Chapter One:

"Oh god...oh my god..."

The alley was dark and dirty, the pavement caked in mud from the recent rainstorm. A light should have illuminated the back entrance of the club, but the bulb had long since burnt out and been forgotten. Old, empty kegs lined the wall awaiting pick up, a few lay tipped on the ground still rocking lazily—a result of the recent upheaval they had silently witnessed.

"Ooooh..." Her hand shot out and met aluminum, the hollow sound echoing noisily in the empty alleyway. She retracted her arm and placed a moist palm over her face. The asphalt felt cool and unyielding beneath her stiff body. She slowly dragged her hand down her face, not caring—or noticing—that her make-up was already smeared beyond repair.

Her eyes fluttered open and she was greeted with a picture perfect view of the half moon. She blinked and the blurred edges of the silvery celestial body seemed to become sharper. As her senses became more focused, she was made aware of the dull ache that permeated her bones and seemed to spread out through her body to the surface of her skin.

Her tongue flicked out to wet her dry lips. They felt rough and broken to the sensitive appendage and there was no ignoring the overwhelming taste of copper. God.

Shifting her elbows out to her sides, she placed her palms on the gritty surface and carefully pushed her body upwards. Every muscle, every inch of skin protested the movement, but she continued to press on until she was certain she was upright enough not to topple back to the ground the second her hands left the pavement.

With her new position came the awareness that she was actually bare from the waist down. Her short denim skirt was still on her body but it had been pushed up past her hips and her thong was simply missing. Her lower lip trembled as she clumsily tugged at her skirt, trying to regain some semblance of dignity.

Once she was mostly covered, she took a moment to study her surroundings...not that she wasn't completely aware of her location. Everything just looked...different somehow. Was it always this dark...this dirty?

Forcing herself to ignore the discomfort, she lifted herself from the ground, staggering slightly as she attempted to straighten out her body. She braced herself against the brick wall of the club, laying her forehead against the cool, rough surface.

"Gaaaah..." she gagged as she felt a sticky substance making a slow descent down the inside of her thighs. She couldn't hold back and was soon heaving the contents of her stomach onto her little black heels. Her throat burned as the few drinks she had imbibed throughout the evening unpleasantly resurfaced.

Leaning heavily against the sturdy brick building, she blinked back tears as she wiped away the last of the vomit from around her lips. God, she had to get out of here...and there was only one place she wanted to go.

She pushed away from the wall and stumbled out of the alley.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Twenty-twenty-twenty-four hours ago...mmm-mmm...mmm-mmm...mmm..." Spike sang softly to himself as he beat out a tune on his kitchen table with his mechanical pencil. He had been studying for the MCAT for the last five hours and his brain was toast. If he wasn't prepared after the work he'd put in over the last few months, then he'd never be ready.

He glanced at the clock. It was almost midnight. No doubt his friends had been out drinking and cavorting for the last few hours. It was Friday night afterall. He would've been with them if it wasn't for this damn test. This damn test that he was sure to fail if he didn't get some rest soon.

He pushed back his chair from the table and flipped his books closed as he stood. He was making his way through the living room of his small apartment when he heard a faint beeping sound coming from the couch. He tilted his head curiously before approaching the old piece of furniture and rooting around in the cushions for the source of the noise.

"Ah-ha!" He pulled his cellphone out from its hiding place. He checked the screen and realized that his phone was alerting him that he had a missed call. He looked through his caller ID and smiled at the name that popped up. "Drunk calling me again, pet? Naughty, naughty." He chuckled as he continued on to his bedroom with his phone in hand.

Just as he stepped into the hallway, he heard a light knock on his door. He furrowed his brow. That's odd. While it wasn't unusual for the gang to end up at his place after a night of partying, they were all well aware of his test in the morning. No one had left any messages saying they had planned on stopping by, so a midnight visit seemed unlikely.

Frowning, he made his way back through the living room to the front door. For a moment, he thought about ignoring the knock, but he had no peephole and he was a bit curious. He had the strangest feeling...

He disengaged his locks and pulled open the door, half expecting to find some drunk kid wanting his neighbor down the hall. What he did find shocked him.

"Buffy..." It was more a breath on his lips than her name. His eyes blinked rapidly as he tried to process what was right in front of him.

Her clothing was disheveled, her lipstick and mascara more than a little smudged. His heart rate increased at the sight of her busted, bloody lips...and it seemed like almost every inch of her beautiful bronze skin was covered in scrapes and bruises.

"Oh...god...Buffy..." he murmured in shock.

She focused her watery hazel eyes on his equally moist deep blue orbs. "Spike...help me..."

Chapter Two:

He was exhausted. He was drained. Spike's mind was clearly not operating at its highest level. He blamed that on the hours on end he'd spent absorbed in pages of medical terminology when he should have been more concerned about sleep deprivation. That had to be the explanation for why he was being so slow about processing the situation.

He was able to gather his wits enough to usher the poor girl into his apartment and provide her with a glass of water that shook in her hand, but the ability to form actual sentences that would be of any use seemed to elude him at the moment.

As she stumbled across his living room, he had simply stood there quietly blinking the moisture from his eyes. He observed her as she curled her body protectively into her spot on the couch. And it was her spot. She had been the one to convince him to purchase the orange and yellow-striped monstrosity from the Salvation Army the day after he moved out of his uncle's home. For the past four years, hardly an evening had gone by that she couldn't be found taking up residency on the worn, faded cushions.

He sighed and ran a hand over his face, hoping to clear his mind. The only close contact he'd had with her since she entered the apartment had been a slight brush of their fingers as he handed her the glass of water. Though he wasn't exactly sure why yet, he felt his stomach turn when she jumped at the light touch. This did, however, make him feel more confidant in his decision to skip the worried embrace that was his knee-jerk reaction to her appearance. At the time, he had mainly been concerned with aggravating her injuries.

After a few tentative sips, she set the water on the floor. She leaned her head back against the couch and waited. She was afraid if she opened her mouth, she would start crying and never stop. It just hurt so much...in every way. She came here for a reason. Spike would know what to do. So...she waited.

Suddenly realizing that he had stood to one side of the room for much too long, Spike carefully approached the mute girl. She looked so battered and broken. It was almost like he couldn't even see the young woman he knew. This couldn't be his Buffy—but it was.

He seated himself on the coffee table, which placed his body less than a foot from hers. He was relieved when she didn't flinch at his proximity. Taking it one step further, he reached out and took one of her small hands in his.

"Buffy," he croaked. Clearing his throat, he tried again, "Buffy, luv, what...what happened?"

For a few tense moments, he thought she wouldn't answer. Then in a tiny voice that barely registered to his ears, she replied, "I don't know."

He shook his head slowly. "You...you don't know? You don't remember?"

"I do," she whispered.

He almost squeezed her hand out of frustration, but forced himself to gently stroke her with his thumb instead. "Tell me," he pleaded, unsuccessfully trying to meet her eyes.

"He hurt me..."

"Fuck..." Spike muttered. "Who hurt you, kitten?"

"He said...his name was Brian," she looked up and met his eyes, her own cloudy with some indecipherable emotion, "but I don't think it was."

"Sweetheart," Spike began carefully, "did he...how did he hurt you?" The scratches and bruises were horrendous, but they would be a godsend if they were the end of it.

Her eyes flickered down to their joined hands. "You know," she stated quietly but with certainty.

He opened his mouth to object but snapped it shut when he realized that she was right. He did know. Now, what was he going to do with that knowledge? How was he going to fix this, when he'd already failed so miserably at protecting her?

He clenched his jaw and readied himself for battle. "Buffy...I need you to come get in the car with me."

Her eyes flew to his and there was no denying the emotion in them was fear. "Why!" she cried, pulling her hand from his grasp.

Spike took a breath and tried his best to appear more patient than he felt. "Sweetheart, you know you have to..." he trailed off, rethinking his words, "Buffy, it's important that you go to the hospital and get checked out."

She sniffled and tugged at her hair, "I can't, Spike! You know I can't."

He spoke softly and evenly, "Pet, I know you're scared, but you need to get checked out. I'll be there with you. I won't let anything happen to you." I've already allowed enough.

She met his stormy blue eyes. She knew it would do no good, but still she begged, "Please, Spike, can't you take care of me? You always take care of me. Please...."

