“I want ice cream,” Dawn pouted loudly, closing the freezer door more emphatically than she had to. “Buffy ate the last of the fudge ripple! I am so gonna kick her butt!”

“Well, go get some bloody ice cream then and quit whining about it,” Spike grumbled good-naturedly at her from the couch, as she entered the living room.

Dawn stuck her tongue out at him in feigned annoyance, but she was inwardly very pleased. They had spent the afternoon together, talking easily and watching television, and there had actually been several moments like this one, in which Spike almost seemed like his old self again.

A part of her knew that the moment someone else, someone even minutely more threatening than her utterly un-threatening self entered the room, his demeanor would likely revert back to the fearful, uncertain nature he had developed during his slavery.

But for the moment, it was just the two of them, and they could both pretend that they were back in better times, when their roles were reversed and he was like a protective older brother to her – back when *he* was the one who always made *her* feel safe and protected.

“Bloody ice cream,” Dawn repeated, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “Yuck. Bad mental image.”

“Maybe for you,” he retorted, with a smile that was almost a smirk – not quite, though. He paused before saying, “Really, Bit, if you want some ice cream, you can go on down to the corner and get some.” He shrugged. “If you like.”

She hesitated. There was a little convenience store on the corner, just down the street from the house. She could walk there and back in twenty minutes. Still, she was reluctant to leave Spike alone, even for a few minutes.

Obviously, he knew that, and was uncomfortable with it. He didn’t want her to feel tied to this house – tied to him, as if he were an infant or invalid that could not be left alone even for a matter of minutes.

“I’ll be fine, Bit, it’s just a few minutes. Go ahead,” he insisted, trying to cover up his ever-present anxiety at the thought of being alone.

“Well,” she hesitated. “Okay, I guess. Do you want something?”

“No, thanks, Bit,” he shook his head.

Dawn frowned. That was another change she had noticed in her friend since his return. Before, he had always eaten as much regular human food as he had blood, as far as she could tell. She remembered being surprised at first at how much he enjoyed it, although it was of absolutely no value to him nutritionally speaking.

Since the rescue, she had not seen him eat a bite. She wondered if it was just habit; after all, she thought with disgusted anger, certainly Warren would have seen it as just a waste to indulge his slave’s taste for unnecessary human food.

At the very thought of Warren, she could feel her temper rising. Carefully she forced it down, not wanting Spike to notice anything. She had a feeling that in spite of the horrific cruelty he had suffered at Warren’s hands, he would still be against what she was planning to do; and she did not want anything standing in the way of her plan to avenge the terrible wrong that had been done to him.

Making sure he was comfortable on the couch, with the remote control and a cup of blood within easy reach, she set out quickly for the corner store, determined not to leave him any longer than necessary.

She had been gone for a matter of minutes when he felt the familiar panic starting to set in.

His enhanced vampire hearing picked up tiny sounds throughout the house, and every one startled him. His wild imagination began playing tricks on him, inventing sounds where there were none, and inventing sinister explanations for the imaginary sounds. Before ten minutes had passed, he found himself struggling to his feet, feeling too vulnerable sitting on the couch, from which it was so difficult for him to rise.

He moved in his slow, awkward pace toward the window, glancing anxiously down the sidewalk to see if she was on her way back yet. The calm, rational part of his brain reminded him that if there was an actual threat, Dawn would be of little help in dealing with it. It would actually be better if she was *not* there, to get hurt.

But most of his mind was still so consumed with insecurity and fear, and the tormenting thoughts that plagued him in every quiet moment, that he was simply desperate for her to return, and ease the terrifying, painful loneliness.

From where he stood at the window, he heard the front door slowly open, and turned toward it with relief, wondering even as he did how she had made it up the steps to the door without being spotted by his watchful eyes.

But it was not Dawn; it was Xander. He felt an oddly unsettled feeling at the sight of the young man, who spared him only a single derisive, hateful glance as he strode up the stairs, before Spike could let him know that neither Buffy nor Dawn was home.

He wasn’t sure he could have found the nerve to speak, anyway, under the withering glare Xander had sent his way. He felt a sickeningly familiar sensation at that look.

Different dark, bigger-than-him guy who despised him; same vicious expression that told him wordlessly of his own worthlessness and the bearer’s desire to punish him for his very existence.

