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Buffy could not remember another time when she had ever felt so completely exhausted.

She trudged down the sidewalk, away from the Doublemeat Palace and toward her house, idly fidgeting with her ridiculous cow hat in her hand as she walked. All she could really think about at the moment was her soft, warm bed – and getting to it as quickly as possible. It felt like it had been forever since she had been there – even though it had only been…

*Whoa. Nearly 24 hours. No wonder I’m dead on my feet.*

She had gotten up very early that morning – at an hour that barely qualified as no longer “last night” – taking her mother’s old SUV and heading to L.A. to talk to Angel. She had left around 3:00 in the morning, knowing that would put her in L.A. around six – sunrise.

If she waited any later than that, Angel would be asleep when she got there – and if she went any earlier, he would still be out and about doing his “helping the helpless” thing…and she was very pressed for time; she had to be back in Sunnydale for her shift at the Doublemeat by noon.

It wasn’t as if she’d actually *wanted* to go see Angel, anyway.

But she had finally decided to swallow her pride over the issue – at least partially. Her official reason for being there was for Dawn’s sake. Her sister’s fear for Spike’s safety had only intensified over the past few weeks – but that was by no means the only reason she was going.

She was scared to death for the blonde vampire herself – terrified that something terrible had happened to him.

She had gone to L.A. to do something she would never have thought that she would do.

She had gone to ask Angel if he had seen Spike – and not with the intent of staking him, but because she was actually worried for his well being.

*Yeah,* she thought sarcastically as she made her way home that night. **That* was a wonderful idea, Buffy! Went over beautifully! ‘Hey, Angel, have you seen the childe of your insane daughter Drusilla lately? What’s that? Not since he chained you up and had you tortured without mercy for hours? Gee – sorry about that – I was just wondering if he’s okay!*

She kicked angrily at an unfortunate piece of trash that had the bad luck to be in her path, fighting back that sense of anger and annoyance that was in constant battle with her concern for the blonde vampire who had become such a source of emotional confusion to her.

*Stupid Spike! I asked him before where he was between the Gem of Amara thing and when the Initiative got him! He could have *told* me what kind of terms he and Angel parted on. Saved me the humiliation of getting screamed at by Angel in front of his office staff!*

*If he *had* told you – you’d have staked him,* that annoying voice of reason spoke up in her mind again.

*No, I wouldn’t have,* she insisted to herself. *I wouldn’t have staked him. At the very worst I might have hit him. Or – beat him up. A lot.*

She sighed wearily, finally admitting to herself that really, Spike would have been crazy to have told her about his last encounter with Angel. But the idea of his being afraid to tell her something like that, afraid of what she might do to him for it, somehow bothered her.

*Stupid vampire!* her mind stubbornly repeated. *It was two years ago! It’s not like I would have hurt him – much…*

The truth was – she had not exactly given Spike much of a reason to trust that she would react calmly and rationally to the story, no matter how much time had passed since then. Her mind was dragged unwillingly back to that cold, terrible night in the alley near the police station, where she had beaten any faith he might have had in her sense of compassion or forgiveness right out of him.

*Okay – Angel’s reaction to my question – not Spike’s fault,* she finally admitted to herself – if only to give her mind a respite from the troubling images that currently filled it. *Except for in the sense of the brutal torture he put Angel through that *resulted* in Angel’s reaction,* she shrugged. *But the important thing is – Angel hasn’t seen him, either. Spike, where are you?* she wondered anxiously.

At the moment, she was feeling particularly fragile – and realized suddenly with a pang of emotion that she couldn’t quite identify…this was just the sort of night on which she would have found herself kicking open the door to his crypt, throwing herself into his arms and throwing him down on his bed – taking comfort from the only one who seemed equipped to give it to her since she had come back.

But tonight – the reason she needed comfort at all was the fact that he was not there.

That – and Angel’s treatment of her in L.A.