His lips formed a rueful smile, "Not this time, luv." He desperately wanted to avoid going into the ins and outs of the morning after pill and STD testing. He might be on his way to becoming a doctor...hopefully...but she didn't need to hear all of that.

Buffy drew herself farther into a fetal position. How could he ask her to go there? Her grandparents had gone there after the car accident. Her mother had been there for weeks. Now, they were all gone. And he wanted to sacrifice her to the sterile rooms and lab coats. Didn't he know better?

"I—I just need a shower, Spike...some bandages..." And to close my eyes and never wake up.

As distasteful as it was, Spike snorted, "You need a hell of a lot more than that, pet." He shook his head. "And you're not taking a shower."

"What! Why!" She was alarmed by his proclamation.

God, this was harder than he thought. She wasn't being rational and he was letting himself become much too frustrated with her, but if he stopped pushing now, they'd both end up in a sobbing heap on the couch. He felt like his heart was breaking. Why did doing right by her have to consist of forcing her to do something she was terrified of?

"I promise you, after you get checked out, you can have as many showers as you want." He forced himself to smile. "I'll even buy you your favorite ice cream, and we can watch one of those atrocious romantic comedies you love so much." He thought he saw a slight sparkle in her eye. She seemed like such a child sometimes. That thought made this all seem that much more horrific. "Kitten, I'm not going to give up, so you might as well come get in the car."

She studied his face. His eyes seemed slightly glazed but determined, and his jaw was firmly set. This was Spike...her Spike...and she knew in a battle of wills, he would always come out the winner. He'd always been the strong one. Only a year older than her, but it seemed more like ten in comparison. There was no use in continuing the pretense that she was going to get her way.

"Okay," she whispered.

Spike let out a sigh of relief. It pained him to see her looking so defeated, but he would feel much better when she was in the care of professionals.

He moved from the coffee table and stood beside the couch. He held out his hand. After a moment, she took it and rose from the orange and yellow furniture. She obediently allowed herself to be led to the door. Spike picked a worn, leather jacket off of the hook next to the door and wrapped it around her shoulders. Grabbing his keys off the small table beneath the light switch, he opened the door and pulled her outside.

Soon, they were crossing the small parking lot en route to his old DeSoto. He glanced over at her, but her face revealed nothing. There was no doubt the hospital was going to be a nightmare, but he felt it would be easy compared to dealing with her reaction when it came time for him to suggest getting the police involved—and he definitely would. If he couldn't get the whole story from her, maybe they could.

As she silently waited for him to unlock the car doors, he prayed that she hadn't noticed the single tear streaking his cheek. He had to be strong...for her.

Chapter Three:

Spike's cuticles were bleeding. That's what happens when you chew on your fingernails for forty-five minutes straight. The waiting area of St. John's Hospital ER wasn't the most confidence inspiring place to be at the moment. For the one hundredth time, he glanced around the room. Yep, same crowd as before. There was the older gentleman clutching his arm with a pained expression, there was the large woman with three sniffling kids that had done nothing but complain since they arrived there, there was the middle-aged couple with some indeterminate issue, and there was the young skater punk with the swollen knee. He had been thankful that Buffy was seen as a priority and that resulted in her immediately being taken to an examining room.

God. He let out a tired sigh and rubbed his hand across his face and through his mess of platinum blond curls. He must look like hell. He was exhausted and shell-shocked, and he felt ashamed for even giving his state of mind a second thought. Buffy's the one he should be worried about.

"Hey...Spike?" He glanced up at the kind face of the nurse that had met them at the emergency room doors. Buffy had been in a blind panic when they entered the hospital. Spike knew from the look in her eyes that she was ready to run. Thankfully, this slim brunette nurse came across them and her very presence seemed to calm Buffy quite a bit. She said to call her 'Fred.' Odd name for a bird, but he didn't really have any room to talk. Probably a nick like his anyway. He quietly explained the situation to Fred, and she immediately escorted Buffy to a room. She assured Spike that she would have a female doctor check her out ASAP. Real understanding bird, that one.

He forced a small smile. "Hey, Fred...know anything yet?" Spike had been torn between insisting on being present during the exam and sitting it out in the waiting room. He worried that being in the room with Buffy during something so invasive might cause a strain on their friendship. It was one of those pitfalls of being best friends with the opposite sex.

"Sorry...no. Just wanted to give you this." She held up a little styrofoam cup of coffee. "You look half dead. Thought you could use this."

He gratefully accepted the cup and choked down a few swallows of the vile hospital coffee. "God...that's..."

"Disgusting. I know. It works, though. It's the savior of the night shift." She hesitated for a moment before taking the seat to Spike's right.

Spike glanced at her curiously, "Everything's okay, right? I mean...that's a stupid question..."

She smiled sweetly, "I understand what you mean. Yeah, everything's going about as well as you would expect. She's in there with Dr. Walsh right now. She...froze up a bit, but that's really not that unusual." She noticed Spike flinch at her statement and lightly touched his arm. She waited a moment until his troubled cerulean eyes met her own soft brown eyes. In a reassuring tone, she continued, "It'll be okay, Spike. She's lucky she has you to help her through this. Trust me, I've seen all kinds of scenarios play out in this emergency room. Not all boyfriends are as understanding as you."

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. Somehow, it always shocked him when people thought he and Buffy were a couple. He supposed when a man and woman were as close as they were, people just made assumptions. "I'm not her boyfriend, pet. We're just friends...well, not just friends...she's the closest friend I have." He took a shaky breath. "She's my everything," he murmured more to himself than Fred.

Fred lightly rubbed his forearm, "You must love her very much."

"I do," Spike stated immediately. "I just can't believe anyone would do this to her." He was embarrassed to hear his voice crack and tried clearing his throat to cover it up. "I swear I'll look forever if I have to. I'll find this bastard...I'll find this bastard..." he trailed off and wiped furiously at his eyes to remove the moisture he felt pooling there. "I'm such a bloody ponce," he muttered under his breath.

Fred shook her head, "You're a good friend, Spike." She glanced at the clock above the nurses' station. "I'm gonna go check on her, okay?"

Spike graced her with a watery smile. "Okay...thanks, Fred," he whispered before absently taking another sip of the bitter coffee.

For the next twenty minutes, Spike squirmed in his chair—tapping his foot, chewing his nails, and tugging on his curls. He had managed to finish off the cup of motor oil they called coffee and now he had a rather unhealthy buzz going. He couldn't stop glancing towards the nurses' station, desperately trying to will Fred to reappear.

When she finally did return, he bolted to his feet. He was disturbed to find this previously serene healthcare worker looking rather frazzled.

"Fred," he began urgently, "what is it? Is something wrong? Tell me!" For the millionth time, he ran a shaky hand through his wild blond locks.

"Calm down, Spike." She spoke evenly in direct contrast to the flustered expression on her face. "I need you to come with me." At his wide-eyed look of sheer panic, she continued, "Everything is fine. Okay? Just stay calm for Buffy. She needs you right now."

He nodded, though he really didn't understand what was going on. At Fred's request, he followed her past the nurses' station. He couldn't resist the urge to question her further, but before he had a chance, he was distracted by the shrill sounds of a woman yelling. He stopped abruptly when he realized he recognized the sound. He'd heard it most recently a couple of weeks ago when he'd snuck in the bathroom and flushed the toilet while Buffy was using his shower. Shit. What are they doing to her?

Before he could grab Fred and shake her, demanding that she take him to Buffy immediately, she pulled open a nearby door and the yelling instantly became earsplitting.

"Get the fuck away from me, you fucking bitch!"

Spike stepped into the room and was horrified to see Buffy wearing only a thin hospital gown, cowering in the corner while some strange woman hovered over her with a syringe.

"What the fuck is going on here!" he roared, causing all three women to jump in surprise.

The woman with the syringe recovered first and regarded him with an annoyed expression. "Your girl got a little worked up after the exam. I just want to give her something to calm her down."

Buffy's mouth dropped open, "I got worked up, because you implied that this was my fault!" She sunk farther into the corner, afraid that she was going to get stuck at any moment.

Spike turned towards the woman with a shocked expression, "Is that true?!"

She let out a long-suffering sigh, "I might have speculated a bit on her relationship with the perpetrator." She gave Spike a withering look, "I don't have to explain myself to you. I'm just trying to do my job."

