Buffy was absolutely, completely terrified. No demon she had ever fought, no moment in which she had been certain that death had finally found her, had in any way compared to the fear she felt looking into her little sister’s unyielding eyes, blazing with the fire of her damnation.

“You’re right,” she whispered, forcing herself to meet that gaze. “We do.”

“There’s something going on here that everybody seems to know about but me, Buffy. And you’re all freaked out, and Spike’s freaked out, but he won’t tell me anything. Oh, yeah,” she stated the obvious in a sarcastic tone, “And Xander might have freaked out a little too!” She stepped closer to her sister, and now Buffy could see the worry and uncertainty in those young, wise green eyes. “I have to know Buffy. Spike needs me to help him – but I can’t if I don’t know what’s wrong!”

Buffy took a deep breath as if preparing to speak – then buried her face in her hands again. “Oh, God,” she moaned.

“Buffy,” Dawn said suddenly, after a short pause, her voice low, even, and controlled. “What did you mean earlier – in the car? About not hurting him *again*?”

Buffy cringed. Trust the little sister of a Slayer to go straight for the throat. She took another deep breath, hoping she could actually speak this time. “Maybe I should just start at the beginning, Dawnie,” she said at last. “It’ll make more sense that way.” She paused, then amended with an ashamed look at the floor, “No, it still won’t make sense. I – I really messed up a lot last year, Dawnie.”

“Just tell me what you did to him,” Dawn’s voice was cold steel, and sent a little tremor through Buffy’s stomach.

“You might wanna sit down, Dawnie,” Buffy suggested, waving a hand vaguely toward the chair at her desk. When Dawn didn’t move, she met her eyes and said, “Seriously. This might take a while.”

Grudgingly, as if by sitting down she was cutting her sister slack she was unwilling to give her, Dawn slowly complied.

“When I came back,” Buffy began, her voice soft, subdued, not looking at Dawn as she spoke. “I was so screwed up, Dawnie. I – I didn’t want to be here, I hated myself, I hated – I hated everyone. I just – didn’t even feel alive, and I didn’t *want* to be. But at the same time I hated feeling so – so numb – like I wasn’t really even here.”

“Spike,” she paused, swallowing hard as her eyes filled with tears of memory. “He loved me. He really did. He tried to help me, to be there for me, because I sure couldn’t talk to Will or Xander. They were the ones who…” Her words choked off, and the bitter pain in her voice told Dawn that she had yet to completely forgive her friends for pulling her out of heaven.

“So I talked to him. I opened up to him, when I couldn’t talk to anyone else.”

“You could have talked to me.” The pain in the simple statement smote Buffy’s heart. God, was there anyone she cared about that she *hadn’t* hurt?

“I didn’t want to worry you, Dawnie,” she said, and the excuse sounded so lame, even to her own ears.

“Oh *that* worked,” Dawn countered sarcastically. “I didn’t worry a bit.” The sarcasm gone in an instant, she went on seriously, “I just didn’t know exactly what I was worrying *about*. I wish you would have told me what was wrong.”

“I’m sorry,” Buffy said, miserably. “I made a mistake.”

Dawn shrugged, trying not to show the hurt that was evident in her eyes. “You sure did. But that’s not the mistake we’re talking about,” she pointed out.

*Damn, she’s good!* Buffy realized with dismay. “When did you become the mom around here?” Buffy asked, her irritation tempered with affection.

“About the time you became the moody, depressive child,” Dawn shot back. “So you started confiding in Spike.” She dragged the conversation back on track without giving Buffy the chance to recover from her stinging words. “That doesn’t explain how you hurt him. When did you guys start sleeping together?” she asked bluntly.

“Right after that stupid singing demon that messed everything up,” Buffy muttered in annoyance at the memory.

“Everything was already messed up,” Dawn pointed out quietly.

“I guess so. But anyway, I kissed Spike, outside the Bronze that night. And then – I was a bitch about it,” Buffy admitted. “I refused to talk to him, I kept putting him down, saying what a horrible mistake it was, how – how disgusting he was – but – but I did it again.”

She looked anxiously at her sister, trying to gauge her reaction, but her young face was impassive, waiting for her to go on.

“Then the night he found out he could hit me – we got in this huge fight. He hit me first,” she quickly pointed out, defensively.

“Um, excuse me?” Dawn interrupted with rising anger, standing up. “No, Buffy, I really don’t think so! You hit him *a lot* when he couldn’t hit back, ever since he got chipped! So don’t go blaming him because when he finally could fight back, he did!”

“You’re right,” Buffy sighed, realizing that her excuses were no good. “I’d had it coming for a couple years. Anyway, the fight turned into – not so much a fight.” Her face colored in embarrassment as she glanced awkwardly up at Dawn.

“God, I’m such a bad example!” she moaned, rolling her eyes helplessly toward the ceiling, before continuing, staring off at the wall with a sad, distant tone in her quiet voice, “Poor Spike. He must have thought his dreams had come true. But – but I was mean to him. I kept on going to him after that, he made me feel so – so – I guess he just made me *feel*.”

