"Okay -- something is seriously wrong with this picture."

"Yeah. My best friend ran out on me and didn't even say goodbye," Dawn snarked as she walked past Tara into the empty, abandoned crypt that had less than a week ago been Spike's home.

Tara just stood there in the doorway, eyes wide and worried. "No -- he had to leave, Dawnie, he didn't have a choice; a lot more than that is wrong..."

Dawn frowned as she turned back to face her, concern finally showing in her piercing blue eyes. "Tara -- you keep saying that. Spike *had* to go." She paused a moment, moving back toward the door, searching Tara's eyes. "Tara -- is Spike in trouble? He didn't -- didn't do something -- did he?"

Tara let out a harsh, bitter sort of laugh, shaking her head as she looked away from the younger girl, and when she looked back up again, Dawn was almost certain that there were tears sparkling in her eyes as she replied.

"No, Dawnie. He didn't do anything. God, why does everybody always think he's got to be the one at fault?"

"I don't," Dawn cut her off firmly before she could take that line of thought any farther. "I didn't think he would do anything seriously bad -- but -- well, sometimes Spike does things that -- don't make a lot of sense. And they usually end up with Buffy storming off after him saying she's got to slay him for being an idiot." Dawn shrugged. "She never does -- but I'm just saying..."

Tara sighed, relenting, aware that Dawn's question had been spoken in innocence. "I know," she admitted softly. "Like Robo-Buffy -- and chaining her up in his crypt -- but -- this isn't like that, Dawnie. I promise."

Dawn was quiet for a moment, silently considering the fact that Tara seemed to be doing more than guessing at this point; she seemed to know exactly why and where Spike had gone.

"So what is it 'like'?" Dawn pressed softly, moving closer to Tara and studying her expression. "What happened? Why did he have to leave?"

Tara took a deep breath, hesitating. She wasn't sure that it was the thing to do, to reveal to Dawn the depths of darkness to which her sister had fallen -- and yet, she was beginning more and more to fear that Dawn might eventually become a victim of her sister's rage, especially since Buffy seemed less and less interested in her little sister's well-being lately.

"He -- he was in danger. Someone was -- trying to hurt him. He left -- so that they couldn't get to him," she finally answered, hoping that Dawn would accept that partial truth and let it go at that.

Of course -- she didn't.

The younger girl frowned, shaking her head in confusion. "That's not like Spike. Why would he run away? He *never* runs away. He'd fight whoever it was before he'd -- unless they were human!" Her eyes suddenly went wide as she looked back up at Tara, a question in her gaze. "It was a human, wasn't it? Oh, that makes me so mad! He couldn't even fight back with that chip in his head!"

Tara said nothing, as she walked into the room, quietly examining the few items that were left. The refrigerator, the old armchair he used to sit in, were both still there; and she was fairly certain that if she went downstairs, she would find his bed still in place. But everything that he could have possibly fit into his Desoto -- the Desoto he no longer had possession of -- was gone.

"Still," Dawn continued, a troubled sound to her young voice, "it must have been pretty bad, for him to decide to leave town. I mean -- he's not typically a runner. And with Buffy here and all...did they hurt him, Tara?"

Tara nodded without looking at her, replying in a carefully even voice, "Yes. Many times."

Dawn's eyes widened in surprise -- and then narrowed again in anger. "More than once?" she clarified softly, as if she couldn't quite believe it.

Tara nodded again. "Badly," she added in a voice of quiet, restrained anger. "He had no choice but to go, Dawn. They would have killed him."

Dawn was quiet for a moment, taking that in, before she remarked softly, "Well -- I'm glad he got away, but I sure wish I had a chance to get at the person who..."

"I'm not so sure he *did* get away." Tara's voice was barely over a whisper, as she interrupted Dawn's indignant words, her own voice trembling with fear.

"What?" Dawn's eyes widened as she moved toward Tara again. "What do you mean? Why not?"

"He -- he wasn't going to take all this stuff," Tara explained awkwardly. "He was just going to -- to go. There wasn't -- time, for him to come back here and pack." She looked up at the younger girl suddenly, her eyes welling with troubled tears. "So why is it all gone?"

Dawn's swallowed hard, her expression suddenly very serious. "Maybe," she began uncertainly, "maybe he changed his mind?"

Tara shook her head. "No -- no, that's not it. He knew better than to come back here, not after..." She shook her head again, her voice trailing off. "He wouldn't have come back here -- not unless he had to."

"So -- what do you think happened?" Dawn asked, frowning, confused again. "I mean -- to all his stuff? Do you think -- someone tried to make it *look* like he left town?"

Tara nodded slowly. "That's what it looks like."

"But -- who would bother to do that? I mean -- *I* love Spike, but -- he's a vampire living in a crypt in the middle of the cemetery. Who's gonna think that anybody's gonna miss him, you know?"

Tara was silent, her jaw set in silent determination, as she turned slightly away from Dawn, heading back toward the door, and the sunlight beyond.

