“So – she hasn’t said anything about…right…okay…is she…? Oh…not even there, eh? And is that not even there in the sense of *actually* not even there – or in the sense of ‘doesn’t wanna talk to me’ not even there? Out patrollin’? Oh. Right…well…okay, then…yeah…yeah, I know, Bit. All right. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, pet. Bye.”

Spike’s tone shifted from slightly terse but still pleasant for Dawn’s benefit, to outright explosive fury, in the single instant in which he hung up the phone.

“Bloody stupid women!” he muttered resentfully as he slammed the receiver down into its cradle, stalking across the room and back as he continued his swiftly building tirade. “Can’t ever make up their bleedin’ minds! Say they love you, but then they stab you in the back. Say they’re sorry, but then can’t even bring themselves to soddin’ face you! Can’t just bloody *deal* with a thing – gotta avoid you – gotta push it to the back of their minds, gotta hide from it, try to pretend it’s not there…”

“Excuse me?” a soft, timid voice with a lilting southern accent cautiously interrupted his rant; and he turned around to see a pair of huge, dark eyes watching as his rapid, pacing footsteps slowly began to burn a hole in the floor of the lobby of Angel’s hotel. “But I kinda think I ought to be taking offense to the whole ‘women are the devil’ theme you’ve got goin’ here. And – and I think I *would* be – if it wasn’t so obvious that you don’t mean *women* so much as *woman* -- meaning one woman in particular.”

Spike stopped mid-step, looking down at the waifish girl standing in the doorway. As he watched her, she cautiously entered the room, and sat down on the circular sofa, staring him with wide, solemn eyes. He was actually quite surprised at her presence, which he had not sensed in any way until she had spoken from the doorway.

It seemed as if his heated tirade, intended for only his own ears had made him deaf and blind to anyone else who might have been around him.

Fortunately, at the moment – that included only Fred.

Spike stared at her for a long moment, taking in her thin, birdlike frame, the slightly anxious expression of concern in her wide, dark eyes – and let out a weary sigh as he collapsed on the seat beside her, letting his head fall back against the back of the seat and closing his eyes.

"And what would you know about it, love?" he asked in a voice that held no malice or irritation -- just sheer emotional exhaustion.

He had had more than one close conversation with the pretty little Texan since he’d come to Angel’s hotel. Drawn to Fred’s compassion and gentle nature, he had found himself opening up to her in ways that he’d seldom been able to open up to anyone, and several of those unexpected conversations had been downright therapeutic.

But at the moment, he was simply too tired to want to talk about it, and thought that his pointedly challenging question might put her off enough to get him off the hook for the moment.

It didn’t.

"About which part? Hidin' from the truth? Pretendin' it's not real?" Fred’s soft, lilting voice became a quiet laugh, as she shook her head and added, "More than you might think."

Spike looked up at her speculatively, studying her slightly self-conscious yet knowing manner for a few moments. "You mean the hell dimension," he observed softly, and shrugged apologetically when she looked up at him, startled. "Peaches told me about it,” he explained. “Said you were there for a good long while."

Fred just stared at him in silence for a long moment, before nodding in resignation. "Five years," she confirmed, her eyes downcast, focused on her suddenly shaking hands folded in her lap. "And most of that was spent hidin’ in a cave so they wouldn't find me and take me back and make me a cow again."

Spike was quiet for a moment, not quite sure how to respond to that, before he admitted slowly, "Guess you *would* know a fair bit about it then, wouldn't you?”

“Yep,” Fred chirped, giving him a bright, expectant smile. “Wouldn’t mind knowing a little more, though,” she hinted in a most unsubtle way.

He paused, considering, before he released a heavy sigh – and gave in.

The girl wasn’t going to give up until he had bared his metaphorical soul to her – again.

“All right then," he went on, raising his eyebrows expectantly as he looked at her. "Tell me this, then, if you can – what in the bleedin' hell does she think she has to hide from now? The truth is out – she knows what happened, can't deny it anymore, no matter how bad she might want to...so the least she could do is bloody well *talk* to me about it! But she hasn't asked to – not once. Yesterday, I just *knew* she was going to -- but who did she want to talk to? Not me, that's for bloody sure! She asked for *Peaches*!"