She had not expected the fury that rose up in her former lover, when she had asked if he had seen Spike, her worry for the blonde vampire apparently all too clear in her eyes. Angel had angrily informed her about the last time he had seen him, then demanded to know why she cared where Spike was or what had happened to him.

Naturally, she had retorted that it was really none of his business anymore who she cared about and why, and if he didn’t know, that was all he had to say, and she would be out of his way, if he was going to talk to her that way.

“Fine! I don’t know – haven’t seen him! Now get out!” Angel had snarled at her, and behind the anger and resentment she saw in his dark eyes, there had been a hurt and betrayal that made her realize that somehow, he must have sensed that there was more to her questions – questions that had brought her all the way from Sunnydale to L.A. in the middle of the night – than the concern for Dawn she had claimed was the reason.

And suddenly, she had wanted nothing more than to be somewhere else -- *now*.

She had found herself in tears several times during the three hour drive from L.A. back to Sunnydale – though she would have been hard pressed to say whether her tears were more out of hurt from the way Angel had treated her, or her worry over Spike’s safety, or the inevitable confusion that had resulted from seeing Angel again after the past few months spent in the tumultuous, emotionally painful not-relationship that she had had with Spike.

She was just confused, and frustrated, and scared, and so very, very tired…

She had left L.A. around eight in the morning, getting back to Sunnydale around eleven – just in time to take a quick shower, throw on her uniform, and get to work by twelve. But then, her boss had asked her to work a few extra hours – and here she was, nearly twelve hours later, finally heading home again.

She frowned as she walked up her driveway, to find an unfamiliar dark-colored SUV parked in her driveway – and she automatically quickened her pace, an anxious feeling building in her chest.

Xander had been staying over with Dawn while she worked her shift – and his car was still parked in the driveway beside the unfamiliar vehicle – but she had no idea who it belonged to, and, this being Sunnydale, knew that chances were, an unknown visitor to the Slayer’s home when the Slayer happened to conveniently not be there, and her little sister who may or may not still be a mystical key *was*, was not likely to be the result of mere coincidence.

Of course -- that particular sort of visitor rarely drove a shiny new SUV...but somehow, that did little to calm her fears.

She hurried up the walk and opened the door -- frowning as she walked into the foyer, at the sound of casual laughter -- *three* voices’ worth – coming from the living room.

"Did you guys know the door was open?" she asked, unable to keep the annoyance from her voice, the after effect of finding that her fear for her sister’s safety was unfounded. “You can’t do things like that,” she continued as she locked the door behind her and turned to go on into the living room. “It’s not…”

Her voice trailed off abruptly, her eyes widening at the sight of the person who was sitting casually in the living room in the recliner, one leg resting across the other, his hands behind his head as he looked up from the story he was apparently telling to Xander and Dawn, who both sat, to all appearances transfixed, on the sofa.

Riley.

“…safe,” she finished softly, setting her keys down on the end table beside the sofa and staring at her ex-boyfriend, sitting inexplicably in her living room – and noticeably without his new wife, this time.

*He’s just *full* of surprises, isn’t he?* she thought with no small amount of bitterness, as she steeled herself emotionally before speaking aloud.

“Riley,” she said by way of greeting, with a small nod and a tight, not exactly welcoming little smile. “Hi.” She paused for a moment before saying the words that had sounded too rude in her mind to actually use – had she particularly cared about Riley’s feelings anymore.

“What are you doing here?”

The ex-commando let out a nervous, surprised little laugh, glancing around at Xander and Dawn – who had not appeared to have any problem with his presence so far – for support before meeting Buffy’s eyes as he stood up.

“What? You’re not happy to see me?” he said in a light, teasing tone, clearly meant to break the tension.

It was not exactly working.

“Should I be?” Buffy countered quietly. There was a moment’s pause before she relented slightly, sighing almost imperceptibly as she continued, “I mean – last time you came to town you brought a nasty disgusting demon with you – not exactly my idea of a party.”

