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“Buffy? Are you down here? Where are you?”

Anya’s hesitant, apprehensive voice echoed through the empty halls, into the cavernous room where Buffy and Spike waited for her to arrive.

Buffy barely had time to feel relief at all at the presence of someone else, there to help her with this unexpected, painful burden of dealing with Spike’s devastated condition, when the damaged, frightened vampire beside her suddenly reacted with panic to the unfamiliar voice.

He jerked his hand back, away from hers, scrambling backward across the stone floor, back toward the wall, the pitiful keening sound beginning in his throat once more, as he struggled helplessly to put as much distance between himself and the intruder as possible.

“Spike – hey…Spike…” Buffy murmured, her tone soft and reassuring – or at least, she hoped it was – as she didn’t bother to get back to her feet, but just crawled slowly, cautiously toward him on her hands and knees. “It’s okay, Spike…it’s okay…she’s safe, she’s here to help, Spike…come here, Sweetie…”

His back was to the wall by now, his bony knees drawn up against his battered, emaciated chest as he apparently tried to make himself as small and invisible as possible. At Buffy’s softly spoken last few words, he cringed slightly, his expression making it clear that he did not want to obey.

But he did.

Buffy’s eyes widened in a combination of horror – that he obviously felt he had no choice but to obey her words, as an order – and hope, as he moved hesitantly, fearfully toward her, coming to rest beside her in the same humble position of submission he had gone to when she had taken off his chains.

Was it possible? Had he really understood what she had told him to do?

“Spike?” she whispered, so caught up in the excited hope birthed in her by his reaction, that she barely even noticed as Anya made her way into the room, guided there by their soft, urgent voices. “Spike? Can you – can you understand me?”

He simply stayed there in that awful position, apparently too confused and terrified to respond.

“Spike – get up…” she said softly, reaching down beside her to take him by the arms, her carefully gentle hands nearly recoiling at how painfully thin they were. “Come on, don’t do that, Sweetie, get up…”

She felt a tremulous wave of relief and hope wash over her as he immediately submitted to her touch, rising up on his knees in response to her words, his intently focused, yet unseeing eyes wide and anxious, as he waited for her next command.

He had already obeyed the last one.

“Did you – did you understand me, Spike?” she repeated hesitantly – letting out a shaky sob of relief, her face breaking into a smile when he nodded slowly and deliberately.

“Okay – okay, good,” she whispered, thinking aloud, her voice trembling with emotion. “So – there are *some* things…just not…everything…”

Her words trailed off as she thought back over the words Spike had responded to over the past hour – “no” – “don’t” – “come here” – “get up”…

A cold sensation went through her as her mind went through the various implications of those words – all commands – that Spike was still able to comprehend. She tried hard not to think about that right now – to focus on the good news, rather than the wealth of bad that seemed to so greatly outweigh it.

If Spike could still understand some words – then it had to be possible for him to relearn others – right? The wound on his head, however terrible it was, at least showed signs of healing – so, it was possible that he might still recover completely – wasn’t it?

“Oh my God.”

Anya’s soft, hushed whisper startled her; she had almost forgotten the presence of the other woman in the room. Buffy turned to look at her, without rising from her knees or relinquishing her gentle hold on the kneeling vampire beside her.

“What – what happened?” Anya asked, her voice softer now, not having missed Spike’s obvious flinch at the sound of her unfamiliar voice.

“I – don’t know,” Buffy struggled to get the words out, fighting back a sob. Now that someone else was here, the temptation to allow her feelings to overwhelm her was greater than ever. “I just – found him like this…he’s hurt pretty bad, and he – he doesn’t remember me. Doesn’t seem to – to remember much of anything…”

Anya slowly approached the kneeling pair, her eyes wide and troubled as she moved slowly around behind Spike, drawn in horror to the gaping wound on the back of his head.

Buffy felt Spike’s trembling increase as he sensed Anya behind him, much closer than he was comfortable with – and she gently tightened her hands on his arms, whispering soothingly to him to keep him from bolting, as the ex-vengeance demon (as far as Buffy knew, anyway) crouched down behind him, recovering from her initial reaction and leaning in closer to study the wound, while making no move to touch him.

“Shhh,” Buffy softly soothed him. “It’s okay, she’s not gonna hurt you…it’s okay, Spike, she’s a friend…it’s okay…”

Anya’s eyes flickered to Buffy’s face momentarily, one eyebrow raised in a slightly skeptical expression that lasted only an instant, before she returned her attention to the matter at hand.

“This looks…” she began, shaking her head slightly.

