When his tears seemed to finally have ebbed, at least for the moment, Buffy gently pushed back from him to look him in the eye. The tenderness and compassion he saw in hers, after months of nothing but abuse and cruelty, was almost overwhelming. A part of him allowed himself to be comforted by it; but at the same time, it made him feel anxious, guilty. It was as if her kindness was something he knew he had no right to, and at any moment he would be caught with it, it would be snatched away, and he would be punished for presuming to call it his.

“We need to get you taken care of, Spike,” she whispered, sniffling back her own tears. “You need to eat, and then you need to rest.”

He nodded obediently. *Whatever you say, Buffy…I’ll do whatever you want me to do,* his open, vulnerable eyes seemed to say. “Ok,” he whispered simply.

She looked again with distaste at the ruined garments he wore. “It’s beyond hope, I’m afraid,” she sighed, giving him a small, apologetic smile.

*You’re beyond hope! No one can help you!* He tried to shut out the cruel voice in his head, and focus instead on Buffy’s words, as she gently steadied him on the seat with a hand behind his back.

“I’m gonna go get some scissors,” Buffy was saying softly. “We’ll cut them off.” When she was satisfied that he had regained enough strength to sit up, she stepped back away from him, and he intensely felt the loss of her touch. “I’ll be right back,” she assured him, and disappeared out the door.

The moment she was gone, his doubts and fears assailed him, darkness closing in on him now that his light, his defender, had gone.

*Disgusting, dirty thing! How could you dare to touch her like that, after what you did? Do you think she wants you to touch her? You don’t deserve her!*

A horrified feeling came over him at the thought as the memory of the last few minutes played over in his mind, distorted and dimmed by his tears and twisted by the torment of his guilt. His fighting against Buffy as she tried to hold him back, how that must have been for her after what he’d done in this room! Then, his having the nerve to throw himself into her arms, demanding her *comfort*, of all things, comfort from the woman he had victimized!

The facts that in reality this struggle had been nothing like the other, and this time he was as weak as a kitten, unable to raise a hand against her if he’d wanted to, did not occur to him. All he saw was his own weakness, selfishness, taking from her the affection and kindness that he had no right to ask, and he was sickened, disgusted with himself.

No wonder she had rushed out so suddenly, he realized in despair. *Can’t do anything right…ruin everything…you’ve ruined everything…*


Buffy ran into Xander on her way down the stairs.

“Door’s fixed,” he informed her, his serious dark eyes searching hers when he saw the tearstains on her cheeks, her blouse.

“Thanks,” she smiled bravely, determined not to say a word about what was happening between her and Spike. It was intensely personal, and would be embarrassing for Spike, and she was through with disregarding his wishes, disrespecting him completely. “I just need to get some scissors. He’s in so much pain, he can’t even move enough to get his shirt off.”

“Buffy, you don’t have to do this,” Xander said, shaking his head slightly as he moved to block her way down. “I can do this for you. You shouldn’t have to…”

“No, Xander,” Buffy broke in, her gratitude for his concern softening the impatience in her voice, as she slid past him down the stairs, and he turned to follow her. “If there’s a shred of dignity left somewhere in him, I’d really like to leave it there.”

“I just hate the thought of you having to go through this, after…”

At the kitchen doorway, Buffy turned to face him, speaking suddenly in a voice that was too bright, too strong, “You know, Xander, there *is* something you can do for me. Can you run to Walmart for me and get him some clothes?” Without waiting for an answer she picked up her purse from the counter and started looking for some money to give him.

Xander looked annoyed at the not-very-subtle dismissal, but he just said, “Sure, Buff. Whatever you need me to do.”

Buffy retrieved the scissors from the drawer in the kitchen and went back upstairs. Spike was staring at the floor, and did not look up when she entered.

She went to stand in front of him and began cutting the filthy fabric away. He sat perfectly still, his downcast eyes wide and haunted with some unnamed emotion as she worked. Fresh tears flooded her eyes at the condition of his chest and back.

It seemed that if the way existed to hurt a person, Warren had done it to Spike. Cuts, burns, bruises, as well as marks she couldn’t even begin to identify, all in various stages of healing – none of which had been tended at all until now.

“Monster,” Buffy muttered under her breath, wanting to go back and kill Warren. Too bad he would already be in police custody by now.

As she crouched down to take off his equally dirty, ragged black jeans, she missed his flinch at the word. *She’s right. I am. Monster…thing…evil…disgusting…*

Because he could not lift his hips, either, without pain, the pants would have to be cut away as well. It didn’t really matter, as they were beyond repair and only fit for the garbage anyway. Buffy was dismayed but not surprised to find the lower half of his body in much the same condition as the top.

