The first thing Spike did when he returned to his crypt was to take a long, hot shower. 

He had taken one the night before, almost as soon as Buffy had left – trying to wash away the blood and come and shame that covered him in the wake of her assault – but he had been too exhausted and weakened and injured to stay under the water long, and had finally just made his way upstairs and collapsed on the old sofa he had recently acquired. 

There was no way he was sleeping in that bed – not that night. 

First thing the next morning, he had removed the bloodied, filthy bedclothes from the bed, taken them out into the woods, and burned them.

He had told himself that he was putting the dark, troubling incident behind him, as he had made the bed again with fresh, clean sheets and a comforter he had bought that evening. 

*It's over,* he told himself firmly. *No use thinking about it...* 

But deep down, he knew that it was far from over – it was only beginning. 

After the encounter he had just had with Buffy at the Magic Box, he found himself feeling unsettled and restless again, and suddenly all he wanted was to feel the hot, relaxing pressure of the clean, clear water against his skin – to wash away the fear and uncertainty from his heart, and the sick, queasy feeling from the pit of his stomach. 

But he realized with a sinking heart, as the water washed over him, that it was going to take more than a hot shower to rid himself of the painful feelings the Slayer had left him with the night before – and a lot more than a simple decision not to think about it, to keep the disturbing memories from his mind. 

Still, he stayed under the hot, soothing spray for as long as it was hot, his head resting against the cool stone wall, his eyes closed as he tried his best to just *not* think about it – to shut out any and all thoughts of Buffy, and what she had done to him. 

*And since when do you try *not* to think about her, mate?* he asked himself with a sense of bitter irony, his eyes shut tightly against the suspicious prickling sensation behind his eyelids, before he finally turned off the water and got out, his eyes downcast, not bothering with a towel before stepping out into his bedroom, as he was alone in the crypt. 

At least – he thought he was. 

"Hey, Baby." 

Spike jumped, his eyes shooting up to hers, wide and startled – and he backed up a few steps toward the little alcove that served as his bathroom, reaching around to the stone slab "counter" to pick up a dark red towel that he had left there.

In a momentary panic, he considered just locking himself into the bathroom and waiting for her to go away. 

But if she really wanted to get to him – he knew that his makeshift lock would not keep her out. 

"Buffy," he replied, despising the slight tremor in his voice as he tried to keep it calm. "W-wasn't expecting you tonight, love...what with the – the big evil and all...you kill it already?" 

He felt his heart lurch up into his throat as she made her way casually, but all too quickly, across the room toward him, taking the towel from his slightly shaking hands and tossing it to the floor. 

"Oh, come on, Spike," she said in a teasingly affectionate voice, meeting his eyes with what appeared to be genuine warmth and amusement. "Like I haven't seen it all before!" 

*That would be the problem,* he thought darkly, but dared not voice it to her. 

"I just – I mean – I was just going to..." Spike lost his train of thought completely, feeling a tight, sick, claustrophobic sensation come over him as she moved in close to put her hands on his waist gently.

He wanted to pull away from her, wanted to tell her not to touch him – but something stopped him. Maybe it was his fear of her reaction, if he should deny her what she wanted – whatever that might happen to be tonight. 

Or maybe – it was the fact that a part of him still could not bring himself to push her away, when he had yearned for her touch for so long. 

"Shhh," she soothed him softly, a look of concerned surprise in her eyes as she looked him up and down, taking in the slight shaking of his body, and the nervous way that he avoided her eyes.

"Hey...what's the matter, Spike?"

Her voice was full of a soft sympathy that he had not expected – and he found himself feeling suddenly very confused and uncertain – wanting to escape her, and yet wanting to allow himself to fall into the warmth and compassion that she seemed to be offering, as she ran her hands lightly, comfortingly, up and down his sides, before lifting one to his face and tilting his head up slightly to make him look at her. 

"What is it?" she asked him again. 

