This lovely banner was created for me by the amazing Tamakin84!! Thanks so much, love!!!




He was in terrible shape.

As Buffy’s stunned mind gradually adjusted to the fact that he was actually *there*, right before her, she began to take in the other, more disturbing details of the situation, and a sense of anger began rising up in her, with her fear for him.

Someone had really done a number on her vampire.

Spike was slumped against the stone wall of the cave, his weakened, emaciated body supported almost fully by the iron chains that bounds his wrists to the wall on either side of his head, holding him up. His chest was bare – revealing a frightening array of ugly, angry welts and bruises; and as Buffy’s eyes gradually adjusted to the dim light in the room, she realized with rising horror that she could clearly make out every bone in his once-sculpted torso.

*How long has it been since he’s eaten?* she wondered momentarily – for once not feeling the sense of disgust that she usually felt when she thought of what it was exactly that Spike ate.

All she felt at the moment was concern.

And rage.

He looked terrible, signs of recent and perhaps not-so-recent abuse covering his body, on the verge of starvation -- if vampires *could* starve to death...

But more frightening than the way he looked, was the strange, unsettling way in which he had reacted to her presence.

As she whispered his name, the soft sound a clattering echo in the stillness of the room, the blonde vampire flinched back against the wall, hard, his painfully thin body shaking violently. He kept his eyes closed, his head turned away from her, and did not make a sound, though his entire body appeared tensed, poised for action that the chains, rattling against the wall with his movements, did not allow him.

“Spike?” she tried again, softening her tone even more, as she edged nearer to him. She had no idea what had happened to him – though she had every intention of finding out – but whatever it was appeared to have traumatized him to the point that he didn’t even seem to recognize her. “Spike? It’s me – Buffy…” she whispered.

She really felt very silly, identifying herself to this creature that had, a few months earlier, known every detail of her life, her heart – worshipped the very ground she walked on…whether she felt worthy of that adoration or not. But now – he did not even seem aware of who she was at all.

Spike? Not knowing her? The very thought seemed ridiculous to her – and deeply unsettling.

“Remember me?” she asked softly, her tone light and gently ironic, though her voice was trembling, and the smile she meant to be reassuring was weak, on the verge of dissolving into a sob, as she moved steadily toward him.

It didn’t really matter, she thought somewhat numbly. It wasn’t as if he could *see* her smile, with his eyes closed, turned away from her like that.

She was suddenly startled by the first response she had seen from Spike yet, as he began to shake his head slightly. She stopped moving for a moment, frowning, before continuing slowly toward him.

“You – you don’t?” she whispered. “You don’t remember me?” In spite of the desperation of the situation, she still felt an unreasonable sense of hurt come over her with the thought that he really *didn’t* know her.

As she reached him, extending a gentle, cautious hand to touch his shoulder, she was startled when he jerked back away from her in panic, shaking his head harder, almost desperately, a low pleading whine beginning to sound low in his throat.

And suddenly, Buffy began to wonder if the head-shaking was more about not wanting her to come near him than about actually answering her question.

A cold, sick sensation of fear came over her, as she found herself noticing suddenly that he had not spoken a word since she had found him. His demeanor was just -- *wrong* -- so not like him... She found herself reminded suddenly, with a little chill of apprehension, of when Angel had come back from hell, all wild and feral and uncomprehending.

And then, she found herself wondering all at once -- if he had even understood her question at all.

“Spike?” she repeated, keeping her tone carefully soft and calm. “It’s okay…it’s okay, Spike…Stay calm…okay? It’s okay, Spike, I’m here…you’re safe now…it’s okay…” As she gently spoke to him, trying hard to keep the rising terror out of her voice, for his sake, Buffy glanced around the room, looking for a key to the chains that bound his wrists.

Much to her relief, with her soft, repetitive words, and the gentle touch of her hand, he seemed to be calming down a bit – though it was hard to tell, as he still would not open his eyes or say anything – but the plaintive whine had died away, and the trembling had eased a bit, though it was still quite noticeable.

“Spike – do you know where the key is?” she asked him quietly, her words slow and even, though she was not sure at this point that it made any difference.

He froze, not responding, not moving a muscle, and Buffy frowned at his reaction, puzzled.

*Well -- at least there's *some* reaction,* she thought with a fresh wave of sorrow washing over him. "My God, Spike, what happened to you?*

“The key. To the chains. Do you know where it is?” she forced herself to ask again, in a voice that was firm in spite of the quaver it held. After another long moment of nothing, Buffy added in a voice of flat resignation, “Do you even know what I’m asking you, Spike? Do you understand?”

She noticed suddenly with dismay that her repeated questioning, however gentle, was starting to upset him again. He drew back away from her touch, shaking his head pleadingly, his trembling intensifying again. It was as if he knew that she wanted something from him, but couldn’t quite comprehend what it was – and worse, he was terrified of what her reaction might be when he could not do whatever it was that she wanted.

