Buffy took the chains off of her bed and stuck them in the farthest corner of her closet, out of sight completely. She was well aware that she would be taking them out again that night -- floor or bed, either way she still planned on keeping Spike chained up at night -- not because she thought he would actually hurt her, but because she knew that if her friends found out he was free, there would be hell to pay.

*It's just because I have no choice,* she told herself firmly. *No other reason. Certainly not because he's so attractive and sexy and the thought of him chained to my bed and at my mercy is just so freakin' hot that I wanna just...*

"Thinking of me?" Spike's self-satisfied voice broke into her runaway thoguhts, and she turned to face him, her face flaming at the knowing smirk on those full, perfect lips.

Caught again.

"Has any girl ever told you that the whole smelling her thing really icked her out?" she asked him, irritable with her embarrassment.

"Actually...no," he informed her, rising from where he sat on the edge of her bed to move toward her in a way that was both predatory and seductive. His voice was softened slightly as he reached a hand to stroke back a stray lock of golden hair, lowering his mouth to hover inches above hers as he spoke, low and enticing, "Heightened senses are usually not a cause for complaint, love."

God, she wanted him...desperately...*now*. When he leaned down to kiss her, she accepted it hungrily, intensely, pulling him closer for a few moments. But finally, she pulled away, pushing him gently back.

"We can't," she said breathlessly. "Not right now. I have to go..."

"Go where?" he demanded, and those enticing lips formed just the slightest pout...and for a moment, she had no earthly idea *where* she had to go.

"Um...I..." Suddenly she remembered. "Dawn! I have to take Dawn away from Sunnydale today."

She and her Watcher had discussed it the night before, during the planning session that Spike had mostly tuned out, too focused on the witch shooting him death glares to pay much attention. They had decided that, just in case Faith managed to pull off her scheme, and they ended up fighting an incredibly powerful, psychotic vampire/Slayer, it would be better if Dawn was somewhere safer than Sunnydale.

At this point, anywhere was safer than Sunnydale.

Buffy knew where her father lived, just outside of LA, though he had not returned any of her phone calls, and she and Giles intended to drive up that day, and leave him no choice but to take in his youngest daughter -- just for a few days, Buffy reassured herself -- until Faith was no longer a threat.

Dawn had not even argued -- a fact which worried Buffy terribly. She knew beyond all doubt that her little sister hated the idea of staying with their father, who had had little to do with either of them since their parents had divorced.

Buffy hated the idea, too. But she knew that it was better than Dawn's being hurt in what would certainly be a fierce and dangerous battle. It would not be fun, but they could deal with the separation for a few days.

Buffy felt reasonably safe leaving Spike alone for the day while she and Giles went on the trip. Willow and Xander were both already at work, and she did not think that Faith would know yet that Spike was here -- so there was little chance of her coming home to find a big Spike-shaped pile of dust.

Which, to her own surprise, was her main fear. It was unspoken but understood between them, in the wake of the drastic turn that their relationship had just taken, that Spike would not try to hurt her friends. Of course, she knew better than to think that, if backed into a corner, the vampire would not defend himself; and her friends had shown a strong tendency toward wanting to hurt Spike.

All things considered, she was glad that he would be at home *alone*. The only better arrangement would have been for him to go with her and Giles; but that was prevented by Spike's "sun allergy", as Buffy wanted to get back from LA before dark. She did not feel comfortable leaving the Hellmouth -- or her friends -- undefended after dark.

"I wish I could go with you," Spike said, and the sincerity, the open affection in his voice, touched her heart.

The whirlwind events of the past night and morning, though unexpected by either of them, had served to birth a fledgling trust between them. Each knew instinctively that the other would not hurt them, although it was in their very nature to destroy each other.

Somehow they just knew that what they had found, in such an unlikely place, was a kindred spirit, someone who could truly understand the ghosts of guilt and lost loves that haunted them -- and not hate or condemn them for the failures they tormented themselves with.

Buffy felt a warm feeling of affection as she looked into those clear, expressive blue eyes. "I know you do," she said apologetically. "But we can't wait until dark. We have to get her out of here as soon as possible. But it's a three hour drive, and it's ten now, so I should still be back before everyone gets home."

