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




The moment that Anya left the room, Buffy became acutely aware of the fact that she was once again alone with Spike – and not by any means the Spike that she would have had at least some clue how to deal with, either; but this broken, devastated version of the vampire that now lay on her couch, waiting in trembling apprehension, clearly expecting her to…

…to what?

What exactly was Spike so very afraid that she might do to him?

Buffy was terrified to find out.

“Spike?” she whispered, her voice weak and shaky. She really didn’t want to say anything – but knew better than to leave him unattended, even for a few moments, without at least trying to make him understand. “I need you to stay here for just a minute – okay? I need to get some things – I’ll be right back – okay?”

She did not really expect a response, so she was tremendously surprised – and relieved – when he nodded slowly, keeping his head turned away from her, his sightless eyes tightly shut. She had no idea, really, how much of what she had said he actually understood – but at the moment, she was all too eager to accept his response. She knew it was a terribly selfish reaction, but she simply had to not be there right then.

She made her way quickly up the stairs to the bathroom, where she immediately began going through the medicine cabinet and cupboards, searching for bandages, ointments – whatever first aid equipment she could find. Over the course of her years as the Slayer, she had learned that it was always a good idea to keep as much of such things as possible on hand.

She had a feeling that she was going to need as much as she had for this task – maybe more.

*You can do this, Buffy* she told herself firmly as she gathered her supplied. *It’s just Spike – he doesn’t remember, but he’s still Spike – you know him – you can handle this…*

She had managed to amass an armload of various items -- soft gauze bandages, four or five tubes of antibiotic ointment, among other things – and was just about ready to go back downstairs when she remembered a package of antiseptic wipes in the drawer under the sink, thinking that they would be much less messy and faster than the peroxide she had in her hand.

After a moment’s struggle to rearrange her load of supplies and put the peroxide down on the counter, she managed to get one hand free enough to pull the handle of the drawer – which promptly stuck, refusing to open.

*…but…* her thoughts continued as she tried to shift the load she was carrying enough to gain some extra leverage and force the drawer open, *…*he* doesn’t know *you*…not anymore…he’s scared of you…he’s…he’s scared of *everything*…who in the world could have *done* something like…*

Her final effort to open the drawer proved much stronger than she had intended, as the drawer did indeed come out – but splintered on the way out, so that it and everything in it, including the sought after packet of wipes, went clattering to the bathroom floor. In a useless attempt to catch the contents of the drawer before they fell to the floor, Buffy managed to drop her armload as well.

She stood there for a moment, staring at the floor around her in bleak disbelief. She tried to blink back the tears that threatened to fall again, as her lower lip began to tremble – and then, the torrent of her emotions overwhelmed her all at once, and before she knew it, she was on the floor amidst the mess, on her knees, her body racked with sobs.

It was all just too much.

“Buffy?”

She looked up suddenly, startled by her little sister’s hesitant, anxious voice from the bathroom doorway.

“Dawnie!” she whispered, making a pitiful attempt at a smile, though her voice was raspy and shaky with tears, and she knew her face had to be red and blotchy from crying.

There was no way she was fooling her little sister, who stood there for only a moment longer in the doorway, taking in the scene, her sleepy blue eyes full of concern, her long brown hair sleep-tousled over her Hello Kitty pajamas. In an instant, Dawn was crouched at her sister’s side, putting her hand on Buffy’s shoulder and leaning back a bit so that she could look her over.

“Buffy, are you all right?” Dawn asked her, her eyes quickly scanning for any signs of obvious injuries.

Buffy swallowed back another sob, as she replied with a forced – and in no way convincing – smile, “I’m fine, Dawnie, I just – just spilled – um…”

“Everything in the bathroom?” Dawn guessed, finishing for her dubiously, as she began to help hr sister pick up the various items scattered around the floor. She frowned when she realized that it was all first aid supplies. It was not all that unusual for Buffy to come home from patrol with some sort of injury.

What *was* unusual was for her to lie about it.

“Buffy?” she repeated, more than a little suspicious now. “If you’re not hurt – what are you doing with all these bandages and stuff?”

The trapped, stricken expression in Buffy’s eyes was a dead giveaway – especially considering the fact that she was far too shaken and exhausted at that point to even begin to come up with a convincing story for her sister.

Dawn looked her over again, more closely, running her hands quickly up and down her sides, then her arms – frowning when she saw no trace of blood, no broken bones. She raised her eyes to the Slayer’s face again, narrowed and searching for a moment – before they widened with apprehension.

