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He was back there -- in that place.

The cold, empty darkness, where all he could feel was the unyielding iron at his raw, bleeding wrists, and the coarse stone that tore against the wounds that covered his back. He could not see, could not move -- all he could do was wait in terror for the one that he knew was coming.

He could already feel him, making his way toward his underground prison -- could smell the acrid, oppressive scent of his body -- could hear his taunting voice in the distance...and a desperate sense of panic began to steal over him as he fought uselessly to escape his bonds.

"You've been very bad, Spike," that dark, menacing voice informed him. "For a very long time..."

Spike trembled under the condemnation of that voice, though he could not make out all of the words.

One was enough.

*Bad*.

He was bad.

He deserved what was happening to him, and no better. His fragile, wounded heart shattered again under the weight of his own shame and lonely misery, and he longed to call out for the one who had rescued him from all of this...

*Buffy...*

His heart ached with the longing to cry out for her -- to call for her to come and save him, before his enemy could reach him. But -- something kept him silent. He couldn't seem to make his trembling lips form her name as they had the night before.

And suddenly, before he even had time to prepare himself -- as if he *could* have prepared himself -- his tormentor was right there, in his face. He couldn't see him, but he could feel the terrifying nearness of him, feel the heat radiating off of his body, as the man trapped him tightly between the wall and himself.

"She won't help you, Spike," he said softly, tauntingly. "You don't deserve it. You think she doesn't see how disgusting and worthless you are? She's not stupid, Spike..." His captor's voice lowered even further, speaking again, so close to his ear that Spike could feel his hot, damp breath against his skin, and shuddered at the feeling of it, but moreso at the words, as he sneered,

"Why do you think you're back here in the first place?"

A sick feeling of terror washed over him, as Spike felt his entire body trembling; he shook his head, desperately attempting to deny what his captor was saying -- though he still could not seem to form any words. There was really nothing new about that; but after the triumph of the night before, the sweetness of her name on his lips -- this forced silence, this inability to even call out to her, was terrifying, paralyzing...

"You don't deserve to be free, Spike," his captor informed him coldly. "All you deserve is pain and suffering -- in fact, it'd take longer than your unnaturally long life for you to really pay for all that you've done." He could hear the cruel smile in his voice, as he added softly, "But don't worry -- I've got plenty of time..."

Spike's heart sank with despair, and the realization that his torment was not at an end, as he had hoped. He was helpless, alone, at the mercy of his tormentor -- and all he could do was to silently cry out in the prison of his own mind...

*Buffy -- Buffy, please -- please, *help me*!*

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

The panicked, pleading cries of the terrified vampire beside her pulled Buffy from the safety of her own dreams -- and into the horror that was Spike's dream world. Automatically she glanced at the clock before turning her full attention to the traumatized creature in her bed.

3:32 A.M.

"Buffy -- Buffy," he gasped out pleadingly, without waking. The despair in his hoarse, tearful voice tore at her heart as he cried out her name, and nothing else, "*Buffy*!"

"Spike -- wake up! Wake up, Spike, it's okay! Wake up!" She caught the weakly struggling vampire by the arms, holding him in place easily -- and as gently as possible, so as not to jar the injuries that still covered his body. "Spike -- *wake up*!"

Startled, anguished blue eyes opened on hers suddenly -- taking her breath away with the sheer agony of terror in his gaze, as he stared at her in confusion for a long moment, apparently not sure whether or not she was even real. His body was painfully tense, shaking under her carefully restraining hands; and he kept whispering her name breathlessly, even after he was fully awake.

It was heartbreaking.

"I'm right here," she reassured him gently, turning onto her side and pulling him into her welcoming embrace. "It's all right -- I'm right here...I've got you, Sweetheart, you're okay..."

His breathless whispers broke down into desperate sobs, as he clung to her, shaking with the lingering terror of his nightmare.

"Shhh," she whispered, one hand cupping the back of his head gently, and holding him to her, pressing his face gently against her shoulder. "It's all right, Spike -- you're safe now -- it's okay..."

Gradually his sobs subsided a bit, and Buffy felt a sense of relief as he seemed to calm down -- until he suddenly pulled away from her, weakly resisting her comforting arms around him. She immediately let him go, not wanting him to misunderstand her intentions for even a moment; she would not touch him if he did not want to be touched.

