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Because He Needs Me by DreamsofSpike
 
Reflection
 
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Once Giles had gathered together the few supplies that Willow would need for the location spell, and the Watcher and the witch had retired to the kitchen – where Willow said there was much less “yucky, angry energy” – the mood in the living room returned to much the same as it had been before Willow and Buffy had come downstairs, with one major difference.

Buffy *was* downstairs.

She knew that most of the others blamed her, at least to some extent, for the disaster that had become of her plan – and she really could not fault them for it. She blamed *herself* for what had happened, for the fact that despite her promises, Spike was once again in danger, at the hand of the one who had broken and abused him.

She did not make eye contact with anyone, or say anything, as she hesitantly crossed the room from the stairs to the sofa, her arms crossed defensively over her chest. She sat down on the edge of the couch, her legs drawn up under her, visibly huddling in on herself as if expecting the other occupants of the room to physically attack her.

Dawn did not seem far from doing just that.

Willow’s words had momentarily left her at a loss for an argument – but the emotion of anger that filled her toward her sister, and her foolish actions that had cost Spike so much, had not vanished with the witch’s well-placed, logical explanations.

Spike was still in danger – and he still would *not* be, if Buffy had listened to her warnings about the stupid plan.

As far as Dawn was concerned – that was all there was to it.

For Buffy – it was nowhere near that simple.

She still could hardly bring herself to believe that it was her best friend who had done those horrible things to Spike. Her mind filled with images from the past few years…Xander awkwardly, shyly, asking her on the date that she had refused him…his face hovering anxiously over her moments after he had literally breathed the life back into her body…his scratched and bleeding face, exhausted and confused, but so open and full of love, in the hectic hours following his infamous “yellow crayon speech” that had saved the world from Willow’s grief-stricken rage.

And now – there was no such valid excuse for the horrible crimes that it was increasingly obvious that he had committed.

Xander had not lost anyone to an untimely death – had not been abused or violated in the ways that Spike had been – had no terrible, traumatic event on which to blame his actions.

Anger.

Hatred.

Petty jealousy.

Those were his motives for taking a creature that was helpless to do any harm to anyone else, and not simply taking his life, but rather destroying him in a brutal act of cruelty – and then slowly, systematically employing a regimen of sadistic abuse and degradation…rebuilding him with the mentality and emotional state of an abused, mentally handicapped child.

It was mind-boggling to Buffy.

She could hardly reconcile the two sets of images in her mind.

And Dawn expected her not only to be willing to kill her friend for his crimes – but to do it without any hesitation or sorrow – as if he had never meant anything to her…as if there had never been any warmth or love or depth of friendship between them.

But there *had* been – she remembered it.

It had only been days since she had been sure of it.

And behind all of her doubts and confusion, there was a quiet but insistent voice, berating her and accusing her, filling her with a sense of self-disgust because of her hesitation.

*Xander’s not the victim here!* it reminded her angrily. *Spike is! The things Xander did to him are unforgivable! He deserves to die!*

*But – Spike’s committed hundreds of murders – done so many more terrible things…and you can justify not killing *him*…doesn’t Xander deserve the same chance…?*

*Spike doesn’t even remember those things he did now! And he *begged* you to protect him, not to let Xander hurt him again – and you promised him you wouldn’t – but where is he now? Who knows if he’s even still alive…because *you* couldn’t accept the truth!*

“Anya!”

Buffy’s thoughts were nearly pulled from her reverie -- *nearly* -- when the vengeance demon suddenly appeared at the foot of the stairs. She looked pale and disheveled, and was gripping the banister for support – but she smiled weakly at the group in the living room as she made her way gingerly across the living room.

“How are you feeling?” Dawn asked her with obvious concern. “Better, obviously – right?”

“Well, it still hurts like hell – and I should know!” Anya informed them all matter-of-factly, as she sat down on the sofa , directly in the middle of the “great divide” that had separated the Summers’ sisters. “But whatever that stuff was that Giles used, worked like a charm.” She shrugged slightly, before adding, “Probably because it -- *was* a charm.”

No one laughed; a few half-hearted smiles were the only response her weak joke garnered.