“Buffy – they’re not for you, are they?” Dawn realized, a look of dread coming over her young face. “Who – who’s hurt?” As she spoke, she rose quickly to her feet, heading for the door – and the hall beyond.

“*No*!” Buffy objected frantically, her voice higher than usual and nearly panicked as she scrambled to get to her feet behind her sister, catching her arm just as she stepped out into the hallway, before she could start down the stairs. “Dawnie, don’t go down there!”

Dawn stared up at her incredulously, surprised by her reaction, glancing anxiously between her sister and the stairs she wanted to descend. “Who is it, Buffy?” she asked, turning fearful eyes to her sister’s face again. “What happened? Is it Xander?”

The fear in Dawn’s eyes tore at Buffy’s heart, and she was reminded again of how much the girl had lost, and how frightening the idea of losing one of the few people she had left must be to her.

“No,” she reassured her, her tone softening with compassion. “No, it’s not Xander…it’s…” Her voice faltered, and she lowered her eyes, realizing that she had no idea how to explain this to Dawn – no idea how to tell her that Spike was alive, not gone for good as they had feared – but he was in such terrible, damaged condition – so broken, just a shell of the person he had once been.

*Oh, Dawnie – how can I ever tell you?*

While Buffy wrestled with the dilemma, Dawn studied her expression, shaking her head slowly in confusion as she tried to figure out what was wrong with her sister. When Buffy finally raised her glimmering emerald eyes to hers again – Dawn let out a soft little gasp, her eyes widening with sudden intuitive understanding.

“You found him,” she whispered, hope rising in her voice. “Buffy, you found him – didn’t you?”

Buffy looked away, swallowing hard, unable to find words to explain what she had found.

Dawn jerked unexpectedly out of her sister’s grip, and Buffy was caught off guard, not prepared for her sudden movement. Dawn was two steps down when Buffy’s anguished, desperate cry stopped her in her tracks.

“Dawnie, *no*!”

Dawn froze, something in her sister’s voice giving her pause, as a cold, creeping sense of dread began to steal over her. She turned slowly, almost warily, not willing to allow her sister to physically stop her from going to Spike – if it was really Spike down there – but at least willing to hear what it was she had to say.

“Why not?” she demanded, her voice trembling, her shining eyes meeting Buffy’s in a challenge. “He’s my friend. Why shouldn’t I go to him?” When Buffy said nothing for a moment, a vague understanding began to rise up in the girl, and she added, her voice softer now, “What’s happened to him?”

“He’s – he’s – different, Dawnie,” Buffy began, her voice halting and trembling with tears, her eyes focused on the floor. “Someone – hurt him…really bad…and…” She raised her eyes suddenly, holding Dawn’s gaze intently as she stated the one fact out of all of this that was still so very difficult to believe – the one thing she thought might help Dawn understand the gravity of the situation.

“He – he doesn’t *know* me, Dawn.”

Dawn found that difficult to comprehend, herself; as long as she had known Spike, it had been obvious that his life had revolved around the Slayer – whether he had been trying to kill her, or in love with her at the time.

“How can he…what’s…what’s wrong with him?” she whispered, taking a step back up the stairs toward her sister.

“Someone – they shot him, Dawnie. They shot him in the head, and he – he doesn’t remember anything…I don’t think he even remembers who *he* is…They shot him, and – and they kept him – they – they hurt him, Dawn – I’m not sure yet – how bad…” Buffy tried to explain, trying to put it as gently as she could.

Dawn was silent for a moment, eyes widening as she slowly came to terms with that concept. “He – needs us to help him,” she said finally, backing down a couple of stairs again. “We have to help him…”

“Dawn.”

Buffy’s voice halted her progress again, and she froze on the stairs, her back to her sister – waiting.

“He – he can’t see. Can’t talk. He – he can hear us, but – but he doesn’t understand what we’re saying, Dawn. His mind – it’s – he’s -- *damaged*, Dawnie.” Buffy’s voice broke over the last few words, and a low sob that she couldn’t hold back filled the stillness that fell after her words.

Dawn stood there for a moment, trying hard to process what Buffy was saying, to reconcile her description with the vampire she had known before, the one with a smart mouth comment for every quip, the one who had defended her boldly against any danger…

She spun around again suddenly, an aching sorrow in her eyes as she looked at Buffy, tears streaming down her cheeks at the plight of her friend. Blind, confused, more utterly helpless than the chip had ever made him – among people who were strangers to him, at their mercy, whether they intended him harm or help…

“He must be – so alone,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Buffy – how could you leave him alone?”

Buffy drew back slightly at the question, shaking her head slowly. “I – I had to – to get…”

Dawn nodded slowly, understanding. Then, after a moment, she declared quietly, “I’m going down there to him.”

