.

“Spike – um…I’ve been thinking,” she began softly, her voice little more than a whisper, so as not to disturb her sister. She knew that Spike would have no trouble hearing her.

“…well,” she went on, a bit hesitantly, “I think maybe it’s time we – tried—taking this thing to the next level – again…you know?” She continued hurriedly, not giving time for the dismissal she feared, going on, “…I know it’s not really been that long, and maybe you’re not ready yet, but…oh God, Spike, it feels like *forever*!” she admitted, almost apologetically.

“…and I really think we’re – we’re *there* now, you know? Or at least – we *could* be there – if you *wanna* be there – because you know *I* want to be there. You *do* wanna be there – don’t you?” Her words trailed off, her voice small and uncertain, as she suddenly wondered if perhaps he *didn’* want to be at that point yet – if perhaps he just wasn’t ready.

Had she scared him off? He was being so quiet – why didn’t he say something?

“Spike?” she said hesitantly – then frowned, puzzled. She pulled away slightly so that she could look down to see his face – and felt the limp, heavy weight of his body slide downward as she moved, rather than supporting himself as she had expected him to do.

He was fast asleep – had been the whole time.

He frowned slightly at the barely registered disturbance, shifting his body down the courch in his sleep, to stretch out and rest his head in her lap – all without waking at all.

Buffy gazed down at the peaceful, contented expression on his face, her fingers moving slowly to run through his hair in an unconscious display of the tenderness she felt for him in that moment. His fine features were smooth and relaxed – and utterly flawless. She could not believe that for so long she had never noticed how – how absolutely *perfect* he was.

*And I almost lost him,* she realized with a fresh shock. *So close to *not* having this…*

Even if they were not quite to where she longed to be – they were so much further than they had been – and that was something, she had to admit. Just to be able to sit here with him, so relaxed and comfortable…that he would trust her enough to be so relaxed, to sleep like this, with his head in her lap…

She had read somewhere recently that that was a sign of true trust – to be able to lie down and go to sleep, to become completely vulnerable and place your well-being completely in someone else’s hands – just to be able to *sleep* in their presence.

*He *does* trust me,* she realized suddenly, her eyes widening in a slowly rising elation at the knowledge. *He does…*

A slow smile spread across her lips, her eyes lighting up with joy, a warmth stealing over her heart.

Tonight – tonight he was clearly exhausted.

But maybe Spike *was* ready, after all.

Spike woke up a couple of hours later, his eyes blinking open in the dim stillness of the room, broken only by the white, grainy light emanating from the snowy television screen, and the soft white noise of the static it produced. He turned his head slightly toward it to read the glowing green digital clock on the DVD player.

Clearly, the movie had long since been over.

*Must have been a bloody sight more tired than I thought,* he realized. *Didn’t even make it to the bit about the fire swamp and the ROUS’s!*

He moved slowly to sit up, but found his progress gently impeded by a light tugging on his hair when he tried to move upward, and a comfortable weight across his chest and shoulders. He turned his head slightly to the other side, and could clearly make out the Slayer’s sleeping form, one soft arm resting across his chest, and her other hand not moving, but still tangled in his hair.

It filled his heart with an odd warmth to think of her sitting there with him, long after he had fallen asleep, her hand gently running through his hair in a gesture of tenderness and affection that had been pure and guileless, with absolutely no ulterior motives. It might have forever been unknown to anyone but her, until she had fallen asleep as well, leaving him to awaken and find her in this touching pose.

Dawn had fallen asleep before he had, but apparently she had awakened at some point, and gone upstairs to her own bedroom, as she was no longer in the living room. He glanced toward the stairs, wondering what time she had gone to sleep. It was two-thirty in the morning; he hoped it had been a good long while, or she was going to be exhausted for school in the morning…

*And just when did you turn into such a bloody buggering ponce?* he demanded of himself when he realized the line his thoughts were taking – but without much venom.

He liked to think that he was becoming a part of this fractured little famly.

He just lay there for a few moments longer, raising a hand to gently wrap around Buffy’s slender but powerful arm, nestling his body in closer to the warmth of her unconscious embrace. He could not remember the last time he had felt so content – so at peace.

Buffy had genuinely been making quite the effort lately to be sure that Spike and everyone else around them knew just how much she truly did love him. It was almost awe-inspiring, the fierce protectiveness that had come out in her on the first – and last – time that she had found the need to defend him to her friends, namely Xander.

