“Miss, can I help you with those?” the attendant at the Sunnydale train station asked the pretty brunette as she stepped off the train and onto the platform, glancing around with an apprehensive look on her face.

“No thank you,” she murmured quietly, not really noticing the helpful man at all, just responding as she knew was appropriate. Her attention was focused on her painfully familiar surroundings.

She had not been back to Sunnydale since…

Since she had given up her humanity.

Since everything had fallen apart.

Since her heart had been shattered into a million pieces.

She had hoped to never have to return to this place that had seen her downfall, the devastation of the great power she had once held, leaving her nothing more than a powerless, heartbroken girl. Well, she had not stayed down. She had done what she had to do to return to her former power. She had shown them all.

Except…they didn’t know it yet.

And that was not why she was here, anyway. If her mission brought her into contact with those who had hurt her, if they happened to see how well she had recovered from her humiliation, how much better off she was without them…well, that was just a bonus.

A recent job had brought her as close to Sunnydale as she had been since she had left the place for good…a small, lonely desert town in Arizona.

And she could hear the anguished cries from there. It was awful…worse than anything she had ever heard in all her life. The agony, the despair, the absolute hopelessness of it. A desolate voice crying out, without any hope that anyone would actually hear their cry…a desperate cry – for vengeance.

With a grim resolve, Anyanka stepped off the platform and onto the sidewalk, heading toward her destination. She had work to do.


Buffy woke up that morning, a bit disoriented on finding herself fully clothed on Willow’s bed, instead of in her pajamas in her own. Then, she felt the oddly comforting weight of the body that lay halfway across her own, and the memory of the night before came rushing back with a mixture of sick uncertainty and the warmth of hope.

She didn’t remember falling asleep. She just remembered sitting there for the longest time, just holding Spike in her arms as they cried together. They hadn’t said much; what they were experiencing really went beyond words. She had just comforted him the best she could with her touch, her presence, until he had gone to sleep in her arms, utterly spent from the chaotic events of the evening, the venting of his overwhelming emotions, and the physical strain they had put on his abused, exhausted body.

After that, she had not wanted to get up. She had just sat there, holding him, running her fingers through his hair, just wanting to feel the certainty that it was real, that she had really found him, he was really here, safe in her arms again.

She knew they still had a long way to go. She was not foolish or idealistic enough to believe that the simple words “I forgive you” would banish the torment of Spike’s guilt from his heart and mind. She did not know all that he had been through, but she knew that emotionally, he was a wreck, and it would take a lot of time to get past the hurt and find healing.

She hoped that he would let her help him find it.

But the feel of his body in her arms – in a soft, affectionate embrace, not a violently passionate assault – was comforting to her, made her hope that maybe, somehow, they could make things right between them again.

The next thing she knew, she was waking up here, with Spike still asleep, his head resting just below her chest, even in sleep his hands holding onto her, at her sides, needing the comfort of knowing that she was there – and not going anywhere.

She watched him in silence for a few moments, a sort of sad smile turning up the corners of her mouth. Without even thinking about it, just wanting to touch him, she reached out with gentle fingers to run down his cheek in a light caress. Even like this – bruised and battered and troubled even in sleep – his face was still the most beautiful she had ever seen.

How could she have missed it for so long?

With a start, suddenly, he awoke, at her touch, flinching away as his eyes opened, wide and frightened, and he drew in a little gasping breath as he pulled back a little from her.

“Shhh,” she whispered, soothingly, repeating the caress and placing her other hand on his back as his eyes focused on her. “Just me. It’s okay.”

When he realized where he was, the relief was visible as he let out the breath he had drawn, and rested his head on her again, breathing deeply, his eyes closed as he tried to control the physical reaction of the fear that overtook him upon waking, the fear that it had all been a beautiful dream, and he was back in Warren’s house.

Suddenly, his eyes flew open again, as he realized not only where he was, but where *she* was, and quickly scrambled backward off of her.

“Oh, God, Buffy, I’m sorry!” he gasped, a look of horrified guilt in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Buffy, I didn’t mean to…”

“Spike,” she said in a soft but firm voice, putting her hand to his cheek and making him look her in the eye, making him see the assurance in hers that she really meant her words. “It’s all right. I stayed here all night with you because I *wanted* to. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He didn’t say anything, but she could see the doubt in his eyes, the fear that he had done something to make her regret her kindness to him. But she could see something else there, something she hadn’t seen the night before.

Just the tiniest spark – barely even there – of hope.

“Come here,” she murmured, gently pulling him back down with her, at her side, so that his head was at her shoulder. He seemed uncomfortable, unsure of where to put his hands, but she tenderly took one of them and drew his arm across her waist, slowly intertwining her fingers with his and holding his hand there in hers.

She just held him like that for a little while, as she had done while he slept, running her other hand lightly up and down the tense muscles of his back, until she felt some of the tension leave his body, felt him actually dare to relax against her a bit.

