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Trembling, terrified, the wounded vampire waited anxiously on his knees on the floor of the cave, awaiting the command of the powerful woman kneeling beside him – his savior…or his destroyer…

He couldn’t know which just yet.

He wished that she would tell him what to do – or even do something to him herself – anything just to let him know what it was that she wanted from him. Clearly, she did not want him to do as his captor had required of him, on the infrequent occasions when he had actually removed his chains – though never for long, and always only to further brutalize him.

*On your face, you disgusting thing! Don’t move! Don’t you *dare* look at me!*

It had not mattered to the man that Spike could not even see – let alone deliberately look at him.

Spike shuddered at the memory of the menacing words, his trembling intensifying slightly. All he wanted was to find out what she wanted him to do – what he could do to please her – to avoid the punishment that he knew was in her hands to mete out.

It had been difficult for him to understand what was expected of him, from the man who had brought him here, kept him here; he had not been able to understand the words spoken to him, and therefore had no idea what the sharply spoken orders he had been given had meant.

But he had learned.

*On your knees! Don’t get up! Shut up that whining, you little nothing, or I’ll give you something to cry about! I said *don’t move*!*

Each order had been punctuated with violence. Beaten and screamed at and forced into whatever position his captor had wanted him in – he had finally managed to comprehend what he was supposed to do. Thus, the instant that this woman had removed his chains, Spike had fallen to his knees on the floor, his face to the ground, submitting to her without hesitation.

But apparently – that was not what she wanted from him.

A new sense of fear came over him as he simply waited, helplessly – wondering.

Then – what *did* she want?

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

“It’s okay – it’s all right, Spike,” Buffy whispered gently, careful to keep her voice quiet and even.

She frowned, concerned and confused as without any real cause that she could see, he began shaking harder, his entire body visibly wilting – poised at a moment’s notice to fall directly back into the submissive pose she had stopped him from before.

It hurt her heart more than she could believe to see him like this.

No matter what hurtful things had passed between them – she knew that the damage she had done to him far exceeded the pain he had caused her. Whatever remaining anger she had held to him, over Anya, over his disappearance – all had vanished in the moment she had seen him, chained there in that cave.

Her immediate instinctive reaction to his obvious fear was to reach out, to touch him, to put her arms around him and offer him what comfort she could with her embrace – but she was also afraid to touch him, for fear of hurting him; she was not even sure she could find a place on his body to touch him that was not injured.

And she was not altogether sure that her embrace would be welcomed at the moment, anyway.

“Just wait a second,” she murmured soothingly, though she knew by now that he did not understand her, as she took her cell phone from her pocket. “I’m just gonna call…”

Her voice trailed off, as she realized suddenly – she had no idea *who* she was going to call.

Xander?

No. After what had happened between Spike and Anya, Xander’s hatred of the blonde vampire – which had been obvious for a long time, even before that – had intensified, until she knew that there was no way in the world that he would be willing to help Spike, even for her sake.

He would most likely just tell her to stake him and put him out of his misery, if he was so bad off.

Riley?

*No,* she decided, feeling decidedly uncomfortable at that idea. Riley had never understood her reasons for allowing Spike to live at all, even once he was chipped and helpless. That, added to the whole jealousy factor, what with Riley’s wanting to get back with her, and knowing about her history with Spike…

No…Riley would not be willing to help.

She found herself wishing desperately that Giles was there. While her Watcher might not agree with her as to the urgency of helping Spike right away, he would certainly not refuse, not after all that Spike *had* done to help them over the past few years – not if he knew how very important it was to *her* to save his life.

But Giles was *not* there – and it was becoming more and more clear with each passing moment, that Buffy was going to have to handle this on her own.

For one brief moment, she even considered calling her little sister. Dawn had managed to convince Buffy to let her stay home alone that night while she patrolled, so barring any of the typical teenage scheming that Dawn was so good at, she should be at home right now. The sixteen-year-old was learning to drive, and doing well – and for one insane instant Buffy considered calling her and telling her to bring the SUV.

But no – Dawn’s shaky driving skills aside, there was no way that she could let her little sister see Spike like this – not without preparing her for the shock of it.

*Looks like I’m out of options,* she thought grimly, closing the phone again and starting to put it away. *I can’t leave him – whoever did this might come back – and I don’t think a taxi’d come all the way out here…though at this point I’d gladly pay someone to…*

Her eyes widened with a sudden flash of inspiration.

*Anya!*

She hesitated for just a moment, before quickly making her decision and dialing the number for Anya’s new apartment. A few weeks ago, she had been unable to avoid going into the Magic Box, in need of some supplies to defeat a particular type of demon, and knowing that the little shop was likely the only place she could get what she needed.

It was the first time she had seen the ex-vengeance demon since that last encounter outside the Magic Box, that night when Anya and Spike had…

It had been a terribly uncomfortable reunion.

Anya still ran the store, with minor assistance and advice from her silent partner in England, but she kept her distance from what was left of the old Scoobie gang – which was, basically just Buffy, Dawn, and Xander.

Still, she had given Buffy her telephone number, and had asked her – rather awkwardly – to “please let her know if anybody got eaten or otherwise killed by a demon – because even though she felt too weird around them all now to actually hang out, it was still the sort of thing she wouldn’t like to not know about.”

And strangely enough, despite the unusual way Anya had of expressing herself – Buffy knew exactly what she meant.

That was the good thing about Anya – there was never any mistaking how she truly felt.

Buffy had no problem with the girl, really. She had been angry with her immediately following the incident, yes – but it had not taken her long to realize that of all the people involved in the situation, Anya had done no wrong whatsoever to anyone. She had already been dumped by Xander at the time, so she was not being unfaithful to anyone.