“No – it’s okay…don’t worry about it,” she murmured gently, tears streaking her face as she raised a hand to touch his cheek – only to have him flinch away from her. “It’s okay – I’m not gonna hurt you,” she assured him. “It’s okay – and you don’t have any idea what I’m saying to you, do you.”

She deliberately kept her tone flat, not wanting to upset him again by asking him questions that he could not answer. She let out a deep, shaky breath, raising a hand to gently touch his dirty, disheveled hair – startled to find it matted, blood-caked, resistant to her fingers running through it.

She was even more startled in the next moment when the bound vampire nearly leapt as far away from her as was possible in his chains, a low moan of pain and terror rising from his throat, as he cringed back against the wall as far as he could, straining against the chains in his desperate effort to escape her touch.

“I’m sorry!” she cried out, tears flowing freely from her eyes, as she realized just how badly he must be hurt. “I didn’t mean to – didn’t mean to hurt you, Spike…”

But since he could not seem to comprehend her words, her anxious, almost panicked tone only served to upset him more. He clearly would have dropped to his knees had the chains allowed it, huddling down against the wall as far as he could get from her, that awful terrified sound again coming from his throat as he hid his face against his arm in a pitiful attempt to hide himself from what he perceived to be a threat.

“Okay…okay…” Buffy repeated in a trembling voice, taking a step back and trying to regain her own composure. “You need a little space…you don’t need me…touching you…just…just find the key, Buffy,” she muttered, looking desperately around the room for someplace where someone – whoever had done this to Spike – might have hidden it.

That was another question, reverberating again and again in her mind…who had *done* this?

But it was a question for another time – a time when Spike was safe and calm and cared for, in the haven of her home – not for right now, when he was panicked and confused and disoriented, and she was not doing much better than he was.

Her eyes landed on a small folding table a few yards away from where Spike was chained – and her stomach turned at the sight of most of the items arrayed on that table, which had escaped her notice until now. Various implements of torture, stained dark brownish red with blood…

*Spike’s blood…*

She felt her stomach roiling within her, and forced the thoughts away – couldn’t think about that now – had to think about – the key…where was…

*There!*

She grabbed the shiny little piece of metal from where it lay on the table, and turned quickly back to Spike, cringing a bit herself when he flinched at the sudden movement – but relieved to see that his eyes were open now. Judging from the guilty sort of way he kept his eyes aimed at the floor, Buffy suspected that he had been watching her while she searched for the key – though why he would think that she might be angry about that, she simply could not fathom.

“It’s okay,” she repeated, beginning to feel foolish from the repetition, but seemingly unable to stop. “I’m gonna get you out of here, Spike…gonna take you home…”

Again, the vampire froze completely for a split second, his trembling ceasing momentarily with surprise, his eyes wide and staring strangely straight ahead in a way that…

Suddenly…Buffy felt her own body began to shake, and she shook her head, fighting back a sick feeling of horror as her mind tried to reject what she was increasingly sure was true. It made sense – explained why he wouldn’t look at her – why he seemed so disoriented – so frightened of every little sound…

*God, no…* she thought desperately, her heart aching for this creature that had come to mean so much to her. *Please…no…*

“Spike?” she whispered, moving close to him again, shifting her body, trying to bring herself into his line of vision. “Spike – look at me…”

He didn’t move, though she could see the confusion, the anxious desperation in his face as he tried – really *tried* -- to understand what it was she wanted from him. With a cautious, gentle hand, she lifted his chin, disturbed when he only flinched slightly, but was then unsettlingly compliant to her touch, allowing her to turn his face upward slightly.

She passed her free hand slowly in front of his eyes – feeling weak and sick again when they did not move.

*He can’t see…oh God, he can’t see!* she realized with horror.

“Oh, Spike…Spike, what happened…?” she sobbed out desperately, releasing him and moving trembling hands to the cuff at his right wrist, struggling to unlock it and free him from the bonds that held him.

A part of her wondered if she should perhaps be more cautious – if this semi-feral version of Spike might not freak out completely once he was free…

*How long has it been since he was free?* she wondered, with another anguished sob, as she unlocked the left cuff from around his wrist.

The vampire staggered slightly forward when the restraints were removed – and then immediately dropped down onto his knees, his head bowed low, his face to the floor of the cave -- that desperate, pleading whine that was almost painful for Buffy to hear, clearly audible again.

“Spike – no,” Buffy found that her own voice was a whimper as she dropped to her knees on the ground beside him, tears streaming from her eyes. “No, don’t, Sweetie…it’s okay,” she tried her best to soothe him. “Don’t…”

She rose up straighter on her knees, hovering over him as he seemed to be trying to bring himself as low as possible, an obvious and heartbreaking gesture of submission – and Buffy felt the slow-boiling rage that had begun in her heart intensify just a little bit more.

As she took his arms and gently tried to get him to get up, she suddenly froze, as she caught her first glimpse of the mangled mess that had been made of his back. It was every bit as bad as his chest had been, but the wounds on his back had been aggravated by the harsh stone of the wall behind him, until his entire back was one big mass of raw, open wounds.

