Spike could not remember the last time he had hurt so badly.

Well - actually he could.

It had been three weeks ago, the last time Buffy had beaten him, so badly that he had barely been able to move on his own, and every part of him had hurt, and he had seriously wondered if death and the certain hell to follow might be easier than the way he felt.

He felt that way now - except - Buffy had not done this.

And his legs were not broken this time - that was a plus.

He had made his way through the tunnels of Sunnydale's sewer system to the butcher's shop that afternoon. There was an alley entrance to the shop, and he could usually move freely between there and his crypt, without running the risk of fatal sunlight exposure.

He had failed to consider the possibility of near-fatal Groglax demon exposure.

The thing had been huge, twice his size and three times as strong as he was. Spike's only advantage had been that he was much faster than the enormous, lumbering beast - until he had taken a wrong turn in the tunnels, and found himself backed into a corner - and without any advantages at all.

The only thing that had saved his life, ironically, was the fact that he was already dead.

After a few extremely damaging blows from the thing's huge, clawed limbs, Spike had taken a blinding swipe from its massive fist that had left him lying unconscious in the filth of the sewer.

When he had awakened - the Groglax was gone.

Remembering what little he knew of the species, he thought that he was actually quite fortunate that the Groglax preferred to eat their prey while it was still alive. The foul beast had probably thought that it had been just a bit overzealous in its attack, accidentally killing the blond man, and rendering him not nearly as appetizing as he would have been alive.

Struggling to his feet, Spike had made his way slowly and painfully the remaining distance to his own crypt. He was swiftly losing blood from a deep gash across his back - which also made it very difficult to move very quickly, without nearly passing out from the pain.

Somehow, he managed to make it home, and through the hidden entrance that led from the tunnels into his own bedroom - where he came face to face with a very concerned, alarmed Tara.

"Oh, my God, Spike!" she gasped when she saw the terrible condition he was in, rising from where she was seated on the edge of his bed and rushing to help him, just before he would have collapsed to the floor. "What happened?"

"Tangled with a Groglax demon in the sewer," he explained in a weak, shaky voice of pain and exhaustion. "Barely escaped with my bloody unlife, too!"

Tara said nothing else as she carefully helped him to his bed, and then left his side to go to the bathroom and gather the first aid supplies -- in a scene that was strikingly reminiscent of the one they had played out a few weeks earlier.

To Tara, the resemblance seemed a bit *too* striking.

Spike was too exhausted and distracted by the pain of his injuries to notice her unusual and almost total silence, as she returned to his side and gently helped him out of his tattered black t-shirt. He was nearly too weak to move, but he did his best to cooperate as she tended to the more minor wounds on his chest and stomach, and then helped him to roll over onto his stomach so that she could deal with the deep gash across his lower back.

By the time she was about half through, Spike began to notice a certain strangeness in her manner, and her vaguely unsettling silence.

"Love," he murmured softly into his pillow, not really feeling the energy to even raise his head at the moment. "You all right?"

"Mm-hmm," she murmured in a slightly false tone that was even more disconcerting.

Spike waited until she had finished with his back, and helped him to roll over into a more comfortable position, before glancing surreptitiously at her face out of the corner of his eye, trying to get some sort of idea of why she was acting so strangely. Her calm, yet slightly detached expression yielded no clue, especially as she seemed intent on not meeting his gaze.

"Tara?" he asked softly after a moment, his uncertainty creeping into his voice. "Is there something...?"

"How long have you been seeing her again, Spike?"

The unexpectedly sharp tone of her voice, and the accusing fire in her soft gray eyes made him flinch slightly, his eyes widening with stunned -- trapped -- surprise.

"I -- what makes you think..."

"Oh, come on, Spike!" Tara objected, her emotions rising in her voice as she stood up from the bed, walking a few steps away from him and stopping with her back turned, her head lowered and shaking slightly. She suddenly whirled around to face him, her eyes anguished and tear-filled. "You already tried the demon fighting story, Spike -- the last time you came home barely able to move! And remember who the 'demon' was that time?"

Some part of Spike knew that he really had no reason to be angry. She had come to the correct conclusion -- he *was* back together with Buffy -- even if the path her logic had taken to get there was not exactly accurate.

Still, his mind seized on the one fact in his favor -- his injuries really *were* from a fight with a demon -- and he felt his temper rising as he rose from the bed with an effort to face her.

"Well excuse me, pet, but it'd do you well to remember I'm more than just the Slayer's little pet victim! I *do* happen to fight demons on a bloody regular basis!" Spike reminded her angrily, stalking toward her until he was right in her face. "And the Slayer might be partial to leaving claw marks, but I don't think she's ever left any as deep as these!"