At first, Spike had naturally had his doubts, though he had wanted desperately to believe that it was all real; he couldn’t really help it, considering all Buffy had put him through in the past – but watching her take up for him against her best friend had made it nearly undeniable, and by now, all his fears had all faded away like mist in the morning sun.

There was no denying the reality of Buffy’s love for him at this point – not when she showed it so freely – even in unconscious moments like this, cradling him close to her in her sleep.

Spike tried again to slip quietly out from under her gently possessive arm, which even in unconsciousness did not seem willing to release him. Clearly, she had spent more than enough time without him over the course of the past few months, and her subconscious did not seem inclined to let him go anytime soon. But that was all right; Spike did not mind.

He really didn’t *want* to be let go.

But then – he *had* been lying in the same position on the couch for presumably a couple of hours now, and he was starting to feel a bit stiff and uncomfortable. He sighed quietly in resignation; he had not wanted to disturb Buffy, but it appeared to be unavoidable at the moment, if he intended to go home at some point before dawn.

Another thing he didn’t particularly want to do, come to think of it.

“Buffy,” he said softly, his voice low and husky with sleep and affection as he gently pushed her arm across his chest in an attempt to rouse her. “Buffy, love…”

The Slayer released a girlish little whimper of sleepy displeasure, her arm shifting to encircle him once more, tightening slightly as if afraid of his leaving her -- before she began to wake up a bit. Her eyes slowly opened as she raised her head, and Spike sat up slowly, swinging his legs off onto the floor and scooting in closer to her with a warm, affectionate smile of greeting.

“Morning, gorgeous,” he said softly, his eyes shining with a soft light that she would not have imagined there a couple of months ago.

She stretched slowly, her arms over her head for a moment, before returning one of them to rest around him, the other lying idly across her own lap. “How long have I been out?” she murmured, returning his smile through sleepy, heavy-lidded eyes.

“Bit less than I’ve been, I’d wager,” Spike guessed, raising a hand to gently push a stray lock of blonde hair back behind her ear. “Though I can’t rightly tell you, pet. Just woke up m’self,” he admitted.

Buffy glanced with the blankness of just waking up around the room, before returning her gaze to Spike’s oddly intent face, gazing into her eyes when she turned.

“Dawn?” she asked in a soft query.

A teasing, mildly suggestive grin on his face, Spike replied, “Not for hours.”

It took Buffy a moment to process his little joke, her mind still addled a bit with sleep – and a lot with the breathtaking expression on Spike’s face at the moment. When she did realize what he was saying, her eyes widened in surprise at the implication, and she laughed softly, instinctively edging nearer to him and squeezing her arm around his shoulders slightly.

She felt warmed and encouraged when he did not pull away from her, but rather nestled in closer to her, still smiling that peculiar smile into her eyes.

“I’ve told you recently that I love you, right?” Buffy whispered, returning his smile, though she found herself feeling a bit mesmerized by the intensity of his startlingly blue eyes focused on hers. At the same time, she relished the pleasure of feeling so comfortable and safe and at ease with the man she loved – whose love she had come so near to destroying.

Spike winked at her as he replied teasingly, “Only a couple of times this past evening, pet. Of course, Niblet was with us most the night, so you might have been trying not to make her nauseous – but still…I think you’re slippin’ a bit.”

“Well, then,” Buffy murmured, leaning slightly nearer to him, her lips aching to kiss him, but restraining herself with every ounce of willpower she possessed, “let me try to remedy that.” Her free hand rose to rest on his cheek as she whispered intently, “I love you, Spike.”

There was a moment’s silence, and those gorgeous eyes grew a bit more serious, as Buffy waited quietly for his response.

Since that evening in the cemetery, when they had agreed to try again, but to take it slow, neither one of them had really made a secret of their feelings for each other, though they had agreed to refrain from actually acting on those feelings – much. A few brief, cut off before they became anything more than innocent – but that was really about it.

Spike had been the one to initiate all of those kisses – and Buffy had been the one to end them – in her opinion, just in time.

She wanted him desperately by this point, and she knew by the expression on his face in those moments that he *knew* she did, and it confused him a bit – but she just did not want things to move along too quickly this time around. She was waiting to be sure that she had regained his trust completely, before she allowed them to take that final step. The fact that he was willing to take things further, physically and emotionally desired her, did *not* mean that he was ready.