Spike spoke his impudent nickname for his sire with clear disgust, not so much with Angel, as with Buffy’s continued reliance on him.

Angel had been fulfilling the sire’s role perfectly since he had come here, and Spike had to admit that his sire’s presence had made him feel safe again, in a way that he had not felt since, truth be told, long before Xander had ever shot him. In truth, he had not felt so safe and protected since – well, since he’d been captured by the Initiative.

Now, the chip was gone – and Xander was as good as dead – and Angel was making a genuine, concerned effort to help Spike recover, both physically and emotionally, from the trauma of the past few months.

There had been nights in the past few weeks in which Spike had raged and ranted and vented his frustration to his sire until he had exhausted himself completely – and Angel never once complained about the damage to his furniture and other belongings…and occasionally his person.

There had been other nights, when attempts to verbalize what he was struggling with had eluded Spike completely – and all that had come were torrents of tears. His momentary fears of humiliation, at Angel’s seeing his weakness, had evaporated as his sire had held him close, a protective growl reverberating in his throat, a wordless promise of death and destruction to anyone who might dare to attempt to harm his childe again.

Long distance conversations with Dawn had helped Spike to feel connected to his old life again – to feel as if he had not completely lost what few good things the past in Sunnydale had held for him.

Except Buffy.

He was becoming pretty bloody sure that he had lost her.

What he wasn’t so sure of was whether or not he *wanted* to lose her.

"Maybe she's scared to talk to you," Fred suggested with a little shrug.

"Right! What's she got to be scared of?" Spike demanded, turning to face her fully, his hands gesturing wildly in his frustration. "I'm the one that's got an actual *reason* to be scared, after..." His voice trailed off, and he looked away quickly, shaking his head. "I'm the one who's got a reason to be scared," he repeated, almost sullenly, as he sank back against the seat again.

Fred was quiet for a moment, considering, without looking up at him. Finally, she replied softly, “Except – what you were scared of – is sort of – gone now. You know? That boy’s in a coma, Angel said – won’t ever wake up – and even if he did, that chip’s gone now too – so you could defend yourself if anyone tried anything now.”

She paused, waiting until Spike dubiously met her gaze before she went on, “What Buffy’s scared of – hasn’t actually happened yet.”

Spike stared at her, waiting, before asking flatly in a voice of mild sarcasm, “And just what might that be, in your expert opinion of Buffy – a girl you’ve never met, who also happens to be quite possibly the most complex, confusing chit ever to walk the earth?”

“Maybe,” Fred acknowledged with a nod and a half-smile. “But still – just a girl.”

Spike considered that for a moment before nodding his understanding. “Right, then. As a fellow member of the female race – what do you think Buffy’s so afraid of?”

Fred’s answer came without hesitation. “That you won’t forgive her.”

Spike blinked at her in surprise, speechless for a moment as he considered her assessment. Finally, he replied in a soft, aching voice, “I already have, love.”

After a moment’s pensive silence, he frowned thoughtfully, as he slowly shook his head. “I mean – I *think* I have. Partly, anyway…”

“See? So she *does* have a reason to be scared,” Fred pointed out, the expression in her eyes a strange mixture of triumph at her correct assessment of the situation, and sympathy for Spike’s dilemma.

“No,” Spike objected. “She doesn’t! I mean – of course I *forgive* her…I understand that the boy was her friend – and before all this, I was barely past being treated like her enemy. She naturally wouldn’t want to take my side over his – or to think that he was capable of – of what he did. But…” Spike hesitated, shaking his head as he struggled to find the words he was searching for.

Finally, he went on in a quiet, controlled voice, not looking at Fred as he spoke.

“I just – I expected more from her, I s’pose. I – shouldn’t have, I know it. But I did.”

When he did not say anything for a long moment, Fred gently prodded him, “What exactly did you expect?”

Spike took so long to answer that Fred had begun to wonder if he was going to at all, when he finally spoke in a voice barely over a whisper.

