Spike was standing beside the bed before he suddenly spun around to face her, fear in his shining blue eyes.

"Please, love," he whispered, shaking his head. "I'm not sure I can -- I mean..."

"Spike," Tara softly but firmly cut him off, edging cautiously closer to him. "I'm not gonna hurt you. You know that. But -- you're hurt bad already. You've got at least a couple broken ribs, I'm pretty sure of that by the way you were moving before -- and you need someone to help you. And -- it's not like you can just take a trip down to the emergency room, you know?"

Spike swallowed hard, nodding reluctantly. "I know."

"Please trust me, Spike," Tara whispered, closing the gap between them and gently taking his hands in hers. "Please."

"It's just," he began again weakly, and she could feel his hands shaking in her gentle grasp. "The whole bloody *magic* thing, love...I don't want to -- I just don't want to be -- under some spell..."

He shook his head, unable to go on -- and when he met her eyes, Tara could see that there was more than the fear of the spell in his gaze. She knew that he had always been a bit hesitant when it came to magic -- and that was wise, as far as she was concerned -- but she also knew that he was every bit as afraid of the idea of lying down on that bed and placing himself at the mercy of *anyone*, even her, as he was of the actual magic she was about to perform.

Perhaps, she thought, frowning pensively as an idea occurred to her -- there was a way to get past both fears.

"What if I don't put you under a spell?" she suggested quietly, gazing levelly into his eyes, willing him to see the honesty of her intentions. "What if -- I put *me* under a spell?"

Spike frowned in confusion, a concerned question in his eyes. "Don't quite follow you, love."

"What if -- I just put a sort of -- truth spell on myself?" Tara explained. "Not to make me spill my deepest secrets or anything like that," she laughed softly at the startled expression on his face. "Just -- something to make my intentions completely open to you?"

Spike was quiet for a moment, considering. "How would it work?" he asked at last.

Encouraged, Tara explained, "It'd kind of just -- make my aura visible...or feel-able might be a better way of putting it. Like -- you're a pretty perceptive person, Spike. You know how you can usually tell if someone's being honest or not?"

Spike's smile was self-deprecating, and just slightly bitter. "Sometimes."

Tara's expression softened with sympathy, as she went on, "The spell will just make all of my -- my motivations, my feelings and intentions, like ten times more obvious to you -- or anyone, for that matter. The spell will be on me, not you -- but there'll be no way that you can doubt my intentions while I'm trying to take care of your injuries -- okay? How does that sound?"

Spike lowered his gaze uncertainly, his eyes welling with tears. "You -- you'd do that for me?" he said, his voice hushed and hesitant.

Tara fought back a seething rage at the manipulative, abusive Slayer who had caused the once-confident vampire to doubt himself and his own worth so completely that he now found it so very difficult to believe that someone might be willing to go to the slightest trouble to help him.

"Of course I would," she replied gently, raising a hand to touch his cheek, tactfully ignoring his slight flinch. "You're my friend, Spike -- and I care about you. I'll do whatever I can to help you, Sweetie."

Spike was quiet for a moment, his eyes downcast, before he finally nodded in acceptance. "All right," he said softly. "Do what you like, love. I -- I trust you."

Tara didn't see any reason to mention the fact that his trust in her was clearly limited -- otherwise there would not have been any reason for her to do the spell to reveal her own intentions at all. With a reassuring smile, she turned and began to go through a drawer in her dresser, taking out a few items she would need for the spell. Turning back to Spike for just a moment, she smiled again, a bit apologetically.

"I need a few minutes alone," she explained, heading toward the bedroom door. "You just -- go ahead and get comfortable, okay? Get -- get your clothes off," she clarified, a bit awkwardly. "And when I come back in -- you won't be scared anymore."

Spike did not seem to be able to speak, just nodding as she walked out the door and closed it discreetly behind her.

As he waited for her to return, Spike tried to bring himself to do as she had requested and take off his clothes -- but he couldn't seem to do it. He tried -- really tried -- to take off his t-shirt over his head; but he quickly found that the injuries to his ribcage would not allow it, not unless he wanted his screams of pain to bring her running back into the room.

And as for the pants -- that was a line he didn't even want to consider crossing at this moment.

Rationally, he knew that he had to do it if she was going to be able to get to his numerous -- and very severe -- injuries; but the thought of revealing himself to her, or anyone, right now, made him feel sick to his stomach.

He knew that Tara would not hurt him --- but still, there was a certain amount of shame associated in his mind with the livid bruises and cuts and burns that marred his body at the moment. He felt his face flush with embarrassment at the very thought of having Tara look at what had been done to him -- having her sharp mind contemplating what sort of sordid events might have led up to the infliction of such injuries.

When Tara came back into the room a few minutes later, he was still fully clothed, sitting awkwardly on the edge of the bed, his hands tightly clasped together in his lap, his eyes downcast, shaking slightly with nervous tension.

He raised his eyes to look at her, his lips parted in the beginnings of an apology -- and the fears that had consumed him began to instantly melt away.

Tara was positively glowing.

And not metaphorically glowing either -- literally, actually *glowing*.

The golden light that surrounded her as she approached him, with an almost regal, gliding step, was filled with a sense of warmth and comfort that immediately overwhelmed him as she reached him -- in a very good way.

He had known that his instinctive fears had been unfounded before -- had known all along that he could trust her -- but now, those fears faded away in an instant, as she sat down on the bed beside him and reached out a hand to lightly rest on his arm.

She gave him a gently reproachful smile, as she remarked softly, "You're still dressed."

Something in the casual, natural tone of her voice let Spike know that she was not aware of the changes in her physical appearance, had no idea of the sweet, soft glow that surrounded her -- or the things that it was making him feel.

