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Reassured by Buffy’s promise not to allow anyone to be alone with him, Spike found himself relaxing bit by bit, gradually throughout the course of the day.

He was still firmly convinced that he could not allow Buffy to know that it was Xander who had hurt him. The boy’s vicious threats still echoed in his ears, louder than all the promises he had heard from Buffy and Dawn during the past couple of days. No matter how strongly Buffy insisted that she would protect him, Xander was obviously too close to her.

If it came down to a choice – Spike was certain that Buffy would choose Xander over him.

Most likely, she would not even believe him at all.

And if she did – she and Dawn would be in danger.

He knew that he had to keep the secret that had been forced upon him; but the knowledge that Buffy was not going to leave him alone was very reassuring. Xander would not like it, he knew – but as long as Buffy was there, what could he do about it?

Cautiously, Spike began to allow himself to feel at least a little bit safe again.

Breakfast was pleasant. Spike drank two large mugs of blood, while Buffy and Dawn filled their plates with pancakes and sausage. Curious, Spike asked Dawn to identify the unfamiliar items on her plate, and she gladly obliged, willing to do whatever she could to help her friend readjust to the world around him.

Then, remembering how much Spike used to like human food – something she had learned about him during that long, painful summer following Buffy’s death, when Spike had practically lived at the Summers’ house – Dawn had offered him a bite of her pancakes.

Spike hesitated a moment, though it was obvious that he *wanted* to taste them.

“Come on, Spike – it’s okay, you can try it. You’ll like it.”

In the end – Spike’s breakfast had consisted of two large mugs of blood, seven pancakes, and five sausage patties…all washed down with two generous glasses of orange juice.

Buffy had asked for the day off from the Doublemeat Palace, and Dawn’s school year had just come to a close, so the three of them spent the afternoon relaxing at home, using the television as an educational tool for Spike. They did their best to explain anything he saw that seemed to confuse him; and although at times it was almost a game of charades, trying to explain certain things for which he did not yet have the words – most of it seemed to get through.

Of course, when Giles arrived late that afternoon to help with Spike’s education – he was utterly horrified. He happened to walk in right in the middle of a particularly violent episode of the Jerry Springer show. Buffy and Dawn were exchanging looks, obviously trying not to laugh out loud and hurt the feelings of the entranced vampire who was staring, fascinated, at the screen where the tiny people yelled unintelligible beeping sounds and hurled chairs at each other.

Had they been life-sized, he would certainly have been thrown into a panic – but those tiny people in the television were clearly too small to pose any threat to him. He found their frenetic movements and energetic speech enthralling; and in an odd way, the violence of it all – violence, for once, *not* directed at him – called to him, bringing back the memory of feelings, emotions, without the specific memories of the events that had caused those feelings.

Although Buffy had not really thought about it when she turned the television on, she was beginning to think, watching Spike’s reactions, that the tacky talk show might actually be a benefit to him.

Giles, apparently, felt differently about it.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered as he closed the door behind him and made his way slowly into the living room.

Spike jumped a mile, his attention immediately shifting from the television to the man who had just entered the room, his body automatically pressing back against the back of the couch, and Buffy’s arm across it. He reminded himself that this man had not hurt him, that Buffy had said that he could trust Giles – Giles wouldn’t hurt him.

*She said that about Xander, too,* a treacherous voice in his head pointed out, and he glanced anxiously up at the Slayer, a questioning look in his wide blue eyes.

Buffy almost automatically reacted to his fear, wrapping her arm casually around his shoulders and squeezing gently, reassuringly, while giving her Watcher a sheepish smile.

“Fight scenes,” she stated by way of explanation. “Eventually he’s gonna have to know how to fight again, right? I mean, this *is* still a Hellmouth.”

“And tawdry, exploitative talk programs showcasing the worst examples of humanity’s moral values are the proper way of teaching him how to fight?” Giles raised a single eyebrow, his ice blue eyes piercing, and vaguely amused over a faint smirk.

Buffy shrugged, her own amusement matching his, as she glanced at Spike with affection, and then back to the television screen. “Whatever works.”

Spike tensed slightly, watching Giles warily as he proceeded into the living room and sat down in the armchair across from the couch. Dawn sensed his anxiety – which wasn’t exactly difficult to see – and reached over to take his hand in hers, offering him her silent support.