He desperately wished for Dawn to get back quickly.

Moments later, Xander reappeared at the bottom of the stairs. “Where is everybody?” he asked, his mild tone not matching the terribly intimidating, unmistakable hatred in his eyes.

Not meeting Xander’s eyes, feeling unreasonably nervous and shaky, Spike replied in a voice barely over a whisper, “B-Buffy’s at work, and Dawn went down the street to the store.” Almost desperately, he added as an afterthought, “Buffy’s due in any minute now…if…if you want to wait…” hoping that the lie would put off any thoughts Xander might have had of taking advantage of the Slayer’s absence to vent his personal issues with him.

He tried to calm himself. After all, this was only Xander. One of the good guys. Buffy’s friend. Xander might not like him, but surely he wouldn’t actually hurt him…would he?

Xander smiled, not at all a reassuring smile, at the obvious ploy. “Actually…” he corrected quietly, his words loaded with hidden meaning, “Buffy’s not gonna be back for another hour or so.” As he spoke he stepped slowly closer to the increasingly frightened vampire, who without even thinking about it took a step backward, cursing himself for the display of weakness.

*You’ve displayed nothing else since you’ve been here, you pathetic ponce,* he reminded himself harshly. *Why should now be any different?*

“Hey, relax,” Xander went on, his voice still soft and even, and Spike wondered why that was always so much more frightening than out-of-control yelling and ranting. “I just wanna talk to you, Spike.”

“Okay,” he whispered miserably, helplessly, still looking at the floor, as the boy neared him, and he took another couple of steps backward. “W-what did you want to talk about?”

“You,” Xander answered immediately. “And just what exactly you think you’re playing at here.” His voice was harder now.

“I’m not,” Spike argued quietly, shaking his head. “I’m not trying to…”

“Please,” Xander scoffed with a soft laugh. “Like you’re ever without some ulterior motive when it comes to Buffy!” The disgusted accusation in his voice made Spike feel ashamed.

“I’m not going to hurt her,” he insisted, his voice low to disguise its trembling, his back to the wall by now. “I wouldn’t…”

“Don’t you dare say that,” Xander snapped coldly, fury and menace in his voice, and Spike flinched, both at the threat in his voice and the harsh reminder of his own guilt. “Don’t play games with me, you sick little freak! I know what you did, so don’t even say you’d never hurt her. We both know you have.”

Overcome with shame, Spike whispered brokenly, “I know. I’m sorry. I can’t undo it or I would. But she…she’s forgiven me, and I’ll never…”

“She’s forgiven you,” Xander repeated in a skeptically mocking voice, his clenched fists at his sides belying his calm voice. “Yeah, I wonder what choice she feels like she has?” His voice softened to a cruel tone as he added, “Kinda hard not to forgive someone this pathetic, don’t you think? Really convenient for you to suddenly be so helpless!”

A flash of anger joined the fear and shame in Spike’s heart at the unreasonable accusation. “You think I wanted this?” he asked in a bitter whisper, meeting Xander’s eyes for just a moment before the intensity of malice in them made him drop his gaze again.

“No. I think you’re using it,” Xander replied coldly. “I think you’re nothing but a user, Spike, and you saw your chance to use this to your advantage to get in good with Buffy again.”

“No,” he shook his head. “No, I didn’t…”

“All you’ve ever wanted to do was be with her, and she made the mistake of pitying you enough to give in. Then when she finally came to her senses, you couldn’t take it…”

Spike tried again, “It wasn’t like that…I…”

“I know what it was *like*, Spike, don’t try and give me your excuses for why you did it…” Xander cut him off again.

Spike knew what he had done was terribly wrong, and the guilt of it consumed him every day. Xander didn’t seem to understand that at all; he wanted to try to explain, although he knew there was no excuse for what he had done, but Xander was determined not to let him get a word in edgewise.

“If you’d just listen…” he said in a voice of quiet desperation.

“No, *I’m* doing the talking right now, you useless little waste of space,” Xander snarled, raising one of his fists between them and opening it, revealing something in his hand. “And I really think *you’d* better listen!”

Overwhelming panic flooded his every thought, in an almost physical terror, as he jerked back instinctively against the wall, and time seemed to stop for a moment as he took in the sight.

Xander held the control device for the chip in his hand.

