Buffy stopped at the top of the stairs. “Go on down,” she told Spike. “I’ll be right there. I just need to talk to Dawn for a minute.”

He nodded, subdued and obedient, though he didn’t really feel safe being alone just yet, so soon after the traumatic phone call he had received. As usual, however, he would comply with her wishes and do whatever she asked him to do, eager to please her.

She never would have thought that would turn out to be a trait she would want to break him of.

As soon as she knew that Spike was headed down the stairs, Buffy immediately went to Dawn’s room, entering without knocking, and without hesitation.

Dawn looked up at her, startled, from where she stood by her bed. Buffy scarcely noticed Anya, standing across from her, but the vengeance demon was still unnerved by the sudden sight of the Slayer.

“I…I just got here,” she explained unnecessarily, a guilty expression on her face. “I came up the stairs…like…humans do.”

Buffy was too focused on the questions she had for her sister to notice Anya’s odd behavior – after all, “odd behavior” went by a different scale when it came to Anya, anyway.

“How did you know it was Warren on the phone?” Buffy’s voice was quietly demanding as she fixed her penetrating gaze on her little sister.

Dawn didn’t object to the intrusion, didn’t even attempt to concoct an excuse or explanation for anything. Her plan didn’t seem to be in any immediate jeopardy. Buffy was too distracted by the most recent events of the day.

“He was at the Bronze last night,” she admitted, meeting her sister’s gaze. She knew Buffy was not going to give up until she knew the truth. “He kind of…gave me a hard time, but…Xander stopped him.”

Buffy’s mouth worked with repressed anger as she looked at the floor for a moment, trying to control the rage building inside her. It was not directed at her sister, but rather at the cruel, psychotic monster that she now knew had been stalking them the night before.

Still, her voice was accusing when she looked back up at Dawn and said, “And neither one of you thought it was necessary to tell me about that because…?”

“Because you and Spike were having the night of your lives,” Dawn answered immediately, in all sincerity, not looking the least bit ashamed or apologetic. It was obvious from her tone that she felt she had made the right decision, and did not intend to back down from it. “Because the last thing he needed on the first night he’s been out of this house was for it to be wrecked by Warren.”

“But this,” Buffy countered sarcastically, gesturing vaguely toward the door to indicate the incident in the kitchen, “being completely caught off guard like this when he thought he was safe…to have that creep manage to terrorize him in the one place that he was actually starting to feel secure… that’s *exactly* what he needed, isn’t it, Dawnie?”

“I was going to tell you,” Dawn lied. “Today. But not in front of him. I didn’t want to get him all freaked out.” In truth, she had had no intention of telling Buffy about Warren. If Buffy killed Warren, that meant that Dawn wouldn’t get to do it herself.

Buffy shook her head, with a tired sigh. “Well, it’s kind of late to worry about that now. The freak-out thing kind of already happened.”

There was silence for a moment before Dawn asked her quietly, “Where are you guys going?”

“To the Magic Box. Warren is obviously still a threat. He’s out of jail, and Spike told me he’s usually armed, so that means that Spike’s still in danger. Physically he’s getting pretty strong…but emotionally,” she shook her head with a grim expression on her face. “he’s still not got it in him to fight back. I think maybe if we start training a little…maybe it would help.”

Dawn nodded slowly, silently. It did sound like a good idea, to help Spike get his fighting spirit back.

“Call the others while I’m gone,” Buffy said softly, as she turned toward the door. “When Spike and I get back, we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“What kind of work?” Dawn asked, frowning slightly, hoping Buffy’s ideas would not conflict with her own.

“Warren wired Spike’s chip so that it doesn’t fire every time he tries to hurt people anymore… only if it’s Warren. Spike can’t hurt Warren without the chip going off automatically, no matter who’s got the controller. So it doesn’t matter how much we train…as long as that chip’s in his head, it won’t make a difference. If Warren comes after him, he’ll be defenseless,” Buffy explained, her eyes flashing flames of anger at the cruel injustice that had been inflicted on Spike.

“We need to find a way to get that chip out,” she declared. “And then…once I know that he can’t hurt Spike…we’re going to find Warren.” She paused, her expression hardening as her eyes narrowed in fury, her voice softening to a deadly calm as she turned to go, “And I’m going to kill him.”

She left without another word and headed down the stairs to meet Spike. Dawn watched her go in silence for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice was a determined whisper.

“Not if I find him first.”


