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As Buffy rose to her feet and walked away, Spike felt the darkness, the terror, closing in on him – and he wanted nothing more than to rise from the floor where he was huddled against the wall, and fall at her feet in her path and beg her not to go.

The thought of her leaving him here – even with Dawn – was terrifying, when he could still smell the scent of his former captor in the air…still here the muffled strains of his voice drifting up the stairs. He knew that there was no one but Buffy who stood a chance of protecting him – and she was leaving.

He had made her *want* to leave.

*Stupid – bad – don’t deserve her,* he berated himself. *No wonder she’s leaving you with him!*

It was a long time after Buffy had gone downstairs before Spike was even aware of Dawn’s continued presence beside him, her warm arm wrapped around his shoulders, her gentle, soothing hand stroking slowly up and down his back in an attempt to calm him.

“Spike,” she whispered softly. “Shhh…it’s okay…come on, Spike, let’s get you to bed, Sweetie, okay? You’ll feel better after you get some rest…come on, Spike…”

It was only the deeply ingrained habit of obedience that drew him to his feet, as she rose and took his hands, patiently leading him toward the bed. He was wearing the clothes he had worn all day – the black t-shirt and jeans that Buffy had bought for him – but neither of them thought anything of it as Dawn made him lie down and covered him with the soft blankets, then climbed in beside him, only kicking off her shoes before she settled in with her arms protectively wrapped around him.

His sobs had subsided – mostly because he had just about cried himself out – but his fears had not, as he nestled in close to the girl, his head on her shoulder, his eyes tightly shut against the terror of the one he knew waited for him downstairs – waiting for the opportunity to strike again.

“I don’t know what’s the matter, Spike,” Dawn murmured softly as she held him close to her. “I mean – I don’t know what’s got you so panicked right now – but no one’s going to hurt you. I promise. Buffy’s not going to let them. She’s gone right now to look for the person who did this to you, Spike. She’s going to make sure they never get the chance to touch you again.”

Spike did not respond at all – no movement or sound even to indicate that he had heard her at all.

His heart sank at the thought of Buffy out there, looking for his attacker, when his attacker was right here under her own roof the whole time. A part of him wanted to tell Dawn the truth, to let her know that Buffy’s effort at the moment was a waste of time, when the true threat was much closer than she realized – but the greater part of him was too terrified of what might happen if he dared to tell the secret.

After all, he thought – what good would it do?

The silent threats of the young man downstairs were still clear in his mind, and he knew that Buffy would have a hard time believing that someone she was obviously so close to was the one who had hurt him. What if he told, and Buffy did not believe him – and he only succeeded in making his enemy angrier? He would be no safer than he was now; in fact, he would be in even greater danger than before.

And worst of all, he thought, a cold, empty feeling of fear creeping over him at the idea…

What if he lost the love, the friendship and support, of these two girls who had come to mean so much to him?

What if they hated him for his accusation, and turned him away – leaving him helpless in the hands of his abuser?

No, he decided. It was better to keep his mouth shut, to keep the truth to himself, than to risk losing the fragile sense of security and comfort he had found in the love of Buffy and Dawn. His attacker had wanted him to keep quiet – so apparently, it *did* matter to him whether or not the girls knew of what he had done. So – he was not likely to try anything when Dawn or Buffy were around…

Right?

*Buffy,* he thought, his trembling hands clinging desperately to the younger girl who was not quite a substitute for the gentle strength of the Slayer, *please…please come back…I’m so sorry…please don’t leave me…not with him…*

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

With a force she had formerly reserved only for Spike’s crypt door, Buffy slammed the door to the old mansion open with a powerful kick, storming inside. Angel looked up at her in surprise from where he sat in a dilapidated old armchair, near the dark, empty fireplace. He had been staring into it as if at an imaginary fire when she had walked in.

Brooding, no doubt.

*About what he did to Spike?* she wondered, her eyes narrowing in fury as she stalked toward him. *Good – I’ll give him something more to brood about!*

Before he even had time to get up, her fist shot out, slamming into his face, knocking him back into the chair, and he shook his head, dazed by the force of the blow. She followed it up with a second one, before yanking the much larger vampire up out of the chair and throwing him to the floor, several yards away.

