“Spike,” Buffy spoke soothingly to the vampire, trying again to get him to raise his head and look at her. “Come on. This is *me*. Don’t hold back on me here, just talk to me! Tell me what this is, Sweetie.”

He could her the genuine concern in her soft voice and her gentle touch, tenderly encouraging him to open up to her, and he longed to, desperately. The horrifying memories, still so fresh in his mind, of his time at Faith’s mercy, the torture and abuse he had suffered at her hands, were tearing him up inside, and he yearned to pour all the pain and shame out to someone who loved him.

Buffy had told him that she loved him. She had then gone on to prove it with her actions, and the manner with which she was treating him now was one of such compassion that he wondered if he should just give in and tell her everything. He could let her know exactly what it was that he was dealing with, so that she could help him get through it. But the memory of her mocking, derisive laughter in his nightmare made him hesitate.

Would she still love him once she knew about the horrible things Faith had done to him? Or would she see him differently then – see him as weak, pathetic, disgusting – as he now saw himself? He pictured her sneer of disgust from his dream, regarding his broken, tortured form as something far beneath her and unworthy of anything but her contempt.

“Spike,” she persisted, and a warm, gentle hand smoothed back his hair from his forehead. “Sit up here. Look at me.” She could tell that his tears had stopped for the moment, and there was a firm determination in her voice as her other hand pulled gently at his shoulder, trying to get him to sit up. She intended to make him face this – whatever it was.

He cringed inwardly at the thought of facing her, sure that she would see the truth in his eyes, and despise him. But he was simply too worn down, physically and emotionally, by this point to resist her gentle urging anymore. He sat up slowly beside her, but kept his eyes down, fighting not to break down again, and not wanting her to see the fear and confusion in his eyes.

Her hand rose to touch his face, wiping away the dampness of a single remaining tear on his cheek, and he flinched almost imperceptibly, his body tensing at her touch as he closed his eyes, still refusing to look at her.

She frowned, troubled by his unconscious reaction, though she knew he was not really afraid of *her*. Her hand slipped around to stroke slowly through his hair, and she leaned in closer to him, seeking his stubbornly avoidant eyes.

“Spike – honey,” she whispered. “You’re safe now. Okay? It’s over.”

He nodded, his eyes still closed, a sense of relief coming over him at her incorrect assessment of his fears. He knew very well that Faith could never hurt him again, and did not expect her to – but if Buffy thought that was the problem, then he could play along, let her think she had set his fears to rest, and escape having to reveal the truth for now.

“But that’s not what this is about – is it?” she asked softly, and he was startled into meeting her piercing emerald gaze, stunned at how easily she saw through his attempts at hiding his secret pain.

*Bollocks.*

He looked away again quickly, pulling self-consciously away from her touch. “Buffy,” he whispered, shaking his head. “Please…I don’t wanna talk about this, pet.” There was a pleading note in his soft, miserable voice.

“I know,” she conceded gently, understanding how he felt – and determined to do what was best for him regardless. “But I think you *need* to, honey. I don’t know what this is that’s got you so upset, but – but I can see that it’s just tearing you apart. And it hurts my heart to see you like this.”

He closed his eyes on the tears that had formed there, swallowing hard, feeling his control slip a little at her compassionate words, as she slipped her arm around his waist, pulling him gently but insistently closer to her.

“I love you, Spike,” she reassured him quietly. “I want you to be able to talk to me, Baby.” She paused, as she felt his resistance to her touch slip a little, before she asked very softly, “What happened, Spike? What did they do to you?”

He was surprised at the dark, protective anger in her voice, and the fact that she seemed to be blaming Giles nearly as much as she blamed Faith, lumping his actions in with those of the cruel Slayer, without hesitation, regardless of his motives. She did not care if the Watcher had meant well. He had hurt Spike – and that seemed to be all that mattered to her at the moment.

It amazed him to think that she would take his side over that of her Watcher – and it made him feel safer to tell her the truth.

