Spike awakened the next morning, suddenly and complete – alert in a way that he had not been in several days, ever since the healing spell had been done. The last few days were nothing but a blur to him; he had slept so much of them away that he had only a handful of fleeting memories of that time, the rest running together in a tangle of dreams and reality that he couldn’t tell apart.

But the memory of the night before was perfectly clear.

He had not really taken that much of Buffy’s blood, in the end; they had both sensed that it would be wiser to show some restraint, to not allow it to go so far that Buffy was seriously weakened by the loss of blood.

Spike’s motivation had simply been her well-being; he would die before he would willingly hurt her. Buffy on the other hand, was thinking ahead, planning in her mind at least a few more sessions like this one, as many as it took until Spike was back to his full strength.

The last thing she wanted was to become weakened enough to worry him this first time. She knew him well enough by now to know that if he thought for a second that he had hurt her, he would be too badly shaken by the experience to ever consent to do it again – and she knew it would take much more than one time to bring him back to health.

Also, they had both been very much aware of how important it was that the gift they were sharing be respected – cherished as something precious shared only between them. Neither wished to mar its memory by allowing it to end badly.

Buffy had been amazed by how perfectly attuned to each other they had turned out to be. At just the moment that she had felt herself beginning to get a little light-headed, and the thought had crossed her mind, *I’d better stop him,* he had drawn back of his own accord. He had tenderly caressed the wounds he had made at her throat with his tongue, healing them – but they both knew the marks would remain.

A permanent sign for all to see, that she was his, at long last.

No outward sign was needed of his devotion to her. For as long as he had loved her, it had been clear for all to see that his heart belonged to her alone.

He was amazed by how much better he felt. He felt strong, clear-headed, not groggy and disoriented as he had felt immediately following the spell. The pain from his injuries which had just barely begun to heal before last night was greatly reduced. His legs felt genuinely strong again, finally; a part of him couldn’t wait to get up and try to use them, just to prove what he already knew.

The greater part of him was perfectly content to stay right where he was.

Buffy lay exactly where she had fallen asleep, once they had finished and both practically collapsed into slumber the night before. She was lying half on top of him, her head resting on his chest, her silky blond hair falling against his bare torso in a delightfully delicate caress. Instinctively he reached a hand down to run through the golden locks, scarcely able to believe that she was really his, after all the years he had spent dreaming of just that. She stirred in her sleep, and nestled closer against him with a low, contented sort of murmuring sound in her throat.

She *was* his. She really was.

In that moment, it hit him full force, and he believed it with a certainty -- it was real, all of it. Buffy loved him, in spite of everything. She trusted him, enough to place her life in his hands, which proved that she had truly forgiven him. Perhaps it was only the euphoria he still felt from the night before, but for once he felt like he was truly safe, and loved, and for the first time, he felt that things might actually stay that way.

After a few moments, Buffy lifted her head sleepily, glancing around through heavy-lidded eyes under a tousled mess of blonde hair. She seemed a bit confused at first, waking up in Willow’s bedroom and not remembering how she had gotten there. But then her eyes fell on him. A slow, contented smile crept across her lips, and her arms slipped lightly around him.

“Morning, Baby,” she whispered in a husky voice.

“Morning, love,” he replied, returning the smile.

“Do you feel better?” she asked him, concern in her eyes, still sparkling from the events of the night before.

“Oh, yeah, love. It’s bloody unbelievable!” he exclaimed with a little laugh. “I can’t remember the last time I felt this good.”

“Uh-huh,” she smirked in a teasingly self-satisfied tone. “I’ve got some pretty amazing blood, huh? Pretty powerful stuff?”

“You know it,” he laughed, pulling her closer to him without even thinking about it. “You know,” he added after a brief pause, tilting his head to the side a bit as he met her eyes. “I think I feel like a little walk, love. How about you?”

Her smile widened with anticipation. “Sounds good to me,” she replied, pulling back up off of him and backing off of the bed to allow him to rise. She seemed as eager as he was to see the results of the healing spell that had caused so much trouble – but inadvertently so much progress as well.

