Spike had carried Buffy out of the cemetery, down and around the streets of Sunnydale, until finally, gratefully, he turned onto Revello Drive. His entire body hurt. His arms were weak and he tottered on tired legs. But he didn't stop, not even for a second. He carried her until they were on the Summers' front porch, far from where the demons and the woman were, hoping that the familiar surroundings would comfort her.

Spike put Buffy down on the steps. She could barely stand up on her legs, so he helped her sit down. Spike watched her as she leaned her head against the steps' railing. The woman who did this to her would be a footnote in history if it were up to him.

“I'm just going to check the inside, yeah? I'll be right there,” Spike said, pointing at the house.

Fear and frailty filled Buffy's eyes as she raised them to him. She gazed at him, blinking slowly once, before nodding dumbly.

Spike rubbed the back of his neck as he strode up the steps, glancing behind him at Buffy. “Hello?” He hesitated only for a brief moment before he stepped into the house and looked around curiously.

Willow and Dawn had just brought Buffy's body up to her room, not knowing what else to do with her, when they heard Spike's voice. Dawn let out a sigh of relief and wiped her eyes as she tried to stop another bout of tears from falling.

Willow glanced at Dawn. “Spike,” she said angrily and hurriedly ran down the stairs with Dawn following her. She rushed to Spike and slapped him across the face. Dawn stopped at the foot of the stairway in surprise, and her face fell to a look of near panic.

Spike looked around the empty hallway, stunned. He looked right through Willow and Dawn as he touched his stinging cheek and said, “The hell?”

An invisible force pushed him against the wall next to the broken mirror above the console table, his feet hovering over the floor.

Willow held her arm up firmly, her brows knit together over her glaring eyes. She'd brought Buffy back only to let her die again.

“What are you doing?” Dawn interjected.

“He killed her! He...” Willow closed her mouth and pressed her lips together firmly as she pushed Spike harder against the wall, wringing her hand as if she were squeezing his neck. Spike groaned and flailed his arms, knocking over the already smashed mirror to the ground.

“Who?” Dawn asked frantically.

“Buffy!”

Buffy lifted her head when she heard her name and, using the railing as support, she hoisted herself up.

Dawn looked at Spike who was grimacing in pain. She was certain he'd never be able to do that to Buffy and if he could, the chip would stop him. “But...”

“Show yourself!” Spike shouted. “Don't be a poofter!” He scanned the empty space before him and lashed out blindly, hoping to hurt whatever was pinning him against the wall by his neck.

Buffy walked up the front porch, her steps faltering. “Someone called my name,” she said, still in a stupor, as she leaned against the doorframe.

Spike turned his head to face Buffy and told her to go back outside. She was too weak to defend herself from whatever demon was in the house.

Confusion clear on her face, Willow’s gaze drifted to Buffy. As her arm slowly dropped to her side, her magical grip on Spike eased. “Unveil,” she whispered, and she and Dawn appeared before Spike's eyes.

“What...” Spike glanced at Willow, then at Dawn.

Dawn gaped at Buffy before she rushed to her and hugged her. Buffy flinched at first, her body stinging and aching from the physical contact. She wrapped an arm around Dawn and closed her eyes, a small smile on her face.

Willow continued to stare at Buffy as Dawn pulled away from her. “You're okay? I mean...” She looked at Spike questioningly.

Spike averted his eyes from Willow's and turned to Buffy. “Come on,” he said and took her by the elbow. He and Dawn led Buffy into the living room as Willow fetched a glass of water from the kitchen.

Buffy looked at the sofa with a critical eye and then looked up at Dawn at Spike. “It's broken.” She said it matter-of-factly. Their house looked rundown and abandoned, and she wondered how long she really had been gone.

“We'll get a new one,” Dawn said as cheerily as she could as she helped Buffy sit down.

Spike walked back to the threshold of the living room and leaned against the wall, studying Buffy's reactions intently. Judging by the emotion in her eyes, she seemed to be the real Buffy. But that didn't mean he wasn't going to find answers about what happened. He needed to find out who that woman was and why she'd do such a thing. But honestly, the why wasn't as important as just hurting her the way she'd hurt Buffy.

Buffy looked around the messy living room. Pieces of wood were on the floor near her feet. She guessed it used to be their coffee table. “Everything's broken.” She looked to her left and saw the television set was still whole.

Dawn cleared her throat while glancing sideways at Spike. “O-or we'll move. Whichever.” Dawn chuckled and gave her a crooked smile.

Buffy stared at Dawn, who fidgeted nervously, before she turned her gaze back down at the sofa. She looked up when Willow handed her the glass of water and she immediately drank, wincing and touching her throat.

“You'll be in your room, in your bed, after we clean it,” Willow said, smiling at her softly. “There are just some things we need to get rid of.” She gave Dawn a meaningful look.

Dawn nodded, understanding completely what Willow meant, and added, “Uh-huh. And we'll get right to it.”

“Where is everyone?” Buffy set the glass on her lap, holding it with both hands.

“Tara, Xander and Anya are in L.A. with Angel.” Willow stammered at Angel's name. Buffy's expression only remained blank. “But we called Xander and he'll be here soon. Okay?”