He stared at her, shaking his head slightly in bewilderment. "Buffy – how can you even ask me that?" he whispered, feeling the ache in his heart intensifying at the idea that she really did not know what was wrong. "After – how could you...?" He lowered his eyes again, shaking his head as he found that he could not bring himself to finish the words. 

Buffy frowned, her expression all innocence. "What? Tonight?" she guessed, before shaking her own head with a gently dismissive smile, "Spike, you know I can't let on to them what's going on between us – they'd never understand. You know that – and sometimes...that might mean my being not so nice to you in public...but you know it doesn't mean anything..." 

Feeling anger and frustration rising up inside him, Spike looked up at her in shock. "Do you *really* think – that *that's* what this is..."

He shook his head, as he suddenly jerked away from her hands, trying to move past her into the bedroom, out of this tiny alcove where he felt so trapped, cornered, by the intensity of her presence. "Don't touch me!" he muttered. 

But she did not really allow him to get past, pushing in against him so that his back was to the bedroom wall, her hands returning with an insistent firmness as they came to rest on his bare hips.

Her voice was soft, patient, as she tried to stop his retreat, even as he struggled weakly to get away from her, his efforts weakened by his injuries of the night before, and by the shattered state of his heart at the moment. 

"Spike...wait a second..." 

"Don't *touch* me, Buffy, I said..." 

"Spike, stop it!" 

"Let me go!" His voice was filled with anguished frustration, and bordering on releasing the tears that had been rising up in him for more than a day now, as he fought to push past her. 

"Not until I'm ready!" she snarled at him, her voice suddenly hardening in her own frustration, as she caught his arms and shoved him back hard against the wall – and he froze at the threat in her voice, wincing at the pain that shot through his back, bruised and torn by the beating she had taken such pleasure in dealing to him the night before. 

After a brief moment of silence in which the Slayer seemed to recover her composure, she took a deep breath, looking down at the floor for a moment, before releasing a soft sigh of regret. 

"I'm sorry," she told him, her voice gentler now. "I'm sorry, Spike...did I hurt you?" 

He knew she was talking about right then, in that moment – as apparently, the events of the night before did not even factor into the equation for her – and although the slight pain she had just inflicted on him was nothing in comparison with the violation of the night before, all he could do was nod silently, his eyes lowered in shame and confusion and pain. 

*Yes, Buffy – you've hurt me – don't know if it can ever be fixed, either...* 

"I'm sorry," she repeated softly, her grip on his arms easing as well, as she ran her hands up and down them in a soothing gesture. "It's just – you can be so frustrating, do you know that?" 

The teasing laugh in her voice did nothing to ease the tension for Spike, who still could not bring himself to look at her. 

"I'm sorry," he quietly replied, almost automatically. 

"Hey, it's okay, Sweetie," she reassured him, raising a hand to tenderly caress down his cheek – frowning when he flinched at the touch. She was silent for a long moment, her expression sobering, before she surmised quietly, "But – this isn't about that – is it? It's not even about – tonight..." 

Spike did not respond, though he did raise his wide, uncertain blue eyes to meet hers at last in a hesitant question. 

Was she actually going to acknowledge...? 

"Honestly, Spike, if I'd have known you were going to freak out over it..." She shook her head, and Spike felt a sense of shame come over him at the slight note of derision in her voice. She looked back up at him, a slightly patronizing sound to her voice as she continued, "...it was just a game. I thought you knew that." 

He stared at her for a long moment, wondering how she could possibly not understand.  

Finally, he whispered in a low, intent tone, "I said no, Buffy. I said *no*, I didn't want to bloody play! And you..." 

Suddenly, she released him completely, turning her back on him with a disgusted sort of hiss through her teeth. "You know, I had no idea what a little wuss you really were, Spike."  

She turned sideways, looking his naked form up and down with a careless intimacy that, combined with the derision in her expression, made him feel small and stupid and ashamed. He wished that she would just stop looking at him, or at least that she had let him get his towel – but when she looked away with a short, bitter sort of laugh, it didn't make him feel any better. 

