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Spike sat completely still in the backseat of Anya’s car, disoriented and desperately trying to gain some sense of direction – of where he was.

It was impossible.

His limited memory of the world around him, narrowed by captivity and torment over the past few months, did not allow for something as unusual and surprising as teleportation.

One moment, he had been in the cold, damp stone room that had been his prison – and the next, he simply – wasn’t.

Where he was – that was the question.

The slight hiss of pain from the girl sitting beside him alerted him abruptly to the fact that his hand had tightened on hers, without even realizing it, to the point of being painful. He immediately released her hand, pulling back across the seat until his back hit the door – which was much closer than he had expected.

He had hurt her; there was no way that he would be escaping unpunished – not after hurting her.

An attempt to move to the side brought his battered body in contact with the seat in front of him – and panic rose up in him, as he realized how tightly he was closed in, apparently on all sides. He felt his body begin shaking harder, and he drew back against the car door, shaking his head, terrified, and desperately confused.

And then – she was talking to him again…and her tone surprised him.

“It’s all right, Spike…you didn’t hurt me…it’s okay, calm down, I’m not gonna hurt you…”

“Buffy – um – he’s not gonna freak out and make me wreck my new car – is he?” Anya asked anxiously from the driver’s seat, glancing in her rearview mirror, frowning in frustration when the reflection refused to shed any light on the actions of the panicked vampire that she could clearly hear from the backseat.

None of the words made sense to him – none of them were words that he had heard much during the past few months. He had the concepts of “you” and “me” down – but that was about it.

But the girl’s tone spoke volumes above her words – and he found himself calming slightly, a sense of guarded relief washing over him. Of course, he reminded himself, it was completely possible that she was tricking him – making him believe that she was not angry…only to punish him when he least expected it.

Some people did that – he knew.

But – she hadn’t. Not yet, anyway.

He tensed slightly as he sensed her edging nearer to him across the seat, continuing to talk to him softly. “I’m not angry with you, Spike…I’m not gonna hurt you…”

The words were meaningless to him…but her voice was so gentle, so soft…

*Not angry…*

*Not gonna hurt me…*

*Safe…*

Her message got through loud and clear, whether he could understand every word or not.

Now – he just had to figure out whether or not she meant it.

“Come here,” she whispered, reaching out a hand to close gently around his. “Come here, Spike…”

He swallowed hard, hesitating only a moment before he scooted across the seat closer to her, his head bowed in submission, his slightly parted lips trembling with unshed tears of fear and uncertainty. He had no idea what she was going to do – knew that whatever she planned, there was little he could do about it.

He had no choice but to obey.

He flinched slightly when he felt the warm, silky skin of her arm come to rest lightly across his shoulders – probably the least damaged part of his almost skeletal back – but then found himself relaxing slightly when she did nothing else, simply held him close at her side.

“You’re safe, Sweetheart,” she whispered reassuringly in his ear, her free hand coming around to hold his trembling one firmly in his lap. “It’s all right…just calm down…settle down, Spike, we’ll be home soon…”

*Home*.

It was an unfamiliar word to him – yet somehow, filled him with a warm, bittersweet ache that both soothed his fears, and brought him to the edge of tears again.

After a few moments, when he realized that she was not going to do anything else to him, not going to hurt him – at least not yet, he was faced with a dilemma. His entire body was tense with the deeply ingrained expectation that at any moment, the inevitable pain would resume – his mind racing, trying so hard to understand what was happening, what was *going* to happen…

And it was all just too much.

He couldn’t comprehend it – so for the moment – he quit trying. Partly because he wanted so desperately to believe the promise in this woman’s gentle voice – and partly because whether she meant him harm or not, there was nothing he could do about it anyway – Spike allowed himself to relax into her gentle embrace.

It was the first tenderness, the first touch that had not sought to hurt him, in as long as he could remember.

Traumatized, confused and exhausted beyond any further labored thought – the vampire was asleep in moments.

