Spike felt the wild, irrational sense of hope that had risen within him at the sight of Tara standing in the doorway fade away in an instant at the anger blazing in her eyes. His heart sank at the thought that she would not be willing to help him now, not after he had so stupidly gone back to the crypt, against her advice, under the guise of getting his coat.

Maybe it had been more than that, really. Maybe a part of him had almost *hoped* to run into Buffy. No matter what she had done to him at that point, it had seemed that he had still been anxious and unsettled by the thought of not having her in his life at all. At this point, he really wasn't sure anymore what his exact motivation had been for going back to the crypt.

In fact, he was finding it more and more difficult to remember much of anything beyond the last two horrific weeks.

*Bloody stupid anyway,* he reminded himself, swallowing hard as he looked nervously away from the blonde witch's accusing eyes. *Not like she could do anything if she did know -- only get herself hurt -- best if she doesn't figure it out...*

"Spike." Her voice was soft, even, as she stepped toward him casually, not giving away to anyone around them that they had anything beyond the most casual acquaintance. "It's been a while -- where've you been hiding?"

He tried his best to maintain a normal tone of voice, but could not quite meet her eyes, as he shrugged nervously and replied, "Haven't been hiding, love. Just -- ran into a bit of trouble 's all. Been...recovering..."

As he spoke, he was painfully aware of Buffy's subtle glances in his direction from across the room, and then of her casual footsteps moving toward him, stopping only when she had reached his side to give Tara a smile that was cold as ice, filled with false friendship.

"...but the Slayer here bailed me out of it," he finished, glancing at Buffy as she reached him, with a smile that was perhaps just a touch *too* grateful. "Saved my bloody unlife, she did."

"Wow!" Dawn exclaimed, wide-eyed as she looked between her sister and her friend, her relief and pleased surprise at hearing those words obvious in her hopeful expression.

"That's awesome!" Still, despite Dawn's obvious pleasure at hearing Spike's words, she could not help the obligatory huff in her sister's direction, as she told Buffy pointedly,

"About time you did something to help him, after all Spike's done for *us*!" Turning her attention back to the vampire, she asked with avid interest, "What happened?"

It was pitifully obvious to Tara how desperately the girl did *not* want to believe the conclusions they had reached about Buffy only hours earlier.

Could she really blame her? She didn't want to believe it herself.

But -- something about this whole situation was just...not right.

Buffy rolled her eyes with an embarrassed smile, shaking her head as she pointed out, "Well, it's not like I could have done anything else. You *have* helped us a lot over the years, Spike -- and you can't defend yourself. I couldn't just let them -- well -- I'd really rather only tell the story one time, so let's just wait until everybody's here." As she looked up at Tara, her eyes narrowed slightly as she added, "Good to see you, Tara."

"Uh-huh," Tara muttered, holding the Slayer's gaze until she turned away, moving toward the door to greet Xander and Anya, who had just walked in. As soon as Buffy was out of earshot, Tara turned her attention back to Spike with a sort of grudging concern.

"Couldn't let who do what?" she asked quietly, her soft, gray eyes serious. "What happened, Spike? I thought you were going to..."

"I -- I think we'd best just let the Slayer tell it," Spike cut her off abruptly, still not quite meeting her piercing gaze. "She'll tell it better, after all..."

"I think I'd rather hear it from you." Tara's voice was cool, firm, and unyielding, as she took another step toward him, relentlessly seeking his desperately averted gaze.

"Tara," Spike's voice was barely over a pleading whisper, unintentionally revealing just a fraction of the pain he was trying so hard to conceal, "don't..." As he spoke he took a nervous step backward, glancing anxiously up toward Buffy, whose back was to them at the moment.

Tara's eyes followed his glance, narrowing with realization as she pressed forward another step, speaking in a soft, intent voice. "What's that about, Spike? You're still afraid of her, aren't you? Did she -- make you stay somehow? Why didn't you...?"

"Stop," he whispered in a terse, trembling voice, taking another step away from her, adding in a voice of forced calm, as he finally forced himself to meet her eyes. "I'd -- really rather not -- talk to you right now, Tara. Would you bloody well just leave me alone?" There was a faint note of desperation in his pleading whisper.

She did not flinch, a quick blink the only physical betrayal of how stung she was by his words. She was silent for a moment, searching his gaze, as she asked in a voice barely over a whisper, "Is that really what you want, Spike?"

