Dawn left her sister and her lover to their moment, striding purposefully toward the privacy of her bedroom, trying half-heartedly – and unsuccessfully – to control her raging temper. Losing it right now would not be good for anyone concerned; she had to focus on her plan. Spike was unhurt, just badly scared; she just needed to get past her fury over what Xander had done, before she made a foolish wish that could jeopardize her more important vengeance on Warren.

Screw that, she thought. Xander needed to pay.

When she threw open the door to her bedroom angrily, she jumped back with a little cry of surprise at the sight of Anya, sitting on her bed, looking up at her expectantly.

“Oh my God, Anya, you scared me!” she gasped. “What are you doing here?”

“You called,” Anya shrugged. “You tell me. What happened?”

Seething, so furious that she was almost growling, Dawn asked, “Is there any kind of limitation on this vengeance stuff? Could I wish vengeance for Spike on *two* people?”

Anya raised her eyebrows speculatively, thinking about it for a moment before replying, “No reason why not, if both people have wronged him. There’s no limit, really. You wish it and its done. Why do you ask?”

“Xander,” Dawn spat out the name in disgust. “I came home to find him -- *terrorizing* Spike with the chip controller thing! After everything he’s been through, and he’s barely hanging on as it is, and Xander *knows* how hard this has been on him! I can’t believe he would do that to him!” Dawn sat down hard on the bed beside Anya, nearly in tears she was so upset.

Anya looked stunned herself. “*Xander* did that?” she asked in disbelief.

“Insensitive creep,” Dawn muttered, affirming it with a nod.

“I wouldn’t have thought Xander would do something like that. I mean…he’s always hated Spike, but…” Anya’s voice trailed off, and she shook her head. If Dawn had been looking at her, she would have noticed the stricken, almost hurt look on Anya’s face.

“Well, neither did I,” she countered. “but I guess we were both wrong. Xander may seem like Mr. Nice Guy, but that was just…just low and dirty and *wrong*!”

Anya did not respond. Her expression, which Dawn was utterly unaware of, was deeply troubled.

“I just don’t understand why he can’t show a little compassion for Spike,” Dawn went on, her voice still angry, but softer now, and a little sad. “I mean, he’s been through hell. But all Xander sees is the times he’s messed up. He thinks it’s all gotta be Spike’s fault, somehow.”

“I just wish that Xander could understand what Spike is feeling right now!”

The words had barely left Dawn’s lips when she realized exactly what she had said, and to whom. Her eyes widened, and before she could even turn around to face Anya, she heard a soft whisper, barely audible.

“Done.”

When she whirled around to face her – the vengeance demon was gone.


The kiss they had started seemed to take on a life of its own, continuing for several minutes, until Buffy had to pull back to take a breath. She smiled tenderly into his eyes as she whispered, “Maybe we’d better get up off the floor.”

Carefully she helped him to his feet, and still in each other’s arms, unwilling to relinquish even for a moment the bond they had just found, they made their way to the couch. Buffy sat down, pulling him down into her arms, and they stayed like that for a long time, just holding each other and talking quietly.

There were so many things she had never told him, that she knew she should have long ago. Generous acts of love he had bestowed on her which she had never thanked him for, never even acknowledged; moments in which some courageous or self-sacrificing act had moved her heart to praise for him, but it hadn’t found her lips, for fear of what others – or he – might think of her if it did.

All the many intimate moments they had shared that past fall, which she had allowed him – no, forced him – to believe meant nothing to her…while in truth each one had secured his place in heart just a little more firmly.

Now, finally, she found herself truly opening up to him. She told him how much his love meant to her, how much *he* meant to her, and had for so long now. He sat there, mostly in silence, a part of him afraid to believe, another part of him drinking it in with a desperate thirst, the words he had dreamed of, longed for, for so long.

Indeed, it *did* seem like a happy dream to him; surely at any moment he would wake up to find himself back in the grim reality of his existence. Though it felt like a world away and a lifetime ago, it had really only been a few days since he had been liberated from slavery, and the drastic change still had him in a sort of state of shock.

“What is it, Baby?” she asked him after a brief silence. “What’s wrong?” She felt a little foolish asking such a question, which had so many obvious answers. But she sensed that something specific was troubling him.

“I just keep thinking,” he said softly, snuggling back closer against her, as if in a subconscious effort both to hold her there, and to reassure himself that she was really there, “that this can’t all be real. It’s just a dream.”

She laughed softly, but it was a warm sound, not mocking, as she turned his face to meet her affectionate smile. “It’s real,” she assured him in a whisper, emphasizing her point with a slow, gentle kiss on his lips. She pulled away and went on, “You’re really here… with me, finally. And you’re safe. And I love you.”

Every single thing he had needed to hear. God, how he loved her!