But – it was possible that he *was* ready…wasn’t it?

After tonight – Buffy was beginning to allow herself to hope that he was.

“You know I love you, Buffy,” he replied finally to her softly spoken words, his eyes shining with his affection for her. “So much.”

She felt the powerful impulse to kiss him, her eyes trying to hold his gaze, but failing, drifting between the fathomless blue depths of his eyes and the lush tempting fullness of his lips beneath them, her upper body shifting slightly sideways and closer to him, without her even realizing that she had moved.

Spike’s eyes began to follow hers, a look of longing building in them, and she heard him draw in a soft, unnecessary breath – betraying his rising arousal, which was certainly no greater than the intense desire she was feeling for him, but trying to repress…for his own good.

But perhaps – perhaps it was not necessary to hold back anymore.

As if echoing her thoughts, supporting her rising hope that maybe – maybe the time had finally come to renew their love, Spike placed his hand at her waist, turning her slightly to face him more fully, his thumb rubbing a slow circle on her soft skin just at the base of her t-shirt, as he looked downward a bit self-consciously, his eyes focused on the rhythmic motion of his own hand.

His lips parted to speak – then hesitated for a moment.

She waited breathlessly to hear what he would say, her own lips hovering inches from his – only waiting for his invitation.

“Buffy,” he whispered, longing in his voice. “Buffy, I want you so much…I don’t know if I – if I can wait…any more…and really, pet – we don’t have to. I do trust you Buffy – you know I do.”

Buffy felt a rush of elation flood her heart, mingled with her trepidation and uncertainty, as she whispered in reply, “You’re sure? You – you know for a fact that you’re ready for this?”

A soft, mildly sarcastic laugh left the vampire’s lips as he shook his head slightly before meeting her eyes again to reply, “Of course I’m not sure, Buffy. Can’t bloody well be really sure – without taking a chance on it to find out, now can we?”

His expression softened slightly as he added, “That’s something a real smart bird told me once – kinda stuck with me.”

Buffy returned his smile, affectionately, remembering when she had recently told him just that. Strangely, though she had longed and waited for this moment, she began to feel the sensation of nervous butterflies in her stomach as she contemplated the thought of how near they were to what she had been waiting for.

Suddenly, she wondered – was *she* ready?

“Besides,” Spike went on, a note of dry, gently mocking humor to his voice, “it’s not *me* being sure we’ve been waiting on!”

“Yes,” Buffy argued earnestly, looking him in the eye and willing him to understand, “it *is*. I just – just wanna know that *you’re* ready – that’s why I’ve been waiting. I wanna know that you’re absolutely comfortable with me – sure of – of *us*. That you *know* how very real and important this is to me, how committed I am to you. That in that split second when you wake up in the morning, before you open you’re eyes, you’re not going to wonder if I’ll be there when you *do* open them.”

“I am – I do – I *won’t*,” he assured her without hesitation, his low voice warm and reassuring. “Buffy – it’s taken a bloody long time to be able to say this, but – but I think I *am* ready for this. I do trust you, Buffy. I do.”

Buffy’s eyes welled with tears at the sound of the words she had longed to hear for months now, and she lowered her head slightly to hide them.

But Spike would have none of it.

Gently, he tipped her chin back upward with his fingers, until she met his eyes again, reluctantly, her own eyes glittering with unshed tears. A sympathetic smile came over his lips as his hand rose to gently cup her cheek.

“We’re back to the beginning, love – the original question,” he informed her softly, holding her gaze. “Not about me, or my trust in you. It’s about whether or not *you* trust you, Buffy.”

She frowned slightly, puzzled by his words.

“You’ve changed so much these past months, pet…and I know it hasn’t been easy. But you’ve done it. You’ve proven yourself and that you mean what you say – and though I once thought I’d never soddin’ say this again – I *do* trust you. With my life, Buffy. How else is a master vampire gonna lay his head in the lap of a bleedin’ Slayer and take a bloody *nap*, love?”

Buffy could not help but laugh through her tears at the incredulous, slightly disbelieving note of amusement in his voice – and she realized that he was right. After this evening, and the trust he had shown in her, to doubt that trust was ridiculous.