"I mean – if anybody can understand the kinds of things I need – I thought it would be you," Buffy continued, her voice softening now, and taking on a note of vulnerability that Spike always found it next to impossible to deny. "You know how hard it's been for me – you know how – how different I've been, since – since I came back...what happened to my belonging in the darkness with you, Spike? Did you just say that so that you could get into my pants in public? I thought that – that you were the one I could depend on, Spike – the only one who wouldn't judge me or condemn me, no matter what..." 

"I'm not...I'm not judging you," he argued quietly, his words slow and halting, as he tried to make sense of the turn the conversation had just taken. "Buffy, it's just that you told me you wouldn't..."

His voice faltered, and he lowered his head, raising one hand to cover his eyes as he found, to his utter humiliation, that he could no longer keep back all of his tears. 

*How can she do what she did to me, and still make *me* feel like the one who's bloody guilty?* he wondered desperately. 

He jumped again, flinching back against the wall, when he felt her warm hands on his cool skin again – still gentle, and reassuring, nowhere near as intrusive as they had been the night before – as she softly slid her arms around him, one hand at the back of his neck encouraging him to rest his head on her shoulder. 

And it seemed in that moment that he could do nothing else. 

"Shhh," she shushed him gently, running her fingers through his hair in a slow, rhythmic gesture of comfort that only made his tears flow harder. "It's okay, Baby – it's okay..." 

Her arms tightened slightly around him as she turned and guided them slowly away from the wall. As he felt her gently push him down to sit beside her, as she sat down on the edge of the bed, Spike suddenly tried to pull away from her, panic gripping him at the thought that all of this, this comfort and tenderness, might be nothing more than a trick to get him back into the same position in which she had had him the night before. 

"No!" he gasped out urgently, pulling back to meet her eyes with a wild fear in his own. "Buffy, no! I don't want to..." 

"I know," she assured him, shaking her head. "I know, Baby, it's all right...we won't do anything tonight, okay? Just – just let me try to make it up to you – okay?" 

*Impossible...* 

"Okay," he nodded with a soft, miserable whisper, as he allowed her to take him back into her arms for a few moments. 

After a little while, she pulled back, meeting his gaze with tenderness and compassion. "Do you have any first aid supplies?" she asked him in a soft, sympathetic tone. 

He nodded, gesturing toward the tiny bathroom corner. "Over there, love," he replied, his voice dull and empty, but no longer panicked as it had been. 

Buffy nodded as she rose and gathered the supplies, before bringing them back and sitting down behind him on the bed.  

He shivered as she ran her warm hands delicately down the pale, battered flesh of his back – broken by the blows she had struck him the night before, first with his own belt, and then with a thin, wooden switch, until his entire back had been a mass of bleeding, torn welts and bruises. 

It had healed a little by now – but not completely by any means. 

"See – I thought you enjoyed this as much as I did, Baby," she leaned in close and whispered in his ear. "I thought it was what you wanted..." 

*Yeah,* he thought bitterly. *That's why I was begging you to stop, right? Why you had to bloody gag me to keep me from telling you how much I *didn't* want it?* 

Buffy took her time as she worked, and it seemed that she was deliberately drawing out the contact, turning each simple movement into a caress – enticing Spike's body to betray him. 

He wanted her – and he was ashamed that he wanted her. 

When she had finished, she wrapped her arms gently but firmly around him from behind, pulling him down beside her as she laid herself down on the bed.

Spike tensed at the movement, choking back his instinctive fearful cry for her to stop, to leave him alone. 

*She's not gonna...she wouldn't...not again...not...* 

"Shhh," Buffy whispered in his ear, cradling him close to her as she rested her head on his shoulder from behind. "I'm not gonna hurt you, Baby – it's okay – not gonna hurt you..." 

*No, you're not...* Spike finally accepted the words she had repeated over and over, allowing himself against his better judgment and a sense of rising self-disgust to nestle into the gentle embrace that he so craved, in spite of all.

*Not tonight...*