She wasn’t even being thoughtless or inconsiderate to Buffy – considering that she had had no idea of what had been going on between Spike and Buffy at the time.

*Which was absolutely a big fat nothing! You'd broken up with him -- remember?*

Buffy reminded herself sternly, a sense of guilt coming over her as she thought back to that night, back to the pain and desperation she had seen in the eyes of the little ex-demon, as she had stared up at Xander, venting her anger and indignation at his presumption, to tell her who she could and could not be with, now that he had already let her know that he did not want it to be *him*.

Pain that she had seen, clearly mirrored in the deep blue eyes of the vampire she had broken.

And now – someone else had broken him.

Buffy turned her head to look again at the fearful blue eyes of the kneeling vampire, now sightless, but still so very expressive. He was shaking violently, his entire body tensed in expectation of some move from her – some action or command.

She had none to give him.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, edging nearer to him, while she waited for Anya to pick up the phone. She reached out a gentle had toward the only place on him she could see that did not bear some mark or injury – the back of his hand, which was pressed against the cold stone floor beside his rail-thin, trembling legs.

“It’s all right, Sweetie,” she repeated almost unconsciously, closing her hand gently over his.

He jumped at the unexpected touch, but did not pull away from her – though her soothing tone, the soft repetitive movement of her thumb across his cool, rough skin, did seem to calm him a bit.

With a weary sigh of resignation, Buffy was about to hang up the phone, when the eighth ring was suddenly cut off halfway through. A brief muffled sound of a scuffle was heard on the other end, as if someone was having difficulty actually getting the phone to their ear. A moment later, Anya’s sleepy voice was heard in her ear, demanding and irritated.

“Do you even *know* what time it is? I don’t know all that much about it, but I’m pretty sure most humans would consider calling at this hour very rude. I have to get up early in the morning and make money. Who is this?”

“It’s Buffy.”

There was a moment’s stunned silence on the other end, Anya’s tirade of annoyance cut off in an instant. Clearly, she had not expected to be hearing from the Slayer anytime soon.

“I – I’m sorry. About – waking you,” Buffy found herself stammering, suddenly unsure of what to say. “It’s just – well…”

Anya’s voice was suddenly clear and tinged with a note of panic, as the only reason she could think of for Buffy to be calling her at this late hour suddenly occurred to her.

“It’s Xander, isn’t it?” she demanded, her voice rising slightly with her fear. “Oh, my God! Is Xander hurt? Buffy, is he dead?”

“No, no!” Buffy assured her quickly, her eyes widening with horror. “He’s – fine, Anya, that’s not – I mean…I need your help.”

Anya was quiet for a long moment, obviously as surprised by those words as she had been to find out who it was calling her.

Buffy held her breath for a moment, hoping that Anya would not ask too many questions, not need too much explanation – because she wasn’t really sure how much longer she could hold on to the fragile grip she currently had on her emotions. She had no idea how much Spike was actually capable of understanding at the moment – but it hardly seemed right to discuss his condition over the phone, right in front of him – and she didn’t want to, either.

Buffy’s voice must have said what she could not have put into words at the moment – because after a moment, Anya spoke, her own voice quiet and resolved.

“What do you need, Buffy? What’s happened?”

“I need you to bring your car down here, right away. It’s – it’s Spike. He’s hurt – bad.” Buffy paused, attempting once again to control her rising emotions – but then giving up as she added in a tearful, pleading voice, “Please – there’s no one else I could call…”

“I’m gonna help you already, Buffy, just tell me where you are!” The impatience in Anya’s voice only made her concern that much clearer.

Buffy felt her own body begin to tremble as she explained to Anya where she was, and where to park her car, and how to find them.

“Just – follow the trail of green demon goo,” she instructed weakly, a little grimace on her face, followed by a sheepish, “Sorry.”

Anya shrugged it off and hung up the phone, after assuring her that she would be there in no more than fifteen minutes.

The Slayer hung up the phone, put it away in her pocket – and collapsed forward, rocking slightly on her knees, weeping with relief.

Tears of relief turned into tears of fear and confusion and emotions that she could not even begin to put names to – until she felt something that made her go still, stunned and hopeful and not quite believing it was possible…but…

It was!

She looked down, wide-eyed, at her trembling hand that covered Spike’s, to see that he had turned his hand under hers, and was gently stroking his fingers across her palm in a gesture of comfort. She raised her startled eyes to his – almost disappointed to see them as sightless as ever – wondering at the reaction that she would not have thought possible from him, with the state he was in.

His head was bowed slightly, his eyes wide and intent, though aimed randomly at some point on the floor just beyond her – and she could see the concern, the confusion and uncertainty in his face that her tears had provoked. He did not seem to understand why she was upset, or any of what was going on for that matter.

But he *did* understand her tears – and was attempting to do what little he could to soothe them.

“Spike,” she whispered, an ache of sorrow and sympathy and gratitude all rolled into one overwhelming knot of emotion, tightening in her chest. “Oh, Spike…you never change, do you? You’ll always…”

She shook her head, her voice trailing off, as her eyes flooded with fresh tears. Once again she felt the desire to wrap her arms around him, to pull him close to her and hold him, until all this pain and misery just magically faded away.

But she knew that it was not to be.

Spike needed much more than comfort and affection to heal from whatever horrors he had lived through during the past few months. She did not know exactly what had been done to him, but she was not even sure that a complete recovery was going to be possible at all.

But that small, simple action on his part had given her hope that just maybe – maybe – it was.

She dared not do as she wanted so badly to, afraid as before that she might hurt him, or frighten him with the sudden movement – but she gently squeezed his hand, before relaxing her grip to hold it comfortably in hers, still whispering meaningless words of comfort to him all the while, as they waited in silence for Anya to arrive.