Spike sighed in resignation and nodded his acceptance, his eyes down, his fingers leaving her hair to trace down her cheek as he looked back up at her and spoke in a voice full of tenderness, though his eyes were laughing wickedly. "And I was so in the mood to shag you senseless."

"You would have done that in the car?" she gasped, her eyes wide with mock horror. "With *Giles* driving?"

"He already heard the bloody soundtrack, love. Maybe he'd like to see the movie, yeah?" he teased her.

"Eww, Spike," she replied darkly, but she was trying hard to hide a smile. He leaned down to kiss her again, and she kissed him back, tenderly, parting finally from him to gaze up into his eyes again.

"God, that was stupid!" she remarked with a laugh, shaking her head at the memory of what had taken place less than an hour ago.

"Yeah," he chuckled, eagerly claiming her mouth again, kissing her deeply until she broke away, gasping for breath.

She rested her forehead against his for a moment, breathing deeply, before meeting his eyes again. She paused for a moment before admitting, "But, God, that was *hot*!"

He smiled at her observance for a moment, before repeating more enthusiastically, "Yeah," and kissing her one last time to send her on her way -- and make her want to come home sooner.


The afternoon passed in peaceful solitude for Spike, enjoying the quiet contentment of feeling truly safe for the first time in nearly a year. He had spent the past months, ever since Drusilla's death, looking over his shoulder, constantly expecting to be taken by surprise and punished for the treachery he had chosen to engage in.

Now, it felt good to finally have the secret out in the open, to be at a distance from the unpredictable, ever-present danger that Faith had been in his life.

Of course, he knew that if Buffy's friends had been home, he would not have been able to feel such a sense of safety. He wasn't so sure about Xander; the whelp seemed to go along with whatever Buffy said, generally. The witch on the other hand -- there was a dangerous darkness hidden under that sweet, unassuming exterior, a bitter well of hatred and vengeance waiting to be poured out -- and at the moment it was all directed at him.

But for the moment, the large, comfortable house was empty except for him, and he wanted nothing more than to rest and *not* think about the many people who still wanted to see him dead.

At least Buffy was no longer one of them, he thought optimistically, with a sort of softness falling over him as he sat down on the sofa, thinking of her. He turned on the television and flipped carelessly through the channles, but all he saw was Buffy's face. Surprisingly trust-filled emerald eyes gazing into his own -- trembling lips, red and swollen with kisses -- that perfect golden skin that was as flawless as the sunlight that had colored it.

He only hoped Buffy's glow would not consume him as quickly as that sunlight.

Already he knew that he would never hurt her, would not hurt her friends or her Watcher, because *that* would hurt her. if he was truly honest with himself, he knew that he could fall in love with this amazing, tender, powerful woman -- if he let himself.

He thought back on their conversation of the night before, about moving on and loving again after losing your first love. Suddenly, a vision from his dreams, of Drusilla's dark, hurt-filled eyes, accusing him of his betrayal, flashed into his mind.

With a weary sigh, he laid his head back against the sofa, suddenly feeling an overwhelming sense of exhaustion. He realized that he had really gotten very little rest the night before, what with the bloody mind-blowing sex with Buffy, followed by the terrible nightmares, and long intense conversation, followed by *more* bloody mind-blowing sex with Buffy.

And that was the last thought that went through his mind before he fell into a deep but troubled sleep, plagued by yet another revised version of the nightmares that haunted him.

This time, he was the one who stormed into the room in a violent fury, intent on killing his bound lover, whose face kept shifting from Dru's to Buffy's and back again. he was seized by painful indecision, unsure what to do, why he was even there. Then, the chained beauty's face stopped changing, and was simply Buffy, gazing up at him imploringly...trustingly.

Suddenly, his dark princess was behind him, her haunting, musical voice a seductive whisper in his ear, "Kill her, my Spike! Kill her for princess!"

Though a part of him screamed out in horror at the idea, he lunged forward and rammed the stake in his hand through the heart of the blonde angel before him, who exploded not in a cloud of dust, but in a million glistening shards of sunlight, singing his flesh where they fell on him -- and melting away the false face of his love behind him, revealing the cruel face of his enemy, laughing in heartless triumph at the success of her deception.