“I’ll kill you,” she declared, her voice trembling with rage. “I’ll freakin’ kill you, Angel…”

“Wait,” he mumbled, trying to drag himself to his feet through the haze that still filled his head – somehow understanding, although he could barely think straight yet, that if he did not *move*, *now*, he was going to be dust before he had the opportunity to defend himself. “Buffy, wait – what…”

A single vicious kick to his ribcage cut off his attempt, and he was sure that he was about to be dust.

“How could you do it, Angel?” He could hear the tremor of tears in her voice now, as she simply stood over him, glaring down at him through emerald eyes glimmering with emotion. “How could you do that to your own *family*? How could you *lie* to me and pretend that you actually *cared* about him? That you were here to help? How could you?”

Her rapid fire questions, spoken too quickly to allow for answers, seemed to build her fury up again, because as she finished the last of them, he heard and felt the swift rush of air accompanying her foot as it sped toward his face.

He caught it in his hand, yanking it out from under her and sending her to the floor on her back, knocking the wind from her with the unexpected impact. In the next moment, Angel was on his feet – only a bare instant before the Slayer, who somehow now had her stake in her hand.

“Buffy, hold on!” he insisted, his own voice shaking a bit as he circled warily with her, his eyes darting back and forth between her face and her upraised stake-wielding hand. “Slow down a second and tell me what you’re talking about!”

“Spike!” Buffy practically spat the word at him, outrage in her eyes. “Remember him? Your *childe*? The one you’ve reduced to the level of a helpless, harmless baby?”

Confused, Angel shook his head, frowning. “Buffy – we talked about this! I told you, I never touched him! Well – not recently,” he amended with a little grimace, his eyes widening on hers as he realized that that last comment was not exactly a wise one, considering her current frame of mind.

“Yeah? So why does he absolutely freak out every time he smells *you*?” she demanded, her eyes blazing with accusation – but she *did* stay her hand long enough to hear his answer this time.

“What?” he shook his head again, more confused than ever. “I haven’t been anywhere near Spike, not since *you* told me to stay away unless you asked for me! So that’s exactly *one* freak out, and I’m not completely convinced that that one was because of me! Remember?” Defensive anger made his words come out a bit faster and shakier than he intended.

Or maybe that was the stake in her increasingly unsteady hand.

“Xander came by tonight. After running into you earlier this evening.” Buffy stopped at that, as if expecting him to understand based on that alone.

He didn’t.

At his blank expression, the slight shake of his head to indicate that he didn’t get it, Buffy let out a weary sigh, lowering her stake slightly and rolling her eyes before fastening her piercing gaze on him again.

“When Xander walked in – Spike completely lost it. Kind of like he did the other night, with you. Come to find out after a few minutes – Xander ran into *you* tonight, before he came by,” Buffy explained, her voice and eyes hard as she studied her former lover for any sign, any subtle clue as to his guilt.

Angel was silent, staring at her in disbelief. Finally, he seemed to find his voice again.

“And so – you just *assume* that means it’s *me* that he’s scared of?”

Buffy looked at him blankly this time, obviously not quite sure what he was getting at.

“Why me?” Angel demanded, anger in his voice. “Why not Xander? Xander was there the last time Spike freaked out, too, wasn’t he?”

Buffy was so startled by the accusation, that she completely missed the dangerous glint in Angel’s eyes at the mention of her friend, and his possible involvement in what had happened to Spike.

“Xander?” she echoed in disbelief. “You don’t honestly expect me to think that *Xander* is capable of the kind of torture that Spike’s been through – do you?”

Angel shrugged carelessly, but his dark eyes were somehow cold, and yet hot with anger at the same time. “You better hope not – for his sake. Because if he *did* do it – he’s going to pay, human or not.”

Buffy blinked, her eyes widening at his blunt statement – and suddenly, gazing into the eyes of the vampire that at one time she had known better than any other…she knew.

Angel could not have done it.

“Then how else do you explain it?” she said, her voice softening, taking on a quality of dull discouragement as she lowered her stake. “What set him off like that? Because I know it wasn’t Xander. It couldn’t have been. He’s just – he’s not capable of something like that.”