Slowly he sat up, turning and swinging his legs over the side of the bed, resting his feet on the floor for a moment without rising. He glanced up at her, a bit anxiously.

She nodded encouragingly, if a bit impatiently. She was not very good at waiting.

He rose slowly to his feet and walked toward her at a measured, even pace – his stride straight and sure. His smile widened until it was beaming by the time he reached her, and they embraced, laughing through tears of joy and relief.

There was a knock on the door, and Buffy called out laughingly, “Come in,” her arms still around Spike, holding him close to her, unwilling to let him go, even for a moment.

Dawn walked into the room, and did a little double take at the sight. “You’re up!” she gasped, her relief evident in her eyes.

She had been every bit as worried as Buffy over Spike’s odd reaction to the healing spell, though Buffy hadn’t said a word to her about what Tara had discovered, or her plan to help him get well.

All Dawn knew was that the night before, her friend had been getting steadily sicker with no explanation, and her sister unwilling to discuss it with her – and now here he stood, laughing and seeming in better health than he had since his return. Suddenly, her eyes fell on the two tiny marks on her sister’s throat, and widened in understanding.

Spike felt his stomach do an odd little turn at the look on her face, afraid of how she would take it. His eyes softened with affection for the girl, and a desperate desire for her to understand, as he held out an arm to her.

She didn’t need to be asked twice; she crossed the room in a moment to join the embrace. “I was so worried about you,” she said quietly into his ear as she hugged him tight. “Don’t ever do that to me again, okay?”

“Do my best not to, Bit,” he assured her dryly, swallowing back the lump that rose in his throat with the warm feeling that swept over him at her easy acceptance.

Just at that moment, they heard the doorbell ring. Dawn took one look at Spike, wearing only his sleep-pants, and Buffy, rumpled and with a full-on case of bedhead, and sighed wearily, rolling her eyes to the ceiling as she turned and flounced toward the stairs to go answer the door. “I’ll get it,” she called over her shoulder with exaggerated irritation.

“I guess I’d better go get dressed again,” Buffy said, then frowned down at the outfit she was still wearing from the night before.

“You know a lot of people find it helpful to get *undressed* between times getting dressed, love,” he teased her, and she glanced up at him to see his old trademark suggestive smirk turning up the corner of his mouth as he gazed at her boldly, unashamed. She was suddenly aware that they were still in each other’s arms.

“You think I should try that?” Buffy teased right back, running her fingers lightly through his hair at the back of his neck. “The getting undressed thing? I’ve heard some people really like it.” Secretly she was thrilled at the flirtation; up to this point Spike had not dared to say anything the slightest bit suggestive to her, probably because he was still dealing with the guilt he had been carrying around for so long.

Apparently, to her delight, the night before he had finally begun to accept that he was truly forgiven – that it was okay to touch her, to flirt with her, to treat her as what she had never allowed him to treat her as before – “his girl”. And, she thought with a smile, she would take great pleasure in reinforcing that particular lesson.

“Maybe,” he smiled back at her easily, and she was pleased to see not the slightest discomfort in his expression at the flirtatious way she was behaving with him. “you ought to wait and see who’s at the door first, love. Then decide whether it’s better to be dressed or undressed.” He frowned slightly before amending, “But until you know for sure – dressed is probably a better option, love.”

Just then, the sound of furious shouting from downstairs drew Buffy’s attention away from the playful exchange.

“What now?” she muttered, heading toward the stairs, with Spike right behind her, worry in his eyes.

She stopped short at the bottom of the stairs, at the sight of Xander standing on the front porch – being thoroughly berated by her little sister.

“How dare you come here, you creep?” Dawn demanded, her voice trembling with rage. She was standing in the doorway, refusing to move and allow him entrance. “Buffy told you you’re not welcome here, and even if she had a sudden attack of insanity and decided to let you in, I’d kick you right back out. Because this is my house too, and you are *not* welcome in it!”