“I take it the general bad mood means that we’ve had no luck in finding Xander and Spike?” Anya guessed, glancing around at Dawn, Angel, and Buffy in turn. She frowned, puzzled, as she added a second question, “Where’s Giles?”

“He and Willow are in the kitchen doing a locator spell to find Spike and Xander,” Dawn explained, when neither the Slayer nor the vampire seemed inclined to speak at all, each of them lost in their own personal brood-fest.

“Willow? What is she doing here? She’s out of her skinning people alive phase, isn’t she?” Anya frowned, alarm in her eyes, until Dawn nodded in response.

“She gave Xander the magic – Giles thought she should help.” Dawn’s disgust was clear in her voice as she explained. “It’s only right – it’s partly her fault this happened.” Anya wasn’t quite sure, but she thought she heard her whisper under her breath, “Stupid witch…”

Or it might have been a slightly different expression…Anya couldn’t be sure.

“Well, I’m sure she thought it’d be all right,” Anya surprised even herself by speaking up in defense of her ex-fiancee’s best friend, who had been her rival of sorts ever since she and Xander had been together. “Willow’s never shown the best judgment when it came to safety with magic, and – it was *Xander*. I’m sure she trusted him completely.”

“Like I said,” Dawn muttered. “Stupid.”

Anya did not miss the Slayer’s slight flinch at the word that was quite obviously not only directed at Willow – or the tears that streaked Buffy’s face. She was quiet for a moment, considering, before she replied in a mild tone.

“I don’t know – I suppose I’ve been rather stupid, too, then.”

Dawn gave her a puzzled, wary frown, waiting for her to explain her comment.

Anya shrugged slightly, as she went on, “I trusted Xander. I kind of thought – when we found Spike in the caves – that it was the sort of thing he might have done…I mean, he always hated Spike, and I knew it was probably a human that had done it…but I didn’t want to believe that he could be capable of that…so I told myself it wasn’t possible.”

Buffy glanced up at her, her emerald eyes wet with tears and dull with shame and worry – but showing a spark of interest at her words.

“I should have known better – like *really* should have known better,” Anya shook her head, with a short, ironic laugh. “But – I guess I didn’t want to.” She looked at Dawn with an open honesty that was uniquely hers in her eyes, unapologetic, as she stated, “I went along with the plan – because I wanted to know beyond all doubt – you know? I didn’t want to think it was Xander – because I loved him.”

Dawn stared up at her, unable to think of a response to those words.

After all – how did one argue with the simple truth?

Dawn couldn’t find a way to blame Anya for her feelings – but she could still blame Buffy.

“You were going to marry him – in love with him,” she countered with quiet anger in her voice. “I can understand *you* not wanting to believe it, but…”

“But someone who’s known him, like twice as long as I have – who practically grew up with him and faced life and death situations with him like every day that whole time – they shouldn’t have any sort of conflicting feelings at all – is that what you’re saying?” Anya guessed, holding the girl’s gaze intently.

“No – I mean – yes!” Dawn replied, her eyes narrowing in defiant anger. “Spike *told* us it was Xander! His word should have been just accepted, and Buffy should never have placed him in the situation to be hurt like that again! *Never*! We could have taken more time, tried to come up with something safer, if she absolutely *had* to have more proof…”

“She made a mistake.”

Angel’s voice from the chair opposite the couch was completely unexpected, and drove them all to silence, looking expectantly up at him, as he met each of their eyes in turn.

“Yeah – it was a stupid plan. Yeah, we all *told* her it was a stupid plan. But – she really didn’t think anything was going to happen – because deep down, I don’t think she could believe that it was Xander who did it – not until she saw it for herself.”

All three girls were silent for a long moment, taking in his words.

“I wouldn’t have believed it,” Angel added softly after a moment. “If someone had told me it was – Buffy,” his eyes met the Slayer’s, gentler than they had been all evening, as he added, “I wouldn’t have believed it unless I saw it…I would have thought that no matter how scared he might be, he would have been perfectly safe in a room with her…because there’d have been no convincing me that Buffy would be capable of something like that…”

The room fell silent again, as they all considered those words.