Spike immediately felt better, surrounded by the protective love of his girls – and within minutes, he was too caught up in the fascinating game that Buffy, Dawn, and Giles made of his learning to even think about being scared, for the time being – which was saying a lot.

Buffy was thrilled with how quickly Spike was learning. Since the moment when he had regained his sight, he seemed to be picking up new things every minute – and now, although he was not quite able to vocalize everything just yet, it was rare that he would not understand the basic idea of what was being said when someone spoke to him.

Still, he seemed to tire easily, still weak from months of starvation and abuse. After about an hour or so of working with his three well-intentioned teachers, Spike began to look a little lost, a little confused – and they decided that their accomplishments were more than enough for the day.

That was when Buffy took Giles aside into the kitchen, leaving Spike with Dawn, while she took the opportunity to fill him in on the events of the past couple of days.

He was understandably upset.

“Buffy,” he impatiently argued, shaking his head incredulously, “you cannot mean to tell me that you actually believe that *Xander* could have been the one who…”

“No,” Buffy hurried to interrupt him, her own eyes showing something akin to panic at his voicing her worst fears aloud. “I mean – I don’t think – I don’t *know*, Giles!” she finally admitted, misery in her eyes as they wordlessly pleaded with her surrogate father to make everything make sense again. “I mean – I don’t *want* to think that – but…so far, Xander’s the one that seems to make Spike more scared than anyone! You saw how he acted the other night…”

“Yes, but you said that he has behaved that way with all men thus far, correct?” Giles reminded her. “Even myself.”

“You know it was different.” Buffy’s voice was quiet, heavy with a grim knowledge that her heart wanted her mind to reject. “The way he acted with Xander, and the way he acted with you. You have to know that.”

Giles was silent for the moment, unable to deny it.

“There has to be another explanation,” he said at last.

“I really, really hope there is,” Buffy nodded slowly, her expression grim as she met her Watcher’s eyes. “But until we know -- *everyone’s* a suspect, you know? *Nobody* but me and Dawn will be alone with Spike, ever. No one’s gonna get the chance to hurt him again. Someone already did, right here in my own house – but it *won’t* happen again!”

Giles’ tone was guarded, cautious – still very resistant to seeing the boy he regarded like a son in the light of the vicious, sadistic torturer who had so broken Spike – as he replied with a nod of acceptance, “That does seem to be the wisest course, Buffy…at least, until Spike feels safe enough to confide in you the identity of his abuser – if he even knows it.”

Buffy felt a dark, sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that told her that there was no doubt in her mind as to whether or not Spike knew the identity of his abuser.

But *she* did not know it; she didn’t *want* to. Not yet.

*Not ever,* her heart pleaded, desperate to avoid the pain of the truth that she could not quite make herself accept – yet.

It was at that moment that Buffy heard the doorbell ring again.

“Wow,” she muttered as she headed toward the living room, Giles behind her. “Bring one wounded, brain damaged vampire into your house, and suddenly everyone wants to visit all the time. What’s up with that?”

She received no answer, as she had expected none, as she made her way to the door and opened it – and her breath caught in her throat, at the sudden, unexpected sensation of guilt that accompanied the sight of Angel’s serious, searching gaze.

And why should she feel guilty? she demanded of herself, feeling a sense of defensive irritation. It wasn’t as if she *knew* for a fact that Angel had been right the night before – he very well could have been totally wrong.

But she *did* feel guilty, just the same, for dismissing his claims so easily, threatening him and turning him out.

Because someone *had* hurt Spike that night – and he had tried to tell her that the younger vampire was in danger.

But she had not wanted to hear it.

“Hey, Buffy,” he said simply, his perpetually sad smile holding no trace of accusation.

She sighed wearily, meeting his eyes with resignation, and a hint of a silent apology, as she stood back from the door and replied, “Hey, Angel – come on in.”

The moment the dark vampire had stepped through the door, Buffy took his hand without a word and led him toward the kitchen she had just come from. He followed without a word, surprised, but trusting that there was a reason for her behavior, and that he would soon find out what it was.

He just hoped that Xander had not been here before him, and that her purpose for taking him to the relative privacy of the kitchen was not to shove a wooden spoon through his heart.

Once the kitchen door had swung shut behind them, Buffy released Angel’s hand and turned to face him, her arms crossed over her chest, as she stared at him with a solemn resignation. For a moment she was silent, the look in her eyes telling him that she had yet to decide what she wanted to say. When she *did* speak, her words took him by surprise.