The whole time, he did not move an inch, did not make a sound, but his mouth was working with the effort to hold back the intense emotions he was feeling. He was ashamed to have her see him like this, to have her *have* to see him like this, feeling utterly unworthy of her help, the tender care she was giving him.

“Ok, Baby,” Buffy whispered when he was completely naked, as she moved to put her arms under and around him. “I’m trying not to hurt you, okay?”

He nodded, biting down on his lip to keep from crying out as she lifted him off the seat and gently lowered him into the tub. The hot water stung against his numerous wounds, but it felt good, easing the ache of his sore, impossibly tense muscles, and he leaned back against the tub and tried to relax.

He had not been truly relaxed in months.

Buffy took in the terrible damage that had been done to Spike’s brutalized body, trying not to look as if she was staring. He was alarmingly thin; she was certain that if he had been human, he could not have still been alive in this emaciated state.

In addition to the countless other marks marring his once flawless body, she could now see the reason he had been unable to lift his arms. A wide ring of nasty, bluish-black bruises circled his ribcage, indicative of several broken ribs.

Her eyes drifted lower, and she was terrified by the condition of his legs. They had obviously been badly broken, but never set properly, judging by the awkward angle at which they now lay. There would only be one way to fix that, she thought, feeling sick at the idea. There was no way Spike would be up to that for a long while yet.

She gave him a little while to just soak in the warmth of the tub before setting about the task of actually washing him. She was only slightly surprised to find that she was not bothered by it as she had thought she would be. After all, there was nothing even remotely threatening about Spike anymore; he was infinitely more vulnerable to her in this situation than she had ever been to him. Her only concern at this point was helping him get well.

As she gently helped him to sit up a little so that she could wash his back, her eyes widened as they fell on the vicious scars that ran along his shoulders and down the backs of his arms; she noticed that his wrists had similar scarring.

She could feel fury rising in her again. It took a lot to scar a vampire.

She *really* wished she had killed Warren.

Gently running her fingers along the marks, Buffy said softly, “What happened?” wondering even as she did if it was wise or kind to ask.

He cringed inwardly, though his expression did not change. The memory was painful for him, and he didn’t want to tell her, as an overwhelming sense of shame came over him again.

But the lesson of obedience that had been beaten and tortured mercilessly into him for the past months was a strong one. In his mind, she had asked a question, and he must answer. He had no right to refuse.

“Right at the start,” he said softly, his eyes downcast. “He – he chained me up to a – a radiator…”

Buffy drew in a sharp breath, stunned and horrified by the sheer cruelty of it. She could not imagine how painful that would be as a human, and she knew that Spike would have felt it much more intensely than she would have. Her eyes narrowed slowly; fury was developing into murderous rage. She began to wonder how soon after his disappearance Spike had been captured by Warren – how long he had been forced to endure such torment.

She asked him simply, “How long?”

Misunderstanding, he replied in a haunted whisper, “Hours.”

Buffy’s breath caught in her throat at the revelation she had not meant to ask for. It was a long moment before she could recover enough to ask, “How long did he – were you there?”

Spike didn’t answer for a moment. Then he asked in a soft voice full of raw pain, “What month is it?”

The fact that he didn’t know made her heart sink with dread of what the answer would be. *Oh my God…* To think of him, completely isolated, trapped with that sadistic creep…for…how long…?

“April.”

He paused before closing his eyes and whispering, “Five months.”

Five months. Five months at the mercy of a clearly sadistic, twisted person who had tortured him in every way she could imagine. While she had been less than twenty miles away the entire time, and never even looked for him. Done absolutely nothing.

She knelt down beside the tub and reached a tentative hand to turn his face to her. He flinched, but allowed her to do it. She knew it would take him a long time to not expect every touch to hurt.

“Spike,” she murmured, seeking his eyes and holding them with her own wide, guilt-stricken gaze. “I had no idea. I’m so, so sorry. I want you to know that if I’d had any idea – I’d have come for you. A long time ago.”

He looked down again, swallowing hard, and said nothing. He didn’t know what to say. He had never expected her to come at all, after all the terrible things that had happened between them, the terrible thing he had done. She was speaking as if she expected him to somehow blame her, resent the fact that she had left him there.

He was just wondering why she had come for him at all.

“Please, Spike, please believe me,” Buffy pleaded softly, misreading his reaction.

“I do,” he whispered immediately, still not looking up at her.

She was confused, troubled, trying to understand, but unable to read the fathomless expression in his closed, guarded eyes.