“God, Buffy,” he whispered, his wide stricken blue eyes raised to meet hers at last, the raw pain and desperation in them taking her breath away and sending a stab of pain through her chest. “Please,” he begged her in a gasping whisper. “Please don’t – don’t hate me – I – I didn’t want to – I didn’t…”

His voice failed him as his sobs overwhelmed him, and she immediately gathered the shaken, distraught creature in her arms, leaning back against the headboard and cradling him close to her, whispering soothing nonsense sounds as she gently rocked him while he tried to regain control.

“It’s all right,” she told him quietly, her voice calm and soothing. “It doesn’t matter what happened, Spike. I love you. I could never hate you, honey. I just want you to talk to me.” She reached down with a gentle hand to lift his face to look at her through tear-filled eyes. “Can you trust me that much, Spike?” she asked him softly.

He stared into her open, honest eyes for a long moment, caught off guard by her choice of words as much as by the tenderness in her searching eyes – and his resolve was lost, as he lowered his head to rest against her breast, releasing a soft sob of relief. He knew that he was going to tell her the truth, but he could not quite bring himself to speak just yet, so he just nodded slowly against her.

Her hand rose to play comfortingly through his hair again, as she released a slow breath of relief of her own, grateful that she seemed to have finally broken through his defenses. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “It’s all right, Baby, just take your time.” This was clearly very difficult for him, and she had no intention of rushing him.

She was quiet for a while then, allowing him time to regain his composure. Finally, after a minute or two, he raised his head, still not meeting her eyes, looking just below them, too afraid to risk seeing her reaction to the dreadful things he was about to tell her. She kept one arm around him and reached down with the other to take his hand gently in hers, wanting to offer him as much support as she could.

“I – I thought we were just going to *act* like I was under a spell – under Giles’ control,” he began in a halting, hesitant voice. “Like he told us here.” He glanced up at her anxiously, and she nodded her understanding, her thumb lightly caressing the hand she held as she silently encouraged him to go on.

“But – when we got there – he worked some kind of bloody mojo on me right at the door, before I could stop him, and – and the next thing I know – I couldn’t move – couldn’t speak – couldn’t do a bloody thing unless he told me I could.” She could hear the fear and utter helplessness of that situation in his trembling voice, and it set a little ache of sorrow and sympathy in her heart for him.

“I couldn’t even ask him what he was doing, and – and he didn’t explain. He just ordered me to silence and – and made me go – up to – to her room.” His eyes were wide and haunted as he stared past her at the images of past traumas that he could still see so clearly in his mind.

He suddenly looked down for a moment, with a soft, mirthless laugh. “He was bloody convincing. Had *me* convinced for a while that he was actually on her side. But – but apparently he thought – the act wasn’t enough.” His voice lowered to an aching whisper on the last few words, and he struggled to keep his composure, as Buffy’s arm tightened instinctively around him in response to the difficulty he was having.

“She – she said she wanted to – to be sure the spell would work. That I was really under his control. She asked him to order me to obey *her*. And he did. And then she – she asked him to – to leave me there. With her. All night.” There was a breathtaking sense of shame and vulnerability in his soft words, before he finally stopped, struggling to go on at all, looking down at the bed as his tears began to flow again.

“So he did,” he finally managed to finish in a flat, emotionless whisper, as his tears fell from his face to form tiny dark circles on the bedspread.

Buffy felt an overwhelming sense of outrage and fury at the Watcher, for daring to leave Spike in such a terrible situation. She would never have thought Giles was capable of something so cruel, so heartless, as to abandon him, helpless, to the sadistic whim of the vicious Slayer who hated him and had already tried to kill him before that night.

“Excuse me,” she said softly when he did not – or could not – go on. “Can we take a break while I go kill Giles?” Her tone was light, and he knew she was joking, but her eyes were dark, angry and serious.

Her words had their desired effect, and in spite of his pain, her startling question made him laugh a little through his tears, and the fierce defensiveness he heard in he voice – for *him* -- made him feel safe, secure, though, he reminded himself, she had not heard the worst of it. Not yet.

He did not want to think about what her reaction might be when she did.

