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The new world of color and light, shape and form, that met Spike’s wide eyes upon waking took him completely by surprise – he had not seen anything in as long as he could remember – and yet, it was not as alarming as one might have thought that it would be.

It felt like a distant, barely remembered dream – like something he had experienced a very long time ago – foreign and not quite familiar – and yet, somehow…*right*. He sensed on an instinctual level that this new world of light was as it was supposed to be; and the darkness he had spent so long lost in was something that had been forced upon him – unnatural, and incomplete.

Still, it was next to impossible at first for Spike to make any sense of the blurred, vague images before his eyes – having no point of reference in his memory with which to compare them. They were nothing more than random splotches of color, without meaning to his new sight.

Until one of those splotches moved suddenly toward his face, in what habit told him had to be a threat.

After all – anytime anyone moved to touch him, it was a threat – right?

He flinched – but then, her gentle, soothing voice steadied him…grounded him…drew him back, flooding his mind with the sweet memories of the night before, and how she had cared for him, comforted him, allowed him the tears and the sorrow that he had always been punished for before…how she had held him gently as he had fallen asleep in her arms…

And when the soft, indistinct image reached his face – and he felt the warm tenderness of her reassuring touch – something clicked in his mind. He glanced slowly back and forth between the hand at his cheek, and the movement he could just barely make out about a foot in front of his face.

The second connection came a couple of moments later, when he realized that the motion in front of his face coincided exactly with the sound of her musical voice – and he realized what the soft blurring of colors, gold and pink and emerald green (though he could not have named them) really was.

*Her*.

As the realization slowly sank in, and his still-fragile mind – now seeming so much more clear, after the large meal he had had the night before – managed to put all the pieces together, he found himself mesmerized by the smooth, rhythmic motions of her lips, the soft vibrations of her breath as she spoke softly to him.

Another shape entered his line of vision, edging cautiously toward those moving lips, trembling slightly, uncertain – and it took him a moment to realize that it was his own hand, tentatively edging toward her face. The moment he *did* realize it, he jerked his hand back with sudden panic, unable to believe that he had almost been so bold as to touch her so freely.

Whenever he had even accidentally managed to touch his captor, he had been struck down ruthlessly, punished and reminded in scathing tones of disgust and anger just how worthless and vile and low he was – certainly not deserving to put his hand on a human being – not ever.

He drew back slightly, averting his eyes, trembling – and froze, when he felt the soft warmth of her hand closing gently around his, her gentle words never ceasing as she slowly raised his hand in hers, bringing it back into his line of sight.

Spike stared at their joined hands, uncomprehending at first, as she held them there firmly, her other hand moving to gently caress his cheek again in a reassuring manner. Then, she slowly raised his hand in hers, bringing it up to the lips he had longed to touch, and pressing it lightly but deliberately against them.

“It’s okay,” she whispered softly – and although he could not have defined the words, he was beginning to understand what they meant.

Security – safety – mercy – those two simple words she spoke so frequently seemed to mean that in a situation where before, he could have expected only pain – there would be none. She would not hurt him.

He desperately hoped that he had not misunderstood.

“It’s okay, Spike…you can touch me…it’s okay,” she continued, pressing his fingers against her lips gently once more, before lowering her own hand – leaving his there.

He stared at her, wide-eyed with wonder as he felt the gentle movement of her silken lips under his trembling fingertips – and a sort of awe stole over him, at what to him seemed a tremendous privilege…just to be allowed to touch, to *feel* her so closely.

And the adoration in the heart of the broken, fragile vampire grew just a bit deeper, more intense, for the golden beauty who had freed him, and captured him, all at the same time.

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

Buffy stared across the bed at the beautiful creature lying beside her, her breath literally stolen away by those wide, piercing blue eyes, drinking her in as if for the very first time…

*It *is* the first time,* she reminded herself, blinking back tears – though she could not have said if sorrow or joy had provoked them. *For him – it’s like he’s never seen me before…faces…colors…the most basic things, he’s going to have to learn – all over again…*

Not for the first time since finding him in that dark cave, Buffy felt an overwhelming sense of responsibility, of obligation, roll over her, with the reminder of just how much Spike was going to need from her.