“Yeah,” Dawn remarked quietly, almost outside her range of hearing, with a little smirk on her face. “And then there was the Suvolte, too.”

A slight smile of irony crossed Riley’s lips, the only indication that he had heard Dawn’s snide little comment about his wife, though his eyes never left Buffy’s.

“No demons this time,” he assured her, shaking his head slightly.

“Sure about that?” she shot back, her eyes intent, though her voice was soft.

Riley dropped her gaze for a moment, his smile fading, before he met her eyes again, completely serious.

“I – I’ve missed you, Buffy.”

Buffy’s eyes widened slightly as her face took on an incredulous look. Just what was Riley playing at? she wondered indignantly – but her reaction must have shown in her eyes, because before she could call him on his very inappropriate words, he spoke up, moving in slightly closer to her as he did.

“I mean it. I really have. Seeing you – a few months ago – it just – well…”

“Wait.” The Slayer held up her hand, drawing his words to an abrupt halt, taking a step back away from him, trying to gather a bit of distance so that she could deal with what he was saying. “Riley – you can’t just – show up here, and…” She looked up at him, shaking her head in disgust and disbelief, “you’re *married*, Riley!”

“No. I’m not.”

The stunned silence that followed that announcement gave Buffy at least the small relief of knowing that she was not the last to hear that particular news. Xander and Dawn were both staring at the soldier with as much astonishment as she felt.

“Oh.”

That was all Buffy could bring herself to say at the moment, still trying to take in what he was telling her.

“I just – after I saw you – and – and Sam – she knew – she had to know, I couldn’t really hide it, never could, really, but Buffy, I…”

“Riley,” she cut him off again, her voice soft and weary, “wait. Um…Xander?” She turned and faced her friend, uncertainty in her eyes. “Can you…um…can Dawn – stay over? Tonight?”

“Buffy…” Dawn started to object, shaking her head. “I don’t want to…”

“Dawn – I need a little privacy to talk to Riley – okay? It’s Friday, you don’t have to get up early for school or anything, just – go with Xander – okay?” Buffy insisted, her voice terse, and leaving little room for argument.

“Don’t you think that should depend on what *Xander* says?” Dawn snapped, crossing her arms over her chest in a stubborn pout. She knew that she was clearly outranked when it came to her sister, so there was little else she could do except call Buffy on her just assuming that Xander would be willing to do as she had asked, without waiting for his answer.

The Slayer turned slightly pleading eyes on her best friend. “Please?” she said softly.

Xander sighed, his dark eyes troubled, revealing that he was not so very sure either that this was a good idea – but he nodded with resignation. “No problem, Buffy. You know Dawn’s always welcome.”

“Fine,” Dawn muttered, rolling her eyes. As the girl reluctantly followed their friend to the door, walking past her sister, she paused long enough to remark coldly, narrowed eyes piercing into Buffy’s in accusation, “What better way to forget all about one thing – than to replace it with something else?”

Buffy’s eyes widened and she turned as her sister passed her, objecting, “I’m not…”

But the door slammed behind Dawn, cutting off her futile attempt at explanation.

*That’s not what I’m doing,* she insisted to herself, closing her eyes for a moment to compose her thoughts before turning to face Riley again. *I’m not replacing Spike with Riley. I don’t even want to be with Riley. There will be *no* being with Riley! I just see no reason to humiliate him in front of the others – that’s all…that’s it…*

She turned around, drawing in a deep breath as she faced the hopeful expression on Riley’s face – unable to find words for a very long moment.

Finally she breathed out, “So. You and Sam. Split up. You – left her?”