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

Anya pulled the car into the driveway of the Summers’ home, breathing out a sigh of relief at safely reaching their destination. Most of the ride there had been uncomfortably quiet – at least for Anya. She was never sure exactly what was appropriate to say to humans, especially in intensely emotional situations such as this – and yet, she knew that most people found long silences awkward as well.

Since her relationship with Xander, she no longer had any idea what was okay and what was not, when it came to small talk.

Not that “small talk” would be appropriate in this situation, anyway.

At any rate – she was very relieved that the ride was over.

Taking the keys from the ignition, she turned halfway in her seat – more than a little surprised at the sight that met her eyes.

The bruised and battered vampire, looking terribly small and vulnerable in his starvation-ravaged condition, had fallen into a sound sleep; and in his sleep, he had unconsciously rested his head on the Slayer’s shoulder. Buffy had her arm around him, very careful not to further aggravate his numerous injuries; her other hand held his, her thumb gently stroking over the back of his hand in a repetitive comforting motion.

Anya just wasn’t quite sure which of the two the gesture was intended to comfort.

Buffy looked up at her, her expression more lost and sorrowful than Anya had ever seen the Slayer look before. Her cheeks were tear-streaked, her eyes red from silently crying the whole way there. When she read the clear distress in Anya’s eyes, at not knowing what to do or how to help, Buffy lowered her eyes, sniffling back her tears in an attempt to regain her composure.

“I’m sorry,” Anya blurted out suddenly, earnestly. “That Spike’s hurt and brain damaged, and it’s upsetting you.”

Buffy flinched slightly at the abrupt statement of the situation – especially the use of the term “brain damaged” – but forced a grateful little smile as she replied in a voice barely over a whisper, “Thanks, Anya…just…just help me get him inside, okay?” She moved to reach around Spike’s sleeping form and open the car door – and then froze, giving Anya a questioning look.

“Can you just…?”

Anya thought about it, giving a little sideways shrug and a nod, as she replied, “You have to invite him first…”

Buffy looked at the surprisingly calm, still face of the sleeping vampire beside her, as she whispered, “You’re invited into my house, Spike…”

The next instant, Buffy found herself and Spike, sitting in precisely the same position as before – only this time on her living room sofa. Anya was standing in front of them, a slightly self-satisfied expression on her face.

“Nifty trick, there,” Buffy remarked, as she gently shifted her body away from Spike, trying to figure out a way to ease him awake, without sending him into a total panic.

“You’re welcome,” Anya replied without hesitation. Her smile faded into an uncertain expression, as she asked hesitantly, “Can I – I mean – what do you need me to do to help you?”

Buffy glanced up at the girl in surprise, before returning her full attention to Spike, as she replied slowly, thinking about her answer. “Um – can you get me a clean white sheet from the upstairs hall closet? I’d like to lay something down on the couch – I mean, if that’s where we’re gonna do this…”

“Okay,” Anya agreed, heading toward the stairs. She paused at the bottom, turning around to face Buffy again. “Where we’re gonna do what?” she asked.

“Get him – cleaned up. Bandaged. Whatever we can to make him more – more comfortable…” Buffy replied, frowning with confusion and uncertainty herself; she had no idea how to do this, what to do for a starving, beaten, tortured vampire with – brain damage.

More than ever, she wished her Watcher was there.

*Or Mom,* she thought wistfully, fresh tears springing to her eyes. *She’d know what to do. Mommy – I miss you…*

“Don’t you think he needs blood, first of all?” Anya suggested, moving back toward the living room a couple of steps, undecided. “I mean – he’s been starved, obviously. He’s not gonna get better without…”

“Right,” Buffy frowned. “I don’t have any…we’ll have to get some…first, though…I need that sheet, before we get blood on the couch…”

She glanced down at the numerous injuries that scarred his back, sickened and a little disturbed to realize that although they were obviously open and aggravated, there really was very little blood.

*Because he doesn’t have any left to lose,* she realized with dismay.