He wanted to tell her, but the words didn’t seem to come as easily as they once had, not because he felt them any less strongly, but because he had no longer felt that he had a right to such feelings.

Until tonight.

Until he received the blessed revelation that those feelings were returned.

Tentatively, his eyes locked on hers, he leaned toward her to kiss her, and she moved to meet him halfway. Hesitantly, his tongue slipped past the yielding non-barrier of her parted lips.

She welcomed his kiss with a thrill of delight. Oh, he was still unsure and hesitant, but the fact that he had initiated the kiss at all showed her that progress was being made, and slowly but surely he was regaining his confidence, finding his way back to himself.

And if she had to help him along the path a little here and there, she thought with a smile, well, that was a challenge she was definitely up to accepting.

Her soft little moan of pleased approval at the welcome gentle invasion of her mouth was encouraging to him, and he dared to deepen the kiss, turning and slipping his arms around her in a light, barely there touch, then pulling back just slightly, as if he hardly dared to touch her.

Her hands caught his, as she continued to return his kiss, and pulled them gently back around her, placing them firmly on her body before releasing them to their own devices and returning his embrace. Her powerful arms wrapped around him with caution, remembering his injuries. Slowly, she slid her body down the couch under him, without even really realizing what she was doing, pulling him down so that he was lying on top of her.

He drew back a little in surprise and alarm, his eyes wide and questioning.

She slowly nodded her assent, a promise in her shining eyes and sultry smile.

“But – Dawnie,” he protested in a whisper. “If she…”

“She’s a very smart girl,” Buffy murmured, smiling up at him as she nodded emphatically. “Why do you think she went upstairs?”

He glanced anxiously toward the stairs, but she put her hand behind his head and gently but insistently pulled him down into another kiss. For a moment, he was tense against her, still a little uneasy, but then she felt him relax into the kiss, returning it with ever-deepening fervency.

*She’s so perfect!” he thought, worshipful. *Beautiful…amazing…incredible...better than I deserve…too good for me…don’t deserve her…* Even as he kissed her, held her, unable to believe the incredible good fortune that had finally befallen him, his thoughts began to take a darker turn.

*Couldn’t ever deserve her…dirty, disgusting, evil thing…not worthy…* Unbidden, a cruel mental image, a memory of a devastating violation, flew into his mind, as the harsh voice continued, *Dirty…used… damaged…* He felt a sudden sick feeling come over him with the undeniable certainty that he could never again be worthy of her…not after what he had done…what had been done to him.

She felt the difference in his touch, felt his body tense up against her, felt him draw back from the kiss, even as she instinctively tried to draw him closer. He pulled back, turning his head away a little.

“Baby,” she murmured, her arms around him pressing him closer, her concerned eyes seeking his, “what is it? What is it, Sweetheart?”

He didn’t want to look at her, didn’t want her to see it in his eyes, so when she turned his face with her hand, he lowered his head onto her shoulder, gasping to hold back the sobs.

“What, Baby? What?” she urged him gently, her hand at the back of his neck gently running through his hair. “What’s the matter?”

He couldn’t find the words for a long time, and finally settled on a statement that was not too telling. “I don’t deserve you, love,” he whispered, his voice low and heavy. “How can you even stand to touch me? I’m not…I’m not…” His words broke off, but not before she heard the pain, the lost sound in the words. Then, when he reluctantly raised his eyes to meet hers, the intensity of those emotions that she saw there nearly took her breath.

Misunderstanding, thinking she knew what he was talking about, she felt a wave of pain wash over her, heartbroken that despite her genuine forgiveness, he still could not forgive himself.

“Spike…Baby,” she murmured, leaning down to place a tender kiss on his cheek, holding his gaze. “I forgave you already. It’s in the past. Don’t even think about it, Sweetheart.”

And then, his expression changed, and time seemed to freeze for Buffy, the single moment dragging on in what felt like hours of painful revelation, as so many different emotions played across his impossibly expressive eyes.

First surprise, confusion, that told her that she had somehow missed the mark, misunderstood the source of his distress. Then, understanding, as he realized her mistake. Followed by an unmistakable look of deep, agonizing shame, as he remembered that she had no idea of the true cause of that shame. And finally, panic at the thought that perhaps he had given it away, desperately hoping that his reaction had not let her figure out his secret.

But she had. *Oh, God…oh, no…no…* An overwhelming pain and sorrow for what that single, multi-faceted expression told her froze her where she was. She couldn’t breathe; she felt her heart skip a beat; it was almost as if it had been done to her, the intensity of feeling she had for this broken man that she loved, as she realized the extent of the abuse that had been unleashed upon him.