The Slayer watched in dismay as the fragile, wounded vampire -- appearing so much smaller than she remembered him -- literally folded in on himself, his head tucked against his chest, turned away from her in an obvious attempt to hide his face, as his sobs renewed with fresh intensity.

This time -- he made no attempt to say her name...just lay there, pitiful, broken sobs torn from his throat as he tried to make himself as invisible as possible.

"Well, this can't be good," she muttered, almost under her breath -- but Spike heard her.

He shook his head emphatically, trembling as she edged closer to him, scooting just slightly away from her across the bed. Buffy stopped moving toward him, remembering how he had blindly fallen off of the bed the other morning, when Dawn had unexpectedly entered the room.

"What is it, Spike?" she asked him in a soft, soothing voice. "Man, I really wish that you could tell me!" She reached out a cautious hand to touch his arm -- cringing slightly when he flinched at her touch. "I'm not gonna hurt you, Spike," she assured him, her voice barely over a whisper as she fought the impulse to immediately remove her hand, and instead closed her hand gently around his painfully thin forearm. "Come here -- come talk to me, okay?"

Obedient as always, although he did not seem to want to be, Spike edged across the bed toward her, not pulling away this time as she put her hands on his arms and tried to get him to face her.

"Spike, Sweetie -- look at me," she urged him gently. "Come on, Spike -- what is it?"

He glanced up at her, giving her a single glimpse of tormented sapphire eyes shining with tears, before lowering his head again, in a gesture that, to Buffy, looked disturbingly like -- *shame*.

"Hey -- no -- look at me, Spike," she pressed him, a frown of concern on her face. "Look at me."

A pleading look of anguish crossed his face, as if he wanted to beg her not to make him -- but Buffy did not relent, as he hesitantly raised his eyes to hers again, his pale, bruised cheeks streaked with his tears.

"What is it?" she asked in a gentle whisper of compassion, holding his gaze intently as she reached a slow, cautious hand up to wipe the tears from his face. "Spike -- are you afraid of me?"

Somehow he seemed to understand that question, as recognition and surprise showed in his eyes, before he lowered them again, though he obediently kept his head turned toward her. He shook his head slowly, swallowing back a fresh sob of misery.

Then, he seemed to change his mind, and hesitantly nodded, his eyes closed tight for a moment as he choked back his tears.

Buffy felt her heart lurch within her with sorrow at his response. "Do you think I’m going to hurt you, Spike?”

He did not respond, and for a moment Buffy thought that he probably did not understand what she was saying. But after a brief hesitation, he shook his head again, still not looking up at her.

Buffy frowned, confused.

“Then – why are you afraid of me, Spike?” she asked him cautiously, her hands running up and down his arms in a comforting, grounding sort of gesture. “What do you think is going to happen?”

He did not respond at all for a very long time – did not move, made no attempt to speak or any indication that he had even heard her at all. And then – he glanced up at her uncertainly, before focusing his tear-filled eyes on the mattress beneath him, and opening his mouth to try to respond.

“B-ba…” He frowned with frustrated concentration as he tried to make the word come out of his mouth as he heard it in his head.

“Buffy?” the Slayer suggested, puzzled. That was her suggestion only because it was the only word he had spoken so far.

But Spike had something different in mind this time.

“B-ba-bad,” he whispered, closing his eyes tightly again, his head lowered in a clear attempt to close himself off from her.

Buffy’s eyes widened when she realized that Spike had just spoken his second word since his injury – and a word that she *knew* she and Dawn had not taught him. Was it possible that he was beginning to regain some old memories, at least basic ones? But then, her eyes widened further with alarm when she realized what the word that he had spoken was…though the context still did not quite make sense to her.

“Bad?” she echoed, confused. “Is that what you said? Bad?”

Spike nodded without looking up, his body shaking slightly under her hands.

Buffy glanced away thoughtfully for a moment, trying to figure out what he meant. “*I’m* bad?” she suggested after a moment. “Is that why you’re scared of me? Because I’m bad?”

Spike’s eyes shot up to hers immediately, startled – and she immediately knew that her guess had been wrong. He shook his head emphatically, looking a bit bewildered by the very idea that he might have been talking about her.

“Then – what’s bad, Spike? I’m sorry – I don’t understand…” Buffy earnestly but gently pushed him, truly wanting to understand, and not sure quite how to communicate with him.

He made it easy for her.

