“Buffy – Buffy, love – it’s all right. Hey, now…none of that, pet…come on…look at me…”
The softness, the warmth and concern in Spike’s low, soothing voice only made Buffy cry harder. After what she had done to him, how could he still have so much compassion, so much sympathy for her? Why should he even care that she was crying? He should be glad! She deserved to be miserable!
And *why* was she crying, anyway? she wondered with a furious sense of self-disgust. She was not the one who had been hurt; how could she sit here feeling sorry for herself when she had done so much to cause pain to the people who were most important in her life?
It caught her off guard a moment later, when she suddenly realized that she had automatically, without thinking about it, put Spike into that category -- people most important to her.
Her red-rimmed, glistening eyes widened in surprise as she finally raised her head, looking down for a moment before meeting the open, anxious blue eyes that were searching hers already, full of compassion and concern for her well-being.
The powerful feeling of affection and protectiveness that she felt toward the injured blonde vampire was overwhelming, as she stared at him, taking in the flawless features that had become so familiar to her in such a short time – the same features that she had battered so brutally.
She had nearly struck her mother that morning -- had nearly killed her own sister tonight – and yet somehow, the harm she had done to Spike seemed worse in her mind than anything else she had done since the ill-fated claim.
How and when had he come to mean so much to her?
She didn’t even realize that her hand had risen to softly touch his cheek, until she caught his nearly imperceptible flinch – a bare moment before he closed his eyes, turning into her touch, instinctively seeking whatever affection she might offer him.
The guilt she felt in response felt like someone had driven a knife through her stomach.
“Spike,” she whispered, sliding across the bed, nearer to him, her free hand resting on his arm. “I’m so sorry…I’m so sorry I hurt you…you…you mean so much to me, I would never want to…to…”
“ ‘S all right,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, without opening his eyes. His hand rose to rest over hers, still pressed to his cheek, and he gently held it as he turned his face to press a tender kiss to her palm. “It’s all right, Buffy…you didn’t mean to…”
“Spike,” she spoke his name to get his attention, to stop his loyal defense of even the worst of her actions, and her voice came out a bit sharper than she had intended it to be with the strength of her emotion.
When he immediately opened his eyes, meeting hers with a flash of uncertainty that he could not disguise – it only proved the truth of her next words.
“It’s *not* all right,” she insisted in a soft, sad voice. “You shouldn’t have to feel like this…”
“Buffy,” he interrupted her, shaking his head slightly and holding her gaze with a soft, ironic little smile, as his hand gently squeezed hers – and she could see his need for her, the pleasure he took in her affection, before he spoke his next words.
“I *always* want to feel like this.”
She stared at him in utter disbelief for a long moment. When she finally caught her breath again to speak, her voice was a hoarse, painful whisper.
“How can you possibly say that? After what I just did…”
“What you just did,” he interrupted firmly, his smile fading to a serious expression, “was to save my life, pet. You gave me – the – the sweetest gift that you possibly could have. No one has ever done anything like that for me…it’s…it’s bloody amazing…”
“Yeah,” Buffy scoffed bitterly, looking away, her eyes dark with self-directed anger. “Real amazing. Too bad I had to nearly kill you before I was willing to do anything to help you…”
“*Buffy*.” His free hand closed around hers on his leg, and she was quiet waiting for him to go on. “Look at me.”
Reluctantly, she obeyed, apprehension mingled with sorrow in her eyes as they bravely met his.
His wide, sapphire eyes were earnest and sincere, arresting her gaze and not letting go as he spoke clearly and emphatically. “That was *not* *you*, Buffy. It wasn’t. Well – not really…It’s – it’s bloody complicated, love, and I’m going to explain it all to you and your mates in just a few minutes – but you have to believe me when I tell you that this is *not* your fault. All right?”
Buffy stared at him dubiously for a long moment, her heart pounding, her mind racing to comprehend his words. A wild hope began in her heart as she thought about what he was saying. Was it possible that it was true? That all of this was so completely beyond her control that she was not really responsible for it?
The look in his eyes was anxious, expectant, and she knew that he was waiting for a response. So she forced a shaky smile to her lips, looking down at the mattress as she sniffed back her tears, and nodded resolutely in acceptance of his words.