The quiet sound of the television in the background had lulled him to sleep, and it was the sudden silence that yanked him from the dream, with a startled jump, to see Willow standing back up straight after turning it off.

He stared at her, a little dazed, as reality drifted back to him.

Willow gave him a small, false smile. "Bad dream?" she asked, the forced sympathy in her voice making it appear that it would have pleased her if he had said yes.

He did not. He shook his head. "No," he lied. "You just scared me, is all."

"I scared you?" she repeated, that unsettling smile still in place, and the pleased tone of her voice was a little frightening in itself.

"No," he objected again quickly. "*Startled* me," he amended, pausing before adding pointedly, "You *don't* scare me, Red."

She stared at him, her expression not changing, for a long moment before she said quietly, matter-of-factly, "I should."

Despite the way his stomach dropped at the calmly spoken words, Spike kept his expression unconcerned, suddenly wondering what time it was, and if Buffy was home yet.

"5:30. She's been home since before I got here." Willow spoke quietly, an odd light in her green eyes.

Spike's eyes widened in disbelief, and he unconsciously raised a hand to his head, as if trying to protect the private knowledge there. When he realized he was doing it, he quickly lowered his hand, swallowing hard, staring at her hard, sobered.

"Like I said...you should be scared," Willow smirked.

Spike suddenly wanted desperately to be absolutely anywhere but here, with Willow. Trying to appear unaffected by her demonstration of power, he stood up. "Yeah. Over a little parlor trick," he said sarcastically. "Sorry, not buying. Is Buffy upstairs?" he asked her dismissively as he moved to walk past her toward the stairs.

The last thing he noticed was the odd little flick of Willow's wrist, just before he found himself slammed forcefully back down onto the couch. He tried to rise, but found his arms pinned to the seat as if by a heavy weight, completely immobile.

"Yes, she is," Willow answered his question without missing a beat or raising her voice. She smiled. "And you're down here. And we're talking."

"No, we bloody well are not!" he declared in a slightly trembling voice, struggling uselessly against the unseen force that held him down. He tried to quell his rising panic, but felt his fear getting stronger as Willow watched him impassively.

"Let me go, Red!" he demanded in as threatening a voice as he could muster. "*Now*!" Looking toward the stairs, he called out, "Bu..."

Before the word could leave his mouth, Willow had somehow silenced it, with a mere wave of her hand. His mouth was moving, he was speaking, but no sound left his lips. He was amazed -- and terrified -- at the power he had not known that the girl possessed. Uselessly he tried again to rise, to call out for Buffy's help, to no avail.

Willow shrugged, obviously pleased with herself, and stepped slowly closer to him. "Well -- *I'm* talking," she amended as she reached him, her eyes dark and mesmerizing, with a glint of some dark power in their shining depths, captivating him so that he could not look away. "And you're paying attention," she went on softly, leaning in even closer, her eyebrows raised, her lips pursed with suppressed laughter as she added, teasingly, "Think you can handle that one on your own, or should I help?"

He felt a cold chill of fear at the thought of what she might feel necessary to hold his attention, and shook his head rapidly, immediately ceasing his futile efforts to move and speak. The timid little girl of a year ago now held the power, and he had no choice but to submit.

She smiled in satisfaction. "Good," she said quietly, that same calm in her voice that was so chilling to him. "That's better. Now, I've got some things I wanna get off my chest. That okay with you?"

He nodded slowly, his wide eyes never leaving hers, and swallowed hard, his mouth dry with fear.

Willow was silent for a moment before her smile faded and she stated simply, "You killed the man I loved."

Spike automatically opened his mouth for a pleading explanation that he knew she would be able to hear, despite his forced silence, but stopped, flinching, when she raised a soft hand to brush lightly over his lips, leaving a small shock of pain where they touched.

"Shhh," she ordered softly. "Don't interrupt me. That's rude."

He fell silent again with a small nod, waiting for her to go on and pass her judgment, withholding his chance to give his defense.

As far as she was concerned, he had none.