All this happened in the briefest instant of time, though it felt like an eternity to both of them. And in the next instant, though she could feel the blind, reckless rage rising up in her for his abuser, she knew exactly what she had to do in this moment.

Fighting it back with all her strength, she looked into his panicked eyes, painfully vulnerable with the exposure of his secret, and brought a tender, reassuring smile to her lips. There would be plenty of time later to find a way to punish the one who had violated him so cruelly.

Right now, the man she loved needed her to focus on him.

“I love you,” she whispered slowly, emphatically, kissing him again, slowly and thoroughly. “I will always love you. No matter what.” Still holding his gaze, she shook her head a little and said softly, “Nothing that’s happened matters to me, Spike. Not that way. We can’t change anything that’s happened. But it doesn’t change how I feel about you, and it never will. I love you,” she repeated finally, and when she saw the tears welling in his eyes, she pulled his head down on her shoulder again.

“Buffy…oh God, Buffy…” he gasped. “I didn’t…I…couldn’t stop him…he…” He gave up, unable to find words for the agony of the memory, for the devastation it had left of his heart.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she murmured in his ear, pulling him closer, running her hand slowly up and down his back in a comforting motion. “There was nothing you could have done, Baby. It’s all right. It’s okay.”

And for a long while, she just held him in her arms while he poured out the pain, the shameful burden of the secret kept for so long. And to his surprise, he found that a measure of freedom came in revealing that secret to someone who loved him in spite of it, who would not use it against him.

Physically, he was free from the place where he had been held in bondage. The control device that had enslaved him was now under his power. The last remaining stronghold of Warren’s power over his life was the shame of the secret he had forced upon him, forced him to keep.

And now, that was broken as well.

Buffy held him, as his sobs began to diminish, whispering comfortingly to him, reassuring him that she loved him, that he was not to blame for the things that had been done to him, that he was brave and worthy and beautiful to her, and nothing that had been revealed to her tonight, nothing *ever*, would change the way she felt about him. And as she spoke, quietly and clearly, he felt the burden slowly lifting from his shoulders, and for the first time in months, longer possibly, he felt a sense of peace envelope him.

His ordeal was over. He was safe. And he was loved.


Xander sighed wearily, heavily, as he turned the key in the door to his darkened apartment. He honestly could not think of a way in which this evening could have gone any worse.

He really had had no intention of actually hurting Spike. He just wanted to give him a good scare, remind him that while Buffy and Dawn might be blind to his deceptions, someone was on to him, and was not going to let him get away with it. He had planned to be finished with his little shake-down by the time anyone else got home.

And then Dawn had showed up sooner than he had expected.

And Buffy had come home early.

He felt a chill of painful fear at the thought of Buffy’s face. He could not believe the rage, the near-hatred he had seen in her eyes when she had looked at him, those cold green eyes accusing him of what the evidence before her had revealed. And though he tried to tell himself that she would cool down, he would be able to apologize and make things right between them, in his heart he knew the devastating truth.

He had destroyed their friendship. Beyond repair.

With a heavy heart, he opened the door and entered his darkened living room, intent on getting to his refrigerator and the six pack he had bought the other night, his only hope of making it through the long night of brooding that lay ahead of him.

He turned on the light just inside the doorway…and jumped and screamed like a little girl.

In front of his ex-fiancee who now despised him.

And he had thought the night could not get any worse.

“Anya. What are you doing here?” he sighed, going to the refrigerator. No reason why her presence should change his plans. His life still sucked. Suddenly he frowned, confused. “How did you get in here?”

“Teleported,” she admitted matter-of-factly. When his eyes widened with surprise and the beginnings of an accusation, she rolled her eyes and sighed, “Yes, I’m a vengeance demon again, Xander.” She looked at him for a moment, her expression defying him to say anything about it.

A different tone in his voice now, sounding slightly alarmed, he asked her again, “What are you doing here?”

“I *am* here on business,” she admitted, with a little shrug, then quickly spoke to reassure him when he stepped back away from her in alarm. “But don’t worry, Xander. We have too much history, and in spite of the fact that you betrayed me and devastated me and shattered my heart and my self-esteem into a million pieces when you left me at the altar…I somehow can’t bring myself to eviscerate you.”

She sounded disappointed in herself. Rolling her eyes again with a frustrated sigh when he seemed no less terrified, she said, “I’m not even going to hurt you, Xander. That’s not what this is about. The wish…”

“Whose wish? Spike? Are you doing this for Spike?” he demanded, his voice full of fear.

“No. Not Spike. He doesn’t even have the self-esteem or confidence left to wish vengeance on *Warren*, let alone you, Xander.” She paused, before reassuring him again, “Don’t worry, Xander. I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Then why *are* you here?” he asked after a pause, sounding considerably calmer when he realized that she meant it.

“I want to show you something.”