“No,” Spike shook his head slowly as he concluded his point, “the question’s not whether or not I trust you. At this point, love – I think *you’re* more afraid you might hurt me than I am.”

She looked down, caught of guard by the nevertheless *not* surprising perception that the vampire always seemed to show when it came to matters of her heart.

Firmly, Spike pushed her chin back up to face him again, gazing without reserve or the slightest sign of uncertainty, into her red-rimmed, glimmering eyes, staring up at him with a look of mingled hope, and enough uncertainty for the both of them.

“But you *won’t*, Buffy,” he assured her gently, with a surety that made her feel instantly more secure in what they were about to do. “You won’t hurt me. Leastwise not any more than I’ll hurt you, or any other couple hurts each other in the normal course of making mistakes and learning each other and all. Can’t expect either of us to be perfect. But I *do* know that you’re gonna do your best to love me, pet – and I’m gonna do the same.”

The poignant sincerity of his final words smote her heart with a sensation of warmth and safety and the knowledge that they were actually going to be okay. The way she saw it, they were right back at square one, just as he had said – with a whole future yet to build between them.

True, they could have been a lot further along by now, if not for the dreadful mistakes that she had made. But considering those mistakes, she was grateful and content to be where they were right now.

Poised on the edge of a brand new start.

“I thought you said you trusted me, Spike,” Buffy’s teasing voice reminded the blonde vampire reproachfully, as she quickly replaced her hands over his eyes, after his latest attempt to pull away from her blinding hands.

He had, against his better judgment, agreed to let himself be led to the “surprise” that she had waiting for him – but every few steps he found himself instinctively trying to see where he was going anyway, a bit uncomfortable with surrendering all control to *anyone* else – even if it *was* Buffy.

“I do, pet,” he insisted, a bit defensively, yielding to her with a sigh of resignation as she pressed her warm, soft palms over his eyes from her place, half behind him, half beside him, and started them moving again. “It’s just – there’s so many bleedin’ obstacles between the – place where we started, and – wherever you’re taking me – and I don’t fancy being led shin-first into your coffee table, or face-first into your stairs.”

“So what you’re trying to say is,” Buffy began in a voice that was a sly parody of innocence, a tone that always told him that whatever the argument was – he had lost it already, “you *don’t* trust me not to be careful where I lead you? You think I’m gonna let you get hurt?”

“No,” he protested. “No, that’s not – I mean...” Finally, he gave up with a weary sigh. “Lead on, pet. I trust you.”

He missed Buffy’s little grin of satisfaction, but he could easily picture it on her pretty, playful face, as she nodded, “Good.” She leaned in close behind him, rising up on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear in a voice of playful seduction, “I *like* your face too much to let it bash into the stairs.”

He felt his arousal increasing at her nearness, the low sultry sound of her voice, the scent of her own rising need for him.

Then her tone changed, as she drew back slightly and ordered lightly, “Now come on. We’re almost to – um, the stairs.”

“The bleedin’ *stairs*?” he echoed in disbelief. “*Buffy*,” he groaned – but it was more a sound of resignation and defeat than of actual protest.

For better or for worse – his face and the rest of him *were* going up those stairs.

“Do you trust me or not?” Buffy challenged him, albeit good-naturedly, suddenly halting their process, he guessed a few short yards from the stairs.

“Yes,” he replied without hesitation, deliberately taking a step forward toward them, though slow enough that her gentle hands were not dislodged from his eyes. “As I said, pet – lead on.” The words were accompanied by a grand little flourish of his hand which was both dashing and comical, considering his current position.

Buffy could not help but smile with affection at the romantic, sweet – and devastatingly sexy – blonde vampire that she had come to know so much better over the past few weeks. She almost couldn’t believe that she had allowed herself to come so close to losing what she now knew was the best thing she had ever had.

Over the past few weeks, her new and improved relationship with Spike had been growing stronger and stronger, as they increasingly allowed themselves to give in to the emotions, the attraction, that consumed them, giving themselves to each other freely, with an openness and intensity that Buffy, at least, had never thought possible.

Spike, for his part, *had* dreamed of it – had made it clear to Buffy that it was what he wanted from her – not just the physical connection they had shared before, but emotional intimacy as well.

For too long, she had refused to allow it – and now, she would regret that mistake for the rest of her life. She had taken his hope, his cherished dreams of what they could share, and used those very dreams to devastate and drive him away.