“No…no,” he whispered, shaking his head, holding his hands up pleadingly in the small space between him and the larger boy. “Please…”

“Just shut up and listen to me,” Xander bit out the words sharply before going on in an even, measured voice. “Buffy’s got a very good heart, and she wouldn’t even be Buffy if she didn’t feel sorry for you because of what happened. But her emotions are involved now…and that makes her vulnerable.”

“If you even *think* about trying to use that to your advantage…to get to her…so help me I will make you pay for it, Spike. Do you understand me?”

Spike nodded, trembling uncontrollably, on the verge of breaking down, fighting it with everything in him, as his old thought patterns came instinctively to the forefront. *Do as he says…don’t make him any angrier…answer immediately…* “Y-yes,” he whispered. “Yes, I understand…please...”

“Good. I mean it, Spike. If you do anything to hurt her or…”

Suddenly, Xander’s words were cut off, and the oppressing nearness of his deliberately intimidating bulk was unexpectedly relieved.

Spike dared to look up just in time to see Dawn’s hand, which had pulled Xander away from him a moment before, dart out in a furious slap across the much larger boy’s face.

Xander took a step back, stunned not by the physical force of the blow itself so much as by the fact that it had been delivered, and by whom, dropping the device onto the floor in his surprise.

“How dare you, you…you *bastard*!” Dawn’s voice was low with rage, as she glared at the young man she had at one time adored, raining several more furious blows on his chest and stomach. “Get away from him!” There was pure menace in her voice, and Spike knew that if she had had a weapon in her hand, Xander would have been dead.

“Dawnie,” Xander began, his voice carefully calm in an attempt to appease her, reaching out his hands for her, to try to stop her furious, if futile, assault. “It’s not what it looks like. I wasn’t going to…”

“Shut up!” she interrupted him, her voice nearly a shriek of uncontrolled fury as she flailed at him with her fists. “Don’t touch me! You – you *monster*! How could you…”

“Dawnie,” he tried desperately.

At just that moment, the front door opened again, and all three of them froze, looking toward the door.

Buffy was home.


She was absolutely stunned upon walking through the front door by the sight that greeted her. No one moved or spoke for a moment as she took in the scene before her.
Xander, only mere remnants of the rage he had displayed minutes before still visible under the defensive demeanor he now held. Dawn, facing him in outraged fury, an accusing, hateful look on her face. Spike, his back to the wall, trembling and very badly shaken, barely daring even to look up at her as she entered.

The control device, lying on the floor a few feet from the tense stand-off between her sister and her friend.

Her eyes widened as terrible understanding slowly came upon her, and she raised her wide, horrified eyes from the device on the floor to the face of the man she had called her friend.

“Xander,” she whispered, shaking her head slowly in hurt disbelief.

“Buffy,” Xander quickly broke in, taking a few hesitant steps toward her. “I know what this looks like, and I promise I wasn’t going to hurt him! I swear! I just wanted to…”

“Get out.”

He stopped, stunned by the low, incredibly dangerous tone in which the words were spoken. The righteous rage he saw slowly building in Buffy’s eyes was an expression he had only seen there before in the moments right before she slew some vile, evil thing.

“Buffy,” he whispered pleadingly. “Buffy, please…”

“I said get out,” she repeated, in a voice of seething fury, barely restrained, forcing the trembling words out slowly, “I don’t even know who you are. You’re not welcome here, Xander.”

His eyes widened, stricken, as the impact of what was happening, what he had *caused* to happen, hit him. He wanted to plead with her, to try to explain, but knew that it would be useless at this point. Slowly, feeling a cold numbness starting to creep over him, he headed for the door without another word.

When he was gone, Buffy looked down at the device on the floor in a sort of shock for a moment, still not believing what had happened.

Then, suddenly, she went into action, going quickly to Spike and putting her arms around him without hesitation, pulling him close to her in a tight, protective embrace, one hand around his waist and the other cradling his head.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. “Oh my God, Baby, are you all right?”

He nodded, breaking down now in the safety of her arms, clinging to her with his own, giving way to desperate, gasping sobs. “H-he…he didn’t,” he began, trying to reassure her, though he was still nearly out of his mind with fear himself. She could feel his body trembling violently against hers, could feel the weakness overwhelming him from the terror and intense emotion of the incident, moments before his legs gave out under him.