But that acceptance did not reach her heart.
Because just at the moment that she had determined that she had to accept what he was saying, in order to make him feel better – he deserved no less than that – the truth of the matter had occurred to her anew, with undeniable truth. No matter what Spike said to try to soothe her guilt and make her feel better about things, she knew that the truth was – she *was* responsible for it.
If she had never gone along with the whole dominance ritual plan in the first place…
“…if you’re feeling a bit better, love,” Spike was talking, and she realized that she had missed the first part of what he had said, lost in her own thoughts, “we really need to get on out there. We might not have much time before those Council Wankers track us down, and we need to come up with some kind of a plan…”
Buffy nodded, still avoiding his too-perceptive eyes. “Okay,” she agreed with a nod. After taking a moment to steel herself, she raised her eyes to his and asked softly, “Are *you* up to this, Spike?”
He smiled reassuringly. “Told you, love – feeling lots better already. Don’t worry about me,” he told her as she slowly rose from the bed beside him and stepped back to allow him to rise.
“Careful,” Buffy warned with concern in her voice, frowning as she watched him start to get up.
“I’m just fine,” he assured her, bracing his arms against the bed and cautiously attempting to rise. Against his will, he winced slightly at the pain, much less now, but still quite noticeable, that shot through his ribcage at the effort. He tried again, gasping slightly as his body protested his attempts to prove his words.
Finally, he submitted to the truth of the situation with a rueful little grimace as he looked up at her sheepishly. “Just need a little – a little help is all, pet…”
“Yeah. You’re fine,” she echoed flatly, moving to his side and carefully helping him to his feet, with a steadying arm around his chest, under his arms, allowing him to place most of his weight on her as he rose.
The very fact that he allowed her to help him spoke of the considerable pain he was still in.
Once he was on his feet, Buffy looked him over carefully, her pretty features forming a frown of concern. The internal bleeding had stopped, judging by the fact that he was conscious and alert and no longer bleeding from his mouth. And the bruising around his ribcage was not as livid as it had been.
But it was still there.
*God, what did I do?* Buffy thought again with horror and disgust at her own actions.
But she did not have time to think about it now. They had much more important things to think about.
Her mouth formed a straight, grim line as she put a gentle, steadying arm around his waist. “Can you walk?” she asked him, her eyes serious and scrutinous – and he knew that it would be difficult to hide anything from her in this mindset.
“Didn’t kick me in the legs, pet…I can make it,” he assured her with a grin, immediately regretting the weak and ill-timed attempt at a joke, when she flinched and looked away. “Hey,” he said, turning slightly to face her and raising a hand to tilt her head up to look at him. “We talked about this. Not your fault, love.”
His eyes fastened on her damp, trembling lips, and instinctively he moved toward her to kiss her.
She turned abruptly away, without pulling away from him – and suddenly, she was avoiding his gaze again.
“Buffy…”
“Come on,” she cut him off, not unkindly, as she took a purposeful step toward the living room. “Let’s get this done.”
When the Slayer and her vampire stepped into the large, open room where the others were gathered, it was immediately obvious that Joyce had done as Spike had requested, and managed to get the whole group assembled, seated and quiet and ready for the meeting.
Well – relatively quiet.
“All I’m saying is that we can’t trust him! Willow should do a truth spell or something…”
Willow opened her mouth to protest that idea, at the same moment that Giles snapped in irritation, “No! There’s been enough bloody magic done lately! It would only further complicate the situation!”
“That’s not the point!” Joyce broke in angrily, glaring between the two men. “A truth spell is not necessary! Spike is going to tell us the truth, anyway! I won’t have you treating him like he’s a – a criminal or someone that you can just -- *insult* like that!”
“No offense, Joyce – but murderers *are* criminals,” Xander pointed out, her anger obvious in his bitterly sarcastic voice. “And Spike *is* a murderer…”
Joyce’s eyes were blazing with frustrated, defensive fury as she snapped, “Spike may have done a lot of things in his past – but his chip has been down for several days now. Has he hurt *anyone*? No! Because Spike is…”
“Buffy’s mind-slave?” Xander suggested harshly, a cruel, angry smirk on his face. “Because the way I see it, that’s the only thing that’s kept him from it! Spike is…”
“The only one in this room who has the first clue about what is happening to me.”
