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Spike just lay there, his trembling hand clinging to the soft, small one of the girl kneeling beside the couch, not understanding why he felt the way he did, why he wanted so badly to keep her close to him – only knowing that somehow, her nearness gave him a sense of safety, and warmth, and a sweet relief that he had not known – well, *ever*, as far as he was concerned…as far as he could remember.

He could not explain, or even begin to put words to the emotions that had washed over him at the simple sound of her voice – only knew that before she had entered the room, he had been terrified, aware of nothing but his own helplessness in the hands of the powerful woman who had brought him to this place, and not quite sure yet whether she intended to hurt him or to help him.

And now – he did not know how it was possible – but he felt a sense of security, of trust – as if somewhere deep inside of him, he knew beyond all doubt that this voice could be trusted…this person would not harm him, or allow him to be harmed, if she could help it.

There was a tenderness, a sincerity in her voice, and although he could not understand the words she spoke – for kind words had not been spoken to him at all before this night, that he could remember, anyway – he understood the emotions she was trying to express to him, and knew without question that she meant him no harm.

When he felt the warm, silken touch of her hand against his face, he froze completely, a sudden, instantaneous rush of terror washing over him – because no one had touched him in so long, without the intent to cause him pain – but then relaxed, as the touch proved to be a gentle caress, reassuring and tender and speaking volumes more than her meaningless words.

And in that moment – something within the wounded, devastated creature that he had become, shattered under the incredible power of that soft touch. Spike had not cried in weeks – maybe months – as the last time he had, his tears had been met with threats and violence. He had thought that there was nothing left in him to break – that he was completely destroyed by what had been done to him already.

But with that soft touch to his battered face, clearly seeking to heal the harm that had been done to him – something inside him *did* break…yielding release to the emotions that had been building up inside him for so long.

Somehow, he knew that there would be no punishment for his tears – not this time – not from *her*…yet he still tried to fight them back, so deeply ingrained in him was the knowledge that he did not deserve the luxury of tears – he deserved whatever suffering was handed to him, and therefore hadn’t the right to cry about the horrors he had been through.

Though he tried his hardest to hold it back, he was not accustomed to fighting against the tenderness and compassion that he was being shown in that moment – and despite his best efforts, a single tear slipped down his cheek, sliding down his face to strike the warm hand that rested there.

Spike drew in a sharp, unneeded breath – his unbeating heart suddenly seized in the grip of icy terror.

He had disobeyed.

Broken the rules.

He would surely be punished…

But – he wasn’t.

The gentle hand against his cheek shifted slightly, and he flinched out of habit, expecting to be struck for his infraction – but the girl’s thumb moved gently across his cheek, wiping the single tear away, as she leaned down over him, whispering tenderly, words that he could not understand.

But the meaning came through loud and clear.

He was safe.

She was not going to hurt him.

A powerful wave of gratitude and relief came over him, for somehow he knew that this was not like the cruel games his captor had played with him, leading him to believe that he would be shown mercy, only to punish him more viciously than before. He could sense the sincerity, the genuine compassion, in this girl, and knew that when she promised not to hurt him…

…she *really* wouldn’t hurt him.

And with that powerful realization – the floodgates of Spike’s battered emotions fell open under the onslaught of his pain and fear, and tears streamed down his face, as ragged, breathless sobs tore from his throat.

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

Dawn’s eyes widened, stunned, when the vampire broke down completely, tears flooding from his eyes to soak her hand, and the couch beneath him – and the desperate, broken sound of his sobs tore at her heart, causing her own tears to come faster, blurring her vision as she leaned down over him without hesitation, wrapping her arms around him and holding him close to her, heedless of his injuries, or the blood that stained her white pajamas.

She knew that in that moment, no slight physical pain caused by her actions could be greater than the agony he had already been through, and he needed the embrace she offered him more than he needed his wounds to be treated – more than he needed the blood that his body was starving for.

She was vaguely aware as his shaking hands rose tentatively from the sofa, reaching toward her as if to pull her closer to him – but then hesitated, pulling back…not quite daring.