"Dr. Walsh," Fred began in a hard voice that surprised everyone in the room, "you've finished the examination, right? Bloodwork as well?" The doctor answered with a curt nod. "I think we can take care of it from here then."

For a moment, Dr. Walsh looked ready to object, but then she simply lowered the syringe, gathered a few things around the room and walked out the door without another word.

Spike let out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding. He nodded his head at the brunette, "Thanks, Fred."

"No problem. I'm just sorry that happened. Sometimes, Dr. Walsh doesn't think before she speaks." She smiled softly, "She is a good doctor, though. I'm sure she did a very thorough exam, but..." she turned towards Buffy, "I'm really sorry she made you uncomfortable." Glancing between the two blonds, she continued, "Why don't I give you two a moment alone." At Buffy's shaky nod, she backed out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Spike looked over the shivering girl in the corner. If anything, her scratches and bruises looked worse. He expected that, though. What he didn't expect was how tiny she looked to him now. No doubt, she was a small woman, but now...she looked like a stiff breeze would blow her away. He'd have to make sure to feed her when they got back to his apartment. He noticed that she was watching his face intently as he perused her injuries.

"Pet," he began softly, "are you...how are you?"

She wrapped her arms tightly around her body and continued leaning in the corner. "I'm...better now that the bitch is gone."

Spike smiled at that, it was good to hear the anger in her voice. "We'll make sure you don't have to deal with her anymore. Did she give you any prescriptions?"

"She suggested some over the counter pain relievers...and I took a pill to make me not..." she trailed off uncomfortably.

"Get pregnant?" Spike inquired in a neutral voice.

"Uh...yeah...I'm supposed to take the other one in twelve hours." She gestured towards a small box on the examination table.

"We'll make sure you take that then." He glanced around the room until he spotted a set of scrubs lying by the sink. He picked them up and slowly approached the girl in the corner. He held them out to her. "Here, why don't you change. We need to...talk about...something, but you should get dressed first. I'll be right outside." He turned and headed for the door.

"Spike!" Hearing her shout, he immediately flipped around to face her.

"What's wrong?" he asked worriedly.

"Nothing...I just...you can stay, you just need to..." She twirled her finger to indicate that she wanted him to turn around.

"Oh...all right then." He gave her a nod of agreement before turning to face the opposite direction. He could hear fabric rustling behind him for a few moments. At her signal, he moved to face her. If possible, she looked even smaller in the over-sized scrubs. He was surprised to feel tears pricking his eyes. He'd been holding back on and off all night, but he hadn't expected the sight of her in a set of baggy scrubs to be what finally set him off. He blinked rapidly and swallowed, trying to find his voice. "Kitten, we need to talk about contacting the police. I asked the hospital to hold off, because I wanted to talk to you first, but—"

"No, Spike," she interrupted.

"Buffy..." He met her eyes...and didn't like what he saw.

"I'm not doing it, Spike. They'll just make it worse." She shook her head, rapidly wringing her hands all the while.

Spike was exhausted and beyond frustrated, and desperately didn't want to take it out on the girl in front of him. "You have to go to the police, so they can catch this bastard!"

She blinked up at him, holding back tears. "Please, Spike. I can't deal with this right now...maybe later...the hospital keeps the stuff for awhile, right?"

"That stuff is called a rape kit." Hearing that horrible word come out of his mouth for the first time that night startled Spike. He paused for a moment before forcing himself to continue, "You were raped, Buffy." He spoke slowly, more for his benefit than hers. He was finding it increasingly difficult to keep his voice steady. "They'll keep the kit for awhile, yeah, but not forever." He tiredly closed his eyes. "Buffy," he pleaded, "please talk to the police. The sooner you do it, the better chance they have of catching him. Please." He opened his eyes and asked once more, "Please, Buffy, will you report this?"

She studied his weary blue eyes. She knew he was dead on his feet, and she was only making him feel worse with her noncompliance, but she felt certain of her answer.

"No."

Chapter Four:

He was angry and insistent and everything a best friend shouldn't be at that moment. He was exhausted and jittery from the wretched coffee, and what little of his brain that was still functioning kept repeating the same thing over and over again—must destroy the sick bastard that hurt my Buffy. He was determined that his pleas for her to go to the police not turn into desperate begging, and this coupled with his fatigue caused him to seem a bit harsher than he intended.

He trailed after her as she zeroed in on his DeSoto in the emergency room parking lot. Watching her clop along in a pair of too-large borrowed tennis shoes did nothing to lessen his ire. He was angry at the situation. He was angry at the monster who put this night into motion. He was angry at himself for not being there to protect her. The one thing he wasn't angry at was her, but she was there, and he was oh so frustrated.

"Dammit, Buffy, slow down! This isn't a race," he grumbled. She kept the same rapid pace until she arrived at the passenger side of his car. He unlocked her door first and shook his head as she threw it open and jumped in the car like it pained her to be outside. He shuffled around to the driver's side and was soon seated next to her in the stuffy vehicle.

"Buffy," he stated with that tone he always got whenever he thought she was being especially senseless.

"No, Spike," she cut in before he could say anything further. "Just leave it alone. I'm not going to talk to the police tonight."

"Buffy," he repeated, "this is ridiculous, pet. You can't possibly feel comfortable with this bastard running around out there. For all we know, he's out doing this to some other girl. He—"

"Don't say that!" she cried, startling him with her sudden intensity. "I can't, Spike! I just can't! It's too much! Can't you understand that?!" She was breathing heavily as she lapsed into silence following her outburst.

Spike blinked as her chest heaved in the baggy blue top. "Pet," he began tentatively, "it's just..." He trailed off as he noticed one rebel tear liberating itself from her eye and making a slow path down her cheek.

"Spike," she whispered shakily, "I just want to go home." She turned her head away from him to stare blankly out the car window.

If the tear hadn't already done him in, then the hopelessness in her voice would have finished the job. God, what kind of wanker was he, browbeating the poor girl. Good job, mate. It's not like she hasn't already been through hell tonight.

Working his fingers through his much abused curls, he struggled to keep his voice steady, "Okay, pet...I'll...I'll take you home." He was unable to force the resignation from his voice. He heard her mutter something in response, but he couldn't make out the words. "What's that, luv?" he asked softly, frowning at the back of her head.

She glanced over at him before returning her gaze to the window. "I want to go to your apartment. I don't...I don't want to stay at my house."

His frown deepened. While his initial reaction to the whole hospital ordeal was to sweep her away to his apartment and hide her there indefinitely—upon further consideration—he'd changed his stance a bit. He knew she was always extremely comfortable at his place, but he was sure she'd want to sleep in her own bed tonight. And she'd certainly have a lot more room to breathe in the huge house she'd inherited from her mother than in his tiny apartment.

"Kitten..." He waited to see if she'd turn her head to look at him. She didn't. "Sweetheart," he started carefully, "I can stay with you at your house if you want. I won't just leave you there."

She continued to look away from him as she replied, "No...Spike...I just...I can't be in that house right now..."

Spike shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Idiot. You just traumatized her with the hospital. Of course, she doesn't want to go to her dead mother's house. "Buffy, do you need..."

Finally, she turned her head to face him. Even though he had seen them before, he was still unable to stop himself from flinching at her bruised cheeks and ragged lips. "Please," she murmured softly, "let's just go straight to your place."

He nodded his assent, "All right, luv. Let's go home." With that, he put the key in the ignition, and a moment later, they were on their way.

He didn't attempt to engage her in any conversation on the drive to his apartment. Truthfully, he didn't know what to say to her past insisting that she report her...assault to the police. As is, not bringing that subject up again was causing him immense frustration. He was gripping the steering wheel so tightly he thought it might snap apart. He really needed to get a hold of himself if he was going to be of any use to her.

As he angled into his parking lot, he glanced over at the honey-blonde head next to him. She was leaning heavily against the door, and it took him a moment to realize that she had dozed off at some point on the drive over. He pulled the car to a stop in his assigned spot and removed the keys from the ignition. Leaning back in his seat, he closed his eyes. He was half tempted to doze off right alongside her if it meant he didn't have to disturb her peaceful slumber.

He opened his eyes before his brain had a chance to completely shut down. Knowing it wouldn't be right to actually let her sleep in the car all night, he reached out his hand and placed it lightly on her shoulder. Giving her a gentle shake, he softly called her name, "Buffy...kitten...we're here. Time to wake up now." She jerked slightly as her large hazel eyes drifted open.