He had longed for her to invite him out of the darkness and into the intimate sanctuary of her life, her home, her very room – and she had used that very hope to shatter his trust in her.

Through painstaking effort, and a lot of heartfelt love and affection, she had managed to earn back Spike’s trust in her, and now it seemed that they were well on their way to a happy, healthy, and *permanent* relationship.

But there was still something she wanted to make right between them.

She had put a lot of planning into this night, into making it everything it needed to be, to counteract the pain and uncertainty she had initiated with her careless actions, nearly six months ago now. Willow was staying over at Tara’s – a common occurrence lately – and she had sent Dawn to spend the night at Anya’s apartment, as for once, Xander was not going to be there, so Buffy would not have to worry about Dawn’s being scarred for life by the visit.

She didn’t want to have to worry about anything tonight.

Tonight had to be perfect.

“Watch the first step,” she instructed softly as they reached the bottom of the stairs.

But Spike was a step ahead of her, and his foot hit the bottom stair, sending him pitching forward, stumbling for balance, before righting himself – Buffy’s hands still clasped over his eyes firmly.

“Bloody hell, woman!” he growled. “What are you bloody trying to do to me?”

“That was *so* -- step – not my fault. Step. I *told* you we were at the steps…*step*!”

Again, her warning was a second too late, and Spike missed the stair in front of him – and his time, Buffy’s hands *did* leave his eyes as she quickly lowered her arms to steady him, as he lurched forward and then overcorrected backward in a motion that, if not for her Slayer strength and balance, would have taken them both tumbling down the stairs.

Well – the three short stairs that they had actually managed to get up.

As it was, Spike found himself leaning back against her for a moment, her hands gently resting at his waist, as he sighed wearily, yet without opening his eyes.

“Buffy, love,” he pointed out patiently, “I know we’re going upstairs. Why not just get *up* the bloody stairs, and *then* continue with your cute little mysterious game, yeah?”

The pout was clearly heard in her voice as she replied with a sigh of exasperation, “Fine. I just wanted to surprise you.”

“Is the surprise waiting for me at the very top of the stairs, love? Because if not, I don’t see how it’s a problem just to let me get to the landing in one piece,” he pointed out dryly.

Buffy was quiet for a moment, and when she spoke again, it was clear in her voice that she was feeling a bit silly – and maybe a bit insecure at the moment.

Spike wondered what *that* was about…

“Okay,” she agreed, releasing him suddenly, and darting past him up the stairs, before he had opened his eyes, causing him to wobble slightly, his eyes flying open as he grabbed at the banister – just in time to see the Slayer disappearing at the top of the stairs and down the hallway. “Just – wait a second,” she called over her shoulder, a slight quaver in her voice.

Spike shook his head, smiling after her as he waited with surprising patience on the stairs for Buffy to declare it safe to proceed.

She was just too bloody adorable.

After a couple of moments, he heard Buffy’s slightly muffled voice call from beyond her half-open bedroom door, “Ready!”

Spike had lived over a century, and was by no means inexperienced. His most lengthy relationship – his *only* pre-Buffy relationship, actually – had been with a very…er…open-minded woman, up for any sort of experimentation, and usually initiating said experimentation herself. He highly doubted that whatever Buffy had planned for him would come as a true surprise.

Still, his breath caught in his throat as he stopped in the doorway to her bedroom, his eyes widening in awe and stunned wonder.

On the dresser and the desk, various white candles had been lit, and were filling the room with an almost ethereal glow – though the Slayer had been careful to keep the candles far from the bed. For the occasion, she had made her bed with a bedding set that Spike had never seen before, probably brand new – in a dark, rich, blood-red silk.

The room was beautiful and warm and inviting.

Spike did not even notice the room.

Lying there in the middle of the bed, dressed in a deep red, satin teddy that fell just barely around her hips, Buffy waited for him, her hands above her head, one knee pulled up, as she quirked one eyebrow at him in daring invitation.

Daring, indeed – she had handcuffed herself to her bed.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” she asked softly, her eyes shining with a mixture of amusement, love – and an instinctive uncertainty that she couldn’t help feeling, no matter how much she trusted Spike.

Was he happy with what he saw?

“No bloody clue,” he replied in a soft, breathless voice, shaking his head, as he approached her, crystal blue eyes searching her face in wonder. “Buffy – love – what…?”