"Tara!" Dawn called, following swiftly after her, rising realization in her eyes as she caught the taller girl's arm and rushed around in front of her, earnestly seeking her gaze.

"Tara, wait -- this person, he was scared of -- it wasn't -- one of the Scoobies, was it? They're the only ones who'd know that he'd have anyone at all who'd come looking for him. It wasn't, was it? *Was it*?"

Tara did not look up at her, swallowing hard, desperately searching her mind for any way to keep the truth from Dawn without actually outright lying to her -- because by now, she considered the girl too close of a friend to do that.

"Oh, God," Dawn whispered, her tone and expression both stricken now. "It was, wasn't it? Tara, who was it? Tara -- *tell me*!"

Tears were streaming down Tara's face now, though she still stubbornly resisted making eye contact with Dawn. "Dawnie..." she whispered in a voice thick with sorrow, shaking her head sadly. "Dawnie, please...I can't..."

"Why are you protecting them?" Dawn's voice was trembling now, and hard with a defensive anger. "Is it Willow?"

"*No!*" Tara insisted, shocked by the question, startled into meeting Dawn's piercing gaze -- and then suddenly looking away guiltily.

But a moment too late.

Dawn had seen the answer to her question in her friend's sorrowful, sympathetic eyes -- eyes that told her that whatever the answer was, Tara knew that it was going to hurt Dawn far worse than it hurt her.

"No," Dawn whispered, suddenly releasing Tara's arm and taking a step backward, shaking her head in denial. "Tara -- it's not -- she wouldn't..."

"Dawn," Tara said firmly, matching the girl's backward step and catching her arm this time, not letting her retreat further. "You have to calm down and listen to me. I -- I didn't want you to know this -- I didn't want it to hurt you too -- but..." Her voice trailed off, and she found that now she could not quite bring herself to say the words.

"It was Buffy -- wasn't it?" Dawn asked, her voice a bare whisper, but unyielding, forcibly strong in the face of her own hurt. "Buffy hurt Spike. So bad that -- that he was afraid for his life. That he thought he had to leave."

Tara was quiet, swallowing hard, before she answered resolutely, "Yes, Dawnie. Yes she did."

"She -- she's been different. She's not -- she's not *Buffy*, anymore, you know?" Dawn's voice trembled as she whispered the painful words. "She's just not the same -- she -- scares me, sometimes..."

Tara nodded sympathetically, inwardly relieved that she had said something, and determining to see that Dawn was not placed in danger as Spike had been.

Dawn's eyes welled with tears, but she fought them back, a more troublesome thought occurring to her then, as she looked back up at Tara and added fearfully, "And -- and you think she's done something to him now -- don't you? You think he never left town -- because she stopped him -- don't you?"

Tara hesitated, not wanting to say it -- because saying it would make it true, would keep her from being able to believe that Spike had escaped, that he was safe.

But she *had* to say it -- because if she didn't, who would know that he was not?

"Yes, Dawnie," she answered finally, her expression solemn, and full of a determination to find the answers that neither of them had yet. "Yes, I do."

"We have to talk, Spike."

He couldn't help his instinctive flinch at the sound of her voice, though he could not move much to actually get away. Hours had passed since the brutal holy water torture she had inflicted on him, and she had left him bound on the floor all that time. His muscles ached and trembled with fatigue, and trembled harder as he sensed her drawing nearer to him.

When he felt the bonds at his wrists go suddenly slack, he could not hold back the hoarse, broken sobs of relief torn from his throat.

"Shhh," she soothed him softly, running a hand gently down the side of his face. "It's all right..."

Without meaning to he jerked away from her touch, and she seized the back of his head, holding him firmly in place as she rebuked him softly, coldly, with a warning note to her voice, "Careful, Baby...you don't wanna make me mad again, do you?"

"N-no," Spike whispered breathlessly, shaking his head desperately, swallowing back a fresh sob of terror. "No, Buffy, I'm s-sorry, I didn't mean to -- please..."

"It's okay," she whispered back, her hand at the back of his head becoming a caress, before she let him go and moved to the foot of the bed, unfastening his ankles as well.

As his body collapsed onto the thin, hard mattress on the floor, he fell into convulsive shudders of mingled relief and trauma, his body closing in on itself, as his sobs overwhelmed him.

It was the first time since she had brought him here that his arms and legs had been completely free.

Fighting never even occurred to him, in that moment.

"Come here," Buffy said gently, reaching out to take his arm in a firm, steadying grip, and pulling him backward against her as she leaned back against the wall.

His natural instinct was to resist, but he knew better by now, and forced himself to be as compliant as possible, moving with her, and leaning back against her when she urged him to do so, although such close contact with the very body that had so violated and broken him a few hours past made him feel sick with shame and terror.

"It's okay," she whispered, her hand brushing gently across his trembling brow, her arm snaking possessively around his waist. "It's okay, Spike -- it's over now." She paused, before adding just as gently, "You're never going to talk back to me again, are you, Baby?"