She was more than willing to provide it.

“Come on, Sweetie,” she whispered, reaching to take his shaking hand from her lips, holding it in hers again as she sat up slowly – his indescribably blue gaze following her every movement, though he did not move himself. “Can you sit up a little?”

She did not want to rush him, or to cause him any pain – but if he could already see again, after just one night, surely the rest of his injuries had improved as well? It made her wonder just how long he had gone without nourishment, and how long he had been down in that cave in the first place.

Her heart went out to the injured vampire as he struggled to obey her, letting out a little whimper of pain as the effort tugged at the bandages that covered his body.

“Okay, wait,” she hurriedly broke in, reaching over to help him sit up, silently cursing her own thoughtlessness. “Bad idea, Buffy – obviously not so much improvement yet, huh, Sweetie? I’m sorry,” she talked to him in a casual, light tone as she carefully helped him to shift to a sitting position, bracing his back with a couple of soft pillows behind him. “Still need a little more blood before you’re gonna be doing much on your own, right? Stupid Slayer…if you were yourself right now – well, I mean, I know you’re *yourself*, but if you could remember – you’d be calling me a ‘daft bint’ about now, and cussing me out in British, wouldn’t you? I almost – wish you would…”

Her voice trailed off as she swallowed back a hard lump that had arisen in her throat, swiping quickly at the tears that had formed in her eyes.

“Shut up, Buffy,” she muttered quietly, lowering her gaze to the mattress between them for a moment, before looking back up at him to gauge his reaction to her rather pointless monologue – pointless, as he certainly could not understand much of it.

Spike was watching her closely, a slight frown of confusion furrowing his brow, his head tilted just slightly to the side as he obviously tried to puzzle out what it was she was trying to say to him – what she was expecting of him in response.

“It’s okay,” she repeated gently. “Don’t worry about it…I’m just rambling…and I guess anything I say right now is gonna be rambling to you, isn’t it? Since you don’t understand me – and – here I go again,” she sighed, looking down between them again before giving him a reassuring smile, and moving to rise from the bed.

“I’m gonna get you some blood,” she explained as she turned her back to him to get up – completely missing the look of panic that came over his face when he saw that she seemed to be leaving. “You hungry?”

Before she could turn to catch his response, if there was one – the door to her bedroom flew open, so hard that it banged against the wall with a violent crash, as Dawn came rushing into the room.

The younger girl’s hair was disheveled and her pajamas were rumpled from sleep, but her eyes were wide and alert with fear as she cried out in a trembling voice, “Buffy, he’s gone! Spike’s…” Her voice trailed off as she caught sight of the vampire sitting up in the bed, and she added softly, surprise in her voice, and relief at finding him safe and sound, “…right…here.”

But the damage was already done.

At her abrupt entrance, Spike had scrambled backward away from her, startled into a further panic – and, not realizing how near he was to the edge of the bed, tumbled over the edge onto the floor. Confused and disoriented by the fall, he let out a pained whimper as his injuries were jarred by the impact, and crawled weakly back against the wall, his eyes shut, his thin, battered arms raised to protectively cover his head.

“Shoot,” Dawn muttered, self-disgust clear in her voice as she made her way around the bed toward her terrified friend, Buffy right behind her. “Spike – it’s me, it’s okay…you’re okay…”

“Dawn,” Buffy whispered, as her sister crouched down in front of him, holding out a cautious hand as one might do in an attempt to reassure an injured pet. “Careful, Dawnie – he – he can see you now…”

Just as she spoke, the blonde vampire reluctantly raised his head, in response to the familiar voice, blue eyes locking onto blue eyes, as he stared at Dawn, trying to reconcile her voice with the unfamiliar image of her.