“It’s okay,” she whispered in his ear, reassuring him. “It’s okay, Spike, you can touch me…it’s okay…I’m not gonna hurt you…”

The reassuring tone of her words seemed to encourage him, and he reached his hands up again – only daring so much as to clutch weakly at the sides of her pajamas, holding her to him, in a desperate attempt to hold onto the comfort of her nearness.

Dawn had no intention of going anywhere.

As he hand came gently to rest at the back of his neck, holding him close to her, he flinched slightly, momentarily unnerved by the nearness of her hand to his injured head – and Dawn stilled her hand, remembering what Buffy had said about what had been done to him.

She resisted the impulse to pull back and look at the wound, to see for herself how bad it was – knowing that exactly what she was doing at that moment was so much more important.

“Shhh,” she whispered. “It’s okay…I won’t touch it…won’t hurt you, Spike…trust me…”

The tension slowly seeped out of him with her gentle words, and after a moment, he tilted his head forward slightly, resting his forehead against her shoulder, burying his sobs in her shirt, by now nearly soaked through in spots with his tears. When his tears slowly began to ebb, Dawn cautiously attempted to pull back from him – and he clutched tightly at her clothes, a soft, pleading cry expressing his desperation to keep her there.

“I’m not leaving,” she promised him softly, as she reached down to take his hands and he reluctantly allowed her to gently disentangle them from her clothes. “I’m gonna stay right here, Spike…we’re gonna help you…make you better, okay? Okay, Spike? I’m gonna stay right here.”

She did not know if he understood any of what she had said, but he did seem to relax a bit, releasing his death grip on her pajamas, and allowing her to move away from him enough to turn and face her sister, though she held his hands firmly in her own, reinforcing her promise not to leave his side.

Buffy’s breath was nearly taken away by the stunning look of strength and determination in the brilliant shining eyes of the woman-child kneeling there by the sofa – her long hair disheveled and dampened with tears and blood, her innocent child-like pajamas stained with blood – the evidence of her reckless compassion.

“Go get the stuff from upstairs,” Dawn said softly – and for some reason, in that moment, Buffy thought nothing of accepting the order from her little sister. “I think he’ll be okay for us to clean him up now.”

Buffy hurried up the stairs, her mind racing with what she had just seen over the past few minutes – amazed and awed at the way the vampire had reacted to her sister, wondering how Dawn could manage to have such success in getting through to him, when her every attempt had failed.

*You never were that good at fixing things, Buffy,* she reminded herself harshly, wiping roughly at her tears as she reached the bathroom and crouched down to pick up the abandoned first aid supplies. *Especially broken *people*. No – you’re much better at breaking them in the first place. Hurting – destroying – killing – it’s what you do, isn’t it? You’re the Slayer – you’re an expert at it…*

She shook her head in disgust at herself, as she started back down the stairs, bandages and ointments and antiseptic wipes in tow.

*No wonder he doesn’t trust you – even if he *could* remember you – why in the world would he trust you?*

By the time she reached the living room, Dawn had taken enough charge of the situation to get the blonde vampire sitting up on the couch, and was looking over his injuries with a pensive frown.

“His back’s much worse,” she informed Buffy softly without looking at her.

“It was – against the wall,” Buffy replied flatly, beginning to feel that numb sense of exhaustion that inevitably follows a good cry – except she didn’t really feel as if she’d had a good cry, not yet.

She felt like she still had plenty of tears left to go.

“Why did you have him lying on it? That had to hurt, Buffy…why didn’t you do that first?”

Buffy frowned, feeling guilty and foolish for her thoughtlessness. “I just thought we ought to – make sure he’s not hurt worse – somewhere else…before…”

Dawn’s eyes widened in troubled understanding, and welled with fresh tears as she raised them once again to her friend’s anxious, uncertain face. “Oh,” she said weakly. “I hadn’t…thought of that…”

“But – but you’re right,” Buffy went on, trying hard to sound stronger, to relieve some of the burden Dawn had taken on herself from her little sister’s shoulders. “We should do his back and chest first – and then once that’s all taken care of and bandaged, take care of – the rest…”

Dawn nodded, sitting down beside her friend on the sofa and putting her arm gently around his shoulders in a steadying touch – for which he seemed very grateful, leaning unconsciously into her arm, his face turned slightly toward her, seeking contact.

