Spike barely made it onto the basement stairs, the door pulled quietly shut behind him, before his tears overwhelmed him completely. He found himself suddenly gripping the banister with one trembling hand, nearly doubled over it, his free arm pressed firmly across his mouth in an attempt to silence the breathless sobs that rose up in his throat.

He had to keep it quiet; Buffy couldn’t know how bad off he still was, how deep the terror and shame still went, even after all this time.

She couldn’t know how badly he needed her -- not when by the rules of his own making, he could scarcely allow her to touch him. It was unbelievably tempting to him to just cast the rules aside, and accept the comfort she had offered him -- but he knew himself well enough to know that the moment he gave that over to her again, he would be lost to her.

And as much as he loved her, as deeply as he longed to be with her again -- he was still not quite sure of her feelings for *him*. It had been gradually growing weaker and weaker, fading away -- but his fear was still there, fear of being hurt again if he allowed her back into his heart.

He just wasn’t sure that he could take that step yet.

And until he *was* sure -- it wouldn‘t be fair to her to let her that close.

Once he had managed to regain enough composure to be sure that he could see his way down the rest of the stairs, Spike made his way down, and across the room, to his own comfortable bed that he and Buffy had moved there from his crypt -- the very bed that he and Buffy had shared so many nights -- long before this nightmare his unlife had become.

Back when it had been a different, slightly less complicated nightmare.

He collapsed onto the bed wearily on his back, one arm cast across his eyes again, as he pulled the blankets over his trembling body, and tried to suppress the deep shaking that had overcome him from the moment he had seen that horrible scene from that bloody awful movie upstairs.

Mentally, he knew that Xander was comatose, unable to ever pose a threat to him again -- and even if the boy were to ever awaken, Spike was free of the chip for good now, and back to his full physical strength. On a pure common sense level, he knew that he was safe now.

His shattered heart and spirit were not quite so firmly convinced.

All he had wanted in that moment upstairs had been to allow Buffy to hold him, as she had tentatively tried to do -- to allow himself to feel the safety of her protective embrace, reminding him tenderly that she would not allow such harm to come to him, ever again.

But how could he ask that of her, accept that from her, and then expect her to keep her hands to herself in the moments when he was not so needy?

*And when would that be, you bloody ponce?* he sneered at himself in derision. *You’re always needy these days…*

It wouldn’t be fair to her.

He couldn’t ask it of her.

*Bloody hell -- need her so much…*

It was only early evening, but Spike had not been sleeping very well lately -- and the overwhelming emotions from his encounter with Buffy downstairs only seemed to add to his exhaustion. Emotionally weary, he allowed himself to slide into sleep -- hoping against hope that this time, sleep would bring him rest and peace, instead of the deepening of his waking nightmare in his dreams.

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

Buffy watched in helpless dismay as Spike walked away from her toward his basement sanctuary -- or chamber of torment, depending on whether or not it happened to be a good night.

Many nights, she could hear the muffled sobs and moans of Spike’s nightmares drifting up from the basement -- and she struggled each time with the uncertainty of what she should do about it. Everything in her cried out for her to go to him, to throw her arms around him and pull him out of his nightmares, to hold him and comfort him.

Except -- Spike did not *want* her comfort.

Every time Spike had a nightmare -- which, thankfully, was not every night, not anymore -- Buffy faced the inner debate of what to do. And inevitably, around the time she finally decided to forget Spike’s rules and make her way to his side -- the sounds of his suffering would stop. Sometimes it was abrupt, as if he had just awakened on his own in the midst of the nightmare -- and though she still felt the desire to go to him, Buffy’s nerve would leave her at the thought of facing him awake, at the bottom of the basement stairs.

Other times, his sobs would die off gradually -- and when Buffy went downstairs in the morning, she would find Dawn’s bedroom empty, and the basement door cracked open.

But Dawn was not here tonight.

And after that stupid movie -- Buffy was almost certain that tonight would be a very bad night for Spike.

And apparently, the night was going to come early, as well.

It was only seven when Spike went downstairs.