Buffy nodded and gave Willow a small smile and, bringing the glass to her lips, took a measured sip.

Willow signaled Dawn and Spike to follow her. The three went to the other side of the room, their backs turned to Buffy as they talked.

“I think I brought back two Buffys. There's a Buffy upstairs, too,” Willow said, her voice quiet enough so Buffy couldn't hear her.

“There is?” Spike asked, an eyebrow raised, and placed his hands on his hips.

Willow went on, “We thought she was dead. She had a bite mark– ”

Spike interrupted her, not giving her a chance to finish what she was saying. He felt guilty enough and the fact that it wasn't really Buffy didn't help. “Don't think she's Buffy.”

“That could explain why she was acting differently,” Willow mused out loud, a little bit relieved that the magics she used weren't at fault.

“Might be another bot,” Dawn said.

“No. No... It's unlikely. But she's not entirely human either,” Spike said. It was all becoming clearer now. She certainly wasn't human because if she were, he wouldn't have been able to even hit her. “She has blood, but...” He cast guilty glances at the two girl and Willow looked at him curiously. “She was alive, is all I'm saying.”

Willow tucked her hair behind her ear with a single finger. “Then what was she?”

Spike shook his head. “Not sure, but I'm going to find out.”

“And how are you going to do that?” Dawn asked him.

“I found Buffy in an underground cave after the other one disappeared. I saw a woman there. Bet she's behind everything.”

Willow was still trying to figure out why Spike was so skittish. Maybe she was right after all. “And I bet she's the one who left fake Buffy's body at our doorstep. She didn't think Buffy would escape.”

Spike had half a mind to correct her. He'd saved Buffy. But that seemed irrelevant after what he'd done anyway. He still killed her. Well, a version of her, but they had all thought it was her. What if she had been the real Buffy? Spike shook the troubling thoughts from his mind and glanced at the couch. Buffy wasn't there.

“Buffy?” Spike ran to the hallway while Dawn and Willow followed him, a fearful look on their faces. He breathed in her scent and went up the stairs. Buffy was standing at the doorway of her room.

“Buffy. Pet...” Spike reached for her arm but she stepped forward, closer to the bed where her clone lay. “You're not supposed to be here.”

“I saw her. I saw her morph into me when I was dragged down to that...” Buffy lowered her head and clenched her fists. She was more lucid now; things were a bit clearer. “She drank my blood and...” Her voice broke. She swallowed the bile in her throat. “They said it would help. And then she was told things about my life, about my friends, my allies,” she said and turned halfway toward him.

Spike's lips curled into a grin and he outstretched his hand to her. “Let's get those wounds cleaned up, yeah?”

Buffy took his hand without hesitation. He squeezed it gently before leading her into the bathroom and sat her on the toilet seat. He rifled through the medicine cabinet for the first aid kit, murmuring to himself, “I left it here somewhere.”

“Spike,” Buffy said and had to avoid his gaze when he turned to her, first aid kit in hand. “I...” She closed her open mouth and smiled sheepishly. Thanking Spike wasn't something she wanted to do again and again. But he deserved it, more than Willow did for bringing her back even. “I haven't thanked you.” Her voice was still coarse, but the emotion in it was palpable. “You saved my life.”

Spike bit his lip and shifted his gaze to the floor. He sighed. “That other Buffy. The one in your bed right now,” he said. “I,” he pointed at himself, “killed her.” He anticipated her reaction, her disgust, her hatred... a stake right through his chest.

Her eyes were still on him as he looked up at her through his thick lashes. “You did what you had to do. That makes you brave,” she said.

“No.” Spike shook his head and scoffed. “It makes me a demon,” he said firmly and frowned. He walked toward her and knelt in front of her, setting the first aid kit on the floor beside him. He unzipped the bag and pulled out a pack of cotton balls, Mercurochrome, and bandages.

Spike tensed when Buffy brushed his bruised cheek with her hand. He raised his questioning eyes to her and she quickly yanked her hand back. “Sorry. You're hurt too.”

He smirked and said, “Heal fast remember?” The image of their fight and Buffy twitching beneath him flashed before his eyes and his face fell to a serious expression. “I'll get to 'em later.”

Buffy quirked a brow when she noticed the change in his demeanor. She asked him, “You okay?”

“Fine,” he said. He took her hand; she had the same wounds on her knuckles as the evil Buffy. Her wrists were bruised as well.

“You seem... twitchy.”

“Really. I'm fine. You're the one I'm worried about.”

“The drugs are starting to wear off.” Buffy watched as he wrapped the bandage around her hand and wrist. She opened her mouth, but she didn't know where to start. She tried to speak again. “You don't have to feel guilty, you know. I would have done the same thing given the circumstances.” She sighed and placed a hand over his, squeezing it lightly to assure him everything was all right. Spike looked up at her as she spoke. “She wasn't me, Spike. And if she was human, the chip would have stopped you.”

Spike nodded but that fact still didn't help. To think that he'd be able to kill her if he didn't have the chip frightened him. He wouldn't have been able to forgive himself if that truly had been her.