“I really do think he meant well, pet,” he whispered. “I really don’t think he knew – what would happen. What she would do.”

*I don’t think he cared,* was the bitter thought that sprang to her mind, but his words caught her attention before she could voice it, and her eyes grew very serious as she asked him gently, “What did she do, Spike?”

He flinched at the question, and she wondered if she had made a mistake, as he did not look up or respond for a long moment. Finally, however, he whispered, “She had all night to do whatever she bloody wanted. I was absolutely at her command. I mean – I didn’t want to – I h-hated it,” he choked out, again on the verge of breaking down. “…but if she said it – I had no choice. I did it. I – I couldn’t help it, Buffy!” He looked up at her in pleading desperation. “I really tried – not to – but…”

He could not get any farther; that was where he fell apart.

He leaned toward her, his head bowed pleadingly as he sobbed, “Please…please believe me, Buffy! I didn’t want to…I tried not to…” He could not go on, lost in the agony of his memories, and the terror that she might reject him for the things he had been forced to do.

Seeing the direction his thoughts were heading, aghast that he could even think she might misunderstand that fact of the situation, might think that it was anything but against his will, Buffy pulled him close to her again, gently but firmly pushing his head down onto her shoulder.

“Spike,” she spoke softly into his ear, her voice quiet but firm. “This was *not* your fault. You had no choice. She forced you, Spike. She – she *raped* you,” she whispered, the very word tearing her heart with the knowledge that it had happened to the man she loved. “That’s what it was. And there is no way that I could *ever* blame you for that.”

She felt his body relax against her at her words, could feel a guarded relief in the way his hands clung to her, the way he buried his face in the crook of her neck, sobbing out the pain and humiliation. “Please…” he gasped. “Buffy – I need you! I know you need – a man who – won’t…you need…”

Suddenly, she realized with alarm and not a little anger just where this was going, and pushed him quickly back, holding him firmly by the shoulders and seeking his eyes, which he still kept downcast, still crying softly.

“Look at me,” she gently commanded, and he could not help but obey. Her eyes were soft with compassion but firm with determination as she met his unflinchingly and went on. “What I need – is *you*, Spike. I need *you*.” She paused for a moment, allowing him to take that in before she went on.

“What she did to you – what Giles *let* her do to you – was wrong, Spike. And you had *absolutely no control* over it. There was nothing you could have done differently. There was no way you could have stopped it. You were under a spell. How could I ever blame you for that?”

He looked away, wanting desperately to believe her words, but afraid to.

“No, look at me,” she said firmly, and he reluctantly raised his uncertain, pain-filled eyes back to hers, stunned by the depth of love he saw there. “The only people who should feel ashamed about what happened to you are Faith and Giles. Not you. You didn’t do anything to deserve that, and you didn’t cause it. The ones who make me sick – the ones I blame for this – are them. Not you. Never you.”

She paused, allowing her words to sink in as she kept holding his gaze firmly. “I don’t care what anyone’s told you before. I don’t care how you thought I’d feel about this. But absolutely *nothing* has changed, Spike. Okay? I…*love*…you. I love you. No matter what.”

He stared at her, barely daring to believe what she was saying, a light of hope shining in his glittering sapphire eyes. “I love you, Buffy,” he whispered. “I love you so much…”

“I love you, too,” she repeated, pulling him closer to her. “I always will.” She paused, a question in her solemn green eyes. “Do you believe me?”

He nodded slowly, feeling a sense of peace wash over him at the release of the fears he had carried around since leaving Faith’s house that morning. The memory still hurt, still made him absolutely sick at the very thought of it – but the fear was gone. He knew that no matter what – Buffy loved him. Whatever hurt he might face, whatever he would have to deal with from this point, she would be right there, dealing with it with him.

She smiled slowly in relief and satisfaction at his response, leaning in to tenderly kiss him, holding his gaze intently until their lips met, and she closed her eyes, losing herself in the moment, drawing him into it with her. And she knew in that moment that he had taken the first step down the path of healing from the ordeal he had experienced.

And she would gladly do what she could to lead him the rest of the way.