“We’re gonna have to stop by the butcher’s shop on the way home,” Buffy spoke softly as she stared straight ahead through the windshield. She hadn’t yet dared to turn and look at Spike, *really* look at him, without the distractions that had surrounded them since she had found him.

Xander nodded silently. Then his eyes widened and he added his own realization, “I’m gonna have to fix your front door!”

Buffy suddenly remembered what she had not given a thought in her hurry to get to Spike. Super-Warren had smashed in her front door before reverting to Pathetic-Warren and getting the crap smacked out of him by her. The thought of Warren infuriated her; she felt like going back to his house and beating him some more for what he had done to Spike.

The only thing that stopped her was the fear that she would not stop there.

She finally ventured to turn in her seat and look at her former lover. Spike was asleep, or unconscious again, with her sister’s arms protectively encircling him. Fresh tears came to Buffy’s eyes as she took in the pitiful sight of the once strong, confident vampire. Every inch of skin that was exposed – his face, neck, and arms – were covered in dark, ugly bruises and other odd marks, which she guessed were signs of internal burning from the shocks produced by the chip.

Here in the light from the SUV’s dome light, she could see that all these were interspersed with various vicious cuts and other marks. Her throat closed up with tears and her chest burned with rage; Spike had been savagely tortured. He seemed so small, painfully thin, trembling even in his sleep. His clothes, his hair, were ragged and filthy.

She realized with an uncomfortable feeling that the task of getting him cleaned up and cared for was going to be hers. To have Xander do it would be humiliating for Spike, and letting Dawn do it was out of the question, though she knew she would certainly be willing. And though she had no aversions to caring for Spike, after all he had obviously been through, the idea of taking him into the bathroom and undressing him, just being in *that* room with him…

She steeled herself, setting her jaw. She would just have to get through it…there was no way around it.

She shifted in her seat and felt the odd pressure of the small object she had placed there earlier. Suddenly alarmed, she quickly withdrew it. It would not do to accidentally activate the thing. She stared at the tiny device in her hand, turning it slowly, her eyes wide and solemn with thoughts of the damage the little thing was capable of inflicting.

Xander glanced away from the road to see what she was looking at, then up to her face with curiosity. “What are you gonna do with it?” he asked.

Buffy hesitated. “Can’t destroy it. It’d hurt him.” She paused, staring at it in morbid fascination. “I guess I’m gonna have to hold onto it.” As distasteful as the thought was to her, she knew that she had to keep the dangerous device from falling into the wrong hands, at all costs. No matter what, she was determined to keep Spike from being hurt again.


Spike lay silent in the backseat, extremely unsettled by the Slayer’s mere presence. The sight of her had been such an incredible relief for him, but now that he had time to think – to wonder what she was thinking of him – his shame and fear overwhelmed him, and he couldn’t bear to meet her eyes.

That was why when he saw her turning around in her seat to look at him, he quickly closed his eyes, too ashamed, and terrified of what he would see in her eyes, to look at her. How could he ever face her again? he wondered in despair. It was more than he had hoped for that she had even come for him at all. He knew he did not deserve it, after what he had done to her.

He felt her gaze on him though he couldn’t see it, and imagined in it all the hatred and rejection he felt he deserved from her. If she was simply taking him away from Warren so that she could stake him herself, he would accept it as his due – and at this point probably a mercy.

When he felt her eyes leave him, heard the faint rustling of her turning back around in her seat, his eyes opened to look at her again. His stomach twisted in rising panic as he saw her take out the device from her pocket and look it over slowly and carefully.

*Please, Buffy, please don’t!* the cry echoed only in his mind, as his entire body tensed, trembling in dreadful anticipation of the punishment he had come to expect, and believed that she had the right and reason to mete out.

He heard her speaking softly, heard anger and disgust in her voice, though he was too shaken to register her words. All he heard was the emotion in them, and thought it was directed at him. *I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!* he wanted to sob out, but he couldn’t force his mouth to work.

“Buffy!” Dawn’s frightened voice rang out in the stillness that had taken over the vehicle, and Buffy quickly looked back toward her sister, then aghast at Spike when she saw the way he was shrinking back against the seat, his terrified eyes locked onto the device in her hand.

“Oh God,” Buffy whispered, horrified as she realized what he must be thinking, and the enormity of what he was going through struck her again.