The Slayer’s hard voice drew all of their attention to the doorway through which Buffy and Spike had just entered the room. They were standing there taking in the little scene, her arm casually wrapped around the vampire’s waist in an unconsciously protective gesture.
No one had noticed their presence until that moment. Xander at least had the grace to look a bit embarrassed when he realized that they had both heard every word he had said. Giles looked a bit offended at Buffy’s blatant dismissal of anything *he* might have had to offer in the knowledge department.
Buffy didn’t care.
She was tired of her friends trying to tell her what was best for her, trying to work out what she should and shouldn’t do, always in her “best interests” – but never to her benefit.
She was the Slayer – and she was ready to start acting like it.
“Okay, listen up,” she said in a sharp tone that was all-business, her challenging gaze sweeping the room, making sure that she had everyone’s attention as she removed her arm from around her mate, focusing on the gravity of the situation. “This is how it’s gonna work.”
“Spike knows something about what’s going on here – why I’ve been doing these things, what’s happening to me. And he’s going to tell us. And none of you are going to insult him or threaten him or put him down or anything like that – or you’ll have one *very* pissed off Slayer to deal with.”
She was silent for a moment, taking in the looks she was getting from her friends and Watcher, reflecting various degrees of incredulous shock and offense. Her mother and sister seemed surprised as well – but in a much better way.
“There’s one thing you guys have to understand,” she went on, her voice a bit softer, but still leaving no room for argument. “Like it or not – whether or not it’s what anyone wanted or planned on – Spike is my mate now. And that means a lot of things, most of which I don’t understand.”
She paused, considering before going on, “But one thing I *do* understand – is that he would *never* do anything to hurt me or my family. One of the perks about this whole mind-melding psychic connection thing we’ve got going on is that I can *know* beyond all doubt that when it comes to me and my family, he only has our best interests at heart.”
She glanced at her mate, who looked a bit uncomfortable, his gaze oddly focused on the floor across the room, standing very still and just listening to her. She was not sure why – maybe the bond between them was strengthening as time went on – but although she was not touching him at all, she knew beyond all doubt that he was terribly nervous and uncertain, about how her friends would react – but mostly about how *she* would take his story.
Her soft, warm hand sliding into his surprised him, and he glanced uncertainly up at her, to see a gentle, reassuring smile on her face as she met his eyes, her gaze focused on him, though her quiet, certain words were directed at her friends.
“And I have *his* best interests at heart…and I trust him. I know he’s going to tell me the truth -- so anyone who has any problem with Spike – needs to take it up with me.”
When her words received only silence as a response, she reluctantly broke the connection with her mate, but still held his hand as she turned slightly and looked up and around the room again expectantly.
“Any questions?”
They were all staring at her, and no one outside her immediate family looked terribly pleased; even Anya seemed a bit uncertain about the whole situation, probably worried about the mood it was going to put Xander in.
But they were all paying attention, and no one voiced any objection.
“Okay.” Buffy breathed out the word on a sigh of relief. For all her tough talk, she had still expected at least a *little* open resistance to her declaration.
Perhaps it was still to come.
Still holding Spike’s hand, she led him with her to a wide spot on the sofa beside her sister, that Dawn had obviously been saving for them, and sat down beside him to face the group, gathered in a rough circle – all eyes focused on them.
“Okay,” she repeated quietly, feeling calmer now. “Go ahead, Spike.”
The vampire took a deep breath, completely unnecessary, and thus betraying his own case of nerves. Suddenly, he wondered very anxiously how Buffy was going to take what he had to say. Maybe he should have told her ahead of time, away from everyone else, and let her break it to them…maybe he was wrong…would she even believe him? What if she didn’t? What if it made her angry?
And just how angry might it make her?
Her arm slipping back around him was a silent reassurance that he desperately needed, as she whispered, “Go on, Sweetheart…it’s all right.”
Her voice was so soft that no one else could make out her words – but Spike heard them clearly, and the sweet endearment warmed his heart…and gave him the strength he needed to proceed. In a slow voice that was quiet, but clear and steady, he began to speak.
“What do you lot know – about – the *origins* of the Slayer?”
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