She rubbed a hand over her face, wincing at the pressure she put on her injuries. "Spike," she murmured sleepily, "what..."

"We're here, luv. Let's get inside before you doze off again. This car doesn't make the best bed. Trust me, I know." He watched her carefully as she appeared to gradually come back into awareness.

"Yeah...okay." She fumbled with the door handle for a moment before finally getting the door open and stumbling out into the parking lot. Spike slowly dragged his exhausted body out after her. The pair silently made their way to his apartment. He flicked on the lights as they stepped into the living room.

He was about to ask her if she needed anything when she suddenly flipped around to face him. She had a smile pasted on her battered face, but it didn't meet her eyes. "Spike...thanks for letting my stay here..." She looked down at the floor almost shyly, "I just feel safer..."

"It's no problem at all," he reassured her. "You know you're always welcome to crash here, luv. Always have been, always will be."

He was surprised when she let out a little giggle, "It's a good thing you're not with Dru anymore. She hated it when I'd sleep over here. I was always sure she was gonna corner me one day and claw my eyes out." She giggled again and lifted her head, surprised that Spike didn't have anything to add to her comment. Normally, he'd immediately make some humorously snide remark about his loony ex-girlfriend.

Her eyes widened at his pink cheeks and guilty expression. "Spike...noooo..."

He rubbed his hand on the back of his neck, "She begged me to take her back...she was crying...I just...I told her we'd make a go of it..." He hated the look of dismay on Buffy's bruised face. This was why he hadn't told her yet. He knew how she'd react.

"Spike! Are you insane?! The psycho bitch cheated on you with half the university! What are you thinking?!" She shook her head incredulously, "I just can't believe it. We've been ragging on the bitch since you dumped her...and you took her back. Jesus, Spike."

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, "Look, luv, can we discuss this at another time? It's late, and we're both exhausted. Wouldn't want to say anything we didn't mean."

"Oh, I'd mean everything I say," she stated harshly.

Opening his tired blue eyes, he looked at her pointedly, "Buffy...there are more important things we need to be worrying about right now. Right, luv?"

He immediately was hit by a wave of guilt as he could visibly see the light disappear from her eyes.

She wrapped her arms around her body and quietly replied, "Yeah...right..."

"Buffy...I'm sorry, luv, I didn't mean..." He glanced around the room helplessly. What the hell was he supposed to say to her? What was he supposed to do?

"Do you have something I could sleep in? I just...I want to shower...now." It bothered him that she couldn't seem to meet his eyes, but he figured he wasn't doing much better.

"Of course, sweetheart. Why don't you go ahead and get in the shower while I find you something to wear." He smiled at her in what he hoped was an encouraging way. At any rate, she turned and headed for the bathroom. A beat later, he moved towards his bedroom.

He heard the shower kick on as he pulled a worn black t-shirt out of his dresser drawer followed by a pair of black silk boxers with ridiculous little hearts all over them. They had been a gift from an old girlfriend. It wasn't like they hadn't been intimate. The ditzy chit was well aware of his propensity for going bare beneath his jeans, yet she shows up with these silly boxers one day. He would think that she was trying to send him some sort of message if it wasn't for the fact that all of her gifts tended to be completely useless to him. Being that the undergarment was also way too small, he figured they would make perfect sleepwear for Buffy.

He left his room and approached the bathroom door. He gave it a brief courtesy knock before turning the knob. The shower was going, so he figured with Buffy safely behind the curtain, he would just set the clothes by the sink. When he pushed the door open, he was shocked by the cloud of steam that billowed out. She had only been in there for a few minutes.

He laid the clothing on the counter and glanced around the room. Through the haze of steam, he could make out the scrubs and tennis shoes laying on the floor. He tentatively moved towards the shower curtain. "Buffy..." He paused, and when there was no response, he called her name again, "Buffy, are you all right in there? Luv?" He felt his heart sink when, at last, he heard a muffled sob. He bit his lip, unsure of how to proceed. "Sweetheart, I'm gonna open the curtain a little...okay?" He didn't expect a response, and he didn't get one. With a shaky hand, he gingerly pulled back the curtain.

As soon as his mind managed to process the sight of the small girl curled up in the bottom of the tub—skin bright red from the near scalding shower spray—he sprung into action. Quickly leaning forward, he turned off the water, drenching himself in the process. He grabbed a towel from the rack and bent over to wrap it around the weeping naked girl. He was surprised when she weakly shoved him away.

"No!" she cried, "Turn it back on! I...please...just turn it back on," she whimpered mournfully.

Tears pricked his eyes at the sound of her pitiful mewling. Looking at this poor, shaking girl—his best friend in the whole world—he'd never felt so helpless in his entire life.

What was he supposed to do?

What was he supposed to do?

Chapter Five:

"Sweetheart..."

Her sobs echoed off the shower walls.

"Buffy, pet...let's get you dried off and in bed, yeah?" Spike stood awkwardly by the tub, still clutching the towel in his hands.

His heart broke as she continued to wail despairingly.

"Buffy, please..." he begged desperately, "you need to rest. You can shower again in the morning, luv." His hands shook as his grip tightened on the soft fabric. "You can shower all day long! Just, please...you need to get up and go to bed. Okay, luv? Okay?

She remained curled up in a ball in the bottom of the tub—shoulders shaking—choking on her tears.

Slowly, Spike dropped to his knees by the tub...and watched her closely. He really wasn't sure how to approach the situation. This wasn't at all like the time she fell off the swing when she was six and scraped her knee or when Billy Ford stood her up for her first date when she was fifteen. A band-aid, a hug, and a few soft words weren't going to make this all right. Not at all. No, this was very different.

Leaning his head against the wall, he gazed sadly at her bare, bruised body. He'd had fantasies about seeing her naked when he was a teenager. He fancied himself in love with her for about six weeks until she started dating that Riley wanker. He was crushed at first, but then Drusilla came along and helped transform him from a lovesick ponce into the confident man he was now. He and Dru dated on and off for years. He really wasn't sure why he agreed to start seeing her again this time around. He'd had plenty of other girls in their off times. He supposed—in a way—he felt he owed her. If it wasn't for her, he'd probably still be pining away over a woman who'd never want him.

His eyes focused on the black and blue fingerprints on the swell of her breast, and he felt his stomach turn. His fantasies never went like this. For a moment, he felt guilty for allowing his eyes to linger on her form, but then he realized that he didn't feel aroused in the least. How could he when almost every inch of her body was covered in angry bruises and abrasions? He wasn't turned on by her naked flesh, but he did feel disgusted. Oh, not by her, she was as beautiful as ever. He just couldn't grasp what kind of monster would force himself on a woman. It was simply beyond his understanding.

She had calmed a bit as he studied her. Her tears had been reduced to a series of shaky breaths and hoarse moans. He supposed she'd managed to cry herself out. It was bound to happen with the way she was carrying on. He wasn't deluding himself that the worst of it was over, but for now, perhaps she could find some peace in slumber. Almost at its own volition, his arm stretched out, and he lightly trailed his fingertips down her cheek.

This time, she didn't protest as he gently wrapped the towel around her body as best he could given her position in the tub. He pulled his own body up from the floor and leaned into the shower. Gingerly wrapping his arms around the small girl, he lifted her from her fiberglass sanctuary. She whimpered softly, and he had no doubt that despite his careful hold, he was still causing her some measure of pain.

"Come on, sweetheart, Spike's gonna tuck you in...gonna keep you safe..." he murmured to the top of her head. Cradling her in his arms, he carried her into his bedroom and lowered her onto the firm mattress. "There we go," he whispered as he pulled away from her body. She was already breathing evenly before he even had a chance to stand upright. It seemed pointless to retrieve the boxers and t-shirt from the bathroom. Now that he had her sleeping soundly in his bed, there was no way he was going to disturb her. He walked over to his closet and pulled a quilt off of the top shelf. She didn't stir as he covered her and tucked the edges in around her body.

He placed a soft kiss on her forehead and whispered in her ear how he was going to protect her and take care of her. Finally, he managed to pull himself away and quietly duck out of the room. He had to sleep himself if he wanted his mind to function on some sort of useful level when she awoke. He removed his shirt, carelessly tossing it on the living room floor, and settled onto the lumpy, old couch. Within seconds, he was snoring softly.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Uuuugh," Spike groaned as he tried to turn his body away from the light pouring through his broken blinds. His stiff body protested the movement, and he resigned himself to being bathed in the miserable brightness. He let his eyes flutter open but immediately found himself squinting to focus. "Fuck this," he muttered under his breath.