It was eight when the crying started.

Buffy had not moved from the couch in the last hour; when she heard the sobbing, she turned off the television, troubled eyes turned toward the kitchen doorway, and the basement beyond. She hesitated, her heart in her throat, remembering the desperate grip of his trembling hand in hers, as the soft, muffled moans grew louder -- almost panicked.

Buffy swallowed hard, rising to her feet uncertainly. The anguish in Spike’s voice pulled at her, drawing her slow footsteps toward the kitchen -- while the memory of his pulling away from her comforting touch, rejecting the comfort she had offered, slowed those very steps.

She stopped at the basement door, her hand against the cool, smooth wood -- but couldn’t quite bring herself to open it.

Not -- not yet.

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

The room was different -- not quite the upstairs hallway in Buffy’s house, or the total blackness that had been for Spike in the Initiative caves, but rather sort of a hybrid of the two, mixed in with bits and pieces from the room he had seen on the television screen.

In fact, the whole atmosphere seemed to have a surreal sort of quality to it. Spike was gasping for breath -- deep, ragged, gasping sobs -- though he knew that he did not need them. Or rather, should not have needed them; but somehow, it seemed that he did, as he raced through the dark, strange, familiar-but-not corridors of the dream house.

Also -- he felt smaller.

But then -- Xander’s presence always made him feel smaller.

His racing, panicked steps came to an abrupt halt, as the corridor came to a sudden end in front of him.

“Nowhere to go, Spike…”

He whirled around, stumbling backward in blind terror as the young man advanced on him, backing him up further until he was against the wall -- with nowhere to go.

“Come on -- you didn’t think you’d get away that easy, did you?”

“You call this easy?” Spike’s own voice startled him, hoarse and raw and trembling with tears.

“You’re not getting away at all. Ever, Spike,” Xander insisted softly, as he slowly, casually, kept moving toward him -- as if he had all the time in the world. “You don’t deserve to. You’re a thousand times the monster I ever was…”

The pistol was clasped easily in his hand.

Wake up! Wake up, you stupid wanker!

“Get away,” Spike gasped out, as Xander moved forward suddenly, gripping his throat in a vicious fist and slamming him back against the wall. “Let go of me!”

He was fighting, doing his best to push the boy off of him -- but the physical strength he had recently regained seemed to have fled him again. As hard as he tried, it still seemed effortless for Xander to hold him there, helpless against the wall -- and with each moment in which his panicked struggles failed, Spike felt the helpless despair and terror closing in on him again -- and he was back there, in the caves, blind and broken and utterly at the mercy of a man who hated him.

“I don’t think so, Spike,” Xander sneered. “I’ll never let go of you…”

“Please!” Against his own will, Spike found himself begging once again for mercy from his tormentor. “Please…don’t…not again…please…”

But the pistol was suddenly pressed to his temple -- and it was worse this time than it had been in reality -- worse than that moment in his crypt when Xander had originally pulled the trigger.

Because this time -- Spike knew what lay ahead of him.

“NO!” he cried out in panic and desperation. “Don’t!” And then, without conscious thought, he cried out her name…

“*Buffy*!”

Xander’s eyes narrowed in fury, and he brought the pistol down across Spike’s face, then jerked him away from the wall and threw him to the floor, standing over him as he sneered down at him in anger and mockery.

“She won’t help you -- you don’t deserve for her to help you! You’re a monster, Spike! You’re *nothing* -- just a filthy, disgusting thing!”

And then, the boy fell on him, straddling his waist as he plunged his fist into his face with brutal force, again and again.

“Filthy, evil, disgusting thing! You’re nothing!”

And suddenly -- the powerful figure above him, pounding into him with such violent rage -- was not Xander at all anymore.

“You’re beneath me! You disgust me, you evil, soulless thing!”

Spike felt the sobs wrenched from his body as *her* voice spoke those words that had haunted him for months, snarling down at him in disgust and hatred. The form above him flickered back and forth between the face of his tormentor, and the face of the goddess he had worshipped for so long now, as the rain of blows continued to fall.