“Oh – right,” Anya agreed with a nod of understanding, heading again for the stairs. She hesitated at the bottom again, half-turning to ask speculatively, “You’re the expert on bloodstains – how well does blood come out of leather?” Her unhappy frown told Buffy that she was thinking about the seat of her car.

“Better than you’d think,” she murmured distractedly, her focus still on Spike, as she cautiously removed the support of her shoulder from under him, and he began to stir slightly, frowning as he began to wake up. She added as an afterthought, “Careful. Dawn’s asleep up there; don’t wake her up, I really don’t want her to see him like this.”

Anya nodded again, and disappeared up the stairs.

Beside her, Spike’s head suddenly jerked up, sleepy blue eyes suddenly wide open and staring at nothing, as he pulled back against her arm behind him – and then immediately let out a whimper of pain as her arm rubbed across the raw abrasions that covered his back.

“Spike – it’s me, Spike,” she reassured him softly – only remembering after the words left her mouth, that who she was meant nothing to him at this point. “Calm down…you’re okay…it’s okay…you’re safe…”

He froze at the sound of her voice – and she could see the change in his expression as he remembered the last few hours…going from utter panicked confusion, to guarded relief, mingled with uncertainty – and he stopped trying to pull away from her.

“We’re gonna take care of you, Spike – get you all cleaned up and taken care of and fed – are you hungry, Spike?” Buffy cringed at her own stupid, thoughtless question, aware that she was rambling, but seemingly unable to stop.

Spike blinked in surprise at her words – and then nodded slowly, emphatically, in response.

Buffy’s eyes widened in surprise, as a slow smile spread across her face when she realized she had discovered one more thing that he understood. She repeated it, wanting to be sure. “You’re hungry? You want some blood?”

He hesitated a moment, uncertain when she asked him again, before nodding a second time – though she felt his body tense under her touch, watched him flinch slightly as he replied.

She felt that slow burn of anger rising up in her again as she thought of how terribly starved he was, and wondered how the promise of food or the threat to keep it away might have been used against him in the last few months.

“Okay,” she assured him gently. “Okay, we’re gonna get you some blood as soon as we can, okay? I promise.”

He did not respond at all, simply sat there with that uncertain look on his face – and she knew that he was once again unsure of what she had said, and therefore unsure how to respond.

Thankfully, at that moment Anya reappeared at the foot of the stairs, an armload of sheets, pillows, and one soft, thick comforter in her arms – all of which she dumped unceremoniously on the floor beside the couch.

Spike nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Okay…let’s get up, Spike, okay?” Buffy gently directed him, supporting him as he struggled to his feet.beside her, clearly eager to do whatever she told him – probably to avoid the punishment that he still seemed to expect from her at any moment.

Anya quickly laid out a doubled white sheet across the seat of the sofa, and hung a second one over the back of the couch, to protect it as well, before placing a single pillow on one end of the couch.

“Okay…I need you to lie down, Sweetie,” Buffy told Spike, her voice trembling slightly, though slow and careful, not sure if he would understand her words or not – more troubled by the thought that he *might* understand them than that he might not.

He *did* understand the softly spoken order – judging by the sudden intensifying of his shaking body against her arm – though he did not nod or give any other indication that he understood. He seemed frozen, rooted to his spot in terror.

Buffy deliberately shut her mind to the possible causes of that terror.

“Come on,” she urged him gently, leading him back to sit down on the edge of the couch, before carefully disentangling herself from the frightened, confused creature who was now clinging to her almost desperately as she helped him to walk.

*And when exactly did *that* happen?* she wondered, not sure whether that was a good or a bad thing.

She supposed that clinging to her for support, and perhaps security, was a definite improvement over cringing from her in fear that she would hurt him. Carefully, she rose from the couch, still holding his hand in hers to reassure him of her nearness.

“Okay,” she said softly. “Lay back…” Gently, she pushed his shoulder downward, directing him to lie down on his back on the sheets.