“The key’s on the dresser across the room. I couldn’t get to it if I tried…” Buffy explained in a quiet, matter-of-fact voice. “I’m here until you want me to be somewhere else, Spike. All yours.”

He was well aware of the double meaning of her words, and he felt a warm, soft sensation in his chest as he slowly climbed onto the bed in front of her, moving to lean over her on his hands and knees, as she lowered her leg to allow him to move in closer. Her unusually soft emerald eyes searched his in return, a question in them at the suddenly serious look on his face.

“Buffy…” he began, then just shook his head slowly, not going on.

“What?” she prodded gently, pulling unconsciously against her self-inflicted bonds, wanting to touch him, to attempt to feel what he was feeling. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing…nothing’s wrong, love – it’s just…” Spike hesitated, looking down for a moment at the vision that she was, willingly laid out for him – undeniably tempting…but…

“Why are you doing this?”

The uncertain question came out in a hushed whisper, barely audible, and she could see the fear, the confusion in his eyes – and suddenly, Buffy was sure she had made an enormous mistake. Was this dramatic, symbolic gesture, intended to show him how much she had changed, how willing she was to give herself to him completely, simply too much? Too painfully reminiscent of the last – only – terrible night they had spent in this room?

“I – I trust you, Spike,” she began in a slightly trembling voice, attempting to explain, a pleading look in her eyes. “I want you to know that – that I trust you completely. With my life. With my heart. With everything. I’m *yours*, Spike. I just – I guess – it’s stupid, I guess,” she admitted in a small, defeated voice, looking away.

“I – I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

“*Buffy*.”

His quiet, firm voice stopped her protests, and she reluctantly met his gaze again. He could see the tension in the dejected set of her shoulders against the handcuffs that held her arms above her head – knew that she had misunderstood his reaction.

“Don’t be sorry, love – I understand,” he assured her with a warm, tender smile. “It’s just – you don’t have to do this. I – I’d *rather* have you – free – free to – to touch me back,” he explained, his voice taking on a hushed, sensual quality as his hand slid up her leg to rest at her hip.

Buffy drew in a sharp little gasp as his hand slid just slightly under the hem of her skimpy little nightgown, and she edged nearer to his touch.

“I just – just wanted you to know…I trust you, Spike – I do,” she whispered, sounding more than a little distracted as his hands began a slow, gentle exploration of her still barely covered body.

“I know,” he murmured, moving in closer, gently lowering his body down over hers, his hands sliding up under the teddy to rest on either side of her ribcage, as he lowered his mouth to hers in a slow, tender kiss. “And it means the world to me, pet…”

“Mmmm,” she whimpered softly in a mixture of contentment and frustration, pulling against the handcuffs. “Spike…”

“Yes, pet,” he whispered before lowering his lips to her throat, his teeth closing over her skin in a playful little nip that drew another gasp from her throat.

“Cuffs – off – now,” she gasped, jerking against her bonds and thrusting up toward him in her desire.

Spike’s motions stilled for a moment as he drew back to look at her, a teasing sparkle in his wicked blue eyes. “You sure, love?” he asked, eyes suddenly wide and innocent. “ ‘Cause you know…handcuffs can be a lot of fun…”

“Spike,” she said with an edge of warning to her voice, her eyes meeting his, full of desperation and desire as her fingers flexed in anxious anticipation of touching him. “*Now*.”

“Now, pet,” he replied in a gently reproachful voice, his full, perfect lower lip jutting out in a pout that only made him that much more tempting, “not very courteous of you, rather bloody demanding, actually…let’s see if you can ask nicely…”

“Spike,” she whispered, her tone instantly changed, when she realized with slight alarm that he really could leave her like this as long as he wanted.

And she *needed* to touch him.

“*Please*,” she whimpered. “Please, Spike…”

“All you had to do was ask,” he informed her, leaning down to kiss her briefly on the tip of her nose, smiling innocently, before rising from the bed to retrieve the key from the dresser.

The moment her wrists were free, the Slayer surprised him with a possessive little growl of desire and triumph, grabbing his arms and suddenly reversing their positions so that she was over him, her eyes glittering with a wicked amusement – but still sparkling with her affection for him.