Spike flinched back against Dawn’s warm support, closing his eyes again. *Stupid. You stupid little nothing!* his own mental voice spoke Warren’s words. *Now you’ve done it. Shouldn’t have drawn attention to yourself. You’re in for it now.*

Dawn’s comforting arms tightened around him as Buffy quickly looked for a place to put the device down, settling hurriedly on the glove compartment before climbing over the seat to kneel in front of him. He shuddered and pulled back further at her approach.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Dawn was repeating softly. “She’s not gonna hurt you, Spike.”

Buffy cautiously took his hand, feeling it tense up under her touch, but not pull away. That was good, she thought hopefully. He didn’t pull away from her.

What she didn’t know was that he didn’t dare.

“Spike…” she whispered, reaching a gentle hand to stroke his hair back. “I would *never, never* do that to you. You have to know that, Spike. I’m only keeping it to protect you, so no one else gets it, I promise, Spike. I would never hurt you…”

Her words caught in her throat as a memory flashed into her mind unbidden – of a dark, brutal night in an alley nearly six months ago. “I wouldn’t,” she whispered, softly insistent, trying to convince them both. “Never…never again.” The last word was an admission she had never made before, and when Dawn looked up at her sharply, she knew she would have some explaining to do later.

Spike was clearly trying to calm down, but he was shaking violently, his eyes focused on the floor.

“Spike, would you look at me, please?” Buffy asked softly. Remembering his reaction to Xander’s well-intentioned command at Warren’s house, she was careful to make it a request, not an order.

Still, his eyes were instantly on hers in immediate obedience, and the stark pain and fear she saw there took her breath, sending a physical pain through her chest at the sight. She made herself speak through it as she gently enfolded his hand in both of hers and looked deep into his eyes.

“Spike, I’m going to take this horrible thing and put it away somewhere, and never touch it. Ok? Just so no one else can get to it, I swear, Spike. I promise that I’m never, ever going to use it against you. I promise. Ok?” Her eyes were solemn, her voice low and earnest.

He nodded, and once again she got the impression that he was just being compliant.

“Do you believe me?” she asked him gently, seeking the eyes he had dropped again.

They remained downcast as he nodded slowly, but she could see the trembling easing, and though still unsure, he did not seem so panicked.

When they reached the house, Buffy began the task of getting him out of the car and inside. As she gently lifted him into her arms, he reached up to put his arm around her neck in an attempt to help her. Against her will, Buffy felt a shiver go down her spine at his touch. She was fine touching *him*, to comfort him, but his cool arm around her neck brought back unwelcome memories.

He felt her tremor and immediately started to withdraw his hand, now resting across her shoulder, but she caught it gently in her own, stopping him.

His face was a mask of shame and guilt. “I’m sorry,” he whispered brokenly. “I’m sorry, Buffy.” There was a desperate, pleading note in his voice that tore at her heart.

Buffy felt tears beginning in her eyes, forced them back. This was not the time for this conversation. She gave his hand at her shoulder a light squeeze before lifting him up in her arms, but otherwise did not acknowledge his words.

Willow and Tara met them at the spot where the door had been with worried expressions.

“Buffy!” Willow gasped, relief and concern mingling in her voice at the sight of the vampire in her arms. “We came by and saw the door – we were so worried! We almost called the police, but – but we figured it probably wasn’t something they could handle…”

“It is now,” Buffy said grimly as she carefully laid Spike down on the sofa. “And they’ll be handling it in a few minutes, at Warren’s.”

Xander took his cue to head for the phone in the kitchen, and Dawn went to her knees at Spike’s side, as Buffy quickly explained as much as she knew to Tara and Willow. She realized in the telling that she really didn’t know much. She had been so concerned by Spike’s condition that she had not thought to ask any questions.

She sighed. The rest of the story would have to come from Spike – when he was ready. Not now. He was in pain, starving, and obviously deeply traumatized. She had never seen him this vulnerable, so scared and insecure. The Spike she remembered was confident to the point of arrogance, always defiant. But he had been shattered, what he once was crushed until all that was left was the broken, beaten creature before her.

*You broke him first,* her accusing heart reminded her, and she knew it was true.

Willow and Tara set about fixing up the mess that had been made of her living room during the fight with Warren, while Xander hung up the phone and began on the door.

After a few moments and a brief whispered conference with Tara, Willow approached Buffy and said softly, “Buffy, I can stay at Tara’s for a little while. Spike can have my room. He needs to have a place that’s his after all this – where he can feel safe.”