Peace.

Safety.

Awe.

He lowered his gaze, almost shyly, as he admitted softly, "I -- I couldn't -- get this bloody shirt off. It -- it hurt too much..."

Tara's eyes softened with compassion, as she suggested gently, "Let me help you. Come on...can you get your arms up?"

As she spoke, her hands moved to rest at his sides, sliding his shirt up to expose his bruised torso. At the soft touch of her hands, Spike felt the warmth that surrounded her begin to seep into his skin, easing the ache of bruised bones and tender flesh, and filling him with a sensation of protection and well-being.

He realized vaguely that what he was feeling was her intentions, her desires -- to keep him safe, to ease his pain -- and he felt his own heart flood with affectionate gratitude toward her. Obediently he tried to raise his arms, and grimaced as he found that he could not get them past his shoulders.

Carefully, Tara's hands slid around to his back, stretching the soft fabric up to bring it over his head first, and then pulling it the rest of the way off of his body -- and she gasped in dismay at the sight of the patchwork of bruises and wounds that covered his chest and back.

For a moment, the soft golden glow that surrounded her was tinged with blood red, swirling and seeping through the gold, tinging it with a sensation of fury and violent anger -- but Spike was unafraid, recognizing as easily as he recognized the anger itself, that it was not directed at him.

"Lie down," Tara instructed softly, visibly swallowing back the anger, and as the red faded out of her aura again, leaving only that welcoming golden light, Spike sensed that it was not really gone, but only pushed to the back for the moment. Tara had decided that it was more important right now to think about what she could do to help heal his injuries.

Spike obeyed, without the slightest trace of fear. She had been right; whatever spell she had performed on herself made it impossible for him to doubt her.

But when he felt her hands move cautiously to his belt buckle, Spike flinched away from her, an unintentional cry escaping his lips as he looked up at her in dread -- and then away from her in shame.

"Did I hurt you?" Tara asked, alarmed. "Spike, what hurts?"

He closed his eyes, shaking his head and turning his head away from her further, as tears seeped out from his closed lids. "Everything," he whispered. "Tara, I'm sorry -- you didn't hurt me -- it's just -- I don't want you to...to see..."

He did not dare to open his eyes, and felt his apprehensions growing as silence was his only response. And then, he felt the warmth, the reassurance, strengthening, as he sensed her gliding nearer to him, leaning down over him so that her face was closer to his. A soft hand brushed his hair back from his face, and he found himself reluctantly looking up at her, in spite of his shame.

Her eyes were shining with sympathetic tears, and she shook her head in gentle correction.

"Spike," she whispered. "It's not your fault. You have nothing to be ashamed of."

He could not respond, closing his eyes again, unable to bear the sympathetic softness in her eyes.

"Look at me."

As much as his shame nearly prevented it, Spike found that he could do nothing else. "Tara," he whispered hoarsely, shaking his head, unable to find words to express what he was feeling.

He didn't need words.

"Spike -- whatever she's done to you," Tara softly told him, her hand soothingly caressing down the side of his face as her soft but arresting gaze locked onto his, "however she's hurt you -- it's not your fault. I'm not going to think any less of you if I see it. It's going to make me mad, yeah -- at *her* -- and it's going to upset me -- but only because I care what happens to you...and you've been violated...and you don't deserve that."

She paused, her voice growing quieter as she added, "I only want to help you, Spike. I'm not going to hurt you, or take advantage of you -- and I'm not going to blame you. I -- I know what it's like to -- to be hurt. And if I can make it better for you -- in any small way -- that's all I want to do. Okay?"

Her words were awkward, and halting, and not at all close to expressing all that she wanted to say.

But he could feel the words she had not been able to find.

As the warmth and unspeakable comfort of her affection and concern began to wash over him, Spike felt his reservations melting away, washed away with his freshly flowing tears.

"Okay," he whispered, nodding, and closing his eyes again, even as he instinctively reached out and gripped one of her hands in a desperate, shaking grasp.

Tara's task would have been easier with the use of both of her hands, but she knew that Spike needed the reassurance, so she did not pull her hand away, awkwardly unbuckling his belt with her free hand, and unzipping the jeans that he wore.

Reluctantly, as if realizing that the next part would be too difficult for her to do one-handed, Spike released her hand, drawing back his arm and laying it across his eyes, his fist clenched tightly, his body shaking with repressed sobs.

"It's all right," Tara reassured him softly, her hands stopping at his hips, hesitating before pulling the jeans down. "Are you -- are you okay? Is this okay, Spike? I won't -- I won't touch you unless..."

"It's okay," he rasped out, swallowing convulsively. "Do -- do what you have to, love, I trust you..."

She paused a moment longer, before nodding with grim certainty.

It had to be done.

She cautiously pulled the denim down off his hips, and Spike did his best to help, raising his hips off the bed with a little wince of pain at the effort. Tara did her best not to show any reaction to the horrific damage that had been inflicted on the vampire's most sensitive areas.

The Slayer had taken savage, shocking liberties with him while he had been bound, gagged, and helpless at her mercy. His groin was a mass of dark purple bruises, and red, raw patches that looked like barely healing burns. His thighs were marked with deep cuts that were scabbed over, but still relatively fresh.

On the inside of his right thigh, the Slayer had clearly carved a jagged, angular "B" into his tender flesh.

It was all Tara could manage not to throw up, with disgust at the cruel damage the supposed heroine had done to her friend.

"I'll kill her," she whispered, and though Spike's eyes were closed, he could feel the blood red fury rising within her aura again. "I'll kill her for this."