"You killed him. And you deserve to die," she said matter-of-factly. "The only reason you are alive is because Buffy thinks she needs you. And if she's right -- and I kill you now, and Faith wins," she paused, shaking her head slightly, her lips a firm line of resignation, before she looked back at him with a sad smile, "...well, I couldn't live with that. So...you live. For now," she stated, her voice soft and solemn.

"But the moment that Buffy *doesn't* need you -- the first clue I get that you're not being straight with us," she warned him, a menacing glare breaking into an infinitely more frightening smile of anticipation as she explained in a secretive tone, "I've got *lots* of little 'parlor tricks' up my sleeve, Spike!"

She was quiet for a moment, moving in closer, her face only inches from his now. "You ever wonder what it feels like to be dusted, Spike? Oh, I know you must all the time," she waved her hand at his puzzled frown, smiling when he flinched at the this time innocent flick of her wrist. "But I mean, *really*, what it *feels* like -- like *moment by moment*."

Her wide eyes held his, fascinated and terrified by the child-like excitement he saw there as she talked about her ideas, and he knew that she genuinely had the power to carry them out.

"I've always wanted to see a staking, like, in slow motion," she confided, her voice lowered to barely above a whisper. "One...tiny...frame...at a time."

His breath was coming fast and hard now, his fear intensified by the fact that it made no sound. She could do anything she wanted to him at that moment, and he could not resist her, or even cry out for help. he watched in helpless horror as she slowly brought her hand to rest lightly over his heart, her touch gentle, but so deadly.

"I could make it happen, Spike," she assured him, though he already had no doubt of that. "Imagine...the exact moment when the stake pierces your skin...and each instant as it bores slowly deeper and deeper..."

He could feel the heat of her hand on his cool skin, and he imagined that her touch was burning him. He shook his head slowly, closing his eyes, unable to hold back the silent whisper, "Please...please..."

Only in his nightmares had Faith ever been able to reduce him to pleading, but Willow in this moment was infinitely more frightening than Faith had ever been.


"Shut up." For the first time in the whole encounter, her voice was hard, threatening, reminding him of how much she hated him, how little pity she would show him, and he immediately obeyed.

Willow’s voice immediately returned to the soft, almost gentle cadence she had used before. “Then – in the moment when it pierces your heart – you’d feel the heat flow out from there through every…single…cell of your body…literally burning you…to *death*. One…moment…at…a…time.”

Now he knew that he was not imagining the intense heat that radiated from her hand through his chest, now aching under her touch.

She lifted her hand away suddenly, leaving the burning sensation just as strong, her hand poised in the air, a beat away from carrying out her threat. “Do you want to feel that, Spike?” she asked him, deadly serious.

“No,” he whispered, soundlessly, shaking his head, his eyes focused on her hand in frozen terror. “No.”

“If you do anything to hurt Buffy…or any of us…if I think you’re lying about anything – you will, Spike. Is there any doubt in your mind about how serious I am?”

He shook his head, his eyes wide and riveted to her hand.

“Watch closely,” she whispered, with a sly smile, and suddenly waved her hand emphatically in front of his eyes.

He drew in a sharp, shuddering breath, expecting the searing pain to begin…but instead, he felt the invisible weight lift from his body, and heard the ragged, shallow sound of his own rapid breathing.

At that moment, he heard footsteps coming down the stairs, and Willow smiled at him, putting a finger to her lips before turning to meet Buffy, on her way down.

“Hey, Will, I thought I heard you come in.” Buffy’s voice was cheerful.

“Yeah,” Willow returned her friend’s smile, seeming in a better mood than usual. “I’m going upstairs to do some more studying on ways to stop Faith.”

“Okay,” Buffy chirped, slipping past her and toward Spike, her smile fading into concern at the look on his face. “What happened? What’s wrong?” she asked him, starting toward him, forgetful of the fact that she was not supposed to care.

Beyond her, behind her back, Willow paused on the stairs, her back to both of them…waiting, with a soft smile on her lips.

“Nothing, pet…just a…a dream,” Spike managed to get out in a voice that sounded somewhat normal, after a long pause. “Just a dream.”