Angel did not respond for a moment, sensing that at the moment, bringing up his own opinion of the boy’s capability of torture and violence was not exactly a good idea. Finally, he shrugged again, looking away for a moment.

“Could be anything, Buffy. I highly doubt that I’m the only person Xander saw today – the only one he bumped into on the sidewalk, or stopped to talk to for a minute…”

“Giles said it could just be because he’s a male,” Buffy offered flatly, sitting down in the armchair Angel had been in when she had walked in, all her energy swiftly leaving her.

Angel considered that for a moment, nodding noncommittally. “It’s possible. But – not likely. There are enough differences in human scents – he could most likely tell the difference between one guy and the next.”

Relieved that the confrontation – and evident threat to his unlife – had passed, Angel sank down in the chair across from her, watching her thoughtfully, waiting for her response. She was obviously thinking the whole thing through, trying to make the troublesome events of the past few days reconcile with her understanding of the way her world was.

“Then – I just don’t understand,” she said finally, shaking her head before leaning forward and resting it in her hand with a sigh. “I mean – it’s not possible that it’s Xander. It’s just – it’s not…” she insisted – but the tone of her voice made it clear that she was finally considering the possibility.

“So – Xander – he said he thought it was me?” Angel asked after a moment, a guarded sound to his voice.

Buffy looked up at him, her expression pensive as she replayed the events of the evening in her mind. “Yeah,” she admitted. “He – he came in, and – and Spike completely freaked out. He was terrified, like he thought somebody was gonna…” Her voice trailed off, and she shook her head, closing her eyes as she swallowed back the pain of seeing him in such terror.

“Dawn took him upstairs – and we…me and Giles and Xander…were trying to figure out why he reacted that strongly this time – not like the other times,” Buffy continued, thinking it through as she went along.

“And let me guess -- *that’s* when Xander came up with his little theory that I *shot* my childe in the head,” Angel broke in, disgust in his voice at the very suggestion that he might have done such a cowardly thing, “something only a human would really do, Buffy – and then held him captive and tortured him for months…right?”

Buffy’s expression took on a strange wariness, as she met his eyes again, nodding slowly. “Yeah,” she said softly. “That’s right.”

They were both quiet for a moment.

“Buffy?” Angel asked quietly, drawing her attention with the quiet urgency of his tone. “Xander left before you did – right?”

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

It was hilariously easy to convince the old man to leave Dawn and Spike under his watchful eyes.

For the past half hour, Giles had been nodding off in front of the television – and when Xander suggested thoughfully that he go home and get some rest, leaving him there to wait for Buffy’s return – the Watcher had offered little to no resistance to the suggestion.

With the rather unnecessary reminder not to invite anyone in until Buffy returned, Giles had headed home for the evening – and Xander had headed up the stairs.

The door to Dawn’s bedroom was open – and the room was empty; the bathroom was empty as well.

That left only one option – and the very thought of it made the boy’s blood boil.

His eyes narrowed, darkening with rage, as he turned his attention to Buffy’s closed bedroom door. He approached it, his hand hovering over the handle for a long moment, considering what would be his best approach. In the darkness of the hallway, he could see that the lights were off inside.

It was already after 11:00.

Was Dawn still awake?

After a moment’s hesitation, he knocked softly on the door. If Dawn was awake, he could always say that he had just come up to check on her, make sure they were both okay.

She would buy it – if she came to the door.

Which she didn’t.

Slowly, cautiously, Xander eased the bedroom door open, pausing in the darkened doorway for a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the darker room. A slow smile spread over his face at the sight that met his eyes, illuminated faintly by the glow of the television screen.

Dawn was fast asleep, her face turned slightly toward him, one arm draped lightly over the vampire at her side.

The vampire was most definitely not asleep. He was shaking violently, wide sapphire eyes focused on the doorway, though he dared not move or make a sound. Xander smirked to himself, satisfied that his simple warning had remained effective.

He was unafraid that his soft voice might wake Buffy’s little sister when he spoke; Dawn had always slept – well -- *more* soundly than the dead, apparently. His voice was barely over a chillingly soft whisper, anyway, as he smiled at the terrified creature in the bed, meeting his eyes with sadistic menace.

“Hello, Spike.”