*No, no, please don't give up on me -- please don't believe me!* his heart cried out silently.

"Yes." His voice was firm, certain, though his eyes were not.

Tara stared at him a moment longer, glancing toward Buffy with obvious frustration to see her turning back toward them, before meeting his eyes briefly again to reply shortly, "Fine. Whatever you want."

Without a backward glance, she moved away from the table where the assembled Scoobies seemed to be congregating, moving toward the bookshelves several yards away and pretending to browse. She knew that it would not do to call too much attention to herself at the moment, or to allow Buffy to see any greater connection between her and Spike than she already knew existed.

Unaware of her thoughts and intentions, Spike felt more alone in that moment than he had felt during the entire time he had spent as a prisoner in Buffy's basement -- and that was saying quite a lot.

A slight tingling in the mark on his thigh drew his attention, and he felt a sick feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach as he immediately scanned the room for Buffy, locating her seated at the round table already. She was smiling a coldly expectant smile, one eyebrow raised in his direction, as she gave the seat beside hers a discreet pat.

Spike obediently made his way across the room to her side, sitting down beside her, his eyes downcast.

"A little distracted, are we?" she asked him in a whisper so soft that only he could have heard it -- not that anyone else was listening for it. The others were all chatting amongst themselves as they took their places at the table, and none of them seemed to be paying much notice to Spike, or to the Slayer for that matter, at the moment.

Spike didn't trust himself to speak, his throat suddenly dry with fear at the subtle implication of her words. He knew that she had seen him talking to Tara, and could only hope that she was satisfied with his performance thus far, and had not heard the slight slip-ups he knew he had already made. He shook his head slightly, not daring to look up at her, for fear of what he might see in her eyes.

"That's good," she whispered back, though her tone made it clear that she was not thoroughly convinced -- as did the sudden jolt of pain he felt in her mark on his thigh, as out of the corner of his eye he saw her pressing the mark on her own wrist, in a gesture that would have appeared to anyone else to be no more than impatient fidgeting. "Let's keep it that way."

Spike carefully kept his expression calm, neutral, not betraying the pain she had just caused him to the notice of anyone else in the room, as the hum of conversation gradually fell away, and Buffy cleared her throat in a subtle request for the attention of the group.

Almost automatically he lowered his gaze, ironically grateful that the cover story Buffy had come up with allowed for his manner to be as uncertain and apprehensive as he actually felt at the moment.

"Okay, um -- here's why I've called this meeting," the Slayer began in a slightly self-conscious tone, as if not all that comfortable with that attention, once she had it.

"Spike's -- sort of having a crisis. He needs our help."

Amidst the blank looks the small group gave her, Xander let out a sarcastic snort of laughter. "Not exactly seeing why that should matter to us," he remarked. "It's just Spike..."

Buffy's expression was very serious as she countered firmly, "It should matter to us because we agreed a long time ago that staking Spike would be wrong, because he can't fight back. We agreed to let him live -- and he's helped us a lot these past few years -- so in a way, he's kind of -- our responsibility."

Xander and all the others, were silent, sobered by her tone and expression, waiting for her to go on, as it became increasingly clear that whatever she had to say was something she felt was rather serious and important.

"And it's also that fact -- that Spike can't defend himself -- that is the reason we're having this meeting," Buffy went on, her voice softening slightly. She glanced down at the table, as if trying to gather her courage to go on, before looking levelly back up at her friends, meeting each of their eyes in turn.

*Bloody hell but she's good,* Spike had to acknowledge, feeling his heart sinking with despair with every word she spoke, as he could almost visibly see her trap closing more tightly around him.

"See -- I'll just tell you what happened, okay?" Buffy went on, a bit nervously. "I was -- patrolling, the other night. And -- I heard a lot of noise coming from Spike's crypt. So I went to check it out, see what was going on. Well -- a bunch of drunk college boys had apparently decided that an old crypt like that was just the perfect place to party..."

"Um...eww?" Willow muttered, a grimace of disgust on her face.

"Yeah -- you don't even know the half of it," Buffy informed her darkly, looking down at the table again, as if it was terribly difficult for her to tell the rest of the story. "Well -- Spike was -- was home at the time -- and somehow -- I guess the boys figured out that he couldn't fight back. So -- they made him -- part of the party, I guess you could say...decided to have a little fun with the helpless vampire..."