Riley shook his head. “Not quite. The other way around, in fact.” His blue eyes took on an imploring look as he edged in closer, reaching out to touch her arm. “She – she couldn’t stay – not after – not when it was so obvious that I – I wasn’t over you. I never was, Buffy…”

Buffy shook her head, backing away from him slightly. “Riley – no,” she objected quietly. “I – I can’t just – you can’t just come back here and announce that you’re married – and then come back three months later and announce that you’re suddenly *not*, and you wanna get back together! I can’t just -- *do* that, Riley!”

“I don’t expect you to.”

His words surprised her enough that she looked up at him suddenly, one eyebrow raised in speculation.

“I don’t,” he repeated emphatically, when faced with the dubious look on her face. “I just – want to be in your life again, Buffy. Want to – to help you. To be – your friend. And – maybe – later on – if things work out…”

“Riley – I don’t want you counting on that. I’m not – I’m not even the same person that…” Buffy shook her head, her voice trailing off as her mind was filled with images of eyes a deeper blue than Riley’s, filled with a depth of emotion like none she had ever seen – certainly not in Riley’s eyes.

“I know that, Buffy.” Riley’s voice was quiet, solemn. “I’m not – counting on anything. I just – I’ve moved back to Sunnydale. I got an apartment – across town.” He was quiet for a moment, allowing that to sink in, before he went on, “I know things. I’m experienced. I can help you – when you want me to. And – that’s all I want right now, Buffy – just to be able to help you. I just – just wanted you to know that I’m – I’m here. Okay?”

Buffy nodded slowly, still unable to find words.

When it became clear that she really did not have much to say to him, Riley nodded in acceptance, and headed toward the door, pressing a scrap of paper into her hand as he passed her.

“My number,” he explained. “If you need me.”

“Thanks,” she replied flatly, not looking up.

Riley nodded again, as he reached for the door. “I’ll let you – get some sleep.”

She did not respond as he opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. He turned slightly before moving off of it, half-facing her as he asked softly, “If you don’t mind my asking, Buffy – who is it? That you’re – trying to forget?”

Buffy looked up at him, startled that he had caught Dawn’s words as well. After a momentary silence, she looked down again, before meeting his eyes with a steely, unflinching gaze.

“No one,” she replied. “I’m not – trying to forget – anyone.”

Riley studied her face for a moment, before nodding his acceptance of her words, and turned without another word, walking out into the night.

Buffy’s eyes welled with tears, as she allowed bittersweet memories to flood her mind – there was no one here tonight with her, no one’s feelings to worry about – so she let the memories, the pain and fears that had been overwhelming her for the past few months, flow over her, embracing and accepting them.

*Not trying to forget,* she echoed in her mind, sitting down on the edge of her sofa with her head in her hands, as tears flowed down her cheeks. *Don’t *ever* want to forget…*

*******************************

There was something…something…

He was trying so hard to remember…

Familiar.

Safe.

Inviting.

Mingled in with the scent that he had come to associate with fear, and pain, and suffering…

So…confusing.

“She’s forgotten all about you, you know.”

He flinched slightly at the sound – yes, *sound* -- that reached his newly repairing ears – the sound that announced the presence of the other – the one that came here, to this dark, lonely place of suffering – only to intensify that suffering.

“I saw her today – and she doesn’t even remember, Spike – that’s how little you mean to her.”

The words sounded hollow – echoing in his weakened, damaged hearing, with a muffled, underwater sort of sound – and he could not make out the individual words.

Not that he could have put meaning to them, anyway – yet.

He could hear them – knew that he was being spoken to – but to his infinite frustration, his mind refused to process the words, to give them meaning. He had no idea what the other person in the room was trying to say to him.

But the tone – that was impossible to mistake.

Cold, mocking, gloating over his misery and suffering – enjoying his pain and terror – that dark voice always accompanied more pain – more terror – so although he could not yet comprehend the words – Spike knew enough by now to fear the arrival of that voice – that heavy, acrid scent that accompanied this unwelcome visitor to his underground prison.

“Did you hear me, Spike? Are you listening?”