But it was not the blows, but the words, that shattered his heart.

“You don’t deserve to ever be what you were again, Spike,” Xander snarled in his face, leaning down over him with a triumphant sneer. “You’re worthless…evil…broken…and I did the world a favor by destroying what you were. You’re mine now -- and I’ll *never* let you go…”

“Buffy,” Spike sobbed, closing his eyes against the hate-filled face above him, willing it to be hers again -- because if only it was her, then he could stand it. He could believe that he deserved those words, coming from her -- and he could accept his punishment as due, from her hands. “Buffy, please… please, love…I know I deserve it…but help me…help me, please…”

And suddenly -- Xander was gone.

And Spike was not lying on his back on the floor anymore, but sitting up, and cradled in her arms. He could feel her warm tears as they flowed from her eyes, down onto his own face.

“No,” she assured him in a soft voice thick with tears. “Spike, you didn’t deserve it…you never deserved it. God, I’m so sorry -- so sorry, Baby -- I’ll never hurt you again, Spike -- no one will ever hurt you again…”

As she shifted around him, a moment of panic overcame him, at the thought that she might leave him. “No,” he gasped out, clinging to her. “Buffy, no, I need you…need you so much…don’t go…don’t let go…”

“I won’t,” she whispered, and he felt the sweet pressure of her soft, damp lips against his brow, his cheek, and finally his lips, in a series of swift, intense kisses, as she pulled him closer into her arms. “Spike, I won’t let go -- I’ll never let you go, Sweetheart…I…I love you…” she whispered against his ear, as the room shifted and faded around him, until all it was, was the cool, dark basement of Buffy’s house…

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

“I love you, Spike…I love you so much,” Buffy sobbed against him, trembling arms clutching him to her desperately, as if afraid to let him slip away from her again. “I’m so sorry, so sorry, Sweetheart…”

“Don’t leave me, Buffy…need you, love, so much…” The vampire’s words were muffled against her shoulder, as his hands gripped at the soft fabric of her shirt, clasping her against him with desperation to equal her own. “Please…don’t…”

“Shhh,” she soothed him, not quite sure whether or not he was awake yet, but relieved that he seemed aware of her presence -- and not upset by it. Gently she stroked back a loose lock of damp blond hair, leaning down to look at his face as she added in a tender whisper, “I’m right here…I’m right here, Spike, I’m not going anywhere…”

His eyes blinked several times, a look that was a bit lost and hazy in them as they finally opened fully, locking onto her face with an expression of confusion and uncertainty -- and then alarm, as he glanced down to see that they were on his bed, her seated against the headboard, with him half-lying, half-sitting, resting in her embrace.

Shaken, he drew back away from her, back-pedaling hurriedly across the mattress until his back was against the wall at the side of the bed.

“I-I’m sorry, Buffy,” he stammered out, looking anywhere but at her face. “I -- I shouldn’t have…I mean…I…”

“Spike,” she cut him off gently, shaking her head as she moved across the bed to kneel in front of him, seeking his averted gaze. “You didn’t do anything! What are you sorry for, Spike?”

“I shouldn’t have -- I mean -- this…” He gestured vaguely between the two of them and down at the bed, rolling his wide, troubled eyes before finally meeting her gaze with an apologetic little grimace, “…will only make things harder, love, and I want you to know I didn’t mean to…”

“Harder for who?”

Spike was silent for a moment, taking in the question, before shaking his head slightly and asking, “I’m sorry, what…?” He still seemed a bit dazed from the dream, and his sudden waking.

Buffy’s expression was firm, determined, as she bravely faced him -- suddenly certain that she could not let this opportunity pass -- not without making things clear between them.

“Who’s it harder for, Spike? You or me?” she pressed gently, searching his gaze for the answer. “Does it -- make it harder for you? Being close to me at all?” She paused, a flicker of pain flashing across her face as she asked more softly, “Would you really rather not have me touch you at all -- even like this -- if we can’t have the rest? Because -- because that’s not what you were saying a few minutes ago.”