Carefully, she went down to the floor with him, holding him in her arms, sobbing with him. “Oh, Baby, I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry he did that to you!” she whispered. After a few moments, she remembered her sister, wondered how she was handling all of this, and looked up in concern.

Dawn stood still, staring in fury at the door where Xander had disappeared.

Gently Buffy took her hand, drawing her attention to where she was most truly needed at the moment. Dawn slowly drew near to them, going to her knees beside Spike on the side opposite Buffy, wrapping her arms around him, so that he was surrounded by the warm safety of their embrace.

When she felt the tremors begin to fade away, Buffy gently pulled back a little, searching his eyes anxiously, as she ran a gentle hand across his cheek, wiping away his tears.

“Buffy,” he whispered, relief and pain mingled in his voice as he met her eyes. “I thought…I thought he was going to…” He couldn’t finish, his breath stolen by the painful memories assailing him, brought back afresh by Xander’s thoughtlessly cruel actions.

“I know,” she whispered, “it’s ok…he’s gone. And he’s not coming back.”

Dawn glared down at the hated controller, on the floor a few feet from them. “The stupid chip,” she muttered. “I wish…” She stopped suddenly, shaking her head a little, and Buffy glanced at her, puzzled.

“What? What do you wish?”

“I don’t wish anything,” Dawn said firmly. “It’s just if it wasn’t for…” Her voice trailed off and she shook her head, staring at the device on the floor.

Cautiously, slowly, Buffy reached over and picked it up in her hand, looking at it solemnly. “I shouldn’t have kept it,” she said softly.

“You didn’t have a choice,” Dawn pointed out, frowning. “You’ve got to keep it. Otherwise someone might….” Again she stopped, realizing that what she was about to say could happen had indeed happened, that night.

Buffy shook her head. “No. I don’t have any business keeping it,” she said decisively. Her eyes rose from the device in her hand to Spike’s wide, startlingly blue eyes, raised in uncertainty to meet hers.

Holding his gaze, reaching with her other hand to take his and hold it out, she said softly but surely, “No one has any right to have this but you, Spike. No one but you should ever have that much control over your life,” and she placed the item in his hand, closing it carefully around it.

He stared down at it for a moment, stunned and uncomprehending. The very concept of the thing being in *his* possession, under his control, had never occurred to him. He had simply become so accustomed to having someone else dominating him, controlling him, that he had never thought of anyone but Buffy keeping the device, once he had come back here.

His eyes rose back to hers, full of so much powerful emotion that it took her breath away. *God, he’s beautiful!* she thought, her heartbeat quickening.

And in that moment, some small, indefinable something changed, as Buffy relinquished the life or death power she had unconsciously held over him, always preventing him from seeing himself as her equal. Dawn sensed it, and quietly rose, excusing herself to her room, leaving them in the moment that had suddenly became intensely intimate.

As his eyes held hers, for once without a thought of backing down, she read the many feelings there that he held for her. Intense gratitude for the incredible power she had just placed in his hands, relief and joy that she had even found him to begin with – and so much more than that.

“Buffy,” he whispered, and she knew what he was going to say before he went on. “I – I lo...” His voice faltered, hesitating over the words he had not dared to say since he had been back, though he had felt them every moment.

He had no right to say them, he was sure. Not after…

“I love you,” she whispered suddenly, earnestly, her hands on either side of his face drawing him closer to her, her lips inches from his, telling him more with the look in her eyes than with the words he had longed to hear for so long.

He shook his head, the greater part of him that still felt worthless and ashamed unwilling to accept it as truth, but her firm but gentle hands stopped him, as she went on, speaking the words that she knew to be true, “I always did. You were right, Spike. I loved you before. I was just too afraid to admit it. But I love you. I really love you, Spike. So much.”

“B-buffy,” he gasped out, in a tearful whisper, his hands cluching at her waist, leaning his head on her shoulder, unable to face her and speak the words at the same time. “Oh, I love you so much, Buffy!”

Her lips fell tenderly on his face again and again, in feather-light, gentle kisses, speaking of the love she had just admitted, and after a moment, reassured by her gently insistent affection, he tentatively raised his head to meet her kiss.

And for the first time, if only for a few moments, he really believed that he was going to be all right.