Her eyes trailed slowly up the marred flesh that had once been so beautiful, remembering how his perfect alabaster skin had appeared in the moonlight under her hand...

Her thoughts were cut off abruptly when her eyes reached the back of his head, now clearly visible to her in the torchlight -- and the Slayer's eyes widened with horror at what she saw. She raised a hand slowly toward the injury -- which seemed to have healed somewhat already, but was still ghastly, an open, gaping hole on one side, covered over with scar tissue.

She knew better than to attempt to touch the wound, her mind racing as she tried to figure out what might have caused such a wound -- though she had the feeling that whatever had done it, was surely the cause of Spike's weakened mental state.

The Slayer hardly realized it as her eyes narrowed in fury that rose swiftly to the surface, darkening with rage, and her voice lowered slightly, almost a growl as she spoke without even meaning to.

“Who *did* this?”

The rage in her voice was all that the vampire understood, and he fought her gentle hands in an attempt to lower himself to the floor again, whimpering softly. Buffy’s eyes widened in dismay as she realized what she had done, and she pulled him gently but firmly up again, wrapping her arms around him in an attempt to keep him up.

“No,” she whispered firmly. “No, Spike…no…it’s okay…don’t…”

He froze at her words, his attempts immediately ceasing – and she realized with both relief and anger that there was at least one word she had spoken that he had understood.

No.

Her eyes narrowed again, though she was careful this time to keep her tone the same, soft and reassuring, as she murmured soft, soothing nonsense sounds in an effort to calm him. It was not the *words* that were soothing to him, after all -- just the soft, gentle sound of her voice.

But the thoughts running through the Slayer's mind in that moment were anything but gentle.

She *would* find the person who had done this to Spike.

And they *would* pay.

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

He had been certain that the misery of his existence was about to come to an end – and he had been utterly grateful for it. To be eaten by the monster that had invaded his prison could surely be no more painful than the torment he had endured here -- and then, it would be mercifully ended.

But then – that strangely familiar, almost musical voice had driven away the overpowering scent, the presence, of the foul creature that had been poised and ready to devour him.

Somehow, Spike felt that he should have known her – though he could not begin to connect a name with the powerful voice he heard – strong and sweet – iron and silk…and in that moment, holding his existence completely in her grasp.

*Dirty…ugly…bad…*

The words echoed through his mind, words that he could not quite put definitions to – but the tone of his captor, using them again and again to describe the reactions of anyone who might find him, was irrevocably connected to those words in his mind. He could not quite comprehend the meanings of the words, not yet -- but he knew that in his captor's mouth, they defined him…and that those words, whatever else they might mean, meant that he was low…evil… unworthy to be in the presence of the woman who had come into his prison.

The woman whose destiny it was to hold his fate in her hands.

Frustration and terror mingled in his mind, as he struggled to comprehend the words she was saying to him…the reasons why her voice, her scent, were so familiar…and why he felt both terror and hope, battling within his battered spirit, for dominance of his being.

And then…she was questioning him…and he couldn’t answer…had no idea what it was that she wanted… Gradually, he was beginning to get his memory of basic words and meanings back -- but he still could only make out a few, and could not begin to put together what the question was she was asking him -- let alone to find th answer.

…and he knew -- *knew* -- that she would hurt him, would strike him down, punish him for his disobedience.

Except – she hadn’t.

After months of nothing but bondage and torment and suffering – all of which he had been led to believe he deserved – the concept of mercy, of tenderness and compassion, was something that his mind could barely begin to conceive of. According to the brutal lessons that had been driven into him over the past few months, a glorious being such as he instinctively knew this woman to be should have nothing but pain and judgment for something as low and unworthy as he was.

And yet, her hands, her voice, had been gentle, as she had unlocked his bonds, after – so very long…

She had the power – he could sense it, feel it rolling off of her in waves…knew what she was instinctively, though he could not quite put a name to it.

And yet – she had not hurt him.

*She will,* the thought echoed through his mind ominously. *In time – she will…*

He knew that kindness was not what he deserved. His world had been reduced to only so much – and what she seemed to be offering did not belong there…and therefore could not be real, could not last.

Because in the nightmare that his life had become – it *always* came back to the pain.

All he could hope for, was to do what he could to please her, and hope to hold off that moment of suffering as long as he could.

But how could he hope to do that, he wondered with a sense of despair rising up in his broken heart – when he could not even comprehend what it was that she was asking of him?

*She’ll kill you,* he heard the soft, echoing voice of his tormentor in his head – and suddenly understood what he had meant. *When she sees what you’ve become – how pathetic and worthless you really are…she’ll dust you and put you out of your own and everyone else’s misery…*

He had only been able to understand a few of the words -- but the general concept was clear.

The moment would come – he knew it.

But until it did – he would do what he could to please this glorious golden goddess, who had released him from his bonds...perhaps only to put him into bonds of her own -- he could not know yet -- but it did not really matter.

Because if he had the choice of one slavery over another – he would choose to be hers.