The last statement made her flinch even as she said it, suddenly certain that she had crossed a line with it.

Spike flinched too -- but then his shoulders fell slightly and he relented with a sigh. “No, Buffy,” he admitted. “I -- I need you. I need to be close to you. Sometimes I think -- I think I’ll never get through this, without…” His voice trailed off, and he looked away, shaking his head and blinking back tears.

Instinctively, Buffy reached out her hand to take his, clasping it firmly as she leaned in closer, tilting her head in an attempt to meet his eyes again. “Then why not accept this, Spike?” she asked him in a near whisper. “I’m not asking for anything more than this -- all I want is to help you through this -- why don’t you just let me?”

As she spoke, her free hand drifted to his waist, and she felt his body trembling slightly under her hand, even as he leaned unconsciously closer to her, his breath speeding up slightly as he closed his eyes and lowered his head toward her shoulder. Her hand at his waist rose to the back of his neck, gently pressing his head down against her shoulder.

“It’s okay, Spike,” she assured him softly. “This is okay. Don’t worry -- I can take it…I can take this…and not take anything more…”

For a moment, she thought he had relented -- until he suddenly pulled away from her, pushing her hands away as he drew back against the wall again.

“*No*!” he stated emphatically, shaking his head. “Buffy, I can’t -- it’s not fair to you…”

“What about what’s fair to you, Spike?” she countered, eyebrows raised in a challenge. “I thought that’s what these rules were all about -- wasn’t it? What’s fair to you, right for *you*, for a change?”

“That’s not all it’s about…” Spike muttered, looking away from her.

“Okay…then, if you’re doing this so it won’t be so hard on *me* -- how do you think it makes me feel, to see you like this…*hear* you like this, night after night?” Buffy’s voice was trembling now with a mixture of anger and pain. “How do you think it makes me feel, to want so bad to help you -- to be there for you, to make up for all the damage I’ve done -- when you won’t even let me touch you? Won’t let me so much as hold your hand, Spike?”

He was silent, swallowing back whatever response he had thought about making, shaking his head slightly in the beginnings of denial.

“You want to be fair to me, Spike?” Buffy asked softly, her voice calmer, but still trembling. “You want to do what’s right by me? Then let me make up for what I’ve done. Let me do what I can to make things better.” Her voice lowered to a bare whisper, as she reached cautiously out for his hand again.

And he let her take it, though it was shaking violently by now.

“Let me be your friend, Spike. How can I ever prove to you that I really love you -- if you won’t *let* me love you?”

The tremor seemed to pass from Spike’s hand -- now clutching hers tightly, desperately -- up through his entire body, and then out again in shaking sobs that he did his best to repress.

“Buffy -- what do you want from me?” he whispered, broken and confused, at a loss as to what was the right thing to do. “I can’t -- I’m not ready for…” He shook his head, knowing that she knew what he meant, as the ability to speak seemed to leave him for the moment.

“No,” she whispered her agreement, shaking her head. “Not yet. Not that, Spike. Just -- just this…”

Cautiously, almost reverently, she leaned forward on her knees on the mattress, her arms gently stealing around him, pulling him away from the wall, and into her embrace. Unresisting, Spike allowed her to pull him with her as she sat back against the headboard again, relaxing with a deep breath, and cradling his trembling body against hers.

“See?” she whispered into his ear, relieved as she felt his shuddering breaths becoming gradually deeper, more even, as his body began to relax against hers. “This isn’t so bad, or confusing, is it? Just me and you, Spike. No -- no complications. Just me -- holding you. Loving you. That’s it. Is -- is this okay?”

He barely nodded, the side of his face resting against her chest, his eyes slipping closed again as his hands rested at her sides -- and sleep slowly began to claim him again with his immense sense of relief.

“See,” she whispered, leaning her own head back against the headboard and settling in a bit more comfortably, closing her eyes and nestling closer to him. “I can’t be in your nightmares -- if I’m right here -- can I?”

But Spike was already asleep again, safe in the arms of love.