Against everything in her nature, for once in her life…Buffy let it go. Her take-charge personality longed to be able to *do* something – preferably involving violence – to make this whole situation immediately all right again. But this was something that was completely outside her control. Spike was struggling with emotions and memories that she had no way of understanding.

All she could do was tend to his physical needs, do her best to make him feel as safe and protected as possible, and let him know that she was right beside him as he stumbled his own way toward some sort of recovery.

There were so many things that she wanted to ask him, so many questions still unanswered, but with an extreme force of will, she refrained from asking them. He would tell her when he was ready.

So she just kept talking softly to him as she tenderly ministered to the wounds that covered his body, telling him how glad she was to have found him and that he was home, reassuring him that he was safe here, that Warren was going to prison for a very long time, and would never be able to touch him again.

The entire time he didn’t say a word, just listened, mostly with his eyes closed, fighting back tears. But Buffy didn’t show any reaction to what he saw as his own pathetic weakness; she took it in stride, trying her best with soothing words and touches to calm the turmoil of confusing emotions he was struggling with.

Finally, she was finished, and reached to let the water out.

Spike finally spoke, hesitantly. “I – I think I might be able to – to stand, now.”

Buffy could not help showing her surprise. She had assumed from the shape his legs were in that he was not able to walk at all. “I thought…”

“It…it was just the shocks…from the chip,” he explained in a slow, cautious voice, talking about it obviously painful for him. “Drained my strength. I think it’s passed now.”

“Ok,” Buffy kept her voice even, and calm, preparing herself not to show disappointment if he was wrong. “We’ll try.”

However, she didn’t think the attempt to stand should be made in the slippery, wet bathtub. She carefully lifted him from the tub and gently sat him down on the closed toilet again, over which she had draped a soft towel. Then she stepped back a bit, holding out her arms for him to use as a support.

“Come on,” she gently coaxed him, as he reached out to brace himself on her arms and pull himself to his feet. Slowly, cautiously, she moved a few steps backward toward the door, letting him stand on his own. “That’s good,” she said softly, with a pleased smile. “Can you walk?”

Focusing, he nodded quickly, and took a couple of hesitant steps toward her. Then he looked up at her and nodded again, more firmly. “Yeah. Good as new,” he affirmed with an ironic, slightly bitter half-smile.

Her eyes softened as she looked at him. The bath had probably made him feel better, but it didn’t make him look much better. In fact, the glaring bruises and burns and other marks stood out more now than they had before.

“You will be,” she amended, meeting his eyes with a firm promise in her own.

Suddenly self-conscious, as if just remembering that he was standing naked and exposed in front of her, and *where* he was standing, he looked away again, but not before she saw the lost, vulnerable look in his blue eyes.

Wanting to respect his feelings, to give him a little bit of privacy, she turned away slightly as she said, “Xander was going to get you some clothes. I’ll go see if he’s back yet.”

She stepped out into the hallway and walked down the stairs. Willow and Tara had left for Tara’s apartment a while ago, and Dawn and Xander sat on the floor by the coffee table, playing cards.

Dawn jumped up when she saw Buffy. “How is he?” she asked anxiously, her wide eyes full of concern.

“Better,” Buffy forced a small smile for her sister’s sake. “Not good,” she admitted with a little grimace. “but better.”

“Can I go see him now?” Dawn asked.

“Not yet, Sweetie. He’s not even dressed yet,” she said, turning a questioning look on Xander.

He held up a plastic Walmart bag for her to see, and she gratefully smiled at him as she took it to inspect its contents. She nodded in satisfaction and headed back up the stairs.

Xander caught her arm halfway up, turning her gently around as he said, “Buffy.”

“What?” she asked, her eyebrows raised expectantly.

“How’re you doing?” His voice was low and concerned as his dark eyes met hers.

Her defenses fell a bit, and she softened at the tone of his voice. She shook her head a little, looking away for a moment, finding no words to express what she was feeling. Then she suddenly met his eyes with a blazing fire in hers. Her voice was harder as she said simply, “I should have killed him.”

Xander looked startled by her words, but then, amazingly nodded slowly in understanding, looking away for a moment before looking back at her with a slightly sad expression. “It probably would have been more merciful,” he said apologetically.

Buffy frowned in confusion for a moment before she realized his meaning. Her eyes widened in shock, the moment before Xander saw them slowly fill with contempt and a sort of betrayal.

“*Warren*,” she clarified, in a voice of low, controlled anger and disgust.

His own eyes widened, stunned by her true meaning, and the implications of it.

“Buffy…” he began, following her up the stairs.

She stopped short without turning, and stopped him with a single word, low and furious, “Don’t.”

He froze as she kept walking up the stairs, each of them feeling betrayed and worried and wondering if they even knew their best friend at all anymore.