“…terrible,” Buffy whispered, nodding slowly in agreement to what she had thought Anya was going to say.

“Yes,” Anya nodded once, peering even more closely at the wound, tilting her head to the side and studying it from a different angle. “But – it looks like – Buffy, it looks like a gunshot wound.”

Buffy blinked, momentarily uncomprehending. The words were so completely unexpected, so different from anything she had suspected – for a moment, she couldn’t even wrap her mind around the concept. Spike had been -- *shot*? With a *gun*?

“But – who would…” she shook her head in confusion, her voice weak and uncertain as she finished in a stricken voice, “…who would *shoot* a vampire in the head? And…I mean…if you’re gonna go after a vampire, you’re gonna use a stake – right?”

Anya did not answer for a moment, her eyes having left Spike and trailing a slow circle around the room they were in – the makeshift torture chamber of someone’s design. After a few moments, she looked down into Buffy’s wide, searching emerald eyes, and replied in a soft, steady voice.

“Yeah – if you wanna *kill* the vampire.”

Feeling a steadily building sense of numbness tingling through her as her mind processed what Anya was saying, Buffy looked behind her again, at the bloodied chains hanging from the wall.

Spike had been kept here for a very long time – starved – tortured – abused to the point that the slightest touch, the softest sound, terrified him.

As Anya spoke again, Buffy felt the numb tingling in her chest change – slowly warming – gradually becoming a burning rage.

“This was personal,” the ex-demon observed. “Whoever did this – wanted to hurt him. Wanted him to suffer. They didn’t want him to die – not from the gunshot…and not right away.”

Buffy was silent for a long moment, swallowing back the rage rising up within her before she stated in a low, trembling voice of anger, “Who would do something like this?” She paused, shaking her head, before adding coldly, “I’ll kill them. I’ll kill them, Anya…”

The soft, pleading whimper that left the broken vampire’s lips drew Buffy abruptly from her anger with a wave of guilt and regret suddenly coming over her, as she realized that once again, he had misunderstood – having mostly her tone, not her words, to go by.

“It’s okay,” she whispered for what felt like the hundredth time, trailing one hand gently downward to lock onto his again, as she reassured him, “I’m not gonna hurt you, Spike…it’s okay…”

“Buffy – we have to get out of here,” Anya reminded her, a note of urgency to her voice as she glanced toward the door. “Whoever did this – they could come back. Any time. We have no way of knowing how long it’s been since they’ve been here, and how long it’ll be before they get back.”

At first, Anya was not sure Buffy had even heard her words, as the Slayer remained focused on comforting Spike, soothing sounds rolling from her throat with a gentleness that the vengeance demon would never have associated with the Slayer – not before or after she had known her personally.

“Maybe it’s better if they *do* come back.”

Anya blinked, startled by the hard, cold sound of the Slayer’s voice when she finally responded to her words. Her eyes widened when she realized exactly what Buffy was saying.

“But Buffy – not that they don’t deserve it, no matter what – because, anybody who could do something like – like this…” Anya’s voice trailed off, as she shook her head, unable to find words for the utter decimation of the once strong, vibrant vampire she had known. Forcing herself to focus, finding her train of thought, she continued urgently, “…but Buffy…are you really ready to do that?”

“To do what?” Buffy’s irritation was clear in her voice, though Anya knew it was not really directed at her. The Slayer’s emotions were understandably very much on edge at the moment.

“To – to kill a human,” Anya clarified softly.

A moment of silence fell between them as Buffy realized what Anya was saying. Her eyes widened in shock; it was a possibility that had not even crossed her mind. The sheer brutality of what had been done to Spike had made her automatically assume that it had been done by some old demon enemy of his; the thought that the attacker might be human had not occurred to her.

“You think – you think a *human* did this?” Her voice was incredulous, aghast at the thought.

“Why would a demon use a gun?” Anya countered immediately, one eyebrow raised in obvious surprise that Buffy had not already thought of that question.

Buffy shook her head slowly, more than a little overwhelmed by the idea. “But – how could anyone – I mean – this is beyond…”

“This is vengeance.”

Once again, Buffy looked up at Anya, questioning without a word.

“If there’s one thing I know, it’s vengeance – and that’s what this is. This isn’t random in any sense of the word, and there’s no profit to be gained from doing this to Spike. It can only be payback – someone who thinks they’ve got a score to settle…”

“But – what could Spike have possibly done to deserve…”

“I’m not saying he deserved it,” Anya interrupted, shaking her head grimly. “Though,” she corrected with an apologetic little shrug, “we *are* talking 150 years of bloodshed and mayhem…so…it really could be just about anyone…”

“If they’re human,” Buffy was thinking out loud, her voice quiet and somber. “We’re only talking the last 50 years or so…”

“Unless whatever he did was to their ancestors, not the actual person who did this,” Anya pointed out.