Buffy felt a wave of gratitude for her friend’s sensitivity. “Thanks, Will,” she whispered.

She had been wondering what they would do. She could not imagine making Spike stay in the basement, in his condition, and knew he would feel too exposed and vulnerable, not to mention uncomfortable, on the sofa. She had been prepared to let him use her room, and sleep on the couch herself. But now that would not be necessary.

“Dawnie, honey,” she said, turning to her sister. “Can you go help Will get some stuff together and get the room ready for Spike? I’m gonna help him get cleaned up a little.”

Dawn nodded, understanding. Before rising, she gave him a very gentle hug, just barely touching his body, and whispered in his ear in response to the fear she saw rising in his eyes, “It’s okay. She’s not gonna hurt you.”

Spike wondered at the fact that in this room with two powerful witches and a Slayer, it was the normal fifteen-year-old girl that made him feel safe. He tried not to let it, but he could feel the fear overcoming him again as once again he was lifted like a child in arms too soft to be so very strong.

Buffy had promised not to hurt him, but the only thing he could focus on was his utter helplessness – the only constant left in his life. He was at the mercy of someone who had every reason to want him dead. And as she slowly mounted the stairs, he felt a new panic joining the first one as they approached the scene of his heinous crime.

“I – I can do it,” he whispered, dangerously close to tears. “I can clean up myself, Buffy, you don’t – you don’t – have to…”

“Hush,” she gently reprimanded him. “You can’t even stand, Spike. The little creep really did a number on you.” She paused before adding in a softer tone, “Just let me help you, okay?”

He did not respond, a slave as usual, if not to the mastery of the chip, to the dictates of her wishes.

Gently she helped him to sit up on the closed toilet, while she carefully filled the tub, making sure the water was good and deep, and not too hot, but hot enough. After all, he was much more sensitive to heat than she would have been.

He noticed that she had grown very quiet upon entering the room, her mouth set against the emotions that dwelt here. No longer accustomed to speaking of his own accord, and fighting back tears of his own, he fell into silence as well.

“Can you lift your arms?” she asked him quietly, trying to figure out how they were going to get the tattered, filthy black t-shirt he was wearing off.

He dutifully attempted, biting back a whimper of pain when he couldn’t manage to raise them above his chest. He closed his eyes and tried again, but Buffy gently stopped his arms, pushing them gently back down.

He opened his eyes to look at her, and was stunned by the depth of sorrow in her wide green eyes as she stared at him, her mouth working with the effort to hold back her tears.

“I – I can do it!” he insisted in a trembling voice, distressed that his weakness was upsetting her. *Stupid, stupid, all your fault…*

“No,” she said more firmly, trying to stop him, but he pulled away from her, determined to do as she had asked him, as much as to not appear helpless in front of her. *Too late,* the voice in his head taunted. *Helpless, pathetic, worthless…*

“Stop it, Spike,” she added, raising her voice slightly, trying to get her hands back on his arms to stop him, though he kept struggling against her, in spite of the movement that tore at his broken ribs and made him gasp in agony.

Seeing the pain he was causing himself, she repeated, sharply, tearfully, “Stop it!” finally catching his arms and holding them firmly down.

He flinched at the harsh note in her voice and her strong touch. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry…” he whispered, his eyes closed and his head turned away in an instinctive reaction.

The fear in his voice broke her; she was no longer capable of holding back the tears. “Oh, Spike…” she whispered in a voice full of heartache. “Oh, my poor Spike…”

The unmistakable sound of her concern, of her heart breaking -- for *him*, even after what he’d done -- caused his own tears to fall, as he stopped fighting her and gripped her arms in his weak, trembling hands, bowing his head, unable to look at her.

“I’m sorry…I’m sorry, Buffy, I’m so sorry,” he kept repeating, sobbing now, and she knew he was no longer talking about fighting her.

And all she could do was take the broken, sobbing vampire in her arms, pulling him close to her, gently pulling his head down onto her shoulder. “Shh,” she whispered in his ear between her own sobs. “No, Baby…no it’s ok… it’s ok, Spike.”

She held him like that for a long time, just letting him sob out the months of agony, and the pain of what had preceded it, just gently whispering in his ear, her hand gently rubbing his back. “I’m so sorry, too, Baby…it’s gonna be ok…it’s gonna be all right, Spike. It’s ok…”

And silently in her aching heart, she determined that she was going to do whatever it took, no matter what, to make that promise reality.