She straddled his waist, leaning down over him, her hands trailing up to his wrists as she brought her lips close to his ear to whisper in a voice of playful menace, “You’re gonna pay for that.” She punctuated her words with a light little nibble on his earlobe, drawing a little shudder from the vampire before she drew back slightly.

“Am I?” he shot back, one eyebrow raised, as he thrust upward against her suddenly, sending a jolt of sensation through her body that threw her off guard, long enough for him to reverse their positions again, pinning her gently beneath him. “Come on, Slayer,” he taunted her gently. “Teach me a lesson.”

“I plan on it,” she retorted, her smile open and utterly in contrast to her words as her eyes gazed into his with unconcealed adoration, “just as soon as I can think straight again…”

Spike chuckled softly, lowering his mouth to hers again – and the game melted away, consumed by their mutual affection and desire, as he slid the teddy she wore up over her shoulders, baring her body to him. She was already at work on the button of his jeans, gasping softly for breath as she looked down between them, frowning slightly in concentration.

Once they were both naked, exposed to each other – but neither feeling particularly vulnerable – they froze for a moment, lost in each other’s eyes…just taking the moment, and holding it, placing it away somewhere where they would always have it.

The moment when everything came together again.

When Spike entered her a moment later, the moment was shattered, though in the best of ways.

And Buffy shattered with it.

Her trembling, desperate hands clung to him, pulling him nearer to her, as she gasped and moaned her desire for him, whispering his name in a breathless chant of need and adoration.

“I love you,” she whispered, “I love you so much…”

Those words drove Spike’s desire higher than any physical touch could have done, and he gasped as he thrust inside her again, moaning softly, “Buffy – Buffy, love – love you so much…”

The rising sensations of pleasure and intimacy drew Buffy ever nearer to the edge of her own climax, as she clung to her lover as if she were drowning, and he the only one who could save her.

“Buffy,” he gasped, his motions slowly slightly, as he looked into her eyes through hazy blue depths of desire. “Buffy – do you trust me?”

“You know I do,” she replied without hesitation, holding his gaze unflinchingly. She did not know where he was going with this, could hardly think to imagine at the moment, but she sensed it was huge and life-changing and very important.

And she was unafraid.

“With your very life? Forever?” he asked her in a breathless, earnest whisper, his eyes wide and vulnerable – and she knew that if she said no, it would be terribly painful for him.

That was okay. She didn’t want to say no.

“Forever,” she whispered with a resolute nod. “I trust you completely, Spike. With everything I am – forever. I’m yours.”

His eyes widened slightly at her words, and he nodded slowly in response, and she watched as a decision was made in his mind. He lowered his mouth to her throat again, resuming their slow, rhythmic movements as he laved her soft skin with cool, moist kisses.

“Love you, Buffy,” he whispered against her skin between kisses. “Love you – trust me…”

And in the next moment, she felt a sharp, piercing sting, that lasted only an instant, immediately swallowed up in a deep, intense sense of pleasure like nothing she had every felt before, as the vampire drew gently from her veins.

And still – she was utterly unafraid.

Buffy’s hand rose to the back of his head, pressing him gently nearer to her, her throat arching to allow him better access. “Spike,” she whispered. “Spike…”

“Love you, Buffy,” he repeated. “Want you to be mine…forever…will you be mine, Buffy?” he whispered, withdrawing his fangs long enough to ask the vital question.

“Already am,” she replied immediately. “Yes – yours, Spike…I’m yours…”

His golden eyes, no less beautiful than the blue she was accustomed to, stared into hers with something that was almost disbelief – but not quite. He *did* believe her. And then, he lowered his fangs to her throat again, slipping them into the marks he had made again – just after a soft, possessive growled word.

“*Mine*!”

“Yours,” Buffy replied with soft certainty, clutching her lover – now her mate – to her as if she never wanted to let go.

And she felt a sense of sweet contentment wash over her, with the realization that she would never have to.

They had come down a long, winding, and treacherous road to get to this point – but they had arrived. She knew beyond all doubt that he would never hurt her – and finally, he could know with a certainty that he could place the same trust in her. There would be struggles, of course – and it would not always be easy.

But they would always have their love, never changing, for each other – forged in the fires of trial and heartache, yet emerging stronger for the flames, fortified with a firm foundation of mutual trust.

No matter what happened – they would always have each other.

And she knew, in that moment, that that was all either of them would ever need.