“Dawnie,” Xander spoke quietly when she paused for breath, his eyes downcast, his voice shaking a little. “I’m sorry. I just want to apologize…”

That brought Buffy’s temper to the forefront, remembering his last “apology”. She stepped forward, joining her sister in the doorway.

“Like the last time you apologized, Xander?” she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest angrily. “You wanna come in here and tell us how much you’re going to respect my right to make my own decisions about what goes on in my house, just so you can get *into* my house and terrorize my boyfriend? Is that it?”

Xander flinched at the words, the reminder of his terrible deception, but did not say a word. There was no excuse, no explanation for what he had done, and no way to make her believe that he was not going to do it again.

Buffy misunderstood his reaction. “That’s right,” she went on defiantly. “I said my boyfriend, Xander! Spike is in my life, like it or not, and if you can’t deal with that, then there’s no place for you in it.”

“That’s just it, Buffy,” he pleaded, daring to look up for a moment to meet her eyes. “I know I was wrong…”

“You know, we’ve been here before, Xander,” she interrupted him, her voice softer now, but cold and unyielding. “A couple of times. It kinda goes like, ‘I’m gonna tell you I was wrong and I’m sorry just so you’ll get off my back and I can do whatever I want anyway.’ Isn’t that about it?”

“No, Buffy,” he insisted quietly, miserably. “Not this time. Please, just hear me out.”

“I did. Last time. And you tricked me out of my house key, went into my room and went through my things, and took advantage of my trust to do a very sick, twisted, cruel thing, Xander. And I’m not letting you do it again.” Buffy was certain, absolutely determined.

“I’m sorry,” Xander repeated uselessly, knowing it was useless. He glanced up, and his eyes fell just beyond Buffy, on Spike, where he stood at the bottom of the stairs. The look of pain and shame in his eyes was stunning to the vampire, who had really just expected him to be putting on a show, like the last time.

“You got that right,” Dawn muttered, stalking away with a disgusted sneer, as if she simply couldn’t bear the sight of him for another moment.

“Please,” Xander whispered in desperation, and now his plea was directed at Spike. “I am so, so sorry!”

Not sure how to respond, unaccustomed to being apologized to for anything, Spike looked away from Xander uncomfortably.

Buffy glanced back toward him, noticed his discomfort – and grew angrier as she turned back toward Xander. “Don’t you *even* talk to him, Xander!” she snapped, a warning in her fiery green eyes. “How can you…”

“Buffy, I’m not trying to…” he attempted to defend himself, though by this point he knew it was a lost cause.

“Just go, Xander,” Buffy interrupted, her voice quiet now, with a hint of her sadness creeping into it to join the anger. “We have enough to deal with around here without you adding to it. Please. Just go.”

He swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on the porch, his jaw working, struggling to hold back something, words or tears, it was impossible to tell. Then he slowly turned and walked away.

Buffy shut the door firmly, but did not slam it. She took no pleasure in turning away someone who had been her best friend for years. She just couldn’t trust him anymore, and she couldn’t take that chance with Spike’s fragile psyche, still in the delicate stages of healing.

Spike stood at the bottom of the stairs. He hadn’t moved since he had seen Xander on the porch. He had felt a momentary stab of fear at the sight of the boy, recalling the last time he had seen him. Then reason had taken over, and he had reminded himself that the control device was in his own possession now, and there was nothing Xander could do to him with Buffy and Dawn right here.

Then, watching the pitiful attempt at an apology, shut down at every turn, he had been struck by the genuine note of sorrow in Xander’s voice. He had recognized something in his face, his tone, that was painfully familiar. He remembered feeling like that, not so very long ago at all. Feeling desperate to somehow achieve forgiveness for a terrible wrong, yet knowing in his heart that it was utterly unattainable – he knew exactly what that felt like.

Buffy didn’t seem to believe Xander, but Spike was suddenly very sure that he was sincere.

And very sure that Buffy needed to forgive him.