Although he yielded to her hand, she could feel the tension, the unconscious resistance in him, and realized again with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, that somehow this particular direction seemed to cause him even greater fear than before.

*Don’t think about it, Buffy,* she ordered herself sternly. *Just don’t – not right now…*

Anya moved quickly to help Buffy, to lift Spike’s thin, trembling legs up onto the sofa – and he jerked away from her unexpected touch in fear, crying out in the agony caused by the sudden movement.

“Anya!” Buffy cried out in frustration, and some anger. “Don’t touch him!”

“I was only trying to…”

“Just – don’t, okay? He’s scared enough as it is!” Buffy cut her off, her voice trembling dangerously as she tried to soothe the startled vampire. “It’s okay, you’re okay, Spike, she’s not gonna hurt you…just…just lay down, Sweetie…”

Obediently Spike pulled his legs up onto the sofa, slowly leaning back until he was lying down – but by now, he was shaking so hard that the entire couch was vibrating, and a low, pleading sort of whimper rose in his throat as he obeyed.

“Buffy…” Anya’s voice was low, cautious, with a dark note of dread to it that made Buffy’s insides quake. “I think maybe…”

“Don’t.” Buffy cut her off in a low, shaky voice, tears obscuring her vision again as they made their way down her face. “Anya, don’t say it…”

“It’s just – you ought to be prepared – I mean – whoever did this obviously didn’t stop with the – top half of his body, and you’re gonna have to…” the vengeance demon rambled nervously, wanting Buffy to be prepared for the worst – which was looking more and more likely all the time, judging by Spike’s panicked reaction to her last order.

“I know what I’m gonna have to do, Anya,” Buffy snapped, never taking her eyes off of the trembling, terrified vampire lying on the couch, waiting for – for what, exactly?

Her voice softened in response to his flinch at her harsh tone, as he went on, “Just – please…” There was a note of defeat to her voice as she whispered, “Just – just go, Anya? Can you – can you go find him some blood, somewhere?”

Anya was quiet for a moment, studying the expression on the Slayer’s face with a worried frown. “Okay,” she nodded finally. “I can do that – but – are you sure you don’t need me to…”

“I can do this, Anya,” Buffy cut her off, more sharply than she had meant to. “It can’t be helped. I’m the Slayer, I’ll do what I have to do…” Under her breath, she muttered softly, “And it’s not like I’ve never seen him before…”

She didn’t think that Anya had heard her last comment, as she nodded her acceptance and headed toward the door – until she heard her add in a slightly resentful whisper, “Yeah -- me either…”

Buffy froze, her back stiffening in anger, before she whirled around to glare at Anya’s retreating back. Some sense alerted the vengeance demon to the Slayer’s attention, and she turned around to face her, her arms crossed over her chest, eyebrows raised expectantly as she waited for Buffy to speak.

“You were with him for one night,” the Slayer finally said, her voice trembling and full of barely controlled emotion. “One freakin’ night – not even that…more like half an hour…” She shook her head, struggling to find words, as the tears coursed down her cheeks again. “Spike and I – we had something, Anya…you have no idea how hard this is…I – I don’t have the first clue how to go about this, but – but I know that it doesn’t feel right to – to do this – with someone else in the room…at least, he had an actual *relationship* with *me*…”

Her words cut off there, her eyes widening in surprise at the impact of what she had just admitted, for the first time.

Somehow – keeping the secret didn’t seem all that important now.

“Be careful, Buffy,” Anya advised gently after a long moment of silence, an expression of mingled sympathy and apprehension in her eyes that made Buffy look away. “Because – he doesn’t remember that.”

Buffy looked up at her, startled – but the vengeance demon had already turned and headed out the door. Buffy took a deep breath, steeling herself for what had to be done next, as Anya’s cautionary words echoed through her mind. Finally, with an effort, she turned around to face the wounded, frightened vampire – lying on her couch, perfectly still, as if terrified of being caught disobeying her.

She only hoped that she could make him understand that what she was about to do was not another violation.