“So tell me again, why exactly are we here, love?” Spike asked Buffy, his voice sounding tired and a bit impatient, but his eyes still revealing the uncertainty and fear he had been trying hard to cover up.

He had been very quiet on the ride over to the Magic Box, thinking. He hated that Buffy had seen him break down like he had, yet again, and just when things had been beginning to look so good for them. He had been starting to feel like himself again, secure and confident in her love for him.

And then Warren had come along and dashed it all to pieces in a matter of moments.

He desperately wanted to be strong and capable -- the man that she wanted, that she deserved. But in spite of everything, all the security and confidence he had spent the last few weeks rebuilding, a few moments under the influence of Warren and he was right back in that place of terror and hopelessness. He wanted be able to be the person he had been before all this had started, to be able to be strong, the fighter that he had once been – for her.

The breaking-down-in-tears thing didn’t really help with that particular image.

Warren had been right, he realized, feeling a sick sense of fear greater than any physical threat. Buffy would sooner or later weary of dealing with his weak and broken state. She was the Slayer. She needed someone powerful and capable, not a cringing, pathetic creature that she had to look after and protect every moment. And if he couldn’t manage to be that…it was only a matter of time before he lost her for good.

So, he tried to put on a brave front, to act as if the incident was not having that great of an effect on him after all…as if he was over it already. He tried to keep his tone light, to employ a bit of his old sarcasm, to smile and hide the fear and confusion he still felt as Warren’s vicious threats played over and over again in his mind.

But he couldn’t hide what was in his eyes. He never had been able to, and especially not from Buffy.

“I haven’t done much training lately,” Buffy replied, her voice casual. She gave a shrug with a sad little half-smile. “No one to train with. And you need to get your strength back up…work on your fighting skills. You haven’t done any fighting for nearly six months now. So I was thinking we could…do a little sparring, you know…get us both back to form.”

He looked at her for a moment in silence, trying to hide the dismay he felt at her suggestion. This only confirmed what he had already suspected. Buffy didn’t need any help “getting back to form”. She was in the best shape of her life. That was merely a ruse she was using so as not to make him feel too pathetic.

Well, it was too bloody late for that, by a long while. He knew what this was about. She was unhappy with the weak, pitiful creature he had become. She needed him to be strong, to be a fighter, and she was going to try to help him become that again.

But she was right; it had been so long -- *too* long -- since he had struck out at anyone – since he had even had the opportunity to attempt to defend himself. When he thought about it, the violence no longer felt as natural and comfortable to him as it once had. But, if this was what she needed him to do…

Still, the very thought of striking out at *her*…of hurting her even in a small way, even when she had asked him to…made him feel sick. He had sworn to himself that he would never hurt her again, as long as he lived. The thought of fighting her, even just in a sparring match, reminded him too much of the painful past they shared.

“I…I’m not sure, Buffy,” he replied, his voice soft and trembling a little in spite of his resolve to be strong for her.

“Come on, Spike,” she urged him gently, smiling her encouragement as she took on an easy fighting stance in front of him, bouncing a little on her heels with anticipation. “It’ll be fun.”

The eager expression on her face, the taut, prepared position of her body, ready to spring into action at any moment, had a sense of familiarity about it for him, and it sparked something in him – the memory of a feeling, a sensation – that moment of expectation and challenge just before a fight.

The beginnings of a cautious, tentative smile began to form on his face, as he replied in a voice of quiet resolve, “All right then, pet. Let’s give it a go.” The least he could do was try, for her. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

The beaming smile that broke out over her face encouraged him, and he began to think that maybe he could actually do this. It was only sparring, anyway…not a real fight. It wasn’t as if either one of them would really hurt the other.

Sensing that he would not be able to bring himself to do it, Buffy initiated the conflict. Her right fist shot out in an easily anticipated, easily blocked blow, and he did not disappoint her, effortlessly blocking her follow-up punch as well.

“Come on, now, pet,” he teased her, a triumphant and slightly defiant smile taking over his face as he found himself falling back into the old, natural rhythm of their first dance. “You’ve got to give me a bit more than that to work with.” Maybe this would actually be fun, he realized suddenly. After all, it always had been in the past.

Buffy’s smile widened, pleased with his success so far. Still, she was cautious, aware that physically she was far stronger than him at the moment, and emotionally he was still vulnerable and fragile. While this sort of contact was perhaps the most comfortable, most natural for both of them, at the moment it was full of hundreds of potential pitfalls for his slowly recovering heart. She carefully felt out the situation as she went along, wanting to push him just far enough to regain his confidence without pushing him too far, either physically or verbally.