Spike shook his head emphatically, a convulsive swallow that was painfully dry filling his throat. "I -- I'm sorry, Buffy," he whispered, his voice breaking over the words. "I'm so s-sorry..."

"I know you are," she said quietly, calmly. "And I forgive you." She was quiet a moment, before adding, "I know things are going to be much better now, Baby. I think -- I think it's about time for you to have that blindfold off -- see where you are. Where you're going to be living, pretty much, from now on. Okay?"

Spike hesitated just a moment, before nodding firmly. "Please," he whispered.

"We'll see," she replied coolly, pushing him slightly forward and climbing to her feet, and he heard her soft footsteps on the stone floor as she moved around to stand in front of where he sat, huddled self-consciously on the floor.

"Get on your knees," she ordered quietly.

Without hesitation, trembling violently, Spike obeyed, his head bowed in submission.

"I want your face to the floor, you disgusting little nothing," she snarled softly, contempt in her voice. "You ought to kiss the ground I walk on, you evil, filthy *thing*!"

Spike flinched at the hatred he heard in her voice, but immediately obeyed, even going so far as to tentatively brush his lips against the cold, rough stone, as he was not really sure whether or not she had meant those words as a command.

But he had no intention of finding out the hard way.

He bit back a startled cry of fear as she was suddenly crouching in front of him, her hard hand yanking his head back painfully, her face inches from his as she whispered in his ear.

"What are you going to do from now on, Spike?"

"W-whatever you tell me to do, Buffy," he whispered back in a trembling, pleading voice.

"What are you going to say from now on?"

"Whatever you tell me to say."

"Are you *ever*..." She shook him hard by the hair as she said those words, "...going to attempt to run away from me again?"

"N-no," he whispered, petrified by the threat in her voice. "Please, Buffy, no...please don't..." Tears streaked his bruised face, falling out from beneath the blindfold that he had worn for so long.

He could hear the smug smile in her voice as Buffy remarked softly, her tone instantly gentle and soothing again, "Yeah -- I think you're ready."

A couple of weeks before, her tone of pleased condescension would have infuriated him.

Now, all he felt was relief to have assuaged her anger.

He kept perfectly still as she removed the blindfold from his eyes, and then kept his eyes closed, uncertain, awaiting her command.

"Man, if you were always this good, I wouldn't have to hurt you so much, Sweetie," Buffy remarked in a voice of subtle menace -- and he gasped, but did not open his eyes, as he felt the heat of her hand hovering over his ravaged groin, but not quite touching him. "Can you be this good all the time, Baby?" she asked him very softly, her tone sly and leading.

"Y-yes," he sobbed in desperation. "Yes, Buffy, please! I'll be good, I'll do what you say, please!" His shaking hands were clenched into fists at his sides, but he did not dare to lift a hand in his own defense, or to pull away as his every tensed muscle longed to do. His last words came out as a tearful, humble whisper. "Please, Buffy, don't...don't h-hurt me again, love, please..."

"You don't make me," Buffy whispered back, her hand at the back of his neck in an intimidating possessive gesture, "and I won't. Now open your eyes."

Spike obediently opened his eyes, blinking a few times as his light-starved eyes adjusted to the dim light of the basement room that was still more light than they had seen at all over the past couple weeks. His eyes widened as he gradually realized where he was -- where he had been all along.

Right there in Buffy's basement.

"I know it's a surprise," she admitted matter-of-factly. "But now that things are -- different -- between us -- until I know for sure that I can really trust you -- I need to know where you are at all times, Spike -- keep an eye on you. So you'll be staying here. I'll find a way to explain it so that the others don't get suspicious."

Spike was silent, wide eyes staring up the staircase, bewildered and a little confused -- and just the slightest bit...hopeful.

Buffy saw it in his eyes -- and could not allow it to remain.

"Now," she said softly, lifting a hand to his cheek to turn his eyes back toward her face, smiling when he flinched, but allowed her to manipulate his movements, looking obediently up at her through eyes wide with fear. "There's still something we need to talk about. It involves this..."

He let out a frightened cry as she reached her hand down between his legs again, but she only touched the magical carved initial in his thigh, rather than his sensitive, damaged manhood.

Her other hand, however, fell in a hard but almost casual slap across his face, as she snarled, "Shut up."

He was instantly silent, terrified, not daring to move or make a sound, as her fingertips lightly traced the mark on his thigh. She smiled when he gasped softly, and she could see the slight reaction of his injured organ, in spite of himself, to her touch on the sensitive mark.

Watching his face carefully for his reaction to her revelation, she slowly brought her wrist around in front of his eyes, revealing a strange mark, like the scar of a deep burn, faintly visible on her own skin.

"Do you know what this means?" she asked him in a soft, even voice.

Spike shook his head, staring at the mark and swallowing hard.

"I didn't think so. Let me explain to you how this works," Buffy went on patiently.

And by the time she had finished, the faint trace of hope that Spike had briefly known, had melted away like a mid-morning fog -- and he knew beyond all doubt that there was no way he could ever escape her.