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Out of the Frying Pan

"Buffy?" Fred asked, concerned. "Are you all right? You look really pale."

Buffy sat down, eyes wide and grasping for the chair behind her, "I just had a memory," she murmured.

Fred's eyes widened. "A memory? A real one?"

Buffy looked up at her. "As opposed to the fake ones?"

Fred shook her head, "Right, you're right. What was it of? Was it one memory, a big
long memory, a few years worth—what?"

"Pills."

"Excuse me?"

"Pills. I was taking pills. I was in the house—Lindsey's house – and I was upset and
crying. I'd made him upset. I'd made him upset AGAIN. I'd spent too much time at Angel's
and hadn't called to tell him. He told me I was selfish and ungrateful and I didn't love him the way I should. I didn't love him at all, he said. He hit me." Her eyes welled up in tears, the memory strong within her, and the emotions thick. "I was crying because I felt guilty and. . . angry. So angry. . . at him. For doing that. I kept wondering how you could hit someone if you loved them? I knew it was wrong, I knew because my father never did that to my m other so why was I letting it happen? I was on the floor and he took me to the bathroom and sat me on the counter. He took out a bottle of pills, white ones, and told me to take two. He held the glass to my lips and made me take them."

"Then what?"

"That's all I remember. I saw myself taking the pills and then everything else just came
after that," Buffy stared off at the wall, not focusing on anything, not even really thinking
anything, just feeling stuck in rewind over her memory. She hadn't even registered Fred calling
Angel on her phone and telling him he should come as soon as possible.

"Buffy?" Fred called to her after she'd hung up. Buffy stared off still, immobile. "Buffy!"

Buffy's head snapped to Fred, "Yeah?"

"Do you need anything? Water? Do you want to lie down or something?"

"I'm fine, I just. . . I need to call William."

"I just called your brother; he's on his way down. Do you have William's number in
your planner? I'll call him."

Buffy nodded absently, letting herself drift.


"Buffy, baby, are you all right?" Spike asked, concerned, and grabbing her biceps,
gazing at her imploringly. Angel was right next to him, looking worried.

"I-I'm fine. I had a memory," she told them.

"We know honey, that's why we're here. Fred was real worried. She said you haven't
been acting like yourself," Angel told her. "What was the memory about?"

"Lindsey," Buffy answered.

"What was it about? Tell us sweetheart," Spike soothed, smoothing his hands down her
arms to comfort her.

She relayed all she had told Fred about her memory. She trembled as she repeated it. "It
doesn't seem like much at all. . . but it is. Because I feel it in my bones. . . That wasn't it, that
wasn't the only time. I knew there had to be something about our relationship but . . . Why
would I let him do that to me? Why would I let anyone hurt me like that?" She shivered and
Spike wrapped her up in his arms, settling beside her and taking her in his lap.

Angel's eyes welled up and he reached out and stroked her hair. "That bastard hurt
you," he whispered fiercely. "He's going to pay."

"No!" Buffy cried, jumping off of Spike's lap and facing them. "Angel, no. He'll kill you. I can feel his anger toward you. . . I can feel how he hated you. . . You came between us."
She shook her head, "He'll kill you."

"He won't Buffy, he can't do anything to me—he hasn't yet."

"Yet being the operative word. You go after him and he'll do it."

"Buffy, you're scaring me," Spike told her and stood, gathering her in his arms. Stop
talking like that. "

"It's true, I can feel it," she murmured against his chest.

"We're going home," Spike stated.

"Is everything all right? Buffy, are you okay?" Fred asked, coming into the room.

"She's shook up, but she'll be all right. We're taking her home right now," Angel
informed the brunette.

"Of course," Fred nodded, "Take care Buffy."

"I'll see you tonight for our self defense class," Buffy told .

"I don't think so pet," Spike said, looking down at her.

Buffy met his eyes. "I'm going. I need to be prepared."



Spike sat by Buffy as she slept, running his fingers through her hair. Angel had gone
home shortly after Buffy had fallen asleep and Spike sat with her, unwilling to leave her side. The vacant look in her eyes, the tremble in her voice and her ominous words had struck fear in him and set his teeth on edge. It was as if he were looking at her after she'd just been attacked by Lindsey . . . and he knew that was the case. It'd shook her up to remember that. It shook him up too. What had she endured? What else had she gone through and what the fucking hell were those pills? He was willing to bet they were either valium, or, if the bastard was as sick as he thought, then a date rape drug. He had a feeling the bastard wanted a docile, passive Buffy after he'd beaten her. A docile, passive Buffy couldn't stand up for herself, wouldn't leave in the middle of the night.

Tears threatened to spill and his free hand balled the sheet under him in fist as his other hand continued to stroke her hair gently. He needed answers and he needed them fast. What the hell was taking Schreb so long? How was it possible that one man could hide such dastardly deeds for so long? Just hints of illegal actions were not cutting it for him anymore. He needed facts and he needed them soon. He wanted Lindsey McDonald locked up for eternity. He also wanted the chance to beat him to a bloody pulp for ever laying one unworthy finger on his girl.

"Spike?" his angels voice rang out softly through the dusky room.

He slid in next to her wrapping an arm around her as she continued to lay on her belly,
facing him.

"Yeah, baby?" he asked softly.

"Are you all right?"

"Why do you ask?" he furrowed his brow.

She reached out and flicked a finger across his cheek. She held it up. A tear lay on the
pad of her finger. She met his eyes with her own expectantly.

"Didn't realize . . . I was thinking of the look on your face."

"The look on my face?" she asked, turning on her side so that she faced him fully. He
pulled her to him and buried his face in her hair.

"That empty look in your eyes. The one that showed me you weren't quite with us."

"I wasn't," she admitted. "All I kept seeing was him hitting me and me taking it. I saw
myself on the floor wondering how I'd gotten there and being so angry . . . and not being able
to fight back. Even now . . ." she choked back her tears. "I'm so angry."

Spike pulled back and wiped away her tears with the pad of his thumb. He kissed her
sweetly, offering comfort. "Are you scared now Buffy?"

"Yes and no. I fear what he could do because I don't feel it's over. Especially when I
remember the anger that consumed him and just the slightest hint of desperation in his eyes.
Desperation that I'd leave him. He wouldn't just let me go like he seems to have done."

"And me and Angel? Do you think he'd hurt you or us as well."

"I think he'd hurt anyone that got in his way of me."

"Then that's where we're even then, aren't we kitten? Because I'd hurt anyone that got
in my way of you. I'd rip him apart with my bare hands if he ever lay one finger on you again."

Buffy wrapped herself around him, "I love you. I don't know if I told you that today."

"You did, after we made love this morning, but thank you."

"Don't thank me for loving you. It was simply unavoidable."

He smiled and kissed her gently.

"I wish I could have remembered something about you instead of him," Buffy
whispered.

"That'd be nice, wouldn't it?" Spike grinned.

"Spike, promise me you won't go after him."

"Buffy—" How did she always know?

"Promise me. You'll only make him angry," she gazed at him, earnestly.

He sighed heavily. "I promise."

"Thank you."

"What do you want to do Buffy?" he asked her gently, stroking her back.

Without hesitation she answered, "Make him pay."





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