She waited a few moments, trying to find exactly the right words to say what she wanted to tell him. Finally she spoke, her voice soft and clear in the peaceful quiet that enveloped them.

“I want you to feel safe with me, Spike,” she began, looking straight ahead, and speaking slowly and evenly. “I want you to feel like you can talk to me, like you can touch me, and it’s gonna be okay. Because it is. I *want* you to, Spike.”

“How can you…” was all he managed to choke out before closing his eyes against the tears, shaking his head a little. “How…”

“Because I always felt safe with you, Spike,” she answered the unfinished question immediately. “I always knew that you weren’t going to get mad, or hurt, or stop – stop loving me.” She deliberately emphasized the word, finally acknowledging to him that she knew he really had loved her. “And I knew you were willing to die for me if you had to, to protect me and Dawn. And that made me feel safe.”

His soft, pained intake of breath told her what he was thinking, though he didn’t say a word.

She didn’t react in any way, just kept talking. “And in the one moment,” she went on, bravely facing the demon that was hounding him, though it was the only demon she didn’t know if she was up to fighting, “that I didn’t – feel safe with you – one moment for all the thousands I must have given you – the very next moment…all I wanted…was for you to hold me…and tell me it was all going to be okay.”

She could feel the shaking of his silent sobs beside her, and fought back the ones rising up in her as she continued. “I want to do that for you, Spike. I want to be there for you through this. I don’t know all that’s happened to you. I – I don’t have to. You don’t have to tell me anything. But – but I want you to know that if you *want* to…I’m here for you.”

She paused again before she added, “Whatever you need me to do to help you get through this…I’ll do it. You’re not alone anymore, Spike. I’m here. I’m here for you.”

He was crying in earnest by now, and she turned over on her side to face him, tenderly wiping a tear from his cheek with the backs of her fingers, gazing into his eyes with such compassion, such heartfelt tenderness, that it nearly took his breath – not that he needed it.

“How can you?” he sobbed, his sapphire eyes wide with disbelief, mingled with open need. “How can you do that for me, Buffy?” And she knew that he was not questioning her ability, but the reasons for her desire, to be there for him.

Her eyes drifted down from his to his perfect, though trembling lips, slightly parted, displaying his vulnerability. She wondered at the fact that even like this, he had the power to make her want him so desperately. But she knew better than to think that it would be anything but taking advantage of his need if she acted on her desires now.

And taking advantage of Spike was something she had vowed never to do again.

The kiss fell, sweet, slow, and chaste, on his face just to the side of his lips, as she pulled back to look into his eyes and whisper, “How could I not?” Her hand at his cheek rose to brush back through his hair. “After all the times you’ve been there for me, and all I ever did to pay you back was hurt you? You’ve earned this, Spike. You’ve earned it.”

He couldn’t speak, blown away by the power of the emotion in her eyes that he dared not attempt to define. It couldn’t be. Not for him. Not ever.

Just then, there was a soft knock at the door.

Nervously, Spike pulled back from Buffy, glancing at her self-consciously. He knew that she would not want anyone to see them like this. It was a purely innocent embrace, but still, Buffy had never wanted anyone to know that she thought of him as anything but an annoyance, if an occasional help.

But her soft arms around him stayed firm as she gently pulled him back against her. He gave her an anxious, questioning look, but she just shook her head slowly and smiled.

“No more hiding, Spike,” she explained firmly, before turning back to the door and calling, “Come in.”

Dawn didn’t show any reaction, any surprise or discomfort, at the sight of her sister and Spike holding each other on the bed. “Morning, guys,” she spoke cheerfully as she approached them, two steaming mugs in her hands.

“Extra-caffeiney French roast for you,” she said, placing one of them in Buffy’s hand, “and the house special for you,” she finished, giving the mug of blood to Spike.

“So what’s with the extra helpful bit this morning?” Buffy asked, a note of suspicion in her voice, but her eyes were playful. It had been such a tremendous relief for her to finally open up to her sister the night before; she felt like they had finally taken several huge steps toward making things right between them again.

Dawn looked offended. “Can’t I do someone a favor without getting jumped on?” she demanded, not really upset. “I mean, it’s not *that* weird for me to be nice, is it?”

Thinking that Dawn probably wanted a few minutes with Spike after the revelation of last night, and knowing that it would do Spike good to see for himself that Dawn’s feelings toward him hadn’t changed, Buffy gently unentangled herself from Spike’s arms, giving him a reassuring smile, and as she got up, he turned and sat up himself, swinging his legs over the side of the bed nearest Dawn.

“I’d better go get dressed...um…again,” Buffy amended with a frown, realizing that she *was* dressed, in yesterday’s clothes.

As she left the room, Spike felt a bit of apprehension as he looked anxiously up at Dawn. The girl was standing a few feet from him at the side of the bed, her arms crossed, just looking at him calmly.

Then her expression faded into a warm, understanding smile as she moved forward to hug him tightly, carefully keeping her embrace above his tender ribcage. She just held onto him, wordlessly, for a few moments, before she spoke in a near-whisper close to his ear, her tone softly reproving, and infinitely reassuring.