"They knew he was a vampire?" Xander asked, curious, but not sounding the least bit bothered by her story.

Buffy shrugged. "I don't think so. But that's not the point..."

"What, like we're supposed to care that poor widdle Spikey got beat up on by some punks? It's not like he hasn't done a hundred times worse!" he countered, giving the vampire a dismissive, disgusted look.

Spike kept his gaze self-consciously focused on the table, once again glad that Buffy's story gave him a reason for the shame and uncertainty he felt. It was better if he did not look up, he thought, if he did not give any of them any reason to doubt her story.

It wasn't as if anyone could help him now, even if they tried, even if they *wanted* to try, that was -- and he doubted that anyone would want to.

He was not entirely right.

"Hey!" Dawn objected, rising anger in her voice. "That's not fair!"

"Again -- not the point," Buffy responded to Xander's comment, a severe frown on her face. "The point is -- we made the choice to let Spike live because he's helpless -- well, I can't possibly feel right about that if all it means is that we just let others do the hurting for us, you know? Like I said, Xander -- we're responsible for him."

"So, what?" Xander asked, a slightly incredulous note to his gradually rising voice. "You're suggesting we play bodyguard for little Willie Wannabite here all the time now?"

"No," Buffy replied calmly, evenly. "I'm suggesting we make sure he has a safe place to stay at night, where anyone and everyone can't just walk in whenever they feel like it!"

*No,* Spike added silently, swallowing hard against the knot of dread that had formed in his throat. *Not anyone and everyone -- just you, Buffy...*

"But, Buffy," Willow asked a bit timidly, her eyes focused on Spike's face as she spoke, "how can we do that, without...?"

"Why should we even *want* to do that?" Xander demanded, cutting her off as his anger rose higher, unassuaged by Spike's involuntary flinch at the violence in his tone. "Just 'cause Spike got beat up by some kids in his crypt, you think we should have to..."

"He *wasn't* just beat up, Xander!" Buffy interrupted him sharply, her voice trembling with angry emotion, her eyes welling with glittering tears. The force of her tone silenced the young man, drawing the attention of the room back to her. She paused, visibly regaining her composure, before she added quietly, but with steel behind her words, "And you *don't* have to. Because I will."

"Oh, my God," Willow whispered, as Buffy's unspoken words suddenly dawned on her.

"They raped him -- didn't they?" Anya asked, as usual, the one to speak aloud what was painfully obvious.

"Yes," Buffy affirmed, her voice barely over a whisper of disgusted anger. "Repeatedly. I -- I managed to chase them off. Scared them bad enough that I don't think they'll be trying anything like that again any time soon." She paused, before adding, looking up to meet each of their eyes in turn, "But there will be others, sooner or later. Spike needs protection from *human* violence -- and I've decided to let him stay in my basement at night, from now on."

Throughout the explosion that followed, the tumultuous cacophony of raised, arguing voices, Spike kept his eyes focused on the table, not bothering to try to conceal his humiliation at the way the others were looking at him, talking about him, as if he was nothing more than an object of pity at best, and certainly no one whose opinion, whose feelings, needed to be taken into consideration in the matter.

Avoiding their eyes, fighting back tears of humiliated despair, Spike wondered at the way in which Buffy had managed to subject him to the shame of public victimization, without revealing herself as the one who had victimized him.

Throughout the heated discussion, Dawn was silent -- and then, Spike caught the familiar, salty-sweet scent of her tears. The next moment, he felt a small, warm hand slide into his under the table, squeezing it gently in a silent gesture of support and compassion. His head fell lower, trying to conceal his own tears as they slid down his cheeks, drawn out by the young girl's tenderness, tenderness that he had not experienced in what felt like forever.

"It's okay," Dawn whispered softly, the gentle words barely audible beneath the din of the mingled, arguing voices of the Scoobies. "You're safe now, Spike. We'll protect you."

But instead of bringing him comfort, those words only brought further devastation for Spike -- because he knew that he was *not* safe, far from it; and the "we" Dawn mentioned included the very source of his fears. The protests of the Scoobies, mostly Xander, were becoming weaker, for the truth was, whether or not Buffy "allowed" Spike to stay in her basement was ultimately up to her.

Buffy would win the argument, and apparently soon.

And Spike knew that when she did, he would never be safe again.