He had wondered if he would be so disoriented when he woke that it would take him a moment to recall the events of the previous night. As he drifted into awareness with Buffy's battered face on the forefront of his mind, he realized it was idiotic to think that he could ever forget her pain—even for a moment.

He righted his body and propped his elbows on his knees. Holding his head in his hands, he attempted to gather his thoughts. Somehow, he would get to the bottom of this. He would find a way to persuade her to let him in on what transpired to lead them to the point where she was lying broken in his bed. He both hoped for and feared the possibility of her waking soon.

What time was it anyway? He glanced over to the clock on the kitchen wall. Nine 'o' clock in the morning. He lowered his gaze to the pile of books on the table. His eyes drifted closed. Shaking his head, he reminded himself—there are more important things than a stupid test.

Chapter Six:

"Bloody hell!"

Yet another egg lay broken and oozing inches from his feet. Spike had dropped more eggs on the kitchen floor than he had cracked into the skillet. He just wanted to ensure that Buffy had an adequate breakfast when she finally emerged from his bedroom. Apparently, handling eggs wasn't the smartest thing to do when you were anxious and exhausted. Nevertheless, he went about cracking a few more and scrambling them with a bit of cheese. It was one of the few dishes he could make without risking burning down the apartment.

Spike was feeling extremely apprehensive about how the morning would go. How was he supposed to act? Should he ask her about last night? Should he pretend like nothing is amiss until she brings it up? What if she didn't bring it up? It's not like it's something he could just let go. She needed to go to the police. She needed to talk to someone. He was certainly not a trained professional. The last thing he wanted to do was make things worse for her.

He sighed tiredly as he stirred the yellow mess around in the skillet. When the eggs seemed to be the appropriate texture, he lifted them from the hot burner and placed them elsewhere on the stove. Just in time, it seemed. As he was flipping off the heat, he heard his bedroom door squeak open. God, how am I going to do this? He took a deep breath and readied himself for whatever was about to come.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Buffy would've felt much more confused if she wasn't already accustomed to waking up in Spike's bed. Though, normally, he was lying next to her and she was fully clothed...and not in an impressive amount of pain.

"Ooooh...." She sluggishly pushed herself up on her elbows and let her eyes skim over the room. Spike's bedroom was as messy as ever—books and papers spread about, clothes piled haphazardly on the floor. The man was not known for his organizational skills. He made it work, though. He was always at the head of his class, and Buffy envied his intelligence. Maybe if she had half his smarts, she wouldn't have gotten herself into this situation to begin with. She shook her head, chasing away that thought.

First things first, she needed to find some clothing...and not those horrid blue scrubs. Gripping the towel tightly around her body, she carefully slid out from under the quilt and pushed herself off of the bed.

"Fuck!" she hissed as the motion aggravated her sore body. She tried not to consider the dull ache between her legs. It was just...too much.

She padded over to Spike's dresser, eager to get dressed and seek out some ibuprofen. She was beginning to wish that awful doctor had given her something stronger to take. Over-the-counter pills did little to take her mind off her pain. She imagined something like vicodin would do a much more thorough job. Well, it wasn't like she was going to inquire about medication while that crazy bitch was hovering over her with a loaded syringe.

She pulled a pair of black draw-string sweat pants and a white t-shirt out of the dresser drawer and tugged them on quickly, forcing herself to ignore the discomfort. Just as she was about to close the drawer, her eyes landed on a bright red shirt. She gripped the sides of the dresser as her mind flashed back to the previous night.

The man in the red button down had been eyeing her all evening. He was a handsome fellow—large muscular frame, thick brown hair. She would be lying if she said she wasn't trying to get his attention. She moved closer to Faith, grinding against her body on the dimly lit dance floor. If this man was going to look, she might as well give him a show.

Buffy blinked away the memory. She wouldn't...couldn't think about it right now. She just wanted to pretend this was like any other morning when she'd crashed at her best friend's place. She would walk into the living room and they would exchange a bit of witty banter—then check out the early talk shows and make fun of all the self-help gurus. Just like any other morning.

It was Saturday, so Spike wouldn't have to worry about class. Unlike Spike, who had been working his ass off this semester preparing for graduation and medical school, Buffy had elected to take a bit of time off. She started out a year behind him in school, but really she was more the equivalent of two or three now. She'd been partying her way through the last couple of years of college. How Spike could go out, drink and have a good time, and still complete his assignments was beyond her.

Taking one last deep breath to center herself, she pulled open the bedroom door and stiffly made her way out into the apartment. As she stepped into the hallway, she could hear Spike moving about in the kitchen. The smell of eggs was in the air, and while it would normally make her mouth water, this morning she was feeling a bit green. Still, she continued to trudge towards the kitchen knowing that Spike most likely heard her coming and would worry if she didn't appear soon.

As she stepped into the room, she saw Spike hurriedly dishing eggs onto a plate. From the rigid line of his back, she took it that he was well aware of her presence. Awkwardly, she pulled a chair out from the table, cringing at the screeching sound it made as she dragged it across the cracked linoleum. She sat down and wondered if she should speak up. The silence was unusual between them and starting to get to her a bit. Before she could come up with something nice and neutral to break through the quiet, Spike turned to her with a plate and fork in hand.

"I made eggs, luv. You need to eat. You're getting way too skinny." He shoved aside some of the books piled on the table and placed the plate in front of her.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Thanks, mom, but I'm not really hungry this morning."

He didn't even crack a smile.

"You have to eat, pet! You're going to make yourself sick! I should make toast too!" He quickly turned and headed to the loaf of bread on the kitchen counter.

Buffy stared open-mouthed at his back as he frantically jerked open the bag and popped a couple of pieces of bread in the toaster. She shook her head. So....this wasn't going to be a normal morning after all. Deciding that she didn't want to upset him any further, she picked up her fork and began taking small bites of her eggs.

When Spike turned back towards Buffy, he was relieved to see her eating. He just...wanted to take care of her. Food was the simplest step he could think of at the moment.

While she was distracted by placing tiny morsels of food in her mouth, Spike took a moment to look her over. Her eyes were red and swollen from last night's crying fit. Her body and face looked as beaten as he remembered. He'd hoped he was simply magnifying it in his mind, but now he could see he most certainly was not. Buffy's slim body was drowning in his sweats and t-shirt. Though, where the baggy scrubs had sickened him, seeing her in his clothing warmed his heart in a most peculiar way.

He tentatively took a seat near her at the table. She glanced up at him, and he quickly pasted on a tight smile. She returned it with her own less than convincing grin before shifting her gaze back to her barely touched eggs.

Spike clenched his jaw. Well, this was awkward.

"So, pet, how are—"

They were both startled by the sudden burst of music from some place in the apartment.

Spike gave Buffy an apologetic smile and moved to the living room to turn off his phone. He plucked it from the coffee table and saw that it was Dru on the caller ID. He knew better than to answer it, so instead he turned the phone to silent mode and returned it to its previous location.

"Was that Drusilla?"

He was surprised to see Buffy standing a few feet away from him.

"Are you through eating, pet? There's toast..." He wrinkled his forehead at her worried expression.

"Was that Drusilla, Spike?" she repeated in a tight voice, "You know, Spike....you know you can't tell her."

And there it was. No more pretending last night didn't happen.

"Buffy, luv..." He wasn't sure what to say. Did he plan on telling Dru? She was his girlfriend, and he had known her for years. So...did he plan on telling her about last night's trauma? Yeah...yeah he did.

Buffy tugged nervously on the bottom of the t-shirt. Spike glanced away quickly. He was sure she wasn't aware that her movements were causing her nipples to be visible through the thin white shirt.

"Spike," she began softly, "please don't tell her."

"Buffy..."

"No, Spike!" she yelled hoarsely, twisting the soft fabric in her hands, "I don't care if she's your girlfriend! I don't care if she's your freakin' soulmate! Do not tell her what happened to me. She hates me! She'll find some way to use it against me."

Spike looked towards Buffy again, making sure to focus on her eyes. "You're exaggerating, pet. Dru doesn't hate you...she just gets a little possessive of me sometimes." When Buffy's pleading expression didn't change, he relented, "Fine, I won't tell her unless you say it's okay." He frowned. "I don't like keeping things from her, Buffy."