“Didn’t I tell you I wouldn’t stop loving you?”


Buffy stood in the center of her bedroom, staring at the hated object in her hand. Where should she put it? she wondered. She couldn’t risk its being found by the wrong person, or accidentally bumped and set off. The device was frighteningly easy to activate, she thought with an uncomfortable feeling. She guessed that Warren hadn’t cared much about safety features for the device, to keep it from going off accidentally. The creep probably would have thought it was funny, she thought with disgust.

So, somewhere out of reach, where it was unlikely to be found, or touched. With a sigh, she reached up to the top shelf of her closet and took down a worn shoebox full of old letters, notes, pictures, that she hadn’t looked at in a couple of years. Placing the item underneath the other contents of the box, she carefully closed the lid and placed it back on the shelf, a feeling of sadness coming over her again as she thought of all Spike had suffered.

“Hey.”

The low, familiar male voice from her doorway startled her, and she jumped as she spun around to face him. “Xander!” she gasped. “You scared me!”

“There’s a first,” he smiled hesitantly, his eyes uncertain as they met hers.

Remembering the incident of the night before, Buffy felt her face harden into impassivity. Not sure what to say, certain only that she was *not* going to argue with him again, she turned toward her desk and began rearranging things without thinking about it, just needing something to do to focus her attention off of him.

“Buffy,” he said, the joking gone from his voice, replaced by a pleading note, as he cautiously approached her.

“Unless you want to apologize, Xander, I really have nothing left to say,” Buffy said, her voice quiet and firm, not looking up at him.

His eyes widened in surprised dismay. “Buffy, look, I *am* sorry, okay? That we fought like that, and…”

She whirled on him suddenly, angrily. “Are you sorry for saying those things, Xander? About something so *incredibly* personal to me that you swore you’d never mention to anyone?”

“I didn’t…Dawn didn’t know what I was talking about…” Xander began to defend himself.

“She didn’t. But she does now. Because *you* put the questions in her head,” Buffy pointed out. She was actually glad now that she had come clean to her sister, but Xander didn’t have to know that yet. “Are you sorry for saying those hurtful things in front of *Spike*, who just spent the last five months not only being tortured, but torturing *himself* over what happened?”

“And that reminds me…” she went on, building up steam as she stepped closer to him, her eyes blazing. “Are you sorry for scaring the crap out of him with the very torture device that he was tortured *with*? Tossing it around like it was nothing? I’m sorry, Xander, but I never thought you could be that cruel! That was just…just *low*, Xander!”

Truthfully, Xander was not sorry. He had not given a thought to Spike’s feelings about the whole affair. He really didn’t care how the vampire felt or if he was scared or not. His only concern was that Buffy was letting the man who had tried to rape her back into her life, and in a very big way.

Still, he could see that Buffy was furious, and he was not going to win this by telling her that. “I’m sorry, Buffy,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to – to cause any trouble, okay? But…”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed on him, understanding completely why he had chosen the words he had. “But you’re not. Not sorry for what you did to *him* last night.” Seeing the truth in his eyes, she threw up her hands in frustration and stalked past him toward the stairs.

Dismissed. Again. Now Xander was getting angry himself. “No, Buffy. No, I’m not! I’m sorry that I hurt you, that I upset you, yeah! But excuse me if I don’t feel sorry for the poor helpless *brutal killer* that got a little taste of his own medicine for once!” he spat out as he followed her down the stairs to the living room.

Buffy had deliberately moved the argument downstairs, knowing that Dawn and Spike were still in the upstairs bedroom. She didn’t want either of them to hear any more of this than they had to.

“I can’t believe you, Xander! You don’t have an ounce of compassion in your body, do you?” she demanded, anger and disbelief in her eyes as she shook her head.

As she spoke, the doorbell rang, but in their fury, neither of them paid it any attention. If it was important, whoever it was would come back later.

“No, I don’t! Not for him! Buffy, maybe it makes you feel better about your choices to pretend he’s actually a person, but he’s *not*!”

“How dare you talk to me like that!” Buffy’s voice was low and furious, her eyes showing how close she was to losing control.

The doorbell rang again.

“A demon is a demon, Buffy,” Xander said angrily, heading toward the door, more out of annoyance at the interruption and wanting to send the person on their way than anything else. “So you went through a time there when your standards weren’t so high and you thought that was okay,” he snapped out the hurtful words. “But he is what he is, Buffy. He’s a demon.”

Buffy was stunned that he would talk to her that way, so contemptuously. As he reached for the door to answer it, she retorted furiously, “How can you say that, how can you even begin to feel that way, after spending the last three years mooning over…”

“Anya!” Xander’s hushed voice broke in from the doorway. Buffy frowned, momentarily irritated that he had finished her thought and taken the force out of her very valid point – until he stepped slowly out of the way -- revealing the former vengeance demon standing awkwardly, nervously, on the front porch.