“Well, you know, it’s been a while,” she shrugged, keeping her voice light. “Thought I’d start you off easy.”

He easily fell into the pattern of verbal sparring that had always accompanied their physical fights, shooting back, “’S like riding a bloody bike, love…not something you forget,” as he blocked a kick, catching her foot and pulling her off balance, knocking her onto the mat on her back.

She quickly jumped up, laughing, before he could think to be alarmed or question whether or not he had hurt her. “I didn’t know you could ride a bike,” she countered innocently, feinting to the left and then catching him in the stomach with her classic right hook and causing him to stumble back a couple of steps.

She was holding back, not wanting to actually hurt him, but she knew exactly what she was doing. It was time to make him actually fight back a little, not just block her blows. He had to be able to defend himself if – no, *when* – it came to it.

He glanced up at her, startled by the blow, but when he saw the teasing challenge in her sparkling eyes, it helped to put him at ease. This was Buffy…he trusted her completely. She would never hurt him, and as long as she was with him, he knew he was safe.

She came at him again in a controlled volley of punches and kicks, most of which he easily blocked…a few of which found their mark. They spun and darted back and forth in an echo of their first confrontation, so many years ago.

Except that this time, he never once struck out at her.

She found herself growing a little frustrated at her perceived failure. It was as she had feared; the fighting instinct that had so driven him before had been systematically and ruthlessly forced down until he simply couldn’t seem to bring himself to strike out, even when under attack like this, even when he knew in his mind that it was perfectly safe to do so.

How could she break through that wall he had built? She was afraid to go any further than she was going at the moment; she didn’t want to go so far as to make him afraid that she would actually hurt him, and she didn’t think he was quite ready for a real fight yet, anyway.

Before all of this had happened, she knew that neither of them would have felt the need to hold back in a sparring match such as this. Each would have known that the other could take whatever they could dish out, and would have acted accordingly.

Now, she was afraid of bringing to mind the beatings he had been through, further traumatizing him and potentially breaking the trust she had worked so hard to rebuild in him; and he was afraid of hurting her, unable to forget the last time he had done so, and the devastation it had left of their relationship.

“Come on,” she urged him, her voice quiet and intense, as she aimed another blow, and he blocked it, knocking her back a few steps. “That’s it…come on, Spike, let me have it…”

He advanced on her automatically, his body remembering the moves to the dance, drawing back his fist to strike. But he faltered at the last second, dropping his hand back to his side, before quickly raising his hands in a defensive posture, preparing himself for her next advance.

She shook her head in mild irritation, saying a bit sharply, “No! Come on, Spike, don’t hold back on me now!” She advanced on him again, and he easily evaded her assault, dodging around her and forcing her to spin around with him.

He wanted to do what she was asking, and appeared to be preparing to go on the offensive, but hesitated at the last moment, holding back again. Slowly he dropped his hands back to his sides, defeat in his eyes, and the rhythm was lost. He shook his head and turned away from her, lowering his eyes.

She quickly followed him, taking him by the arms and turning him to face her. “Spike… come on, Baby, you can do this, I know you can!” Her voice was gently insistent.

“I can’t,” he argued, an anguished note in his voice. “I – I don’t want to hurt you…”

“You’re not gonna hurt me, Spike,” she insisted, seeking his eyes with her own. “It’s just like…like practice. It’s okay. I *want* you to. You have to be ready, Baby. We don’t know what’s gonna happen…”

“You think I don’t know that?” he suddenly countered, his eyes shooting to hers, revealing the fear he had been trying to hide. “I know I’ve got to be able to fight, love. If I can’t I’m no good to anyone – not myself and certainly not you and Dawnie.” His voice softened as he lowered his eyes and went on, “But I just can’t…I just can’t hit *you*, pet. I can’t. Not – not yet. Not after all that’s happened.”

There was a moment of silence as she tried to compose her response. She could understand his hesitancy, the guilt that he still struggled with even after all this time. But she had to somehow make him see that it was really and truly all right…that she trusted him not to hurt her, that she *wanted* him to do this…to let her help him prepare for the possible danger that lay ahead.

Before she could speak, however, they were both startled by the sudden sound of a quiet male voice from the doorway into the store.

“Think you could hit *me*?”

They looked up together in surprise at the unexpected observer to their conversation.

Xander.