She nodded, relieved, "I know, Spike, but thank you. I just want to keep this between us for now...okay?"

He gritted his teeth. "I understand not wanting Dru to know...and I even understand if you want to keep it from the gang for now, but Buffy...you need to talk to the police."

She glared at him, "I told you I didn't want to deal with that right now, Spike."

"I know you did, pet, and I told you that the sooner you go to the authorities, the better. Give them a good chance to catch this guy, Buffy." She looked unconvinced, so he continued, "And they could probably set you up with someone to talk to...a therapist, luv. It might help."

Buffy scoffed, "I don't even want to talk to my friends, and you expect me to talk to strangers? I just want to forget about it, Spike."

His eyes followed her as she stiffly moved towards the couch and curled up in her spot.

"Can't we just pretend this never happened?"

He shook his head. This denial was just going to bite her in the ass in the end. Even if by some miracle she was able to push the attack from her mind, she would be reminded of it every time she went in for tests to make sure the asshole hadn't left her with any nasty diseases. It would take, at least, six months before the hospital cleared her on that front. No way in hell would he let her forget her check-ups.

"I'm sorry, pet, but it's just not going to be that easy...look...." he eased down on the couch next to her, "whether it be the police, a therapist, or a doctor...the subject is going to come up. You can't just avoid it forever." She wasn't making eye contact, but he hoped the serious expression on her face meant she was thinking over what he was saying to her. "Sweetheart, you know you can tell me anything...anything at all. I've been keeping your secrets since you ripped your mum's favorite blouse when you were seven and hid it in my closet." That got a small smile out of the girl on his couch. "Talk to me, pet. If you can't tell them, then tell me...and we'll...sort it out." His stomach was flipping at the thought of sitting through the terrible details of her attack—but maybe, just maybe, if he got her talking about it...it would make it a little easier for her to relate her story to others.

He stopped speaking then, and gave her a moment to process what he had said.

After what felt like a lifetime, but in reality was probably only a few minutes, she raised her head. The look she gave him was so deeply heartwrenching that he had to force himself not to look away. He focused on her red-rimmed hazel eyes and held his breath waiting for her answer.

In a small defeated voice, she breathed the words, "Okay, Spike...I'll...I'll tell you everything."

Chapter Seven:

Spike's back stiffened at her proclamation. This was both what he wanted and what he feared more than anything, but now wasn't the time to shy away. He was her best friend, and he knew that she needed to talk to someone. He figured he should be thankful that she would, at least, talk to him. He forced himself to settle back into the couch and set his eyes on the weary blonde who currently resembled a prisoner facing execution.

He cleared his throat, "Come on, luv, it'll be all right. You can tell me anything. I would never judge you, Buffy." He watched as her eyes flickered up to his for just a second before focusing themselves somewhere in the region of her knees. She pulled herself further into the corner of the couch.

There was no sense in pushing her at this point. He knew her well enough to know that she was simply gathering her thoughts before she began speaking. So, he sat quietly trying to center his own thoughts on what he needed to do to make her feel safe and supported. Trouble was, he wasn't even certain of what the smallest step should be. Should he hold her hand? Should he move to the other side of the couch? Should he interject? Should he stay silent? God, he hated constantly fearing that he was going to muck things up.

His attention was jerked away from his muddled thoughts by a soft sigh from the girl beside him. He watched her lips slightly part a few times and knew that her voice would soon be heard.

Buffy truly felt like she was going insane. She had always been so lively and outgoing, but now she was finding it very difficult to express herself. She knew what happened, so why was it so hard to find the right words in the right order to relay her story to Spike? Maybe if she just started talking, it would work itself out.

"Okay," she whispered. So, she managed to get one word out. Would the rest follow? She looked over to Spike and wondered if he was aware of the pained expression on his face. She figured not, because he would likely force himself to appear neutral if he was. He must be pretty fucked up about all of this.

A sudden wave of guilt washed over Buffy. Spike was going through all of this with her, doing everything he could to help her. If he wanted to know what happened...well, he deserved that much.

She swallowed and shifted in her seat. Just pretend you're telling a story, Buffy. That's all it is...a story.

"So...."

She really wasn't doing too good of a job at getting the ball rolling.

"Ummm....so...what...ummm...."

Spike didn't want to push, but Buffy clearly needed a little direction. He didn't think he would be stepping over any invisible lines if he helped her out a bit.

He smiled at her, though he doubted she noticed. "You went to the club last night, yeah?"

She met his eyes, and he knew he'd done the right thing by the grateful expression on her face.

She nodded, "Yeah, yeah...I went to the club...with Faith."

Spike held back a snort. He had always believed that Faith's influence was part of the reason Buffy dropped out of college. That bird's 'devil may care' attitude had gotten the both of them in a spot of trouble more than once.

Buffy wet her lips with her tongue before continuing, "So, we went to the club and we were dancing and...it was...fun." She took a deep breath. "There was this guy there...he kept watching us...watching me. I...I liked it. He was a really goodlooking guy. I just thought it might be fun to flirt with him a bit." She chuckled mirthlessly, "I figured it would be something for me to do while Faith made her rounds propositioning half the club."

Spike was unable to keep himself from rolling his eyes at that statement. Buffy might be a bit of a party girl, but thankfully she didn't have Faith's careless habit of having a different bedmate every night.

"Anyway, when Faith went off on her manhunt, I set up camp at the bar a few stools down from...from the guy. It had to have been less than a minute before he approached me." Spike watched Buffy pluck at a few stray threads off the old couch before she continued. "He stood really close to me...really close, but I kinda liked it. His cologne was a little strong, but he still smelled really good. He asked me to dance. I didn't even pretend to mull it over, I just immediately jumped up and took his arm." Buffy's lip began to tremble, "I guess he must have thought I was just a stupid slut or something. Maybe I am."

"No," Spike spoke more sharply than he intended and was ashamed at how his friend jumped in response. "No," he repeated but as gently as he could to counteract the effect of his first ill-spoken word. "No, Buffy, accepting a dance does not make you a slut. That isn't what you are at all." He carefully took her hand in his, hoping that his outburst hadn't put a premature end to her story. He just couldn't stand for her to think so badly of herself. Didn't she know she was amazing?

"So, you had a dance with him?"

Buffy glanced up at Spike's face for a second before nodding and retraining her eyes on her knees. "We danced a few songs, but I started to feel a little uncomfortable. He was so touchy feely. He was a hot guy, but it's not like I knew him. All I knew by that point was that he smelled like...I don't know...kinda lemony, he said his name was Brian, and he was a pretty good dancer." She shook her head, "At some point, I begged off and went to locate Faith. She was supposed to find some guy to hook up with, and I was supposed to drive her car home. I couldn't find her anywhere. Finally, I got desperate and started asking around. Some girl told me she left with some guy about ten minutes earlier."

"She just left you...without even saying a word?" Spike was livid but forced himself to keep an even tone.

Buffy gave a little shrug, "Yeah, but that's Faith. Not the first time she's run out on me to get laid."

Spike wanted to say a few things on that but restrained himself. It wouldn't do either of them any good to get worked up about Faith right then. He took a breath and waited for her to continue.

"I figured that she'd just taken out with some guy and left me the car. I just...didn't feel comfortable at the club anymore for some reason, so I went out the back door of the club to the alley that Faith had parked in." Buffy gave Spike a quick glance. "She's worse than you about worrying someone will nick her baby. Anyway, I stepped out into the alley, and the damn car was gone!" She shook her head, "I figured someone had finally located Faith's 'secret' hiding place for her keys and took off with it. She can be so careless sometimes. So, I immediately pulled out my cell phone and called her. I figured she would want me to interrupt her...whatever...for that."

At Buffy's pause, Spike took that as a sign that it would be okay for him to speak. "So, I bet she was pretty upset that her baby got swiped?" He was surprised by Buffy's snort and soft chuckle at his statement.

"No! As it turns out, the guy Faith hooked up with didn't have a car. So, they just hopped in hers and took off." Buffy rolled her eyes, "I guess she just didn't think about me or figured I'd get my own ride or something. I don't know...she didn't stay on the line long."