The demand in the voice made it clear that he was expected to answer – though he had no idea what to speak -- *couldn’t* speak – so the sensation of frustrated fear began to spread through him, as the heavy footsteps slowly sounded, growing nearer to him as the intruder went on.

“You *can* hear me, now, can’t you, Spike,” he observed with a smile that was audible in his voice – a cruel, nasty smile that promised only more pain – though Spike could not quite comprehend the question.

“You’ve been able to hear me for some time now…*haven’t you*?” the loud words spoken suddenly, very near his ear, made the injured vampire flinch, pulling back away from the abrasive sound that hurt his head – though he couldn’t pull back very far.

Something – something was – restraining him…

“You’re healing, Spike,” the voice continued softly, moving away from him again now – circling him in a way that the predator in Spike could still recognize as dangerous – threatening. “Gradually – getting back all those abilities that you lost when I put a bullet through your brain. It’s really amazing, actually. I had no idea that you’d heal up so well. I mean – it’s taken time, but – you’ve barely had any blood at all. Just a tiny bit each day, if I’m figuring right – and you’re getting better. It’s really very…”

He paused, trying to come up with the right word, before finally adding in a whisper of amusement, once again close enough to make the bound, injured vampire flinch, though he had no concept of exactly what was being said – only the menace and sadistic pleasure behind the words.

“…disappointing.”

“Pretty soon – you’re gonna be able to talk again – aren’t you, Spike?” the voice mused. “And when that happens – well – I might just have to bring an end to all this. Can’t have you – running your mouth. Ruining everything. You were always so good at that, weren’t you?” the man sneered angrily.

Spike’s body trembled slightly, involuntarily, at the anger and menace in the voice of his captor.

“Can you talk yet, Spike?” he asked in a low, menacing whisper. Then, when there was no response, he fisted his hand in the blonde vampire’s blood-matted, disheveled hair and jerked his head back painfully. “Can you?” he demanded.

A low, animalistic moan of anguish was the only response to the jarring assault on Spike’s still healing scalp – though he did not understand the question, did not know what was being asked of him…he was only responding in the most simple, basic, natural way, to the physical pain he was experiencing.

His captor did not quite see it that way.

“Getting there, aren’t we?” he observed mockingly. “Closer all the time…” The humor left his voice as he released his hair and backhanded him hard, knocking his head back against the stone wall behind him. “Well, *don’t*!” he snarled – responding to the next inevitable cry of pain with another blow – and another, ordering his prisoner to silence again and again…

Until finally…Spike got it.

The final cry – bit back with an extreme force of will – muffled with an effort even as his tormentor jerked his head back hard, trying to provoke a reaction – told the man that he had managed to get his point across.

“Good,” he remarked in a voice of soft, amused approval. “Good, Spike. That’s it. Don’t talk. *Don’t…talk.* Got it?”

The words were no clearer than before – with the exception of the single order that Spike now understood. He had to keep quiet – had to obey – or he would experience more pain. And now, the question in his captor’s voice made it clear that he wanted to know if he understood.

It was really very simple – but it was a tremendous breakthrough for the vampire.

A breakthrough that came at a great, painful cost.

He nodded slowly, instinctively knowing that that action would let his tormentor know that he understood.

There was a long silence before the man replied in a voice of astonishment, “Yes? You got it?”

Spike nodded again, emphatically, drawing back against the wall in anticipation of another blow – which did not come.

“Good! *Good*!”

The excitement in the man’s voice was clear, as he stood up straight again and moved away from his prisoner, apparently thrilled with this success – though Spike had no idea why.

All he wanted was for the pain, the torment and terror, to come to an end. There was something – someone, perhaps? – that he found himself longing for, though he could not remember it. Some sense of safety and belonging and comfort that he desperately wanted to find again – something that he somehow knew, if only he could get to it, would make this agony stop – if only he could find it.

But how could he find it, he wondered with a sense of despair, if he could not even remember what it was that he was looking for?