Dawn glanced sideways at her sister, whose eyes were focused downward again, her hands clenched together as tears streamed like rain from her eyes to wet the white-knuckled double fist in her lap.

The younger girl took a deep breath, and opened her mouth to speak.

But there was no time for her words.

Willow came bursting into the living room from the kitchen, an expression of grim surprise and excitement on her face.

“You’ll never believe where we found them,” she stated.

They were all already on their feet before she had finished talking, the Slayer yanking on her coat as she stalked toward the door.

“Tell me on the way.”

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

As the door closed behind Xander, shutting out the light and leaving Spike huddled in the darkness, he did not dare move from the spot where the boy had ordered him to wait. Eyes wide as he stared up toward the door at the top of the stairs, Spike listened to the voices upstairs, still clearly audible to his enhanced vampire hearing, now fully healed.

At first the voices were pleasant, as Xander carried on his deception for a few moments longer.

But within moments, the boy’s unstable mood had shifted again, and he was screaming accusations at his obviously drunken parents, who, judging by the fear in their voices, were by now aware of the weapon he held in his hand.

A vague sense of horror filled Spike’s mind, as he realized that the boy intended to kill his own parents.

He momentarily, insanely, considered rushing to the top of the stairs, attempting to do something to stop it from happening – but then quickly reminded himself that he would not be able to stop the boy from doing what he wanted to the older couple – or to him, for that matter.

Xander’s steadily decreasing sanity only made him more dangerous.

But then – Spike thought with a tiny spark of inspiration – perhaps it might also throw the boy off his game a bit.

His mind returned to the scene in Buffy’s bedroom, when Anya had bravely placed herself between Xander and his gun, and the terrified vampire against the wall. That terrified creature had been him – too weak and frightened and utterly devastated by Xander’s abuse to even think of standing up for himself.

And yet, when Xander had raised the gun to Anya – Spike had acted, with no thought for his own safety, only intent on keeping that bullet from striking its mark. Spike did not know whether or not Xander knew that Anya was no longer human – and therefore not killable by a bullet to the head – but Spike *did* know what the results of such an injury could be…first hand.

In that moment, he had been determined that no matter what the cost, he was *not* going to allow to happen to Anya what had happened to him – and he had tried his best to keep Xander from hitting his mark.

And he had succeeded.

True, the bullet had still injured Anya – but Spike knew enough to know that it was not a mortal wound. She had survived – and without any serious damage, such as the kind he had sustained.

In a way – he had won.

Could he possibly win again?

A spark of hope rose up in him, as he glanced toward the stairs, listening as the furious yelling and panicked screaming grew louder and louder. He knew that within a few minutes, Xander would most likely be coming back down those stairs – for *him*. He did not know at this point whether the boy planned on simply staking him, or on repeating his previous method of a brain-damaging gunshot to the head.

What he *did* know was that if he simply stayed on his knees as he had been ordered, and did not resist – he would still be shown no mercy.

If he fought – he might be injured, or killed.

If he did not fight – he would *certainly* be injured or killed.

Suddenly – the decision did not seem so difficult to him anymore.

The very least he could do was to try.

As the potent scent of freshly spilled blood reached Spike’s nostrils from upstairs, he felt his vampiric face come to the forefront, as his sire had shown him – and remembered Angel’s words, his reassurance that attacking Xander, hurting Xander, was perfectly all right, if he got the chance.

*Would* the boy give him the chance?

The thought that he might -- *might* -- be able to successfully defeat his former captor was a thrilling and desperate hope…one he found himself clinging to. But still, in the back of his mind, were the terrible, menacing words that had been spoken to him again and again by Xander during his captivity – promises that resistance, attempts at self-defense, could only result in more pain and punishment than Spike could imagine.

Xander might have lost his mind – but he *did* still have the gun.

Fear and hope warred within Spike’s wounded, but healing spirit, as he slowly rose to his feet in the darkness, unsure of what he would do when Xander returned, but knowing that he wanted to be ready for him when he did…and wondering if this newly found courage that spurred him to action would hold out until he did.
 
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