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Buffy could taste the sadness in his kiss and she could see it on his face, "Hey, why are you so sad? I mean, I know you're not used to me complementing you, but I do love you," she held up her left hand, admiring the way the silver glinted in the dim light, "And, I'm wearing the jewelry to prove it," she saw the haunted look in his eyes and gasped. Her eyes misted over with the tears he couldn't, or wouldn't shed. Her voice carried the weight of the fear she just realized he felt, and she was shook to her core with it. Buffy needed to comfort him, needed to touch him to help him know that she was his, "Spike," she asked, touching his face with the knuckles of her hand, and feeling her skin vibrate with the tide of emotion that was surging through him, "What did Angel tell you?" her eyes widened, "I've never seen you like this."

He sighed and dropped his chin, not wanting to see what he felt reflected in her eyes, "It's not what he said, Love. It's the secrets he kept," he shook his head and got up from his place on the bed and reached for his robe, which was lying on the bedroom floor, having been discarded from the bed in favor of Buffy's warmth. His fingers shaking slightly as he tied his robe closed, "I never told you what Pavaine did to me, Love. I thought it was all just smoke and mirrors," he padded across the room, stopping to run his hand along the edge of the thick draperies that covered the widow and shielded him from the sun's deadly rays. Buffy held her breath in horror as she watched the muscles of his back tense in determination, and his fingers closed around the fabric. Then she exhaled a prayer of thanks as she watched the fight go out of him again. He kept his back to her, and she had to crawl off of the bed and stand beside him with her hand on his arm and her head on his shoulder before he would continue. To Buffy it seemed almost as if he'd forgotten she was even with him. His voice seemed so small, "But after what Angel told me," the pain she saw in his eyes, even in the half-light of the room, made him look a thousand years old, "I think what he showed me may have been true, Buffy," his tears shown as glistening streaks in the shadows of the room.

"What did he show you, Spike?"

Unneeded breath shuddered through him as he relived his own private Hell, "Pain. Death," he looked at her with frightened eyes, "There were thousands of them Buffy. All of them were in pain. I still shook it off. I knew it was a trick, until I saw you."

"Me?" she whispered.

He nodded, "You were feverish, in pain. But, you didn't move a muscle. You couldn't, the pain was too much for you. And, there was so much blood. So much it just covered you like lace...like some macabre sort of... Oh God," he sobbed, "I wanted to scream. I wanted to tear him apart for showing me that, Buffy. And I did. If I could have, I would have killed him all over again. I knew I couldn't save you," he sobbed, "I couldn't even touch you. But I could save Fred," he whispered, "She died anyway."

Buffy's face hardened into a mask of determination as she held his hands and gently walked backward across the room, bringing Spike slowly along with her, "All right, Spike," she smiled, "A year with Angel was not good for you," her eyes gave a sweeping glance of the room, "I mean, look at you, all darkness and brooding," she reached for his neck pulling him down to kiss her. She had to pull him out of himself or she would lose him, "Now, in case you've forgotten, there is a couple downstairs, and a tiny person, who is waiting for you to make the world safe again."

Spike's voice was filled with apprehension, "Think you might have the wrong vamp there, Love."

"No, I don't," she said tenderly, pulling him along until her back was against the closed door. Still holding his hands lightly in hers, she ran her thumbs over his skin, "Now, close your eyes."

He closed his eyes and sighed, "Buffy..."

"That's good, you're half way there. Stop talking."

"Love, what?" he asked, in confusion. She was beautiful, there was no denying that, but sometimes her flight of thought was hard to keep up with.

She nodded in sympathy, "I know it's hard, especially for you. But, do it anyway, for me. Stop talking."

He nodded, "Haven't we done this before?"

She nodded her head, her eyes glinted with humor, "Yes," she murmured, "we have. But, I think you need it now, 'Grasshopper.' Now, listen close. Stay quiet for a minute, then tell me what you hear."

Spike closed his eyes and listened to the sounds that no one else could hear. He heard the alveoli in her lungs fill and empty as her body delivered the oxygen her body needed. He listened to the muscles of her ribcage expand and contract as the lungs filled and deflated. The rhythms of her blood as it rushed through her became a symphony to him.

Under that was the quiet woodwind concerto of the bloodstreams of their guests. People who put their trust in him, these people did trust him even without knowing anything about him.

But that was wrong. The woman did know who he was. He could sense that Talitha Sands was a Slayer. She knew who he was, what he was and she knew what it was he had done. She knew all of it, and she still trusted him to protect the life that was inside of her.

Spike tried to zero in on the small life force inside of her. The prospect of protecting it was daunting, but he found himself wanting to take it on. In fact, Spike felt he needed to. Given what he had been told, if it was true, the idea of protecting a pure, innocent soul from that Hell was fast becoming his driving force.

He slowly tuned out the faint background noise of the others and focused again on the strong, steady beat of Buffy's heart. It was so strong and steady, so confident in her own skin. So confident in him; Buffy told him that it was his strength that had made her strong when she needed to be. She had said that it was his strength that had held her up even when she didn't know that he was in the world to hold her.

He just hoped that he could keep his footing atop the pedestal she seemed to be holding him to, "I hear you. And, I hear them, too."

"There're alive, right?" she whispered.

Spike blinked. He thought that much was very obvious, "Yeah, Love, very much so."

Buffy wanted to kiss the perplexed look off of his face, "Spike," she said, "They're alive because of you. I'm alive because of you."

Spike shook his head, wanting to say something in protest, but she cut him off, "...It's true. You may not believe it, but it is true," her eyes went down in thought, "Others," she smirked, knowing that the mention of her past would anger him, "who shall remain nameless," her eyes lit up with mirth at the slight rumble she heard sounding in his chest, "have tried. But you," her hand rested on his chest, and he hissed because of the heat he felt, "you are, the one, the only, accept no substitutes, Champion. And that baby," she asked, "She doesn't know who you are, or what you've done. She only knows 'now.' And now, she trusts you."

"She?" Spike asked.

Buffy shrugged, "Call it a hunch. She trusts you to protect her from the boogiemen, big and small. Angel's been put in his place, at least for now. If Angel thinks something else is coming, then we have to make sure that it doesn't touch her. You have to make sure of that. And, I know you can do it."

"I hope you know what you're asking, Love," he heaved a sigh and closed his eyes against the flashes, in his head, of the horrors he had seen when he was at Pavaine's mercy, "If even a speck of what Pavaine showed me comes to pass," he swallowed the stone of sorrow that lodged in his throat. He felt it settle somewhere near his inert heart and tried to will away the wetness that was in danger of seeping out of his eyes at the thought of Buffy experiencing any pain at all, "Love, I don't want to lose you."

Buffy's own voice seemed older, somehow, even to her own ears, "Nor I you," she said, sighing, "That's why we have to do what we can to stop it."





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