“But I felt so bad about going to him, because he’s a vampire, and I’m a Slayer, and – and all that happened with – with Angel, and – well, I guess I started taking it out on him. I kept telling him I didn’t want to see him anymore, to go away – I kept saying no – but I kept going to him anyway. It had to be so confusing for him.”

“Until it just got to be too much,” Buffy went on, carefully not mentioning Riley’s part in her break-up with Spike. “I – I broke it off. Completely. I – I dumped him. And that’s when he slept with Anya, and I was really upset with him over that…”

“*You* dumped *him*!” Dawn broke in indignantly. “How could you be mad at *him*? You’d broken up with him, so what right did you have to be upset if he was with someone else? You can’t have it both ways, Buffy, it is *not* all about you!”

“I *know* that!” Buffy snapped, defensive. Then she added sadly, “Now. Back then – well, I’m ashamed to say it now but I didn’t realize what it was doing to him…”

“Yes, you did!” Dawn’s voice was bitter and angry as she spoke again; Buffy didn’t dare look at her face. “How could you miss it, Buffy? Everything Spike feels shows. Always. You saw it, you just didn’t care!”

“Ok. You’re right, ok? I didn’t,” Buffy admitted tearfully in a guilt-stricken voice just above a whisper. “All I cared about back then was ‘poor Buffy’. I – I broke his heart.”

There was silence for a moment as the words sank in for her for the first time, before Dawn said, in a voice that was cool and calm, “Somehow I don’t think that’s what you were talking about in the car, Buffy. He thought you were actually going to *hurt* him. *Physically* hurt him, Buffy. And you said you never would *again*. What was that about?”

Buffy raised her eyes to meet Dawn’s – and wished she hadn’t. The younger girl’s face was full of protective anger for her best friend, fully prepared to pass judgment on her for the unidentified crime that she knew Buffy had committed. Buffy knew that there would be no getting around this one.

*I’ve been straight with her this far,* Buffy reminded herself, determining in that moment to give Dawn the respect she was showing that she deserved, and tell her the complete truth that she sought. She owed her that much.

She owed *Spike* that much.

“Do you remember when I thought – I thought I’d killed that girl? The girl that Warren killed?” she asked cautiously. “And I was gonna turn myself in to the police.”

Dawn’s eyes narrowed as she tried to call up the memory, trying to figure out how it placed in this situation.

In a small, miserable voice, staring at the floor, Buffy went on, “Spike didn’t want me to do it. He tried to stop me.”

Dawn’s eyes slowly widened as she remembered the day after that, when she had been confused and distraught over Buffy’s almost leaving her again, and had gone to see Spike in his crypt.

“He told me he got hurt patrolling,” she said in an unearthly quiet voice suggestive of the eye of a violent storm. Then those green eyes locked on Buffy’s with disbelief and accusation. “*You* did that? Oh my God, *Buffy*! How could you…” Her voice broke, as she was overwhelmed by the thought, the unwelcome mental image, of her sister, brutally beating Spike, who loved her with everything in him, until he had been in the pitiful condition in which she had found him that day.

“I’m sorry!” Buffy cried, tears streaming from her eyes. “I’m sorry, okay? I’d go back and change it all if I could but I can’t! I’m so, so sorry!” She was sobbing now, but her sister’s face was hard, though it was streaked with tears as well.

Her compassion was fully spent on her suffering best friend; she had none left for his abuser – even if it was her own sister.

“There’s just one thing I don’t get,” Dawn said in a trembling voice of rage. “Why the *hell* does he think that *you* should hate *him*?” The scathing accusation in her voice was worse than a slap in the face to Buffy.

She wasn’t sure how to tell her this part. She no longer saw Spike as the villain of this particular piece, and didn’t want it to seem to Dawn as if she did. And more importantly, she wanted Dawn to understand what had driven him to his desperate actions – to lay the appropriate blame on *her* shoulders, as well as his.

It didn’t really look like that was going to be a problem.

She didn’t look at Dawn as she began in an expressionless tone, “He came to the house to talk to me. After – Anya. Of course, I didn’t want to talk to him.” Her voice was full of self-disgust, remembering the way she had dismissed his attempt at apology, dismissed *him*, as if he meant nothing to her.

“Of course,” Dawn bit out sarcastically, obviously feeling the same way about it.

Buffy bravely ignored her and went on. “So – he thought he’d convince me to forgive him – another way.” She paused. “He wanted to remind me how much I wanted him – to prove to me that I really did love him.” She glanced at her sister to be sure she was following her, to be sure she understood exactly what “way” she was talking about, and could tell from the look on her face that she did.

“I told him no – but you know I’d said that so many times before, usually about an hour before showing up at his crypt, raring to go!” She smiled bitterly through her tears, shaking her head a little in disgust toward her own foolish, selfish actions of the past. “So – so how was he to know that I – that I meant it this time?”

Her tearful eyes sought Dawn’s again, hoping desperately that Dawn would realize what had happened without her having to say any more.

She did.