“What I’d earned from her – what she’d *promised* me.”

When he slowly looked up to meet her eyes, Fred shook her head slightly, frowning in confusion. “What she…?”

Spike’s expression was calm, but his expressive eyes reflected the depth of the pain and betrayal he felt due to the Slayer’s careless actions.

“I know I’m a vampire – a monster – and I haven’t got a bloody soul like Angel’s got to serve as my get out of jail free card. But – I’ve proven myself to her in these past few years – many times. Fought the good fight beside her, again and again – know I’ve saved her life more than once. Took torture for her and her little sis once – and she promised me she wouldn’t forget it. I’ve bloody well loved the girl more than my own unlife, for the past two years – maybe longer.”

“She knew that,” he went on softly, shaking his head with a little wince of pain that was emotional rather than physical. “She knew I loved her – and – and in spite of everything – she mostly punished me for feelin’ it. She – she used me; she admitted she did. She – did a lot of other things to me, too, that most blokes would find hard to forgive – but I did. Because I really do love her.”

“But this – this is different, pet.”

Fred’s dark gaze shone with sympathetic tears, as she reached out a gentle hand to rest on his arm, a silent attempt to pull him back from the edge of his painful memories. “How?” she asked softly. “How is it different?”

“I guess – in the back of my mind – there was always this – knowledge – that no matter how angry she was at the fact that she was even alive, how badly she treated me because I loved her when she couldn’t even love herself…if push came to shove – she’d be there. I knew she had no problem sending a blow or two my way when she was in a mood – but I thought that – if someone else tried to – I mean – I thought she’d at least…”

Spike’s emotions choked him, and he found that he could not go on, shaking his head helplessly.

It was all right; Fred was pretty sure she had the general idea.

“You thought that if you ever *really* needed her – if you ever really couldn’t protect yourself, were ever really that vulnerable – she wouldn’t let you down,” she guessed quietly. “Not after her promise – not after all the things you’d done for her, all the things you’d been through together – right?”

Spike nodded, swallowing back a sob that rose in his throat.

“But she *did* let you down.”

He nodded again, and a lone tear fell from his eye to stain the dark denim of his jeans.

“I – I thought that she’d at least – at least take my word for *something*,” he whispered, his hurt at Buffy’s failure evident in his voice. “Thought she’d at least listen enough to *consider* the possibility that the boy might have done something questionable – but she didn’t. She just assumed that I was wrong, or confused, or simply too bloody brain dead to know what I was talking about – and she automatically took his side over mine. End of story.”

“I think – it was probably a bit more – more complicated than that, to her,” Fred cautiously attempted to soften the blow, wincing slightly in anticipation of his possibly angry reaction.

Spike’s manner was not angry at all. It was actually closer to – well, broken.

He shook his head sadly in response, “It wasn’t complicated at all to me, love. I – I told myself that no matter how hard she tried to deny it, she really did love me – and if the time ever came when it was all on the line – worst case scenario and all that – she’d show it. Then, after I was – injured – she finally told me! She said that she loved me!”

He shrugged, with a bittersweet sort of laugh. “Didn’t mean much to me at the time she said it – leastwise not as much as it meant once I got my memory back – but she finally said the words…and you’ve no bloody idea how long I’d been wanting to hear them! And – and I believed her – completely.”

He finally looked up at Fred, an agony of rejection and disappointment in his blue eyes. “Except – then the worst case scenario *did* come about – push and shove and all that. I really *did* need her – and – she didn’t come through for me.” He paused, gathering his thoughts, before finishing in a soft, desolate voice, “I can forgive her for using me last year. I can forgive her for knocking me around a bit – after all, she’s the Slayer, it’s sort of what she *does*. But – I don’t know if I can ever forgive her for…”

His voice trailed off, as he swallowed back a sob, shaking his head and looking away.

“For what?” Fred asked in a quiet, gentle voice after a long moment of silence.

The pain in Spike’s eyes, in his voice, when he looked up at her again, nearly took Fred’s breath away.

“For saying those words – saying she loved me – and not meaning it.”