“Someone hurt Spike last night.”

Angel’s eyes widened – and then narrowed again, a low growl rising in his throat.

“Hold up, Papa Bear,” she said dryly, “we have no idea who did it. But – but – I’m ready to face the facts when we find out – no matter *who* it is.”

Angel frowned slightly, momentarily confused, before his eyes widened as he realized what she was saying. “So you believe me? Finally! Buffy, I’m so…”

“I didn’t say that,” she cut him off warningly, meeting his eyes with just a hint of irritation – but mostly a heartsick sort of fear – in her own. “I mean – I’m not saying I *don’t* believe you – I mean – you *could* be right. I just – don’t know yet. You know? I’m not letting anyone near Spike without me or Dawn there, so we’ll know that he’s safe, at least, until we figure this out. I just – I just don’t know, Angel.”

He was silent for a moment, studying her expression, and she could see the slight disappointment in his eyes – but also the greater relief.

“Well – that’s something,” he nodded, releasing a deep breath. “At least that way no one can hurt him. But I’m telling you, Buffy – I know who did it. There’s not a doubt in my mind…”

“Angel, don’t…”

“He was in the Initiative caves. Where you found Spike.”

Buffy was silent, stunned by his sudden revelation, her stricken emerald gaze focused on him in startled dismay. “How do you…”

“I smelled him there, Buffy. It was very faint – and he’d tried to clean up the place, eliminate any remaining traces of scent there – but he couldn’t quite do it. I could still tell that he’d been there…”

“Xander’s been in those caves before,” Buffy pointed out, a defensive note in her voice. “Many times. It could have just been a faint trace…”

“No, Buffy – I could tell the difference if that was the case. And it had to be someone that knew I was here – because otherwise why would they have gone to the trouble to try to wipe out scents that no human could even tell were there?” Angel argued quietly.

Buffy had no answer for that. The only people she knew of who knew that Angel was in town were herself, Dawn, Anya, Xander and Riley.

*Riley…maybe…* she thought – and then suddenly wondered if it was wrong of her to actually *hope* that it was her ex-boyfriend who had committed the terrible acts against Spike, if only it would clear her best friend.

“Spike won’t say anything?” Angel said softly after a moment, recognizing that Buffy was not quite ready to accept the truth yet. “He won’t tell you who it was?”

Buffy shook her head sadly. “No. He’s pretty freaked out, still. He’s scared to death, really – and I’m not going to force him to do anything. He’ll tell me, in his own time, once he knows that I’m going to protect him – and that might take a while, after last night.”

“I want to help you protect him, Buffy,” Angel informed her, a quiet certainty to his voice and his dark, pleading brown eyes. “I want to – to help him get well. I know I can, Buffy. I’m his sire. I know you might not get that, but it *means* something. I’d – I’d really like to see him…”

Buffy hesitated, her mind going back to the other night, and Spike’s strange reaction to Angel. She tended to believe the older vampire’s explanation – and yet, the entire thing just did not quite sit right with her. Maybe it was the hints of past domination that the whole thing brought to mind – or her Slayer side’s dislike of the intense relationship between the two vampires….

…or her *human* side’s dislike of the intense relationship between the two vampires…

Before she could even begin to formulate an answer, the doorbell rang yet again – and beside her, Angel tensed visibly.

“What?” she asked, her eyes widening with alarm.

“It’s Xander.”

Buffy frowned, puzzled. “You can smell him from here? That’s gross…”

“No,” Angel corrected her, his dark eyes smoldering with fury. “I can’t. But Spike can, from the living room. And he’s terrified. I can *feel* it from here.”

“He gets scared whenever the doorbell rings,” Buffy argued, but her voice was trembling slightly as she headed back toward the living room – hoping against hope that when she opened the door, it would not be her best friend on the other side.

But it was.

“Hey, Buffy,” Xander smiled disarmingly as he walked in the door, shooting Angel a dirty look as he made his way into the living room, seemingly unaware of the distrustful, uncomfortable expressions on the faces of the others in the room.

Except for Spike.

His reaction was impossible to miss.

The blonde vampire panicked – jerking free of Dawn’s gentle embrace, and fleeing up the stairs.

And Buffy’s heart sank just a little more under the dreadful weight of the truth, as she invited her best friend inside.