Dawn’s eyes were wide and stricken with pain, at last for her sister. “Oh – oh, Buffy,” she whispered, shaking her head in denial, not wanting to accept that the ugliness she was hearing about had actually existed between her sister and her friend. “Did he – he…?”

“He didn’t,” Buffy assured her, shaking her head. “He tried. I kicked him off me, and – and he stopped. He was out of control for a few minutes there, though. I was so scared! I was hurt, and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to fight him off.” Her tears were flowing again as the painful memory flooded back.

“I did, though. And the look on his face, Dawnie…” When Buffy’s haunted, pleading eyes met Dawn’s this time, the plea for mercy was for Spike, not herself.

Because she could see the warring emotions in her sister’s eyes. Dawn was angry with her for hurting Spike, yes, but Buffy was still her *sister*, and her loyalties were being tested by the knowledge of what she had gone through as well.

“Dawnie, he was as shocked as I was, he didn’t even realize what he was doing!” Buffy insisted tearfully. “He might have even stopped on his own if I hadn’t stopped him, I don’t know. He was just so hurt, and confused, and desperate! And I’d been so cruel to him for so long…” her eyes were focused on the floor as her sobs overcame her, so she didn’t see her sister’s slow approach.

No matter the crimes she was guilty of, this was her sister, and she was hurting. Dawn put her arms around Buffy and held her as she dissolved into sobs. “I know I hurt him for so much longer and so much worse than he ever did me!” she gasped between sobs. “But we *both* hurt each other *so much*, and I don’t know if we’re ever gonna get to make it right!”

Dawn held her close, running her fingers soothingly through her tangled blonde hair. She finally pulled away to look into Buffy’s red, tearful eyes. Her own were solemn and earnest as she replied.

“You get to try.”


She walked quietly to the door and stopped, almost not daring to open it. She didn’t want to disturb him if he was finally sleeping, but she wanted to be sure he was okay. Silently, she slid the door open just a bit and slipped inside, closing it behind her. She stood there for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness.

Gradually, she could make out Spike’s trembling form – sitting up in the bed, his knees drawn up to his chest defensively. He was looking up at her, midnight blue eyes sparkling with tears in the moonlight.

Silently she slipped over to the bed and sat down on it beside him, drawing her own legs up in imitation of his position and bracing her back on the headboard. She didn’t look at him for a moment, just sat there with him in silence, and he slowly looked away.

“You talked to your sister, then,” he said in a low, hesitant voice, obviously unsure of her feelings.

“I did.”

He waited for her to say more, but she just sat there in silence. Finally, he dared to whisper the one word that was the embodiment of his fearful wonderings.

“And?”

“And nothing’s changed.” He felt a wave of tremendous relief at the gentle reassurance in her tone, leaning his head back against the headboard and closing his eyes. “Oh, God,” he whispered, tears of relief flowing down his face. “I – I was so afraid…”

“Shh,” she whispered soothingly, gently putting her arm around him and pulling him to her. “It’s all right.” She urgently sought his eyes until he hesitantly met her shining emerald gaze, and said slowly, firmly, “She forgives you for what happened. *I* forgive you, Spike. I forgive you.”

The tears flowed harder as he bowed his head, not feeling worthy of the mercy that was being bestowed. She put both arms around him when he moved forward and cradled him against her chest, rocking slightly as she ran her fingers through his loose, tangled blonde curls.

She just held him like that for a long time, struggling to find the words she knew she needed to say. It was next to impossible to speak over the growing lump in her throat as her own tears fell silently down her face into his hair. That was okay; she still hadn’t found any words.

Maybe there were none.

Finally, she tried to speak, her voice low and choked, barely able to be forced out.

“I – I need…” She stopped, shaking with rising sobs.

He pulled away slightly, his glistening blue eyes wide and concerned as he looked up into her face. “What…what, love?” he asked urgently, not knowing if he could, but wanting to help her.

She sobbed harder at the affectionate word, so long since she had heard it! “I need…I need you to…to forgive *me*!” she cried, bowing her head and raising her hands to rest at his shoulders, not daring to look him in the face.

His heart filled with so many emotions, most he did not even have words for as he gazed at her in disbelief and wonder. He could not think of why she would need his forgiveness; he was the one who had done the wrong. *Always…always your fault,* the haunting voice in his head reminded him. Yet here she was, sobbing brokenly and begging for redemption, from *him*!

And suddenly, it was just all too much. The whirlwind events of the night, the blessed salvation she had brought him that he had thought to be impossible, the kindness and tenderness he had experienced at her hands after so long bereft of it, her raw pain and need, here in his arms at last…

He broke down completely, bowing his head against her shoulder, his arms around her, clutching at her with desperate, trembling hands. “Oh, Buffy…oh, Buffy, Buffy, my love,” he whispered, his voice full of an aching need too deep for words – and in it, though he did not speak the words, she heard the reassurance she had desperately craved.

He forgave her. He had forgiven her long ago.

So she simply held him close to her, though she knew her best efforts at comfort were by far inadequate. There was too much hurt here to be healed by a single night of peace and kindness. She didn’t even know if she would ever be able to heal all the harm that had been done to him -- much of it at her own hands.

But she could try.