Spike was gritting his teeth so hard, he thought they might crumble to pieces. He'd never been Faith's biggest fan, but right then he could absolutely murder the bitch. He wanted to scream and yell, but with Buffy in the room, that didn't seem wise. He just clenched the fist not on her hand and took a few deep breaths. After a moment, he realized she was looking at him expectantly. What she wanted, he didn't know, but he figured he should say something.

Gently stroking her hand with a level of control he didn't know he had, he gave her a curious look, "Why didn't you call me for a ride, pet? You know I would have fetched you."

Her reply was soft, "I did, Spike. I did call you. There was no answer."

Spike furrowed his brow, "Wha....I don't....oh." The missed call. Dammit, if he'd just heard his stupid phone, then this....then she.....

Spike sighed heavily. He felt a small tug on his hand.

"Spike," Buffy began gently but firmly as she tugged his hand in hopes of pulling him away from the unfortunate place his mind had clearly taken him, " Spike, this wasn't your fault. Don't think that for a second." Taking a breath, she continued, "Maybe we should continue this some other time...or not at all..."

He gave her hand a quick squeeze. "I wish this wasn't necessary, luv, but really the more details you can get out, the better. If you're able to go over it with me...well, I hope that will make it easier for you to go over it with someone that can provide you with more help than I can."

She nodded, "Despite what I've said, Spike, I really do want the police to catch this guy. I don't want him to do this to anyone else, it's just hard..."

"I know, sweetheart, I know it is." He smiled encouragingly, "So, you want to continue?"

After a few deep breaths, she nodded, "Yeah, it will be easier if I just get it all out now." She shifted slightly in her seat. "So, after I tried to call you, I started trying to come up with other people who might be able to pick me up. It just seemed like everyone was out of town or busy last night. I was getting a little cold standing out there without a jacket, so I turned to go back in the club, and that's when—"

The two blondes' heads jerked up at the sudden loud pounding on Spike's front door.

Buffy glanced at Spike. "Are you gonna see who's there?"

Spike opened his mouth to say 'no' when the pounding started up again. He muttered under his breath as he heaved himself from the couch. Glancing back apologetically at Buffy, "Sorry, pet, I'll get rid of them."

He stalked over to the door just as the pounding began yet again. He roughly disengaged his locks and threw open the door....and stared for a moment.

Huh...that wasn't what he expected.

Chapter Eight:

Spike stared dumbfounded at the frazzled brunette standing wide-eyed on the balcony in front of his door. She was bouncing nervously on the balls of her feet and clutching something dark in front of her body.

Spike shook his head, coming back to his senses, "Fred? What are you doing here, pet?"

"I..ummm....here!" She shoved the dark object she was holding into his hands. "Buffy left that in the examining room."

Spike looked down at the object in question. It was the leather jacket he'd lent Buffy the night before. He glanced back up at Fred's nervous form, "Pet, are you okay? You seem a bit...off."

She gave him an apologetic look, "Spike, I don't mean to be rude, but could you please let me inside for a bit. I think your neighbors just propositioned me."

Spike leaned his head out his front door and noted the two greasy punks from a few doors down leering in Fred's direction. "Go back inside, ya wankers!" Spike shouted before backing up and gesturing for Fred to enter his apartment.

She smiled at him as she walked through the door, "Thanks. I just need to calm down for a minute. I'm not used to that much...attention." She turned her head and blinked for a second at the small beat-up blonde squishing herself into one corner of a large couch. "Buffy, hi there." She looked back and forth between Buffy and Spike. "Sooo...do you two live together?"

Spike was the first to answer. "No, pet, this is my apartment. We just thought that she might be more comfortable here last night."

Fred nodded, "Ah, of course."

Spike tilted his head curiously, "You know...actually...I was wondering how you knew where to find me at all."

"Oh...well, this was the address you put on her paperwork."

"Hmm," Spike shrugged. "Guess I was a little out of it last night, but I imagine she'll be staying here for awhile anyway."

Buffy smashed herself farther into the corner of the couch despite her body's emphatic protests. She knew Spike and Fred's conversation was entirely neutral but she didn't like the sense she had of being talked about like she wasn't even there every time they referred to her as she. Just as Buffy was feeling her mood darken even further, she noticed Spike turn towards her.

"Buffy, sweetheart, you are planning on staying for awhile, right?"

She unconsciously bit her lip and jerked at the sudden pain from pressing her teeth against the broken skin. Spike and Fred both flinched uncontrollably at the sight.

"Oooh," Buffy whimpered, tears filling her eyes. In a small voice, she responded to Spike's question. "I...I'd like to...I don't want to be any trouble, but..." She shrugged and looked down, "I don't know..."

Spike furrowed his brow in confusion, "Why would it be any trouble, pet, you stay here all the time. I love your company."

"Yeah, but..." Buffy glanced uncomfortably at Fred before turning back to Spike. "Yeah, but what about Drusilla?"

Fred glanced at the two blonds and decided it was probably time for her to go. "Umm...looks like you two have a few things to work out. I'm going to get going. Buffy, I hope you feel better soon." Fred looked down at her purse and dug around for a moment before pulling out a pen and an old grocery receipt. She jotted something down on the paper and leaned forward to set it on the coffee table in front of the couch. "That's the extension for the nurses' station at the hospital and my home phone number. If you need anything at all, don't hesitate to call." She glanced at Spike, "That goes for you too."

Spike smiled at her gratefully, "Thanks, Fred. We appreciate that." Buffy nodded her agreement.

"Okay, well, it was nice seeing the both of you again," Fred began, clasping her hands together. "Like I said, feel free to call me whenever."

As she moved towards the door, Spike tossed the jacket on his old recliner and followed her. "I'll walk you down, pet. I don't want my neighbors getting any funny ideas about bothering you again."

"I'm sure I'll be..." she trailed off at Spike's determined expression. "Okay...thanks."


He glanced back at Buffy. "I'll be right back, luv, and we'll talk." She just quietly nodded in reply.

Fred and Spike were comfortably silent on the walk down to her car. It wasn't until they reached the vehicle that Fred turned towards him and spoke, "How are you doing...really?"

Spike was surprised by her question. He put his hand on the back of his neck and looked down, not entirely sure how to answer.

She spoke gently, "You know...it's not only the victims that are affected in all of this..."

"I appreciate your help, Fred," Spike cut-in before she could say anymore, "but I really don't think I'm comfortable talking about this right now."

Fred smiled and nodded, "No problem. If you ever do want to talk or you and Buffy need anything at all, just give me a call."

Spike graced her with a small smile of his own. "Thanks, luv."

With one last nod, Fred entered her car and was soon pulling out of the lot. Spike sighed deeply before turning and beginning his trek back to the apartment.

When he reached his door, he paused. He really didn't want to discuss Dru with Buffy right then, not when she was feeling so fragile. He sighed, knowing he had no choice but to face the inevitable. Squaring his shoulders, he opened the door and stepped into the small apartment.

"Buffy, I want you to understand..." His voice tapered off as he regarded the sleeping girl curled up in the corner of his couch. His lips formed a wry smile as he quietly approached her. He plucked a soft flannel throw blanket off the back of the couch and carefully covered his sleeping friend.

Leaning forward, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and kissed her forehead.

"Sleep well, sweetheart."

Chapter Nine:

When Spike left Buffy to lay down for his own mid-morning nap, he never expected this.

As he lay in bed, his head propped up on an over-stuffed pillow, he watched intently as the petite blonde slid slowly under the sheet next to him. As he felt her warm body press against his, he became intensely aware of his complete state of undress. It seemed quite odd really, he was sure he had opted to wear a pair of well-worn sweatpants to bed on the chance that he had to quickly come to the aid of the bruised girl on his couch. But now, as he felt his friend's hand coast across his pelvis, it was clear he had no covering but the thin sheet draped low on his body.

"B-buffy, luv..." he stuttered, willing himself to become more awake, "what are you doing? Are you all right?"

The blonde girl simply cocked her head at him as her lips spread into a sly grin. He squinted his eyes in the dim room. Funny how her skin didn't look as marred when she was only bathed in what small amount of light shone in the room between the cracks in the blinds.

Spike struggled to lean up on his elbows as her hand trailed up his chest until it was finally pressing softly against his cheek, lightly coaxing his head to fully face her. His brow furrowed in confusion at her almost predatory expression.

"I want you," she whispered so quietly that it was almost like a breath rather than actual words.