“Dawn – wait!” Buffy cried out, following her sister as she made her way decisively down the stairs, the determined set of her jaw clearly visible on Dawn’s face as she followed her – unable to do anything to stop her at this point.

Dawn stopped short at the foot of the stairs, frozen in shock at the sight of her friend – lying on the sofa, shivering uncontrollably with fear, or pain, or cold…there was no way to know for sure. At the sound of their approach, he drew back further against the sofa beneath him, shaking harder, letting out a soft, pleading whimper of fear.

Dawn took a step toward him – stopped by Buffy’s gentle but firm hand on her shoulder behind her.

“Dawn – don’t – don’t scare him,” she whispered. “He’s…”

“…already scared,” Dawn observed, cutting her off, her young voice unyielding as granite as she shook her sister’s hand off her shoulder, though not unkindly. “And he will be – until we give him a reason not to be.”

With slow, even, cautious steps, Dawn made her way from the stairs toward the sofa, her wide eyes taking in the shocking sight of her friend’s battered, bloodied body, starved to the point of death, had he been human.

“Spike?” she whispered, slowly and carefully. “Spike? It’s me – Dawn. Your – your Niblet…” Her voice broke slightly over the word, and fresh tears streamed from her eyes as she approached him. “Do you – do you remember?”

Spike did not respond – did not move…

At all.

As she spoke softly to him, edging nearer to him all the while, Buffy was surprised to see that his shaking seemed to fade away, and he turned his head back to face them, as if seeking for the source of this new voice.

Dawn halted for a moment at the sight of his unfocused eyes, still as blue and piercing as ever – but then continued her steady, cautious progress. “It’s all right, Spike – I’m your friend – I’m not gonna hurt you…” she went on gently, as she reached his side, dropping softly to her knees beside the couch.

“I’m right here – I’m close to you – don’t be afraid,” she went on, stretching out a hand slowly toward his. “I’m – not gonna hurt you, Spike. I’m gonna – touch you – touch your hand, Spike – but I’m not gonna hurt you…never…”

Buffy tensed, stepping automatically toward them, wary of the vampire’s reaction when her little sister touched him, instinct telling her to prevent it – yet fearful of what might happen should she disrupt the almost spell-binding scene in order to do so.

Dawn’s young face held a trust, an innocence, that nearly took Buffy’s breath, as she watched her sister do all that was in her power to reach out to her hurting friend. She knew that he couldn’t see her, understand her, didn’t remember her – and yet it was obvious in her eyes that she still believed, with a firmness of conviction, that somehow her love for him, the friendship they had shared, could transcend all that.

Buffy did not know if it was possible – but she was willing to let Dawn give it a try.

When Dawn’s slender fingers came into contact with Spike’s hand in the lightest breath of a touch, the vampire jumped slightly – but then was still, his trembling all but ceased, his rapid, unnecessary breaths the only thing to give away the terror that still consumed him.

“Spike…you’re safe now…with Buffy and me…we just wanna help you, Spike…we – we love you…we’re not gonna hurt you,” she went on, her eyes focused on Spike, and not noticing her sister’s flinch and the little sob she choked back at the sentiment Dawn had expressed for both of them.

Dawn’s fingers gently stroked the back of Spike’s hand, as she repeated herself again and again, just allowing her soothing, gentle words and touch to reach out to him. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “Spike, it’s okay…you’re safe now…” She looked up through tearful eyes to meet his, searching for any spark of recognition, though not surprised not to find it. Almost mesmerized by the wide, still expressive pools of blue that stared unseeing back at her, Dawn found herself raising a gentle hand toward his bruised cheek.

“Dawnie…” Buffy whispered, her voice a hoarse rasp.

Dawn ignored her.

Buffy took another step forward, uncertain. Spike had made no attempt to strike out at her or Anya, no matter how frightened he had been; she was fairly certain that any violent reaction had been brutally trained out of him.

Still – she couldn’t be completely sure…and with Spike in such a precarious mental state…

Before she could stop her, Dawn had laid her hand to his cheek in a tender caress – and Buffy held her breath, waiting for his reaction.

“I love you, Spike,” Dawn whispered, her voice thick with tears. “I love you…”

The vampire did not move for a moment – did not even breath…

And then – ever so slightly – Dawn felt him press into her touch, as the soft whimpering sound ceased....and a single cool tear slid down the gaunt and bruised face to land against her skin.

“It’s okay, Spike,” she whispered again, allowing her own tears to fall freely. “It’s okay…you’re home.”