“*What*?” Dawn whirled around momentarily to face her sister, before turning quickly to meet Spike’s eyes again, a new excitement in her voice as she edged nearer to him. “Spike – it’s okay – I know this is weird, but it’s me – you weren’t scared of me last night – right? I’m still okay – still not gonna hurt you…”

As Dawn gently spoke to him, trying to calm him, Buffy silently slipped up beside him, though she was careful never to leave his line of vision. Still, he jumped slightly as she crouched down beside him and gently put her arm around him. But then, he settled back against her, trembling, yet obviously grateful for her nearness – though his eyes never left Dawn’s face.

Once Buffy was seated beside him, her arms around him steadying and, if necessary, restraining the disoriented vampire, Dawn slowly closed the rest of the distance between herself and Spike, reaching out a hand to take his.

“See? It’s okay,” she repeated with an affectionate smile. “Just me.” She paused for a moment, winking at him as she added in a slightly teasing voice, “Told ya.”

Spike did not quite return the smile, his expression still a bit uncertain – but he seemed a lot calmer now than he had been only moments before, encircled by the safety of these two young women who had become his rescuers, his protectors – as once again, the sense of trust he was developing for them was strengthened by the reassurance that they would not hurt him.

“Well,” Dawn said softly after a moment, addressing her words to her sister, though she maintained eye contact with Spike. “This is gonna make the whole teaching thing a *lot* easier. I wasn’t looking forward to the whole ‘Miracle Worker’ routine.”

Buffy frowned for a moment, not sure what she was talking about – then her eyes widened in surprise as she remembered the story Dawn was referring to, and she raised one eyebrow in a look that was half skeptical, half impressed.

“What?” Dawn retorted, a bit defensively. “I read!”

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

“I need to speak to Rupert Giles, please.”

There was a short paused, before a clipped, just barely polite English voice replied, “And who might I tell him is calling, Miss?”

“Anya,” the vengeance demon replied shortly, trying to repress her mounting frustrations by vigorously dusting a few newly stocked shelves while she paced up and down through the currently closed shop, the phone pressed between her shoulder and her ear. “His business partner? Hello!”

“Just a moment, please, I’ll see if he’s available,” the crisp voice replied, sounding just the slightest bit offended by her tone.

*Let her get offended,* Anya thought to herself, sighing impatiently as she waited for Giles to come on the line. *She’s lucky I’m just throwing not subtle, impolite comments her way and not eviscerating her stuffy, probably very unattractive frail human body!*

“Hello?”

“Giles!” she exclaimed, her relief evident in her voice. “You need to come back.”

There was a moment’s silence on the line, before the Watcher replied in a tone of mild disbelief, “Excuse me?”

“Buffy needs you. You need to come back,” she repeated firmly, as if no further explanation should be necessary.

“What is it, Anya? Another apocalypse?” he guessed, and she could almost hear the frown in his voice, with the note of concern that he could never quite conceal when it came to his Slayer.

“Could be – if she doesn’t get some help. She’s in *way* over her head this time, Giles. You just – need to get back here, as soon as you can,” Anya replied, more than a little evasive.

It was absolutely true that Buffy needed her Watcher’s help with this situation.

It was almost just as true that if he knew what the situation *was*, he would not be likely to want to help.

“Really, Anya,” he retorted with obvious exasperation. “I need a bit more information than that before I can just take off, traipsing across continents and overseas without knowing what I’m going into. Just what exactly is…”

But before he could get any farther, Anya interrupted, “Overseas calls are expensive, Giles. Can’t afford to talk anymore. See you soon.”

And she promptly hung up, before the Watcher could press her any further on the reasons for the necessary return to the States.

Very satisfied with herself, Anya glanced at the calendar behind the counter, before glancing at her watch and heading for the front doors of the shop to unlock them and turn the sign over to declare the shop “open”.

“He’ll be here by the end of the week.”