“And by the time we get through with that – he should understand by then that when we – do the rest -- we’re not gonna do – whatever – whoever did this, did to him…you know?” Dawn pointed out, her young voice trembling slightly over her cautious words.

Buffy’s eyes shot up from the supplies she was laying out on the coffee table, giving her sister a piercing glance, studying her expression – and coming to the conclusion that despite her caution, her attempts to shield Dawn from the worst of her suspicions, the bright young girl had figured it out for herself.

She wanted to say something to soothe Dawn’s fears – the fears she also shared – but knew that if they were proved unfortunately right, it would be of no service to the girl to have given her a false sense of relief beforehand; and if their fears were proven wrong – well, then it wouldn’t matter anymore, anyway.

“Let’s hope it’s not that bad,” she said softly.

Opening the package of antiseptic wipes, Buffy moved carefully over to sit down on the sofa, on Spike’s other side – feeling an unreasonable sense of irritation, which she promptly squashed, when Spike tensed up as he sensed her approach, leaning in closer to Dawn.

*That’s not fair, Buffy,* she told herself sternly. *It’s not his fault that Dawn’s actually given him a *reason* to trust her – and you never have.*

Quickly seeing the problem, Dawn gently tightened her arm around him for just an instant, speaking softly, soothingly to him. “It’s okay…she’s not gonna hurt you, Spike…we’re gonna help you…okay? I’m right here…it’s okay…she just wants to make you better – okay?”

His expression remained uncertain, apprehensive – but he nodded in response to her words…though neither girl was sure whether he really understood, or was just trying to give Dawn the response he thought was expected.

Dawn gently pushed him slightly forward, giving Buffy better access to his torn and bleeding back – and the Slayer, proceeded, as gently as possible, to clean the dried blood and grime from the countless wounds that marred his once flawless skin. The injured vampire winced at the sting of the antiseptic, but did not complain or try to pull away – and Dawn hoped that he genuinely understood that it was for his good, and was not simply accepting what he believed to be more abuse.

It took a long time, but between the two of them, Dawn and Buffy eventually managed to get every last mark on his back and chest cleaned, treated, and bandaged. Buffy found herself sickened at the extent of his injuries – bruises, cuts, various burns, and marks that were clearly whip lashes, layered over his body as evidence of many torturous sessions of suffering and pain – for the sadistic pleasure of whatever human monster had done this to him.

A cautious, gentle probing of his torso resulted in an agonized – though muffled – cry of pain from the vampire, who clung tighter to Dawn, as she tried desperately to reassure him, tears streaming down her face. Thus they discovered that he had at least a couple of broken ribs as well, and Buffy carefully set about wrapping them, as tight as she comfortably could.

As Buffy carefully taped the last of the bandages across his stomach, she let out a weary sigh. “Let’s take a little rest…and then we’ll see to the rest.”

Dawn nodded her acceptance as she cradled the softly weeping vampire’s head against her neck, aware that her sister was more concerned with Spike’s ability to take any more right then than she was with her own. It was for his sake that Buffy wanted to take a break.

Buffy fell back slightly on her knees, resting her head on the coffee table beside her, and Dawn just sat there, comforting her friend. Neither one said a word for a long time, aside from Dawn’s softly murmured shushing sounds, directed at Spike.

Finally, the younger sister asked softly, “Buffy – did you really think you were going to be able to do all this on your own?”

Buffy did not look up at her for a long moment, thinking of Anya, who had really been gone for quite a long time, remembering with regret the way she had spoken to her just before she left.

*It’s not her fault – none of it,* she admitted wearily to herself. *She’s just trying to help – and you bit her head off. Wouldn’t blame her if she doesn’t come back at all…*

At precisely that moment, she heard the quiet click of the front door opening, and turned quickly to see who it was, cursing her own thoughtlessness in leaving it unlocked. Fortunately, it was just Anya, who had chosen not to knock to announce her prescence, for the sake of the rather jumpy vampire that she knew was in the room.

Buffy threw her a tired, grateful smile – which the vengeance demon graciously returned, as she set the paper bags full of plastic bags full of blood down on the coffee table. The Slayer turned to her little sister, who was looking up at Anya in surprise, as she finally answered her question quietly.

“No. I didn’t.”