Spike looked down again, swallowing hard, his features contorting as he fought back his tears, and raised a single trembling hand to his own white-bandaged chest.

“Bad,” he whispered again with a heartrending certainty. “Bad…h-h-hurt…bad,” he nodded emphatically – and suddenly, the shame in his expression made an awful, painful sense to Buffy.

She didn’t even realize that her own face was streaked with tears as she struggled to speak past the aching knot in her own throat. “You think I’m gonna hurt you – because you’re bad?”

The expression on Spike’s face told her that she was partially right, but he was lost as to how to correct whatever detail she had wrong.

“Wait – you said – you *didn’t* think I was gonna hurt you…but…” Buffy frowned, shaking her head slightly as she tried to figure it out.

Spike looked up at her, a terribly sad, resigned sort of look on his face as he reached out a slow, hesitant hand to touch her shoulder, and shook his head firmly.

“Not me?” she guessed, biting her lower lip and furrowing her brow further with frustration. “Wait – you don’t think *I’m* gonna hurt you – but…you don’t think…” A sick feeling of horror started in the pit of her stomach, as with a flash of insight she suddenly understood.

“You think I’d send you back there – because – because you’re bad?” the last, awful words came out in a whispered question, as she pressed a gentle hand to his cheek and softly but firmly turned his face back toward her.

He still refused to look at her, but he nodded, his face crumpling as his sobs overtook him again, and he desperately leaned into her touch, wordlessly pleading for her not to do as he feared – not to turn him back over to the nightmare figure in his dream that had told him that she would.

Buffy could not speak for a long time, struggling against the sobs that rose up within her. She gently caressed his cheek in silent comfort, putting her other arm around him and pulling him closer to her.

“Spike,” she finally whispered in a low, husky voice that trembled with tears. “Look at me, Sweetheart…”

He obeyed, raising wide, painfully expressive eyes to hers – and in those deep blue eyes, she could see all too clearly the resignation, the acceptance of whatever she might decide to do with him, mingled with his obvious terror.

“I would never do that, Spike,” she assured him, speaking slowly and emphatically as she held his gaze firmly. “*Never*. The person – the *monster* who did this to you is never going to get his hands on you again, I promise! I would never, ever let him touch you! Do you understand?”

Spike looked terribly confused, uncertain. He glanced down again and again, seemingly unable to maintain eye contact with her for long due to the undeserved shame that filled his heart.

“Bad,” he repeated again, a certain stubbornness to his soft voice, as if he was determined to somehow make her understand that he did not deserve her promise. “Bad.”

“No!” Buffy said, a little more sharply than she had intended, though her anger was certainly not directed at Spike. She softened her voice when he flinched, and she realized that he could not possibly know that he was not the one who had angered her. “No,” she repeated gently. “No, you’re not bad, Spike. You’re good. *Good*. Okay?”

He looked up at her, a soft light of hope beginning to show just behind the fear and confusion in his eyes. He shook his head slightly, not quite ready to believe it yet. He had been told so many times how bad and worthless and evil he was; it was very difficult to believe the opposite now.

But Buffy believed it – completely.

The Spike she had known might have done many terrible things during his time before the chip – but there was not the slightest doubt in Buffy’s mind that this helpless, fragile creature before her now was in no way accountable for them. Spike’s mind had been shattered, and was slowly being rebuilt – brand new.

He was as close to an actual innocent as anyone she knew.

“Spike – you’re good,” she repeated softly, encouraged by the faint light in his eyes at the words. “I’m not going to hurt you, or punish you – you haven’t done anything to be punished *for*, Sweetie! You are *safe* here – safe – do you know what that means?”

He hesitated a moment, and then nodded, his eyes focused downward on the mattress, wide and a little startled, as if he could hardly make himself comprehend what she was telling him, it seemed so unbelievable to him, so incongruent with everything he had learned since his injury.

“I’m here to protect you, Spike – to keep you safe…not to ever hurt you…okay?” she explained softly. “And I will *never* -- *never* let anybody else hurt you again, either…okay?”

He nodded slowly, his wide eyes rising slowly to meet hers again, and she could see that they were brimming with tears of relief, joy, and absolute adoration. When she gently pulled him just slightly closer to her, he willingly moved into her embrace, resting his head on her shoulder. His thin body shook with the release of his tears, as she held him there gently until he fell back to sleep.