Tara flinched slightly this time at his painfully frank words, and though her jaw was still set stubbornly, there was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes -- and just the slightest bit of hurt, at his harsh tone.

It was enough to soften it immediately.

Spike sighed wearily, shaking his head before he met her gaze again. "Look, love -- I'm telling you the truth, all right? Buffy didn't do this. I really did get in a fight with a Groglax demon. Honest. All right?"

Tara studied his expression for a long moment, until she saw what it was she was looking for there -- confirmation that his words were true.

If only technically.

She sighed, relenting, moving to the bed and sitting down on the edge with her head in her hands. "I'm sorry, Spike," she said after a moment, looking up at him with regret in her eyes. "I'm really sorry. I just -- I shouldn't have assumed that...I mean...I just -- jumped to conclusions, and I'm really sorry."

Suddenly, Spike's indignation faded away, replaced with an uncomfortable sensation of guilt, at her heartfelt apology for jumping to a conclusion that was actually wholly correct.

"Don't worry about it, love..."

"No -- it wasn't fair of me to just assume that you were back with Buffy, just because you got hurt. I mean -- I've seen you get hurt dozens of times when Buffy -- wasn't even around." Tara's awkward catch did not really disguise what she had meant.

*When Buffy was dead...*

*Can't lose her again, *can't* -- nearly bloody killed me the first time...no matter what...*

Tara continued softly, "And -- even if you were seeing her again -- it's not my business to come in here guns blazing and verbally kick your bum for it, you know?" She winced slightly at her own presumption, as she looked up to meet his eyes apologetically. "I mean -- I can't say I'd be happy -- you're my friend, and I want you to be safe, Spike -- but -- it's not exactly my place to..."

"No, Tara," Spike cut her off quickly, moving to the bed to sit down at her side, taking one of her hands in his in a comforting gesture. "No, love, it's all right -- I -- I appreciate the fact that you care so bloody much..."

He hesitated, looking down at their joined hands and swallowing hard, fighting back that uncomfortable feeling -- that feeling that was trying to drive him to tell her things that he knew he could never tell anyone.

"...that you -- that you care at *all*..." he amended softly, unable to raise his eyes to meet her gaze.

"Spike -- of course I care," Tara said softly, turning toward him with concern in her gentle eyes, as they sought his averted gaze. She frowned when she noticed his obvious discomfort with something about the situation, and reached out a hand to lift his face toward hers. "Spike...what's the matter...?"

Before her hand could make contact, they both heard a sound that in an instant, changed everything.

The crypt door swung open upstairs.

Spike flinched slightly, a gesture that would have appeared to the casual observer to be a reaction to Tara's attempt to touch him.

But it wasn't.

Spike's wide, panicked eyes darted to his clock, noting that it was the time of the evening when Buffy usually came to see him. In the chaos of the evening, the pain and exhaustion of his injuries, Spike had not even considered the fact that Buffy would likely be by to see him, had made no attempt to get Tara to leave before she arrived.

"Hi, honey," the Slayer's playful voice echoed down the ladder into his bedroom. "I'm home."

Buffy had not hit Spike once since her promise not to hurt him anymore -- but Spike was secretly not sure how long that promise would hold, if she found him with Tara here in his bedroom.

His fearful eyes suddenly locked onto those of the blonde -- and he was struck by the confusion, and dawning betrayal, he saw in her wide, disbelieving eyes.

"Tara," he whispered, shaking his head. "Wait..."

She shook her head in denial, rising from the bed. "You lied to me."

Spike's expression was as if she had struck him. "No," he objected in surprise. "No, I..."

"You sat here -- and you lied to me," Tara repeated, backing away from him as if he were a particularly dangerous-looking stranger.

"Tara, I -- I never said..." he began weakly, breaking eye contact as he realized the thin, useless nature of his explanation. In a hurried whisper, he tried another desperate tack, hoping she would understand. "Tara, she's changed! She's promised things would be different, and they *have* been different, and she really loves me, Tara! I'll explain it all to you -- but I'll explain it later, yeah, because right now..."

"Spike?" Buffy called down the ladder from upstairs. "Are you here?"

Spike's eyes darted to the ladder with a wild, panicked look, before he met Tara's gaze again.

Her eyes were suddenly full of understanding, as she glanced back up the ladder, and then looked him in the eye again, her eyes piercing and knowing in a way that made him look away again.

"If you're so sure she's changed," Tara whispered, shaking her head. "If everything's so different -- then why are you still scared to death of what she'll do if she finds me here?"