Buffy sighed wearily, her head bowed as she tried to come to terms with the situation enough to actually deal with it. She was determined that she *would* find out who had done this to Spike. Whoever it was might well think that they were justified in seeking vengeance against the former Scourge of Europe – but as far as Buffy was concerned, *nothing* could possibly justify this.

But she would think about the complex, troubling ramifications of the situation later.

Right now – she had to get Spike to safety.

She gently shifted so that one arm was braced as lightly as possible against his torn and bruised back, cringing a little herself when he flinched, letting out a quiet little cry of pain – and then flinching again, as if he expected to be punished for the cry.

“I know,” she murmured, fresh tears falling down her cheeks. “I know it hurts, Spike…we’ve gotta get you home. Can you get up? Can you stand up, Spike?”

His slow, awkward nod told her that he had understood her words, and also that he was at least going to try to obey her – though Buffy had her doubts as to whether or not he actually *could* get up on his own.

“Let me help you,” she advised him gently – though it was quickly clear that he did *not* understand those words…probably hadn’t heard them once since he had been shot…as he struggled to rise on his own anyway – only to collapse back down onto his knees with a strangled sound that was almost a sob of frustration and despair.

“It’s okay…it’s okay, Spike,” she assured him, choking back her own answering sob, as she steadied her arm behind him, placing her hand under his elbow and trying to help him to stand.

Anya quickly moved in behind Spike on the other side to assist her, and between the two of them, they managed to get him on his feet.

“Okay – that’s it,” Buffy murmured, a tense frown of concentration on her face as she steadied herself, allowing her own shoulders to take the greater part of Spike’s weight. “Can you walk?”

He did not move, made no attempt to respond, and the convulsive swallow accompanied by a flash of fear in his face told her that he had no idea what she was asking him.

“Come on,” she tried again, gently urging him forward as she took a small, careful step toward the door.

His weakened legs faltered and nearly gave out, and he bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, in an attempt to muffle his moan of pain, as his battered back fell hard against her supporting arm behind him.

Anya was doing her best to help Buffy, but even with her restored strength as a vengeance demon – which she was trying pretty hard to mask – and Buffy’s Slayer strength combined, she knew they were going to have a difficult time getting Spike all the way back to the car without causing him severe pain. She would have employed more of her strength, but at this strained point in her relationship with Buffy and her friends, she wasn’t sure how safe she would be if Buffy found out that she was a demon again.

She glanced past the vampire they were supporting to catch a glimpse of the Slayer’s face – and the frustration was clear in her tear-filled eyes, in the stubborn set of her jaw, despite her trembling lips…

Anya rolled her eyes, heaving a weary sigh, resigning herself to whatever fate might befall her because of her reckless actions – but knowing that she could do nothing else.

“Screw it,” she muttered, releasing her grip on the injured vampire and standing up straight, moving around to face Buffy.

The Slayer gave her a surprised, uncertain look when she found herself suddenly bearing Spike’s full weight, wondering why Anya had stopped helping her – unaware that Anya was about to do all that she *could* to help her.

“Um, Buffy,” Anya began with the tone of a confession, glancing downward for a moment before meeting her gaze again apologetically. “There’s something I need to tell you – but – well – let me just get us to the car first…”

Buffy shook her head, confused, breathing heavily with exertion, not understanding what Anya was talking about.

But the next moment, she did – when with a wave of Anya’s hand, the three of them found themselves magically transported to the comfortable leather interior of Anya’s car, Anya in the driver’s seat, Buffy and Spike together in the back.

“So – yeah,” Anya went on casually, as if nothing had happened. “Teleportation – kind of cool perk of the – um – vengeance gig.”

Buffy was silent for a moment, still reeling from the unexpected trip, let alone Anya’s sudden revelation -- glancing around the car, trying to catch her bearings again before meeting the eyes of the anxious, expectant girl, craning her neck to look behind her at the occupants of the backseat.

“Oh,” the Slayer finally remarked, a bit weakly – but not the least bit angry. She shrugged slightly. “Okay.”

Anya breathed a heavy sigh of relief, turning around and putting the key in the ignition.

She froze at the next, completely unexpected word from the Slayer’s lips – spoken with a cold, dangerously calculating tone that said much more than the single word.

“*Good*.”