Spike's eyes widened, "What?! Buffy....what's going on? What are you—"

His words were swallowed by Buffy's lips crashing on his own. He attempted to pull his face back, but she kept guiding his mouth back to hers. Against his will, his eyes fluttered shut. He knew it shouldn't feel so good...but damn, he never expected her lips to taste so sweet. Finally, he gave in and allowed himself to kiss his friend back with the same fervor she had initiated the encounter with.

As Spike's lips slid more frantically over Buffy's, he moved to gently push her body down onto the firm mattress. So lost in the sensation of her skin against his and the breathy moans she emitted as his tongue tangled with her own, he didn't even think to question why she was no longer flinching in pain from her bruised and battered form.

"Oh..Buffy..." he breathed into her mouth as he pressed his body down on hers, feeling her soft breasts rub against the hard planes of his chest. He felt warm all over and let the sensation carry him as he moved his hand to run his fingers through her golden hair. As their bodies moved together, Spike suddenly became aware of a familiar coppery taste on his lips. He furrowed his brow and pulled back slightly from the girl, ignoring her attempts to lead his mouth back to her own.

As her face became clearer to him in the dim room, his heart sped up. He could now see that her lips, only inches from his own, were freshly broken and bleeding so severely that it ran in rivulets down her chin. It seemed impossible for so much of the sticky red liquid to be produced, but there it was in front of him...and on his own lips...and in his mouth. He stared down at her in shock and was startled when he felt her hand on the back of his head guiding his lips back to her own. He struggled to keep his head pulled back, but it seemed as if she suddenly had the strength of ten men.

As his lips reached hers, he shouted into her mouth, "Buffy! No!" It did little good as she smashed her lips against his and his taste buds were once against flooded with the sweet flavor of blood....

Spike's eyes flew open as he quickly pushed himself upright in his bed, panting into the empty room. His eyes darted quickly around the space, but he could see that he was alone. He flopped back down on the mattress and threw one shaking arm over his face. Fuck, mate, what kind of sick bastard has dreams like that after his best friend has been raped?

Spike was keenly aware of the thin sheen of perspiration now coating his trembling body. As he struggled to get his breathing under control, he ran one tired hand down his face focusing his eyes on the ceiling. What kind of sick bastard....

Shaking his head, he stiffly maneuvered his body out of bed. He grabbed a fresh pair of sweatpants from his chest of drawers and headed out into the hallway intent on showering away some of the filth he felt permeating his body, though he knew feeling completely clean was unlikely at that moment. He paused just outside of the bathroom. Heaving a pained sigh, he tossed his sweatpants onto the floor and turned towards the living room to check on the subject of his disturbing dream.

As he rounded the corner, he saw her there, still curled up on the couch wrapped in the soft blanket. Clearly, she was finding little peace in slumber as her body twitched restlessly and her rough lips formed a deep frown. Spike leaned against the wall, suddenly feeling wearier than he had in years...than he ever had really.

Satisfied that Buffy was safe and sound for the moment, he turned away and headed into the small bathroom. He couldn't bring himself to look at his reflection as he stripped the damp cotton pants from his body. He really wasn't sure what he would see if he did. Sighing for what felt like the millionth time in the last twelve hours, he turned on the shower spray and stepped into the tub before the water had even reached lukewarm. A cold shower would serve him right after the confusing visuals his subconscious had delivered him. He tilted his body against the cool shower wall and allowed his eyes to drift shut. He barely felt the water hitting his skin as his heart rate began to slow.

"Spike..."

Chapter Ten:

“Spike, man…you in there…” There was a light rapping on the bathroom wall that became more of a sharp knocking after a moment.

Spike furrowed his brow and shook his head, a bit disoriented at being roused just as he’d been feeling the first tugs of slumber overcome his weary mind and body. Granted, it was probably for the best considering he was standing on a wet and potentially slippery shower floor. He blinked a couple of times trying to determine what had pulled him back to awareness. He heard a throat clear nearby.

“Spike…I think we should talk. I’m giving you a few seconds to respond before I give Willow a ring and call a powwow in the middle of your living room.” The voice continued, “You see, you might have noticed there’s something a bit off in there…ya know, something that seems a bit different than normal. I’ll give you a hint, it’s black and blue and starts with ‘B’ and ends with ‘uffy.’

Spike blinked a couple of times before his eyes opened wide. Throwing open the shower curtain and narrowly keeping himself from slipping and falling on his face, he yelled, “No!” then a bit softer, “No…no, don’t call anyone.”

The man across from him raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Fine…for now…just…just put on a towel or something and we can talk.” Xander blindly felt around for a towel on the rack, as he covered his eyes so as not to have any more of an up close and personal view of his friend’s nakedness than he had already been privy to. Once he felt one in his grip, he tossed it in Spike’s direction. “I’ll be in the kitchen. Just meet me in there and tell me who I need to kill.”

A few minutes later, more appropriately dressed in ripped jeans and a Sex Pistols t-shirt, Spike joined his anxious friend in the kitchen. Seeing that Xander was leaning against a counter tapping away with nervous fingers, he opted to stay standing as well and leaned against an adjacent counter.

Xander wasted no time in getting to the point. “What the hell is going on?! One of our best friends is passed out on your couch looking like she’s been hit by a semi. I know she crashes here occasionally, but she doesn’t usually look like a thoroughly pummeled piñata!”

Spike popped his neck and rubbed a hand tiredly over his face. “We’ve had a bit of a stressful 24 hours...mostly her, of course. Look, Xan, I want to tell you what’s going on…I just don’t think it’s my place.” He sighed deeply, “What’s important is that she’s safe now. She’ll talk to the gang when and if she feels up to it.” He met his friend’s eyes, “Look, I’d be really grateful if you wouldn’t say anything to anyone. I think it would overwhelm her right now…”

Xander gave him an incredulous look and scoffed, “Yeah, but Willow—”

“Willow is a wonderful girl and loves Buffy dearly, but once Willow hears about this, you know she won’t be able to resist informing the rest of the crew. She means well, but…really you don’t even know what’s going on. Please, just keep this to yourself. I’ll have to tell Buffy that you saw her. Wouldn’t feel comfortable keeping that from her. But let’s give her a chance to decide what to do with that information.” Spike cocked his head imploringly at his fidgeting friend.

Xander stared at the floor shaking his head, “Doesn’t take a genius to figure out that someone did that to her. You’re lucky I know you well enough to know that you’re not responsible…” he tilted his head up with a look of intensity on his face “….so who is?”

“Look…I don’t have all the answers yet myself, mate. And I’m sure you know I’d be the first to bring out the battle axe if I did.” Spike pushed away from the counter. “I think you should go before she wakes. I’m hoping she’ll feel a bit more forthcoming after she’s gotten some more rest even if the quality is rubbish, but having additional company in the apartment probably isn’t going to help that along. Don’t need her shutting down anymore than she already has.”

Xander clenched his fists. “She should go to the hospital, Spike! She’s wrecked and who the hell knows what else happ—”

“She’s already been, Xander,” Spike snapped without thinking, “I’m not a bloody idiot. She’s been to the hospital, and…” he breathed out, “and we’re working on the rest.”

“God…” Xander just continued shaking his head trying to process the situation. “I’ll go…I’ll go, but you have to keep me informed of what’s going on…and I’m not going to keep this from the rest of the gang forever. They love her. They have a right to know she’s hurt.”

“Fine, I can’t argue with that, mate.” Spike bit his lip in thought, “Just make sure you keep it from Faith for as long as possible…I want to be the one to talk to her about it.”

The brunet looked confused, “Why…Faith?”

Spike gave him a pointed look and spoke evenly, “Just take my word for it. I want to be the one to chat with that bird regarding Buffy.”

“Okay, man,” Xander responded with a sigh, “I’m out for now. Just call—”

“Hey,” Spike interrupted, raising an eyebrow, “What are you doing here in the first place?”

“Don’t you remember, man? You, Oz, and I were supposed to celebrate the completion of your test with a few beers down at The Bronze.” A sudden look of understanding passed over Xander’s face. “Your test. You missed your test.”

Spike shrugged, “More important things, mate…”

Xander nodded and gave his friend a pat on the shoulder, “Just keep me informed.”

As he listened to the sound of his friend quietly letting himself out of the apartment, Spike sighed and closed his eyes, resting his lean frame against the counter once again.

He snorted softly. And this is why you don’t let your mates have keys to your place.