"I-I'm not," Spike attempted to deny it, though he knew he was not the least bit convincingly. He heard Buffy's footstep on the top rung of the ladder, and whispered breathlessly, "Tara -- Tara, please..."

"I'm gone," she replied in a whisper that was barely above a breath, moving swiftly and silently toward the hidden exit. "Don't worry."

Spike flinched from the anger in her voice, and then followed her to the exit. "Tara...please don't be..."

But she was already gone, disappeared down the tunnel that led through the sewers and across town.

Spike was sick with guilt and worry and fear -- guilt because he knew that whether or not the words he had spoken had technically been true, he *had* lied to her; worry, because he had no idea how she even knew her way through those tunnels, and now had her safety to worry about on top of it all; and fear, because there was still a good chance that Buffy might have overheard their conversation -- and if she *did* lose it tonight -- if Tara *was* right -- he was going to be completely alone in dealing with the consequences.

When he turned back toward the ladder, Buffy was just placing her foot on the floor and turning around to face him, a bright smile on her lips.

"Hey, Baby," she said softly, a slight frown on her lips as she glanced around the room. "Was -- someone just here?"

"No," Spike answered immediately. "Telly."

"Oh." Buffy nodded with a warm smile, moving toward him to put her arms around him and press a tender, intimate kiss to his mouth.

Spike responded automatically, though he knew his lips were trembling, and he could feel a deep tremor within him, though he wasn't sure if she could feel his body shaking under her touch, or not. She drew back, giving him a warm smile -- which slowly faded as she noted his strained, tense manner, and the dark bruise that marred the left side of his face.

"Spike -- what happened, Baby?" she asked with what sounded like genuine concern, raising a hand to gently turn his face, giving her a better view of the dark bruise on his cheek.

"I -- I got in a fight on my way home from the butcher's," he told her, his voice soft and barely controlled, low to disguise its trembling. "It's all right, love...I'm just a bit...sore is all..."

Buffy's expression softened in sympathy, as she stood back, looking him over in protective concern. "Are you okay? How bad are you hurt?" she asked, glancing down at the well-placed bandage on his lower stomach, and then across at the wide one covering the deep gash in his right arm.

"I'm all right," he repeated, forcing a tired smile. "I got it pretty well taken care of already. Nothing a bit of blood won't cure."

Frowning critically, Buffy gently took his arm and turned him around, looking for further injuries -- and finding the large bandage across his lower back. "How bad is this?" she asked softly, barely touching the spot with the flat of her hand.

"Not too bad. It's taken care of now." Spike swallowed hard, fighting back his rising sense of apprehension -- the dark certainty deep within him that somehow, she was going to figure out the secret of his friendship with Tara.

And then -- all hell would break loose.

Finally satisfied with her inspection of his injuries, Buffy turned him back around to face her, and met his eyes again with a warm smile. "I'm glad you're okay, Sweetie," she murmured, leaning in for another, gentler kiss.

Relieved, Spike yielded to the kiss, thinking how very close this whole situation could have come to utter disaster. Buffy's hands glided up and down his sides as she walked him slowly back toward the wall, until his back was against it; and she deepened the kiss, moving her hands to his shoulders, and trailing them slowly down to his wrists.

He was not surprised when she guided his hands behind his back, pinning them there with one of her own -- Buffy always had enjoyed her little bondage games -- but he *was* a bit concerned, aware of the discomfort that such a position might cause him on this particular night, with his back so damaged as it was.

"Buffy," he whispered, his voice thick and his thoughts clouded by their intimate contact. "Wait..."

Before he could get another word out -- everything had changed.

As one of her hands held his behind his back, Buffy's other hand at Spike's hip suddenly slammed him forcefully back -- jamming the doubled fist of his restrained hands directly against the fresh, sensitive wound on his back.

Spike could not even cry out, the pain was so severe, and was left gasping for breath that would not come, as Buffy leaned in close to his ear with a cold, threatening smile.

"Either your coordination's a lot better than I thought it was," she whispered against his skin, "since that bandage on your back seems to be in a pretty awkward spot -- or you lied to me."

Her hand on his hip pressed just slightly harder, eliciting a soft, pleading moan of pain from Spike's lips, as she pulled back to meet his eyes and smirked, though her eyes were full of a deadly, accusing anger.

"And I'm thinking it's option number two," she informed him softly, releasing her hold on his wrists, now that they were pinned firmly between his injured back and the wall, to press her hand gently but firmly over his mouth, stifling the sound of his pain, as she added in a voice of deadly menace,

"And I *hate* being lied to."