Spike's sleep was deep and dreamless, as his body took advantage of the magic boost, and the much-needed rest, that Tara had provided, in order to begin to heal the injuries the Slayer had inflicted.

He was completely unaware when the blonde witch entered his crypt late that afternoon, just before sunset; and oblivious as she pulled back the sheet and soft blanket that covered him, and carefully inspected his various wounds, reapplying ointment and changing bandages on some of them as needed.

He awoke all at once, and rather suddenly, in the dim stillness of his bedroom, sitting up in the bed and looking around the room, blinking sleepily. His interior "clock" told him that it was evening, and time to get up; what he wasn't sure of was whether or not he was able to get up yet.

That was when he realized that he was already sitting straight up - and without pain.

A cautious hand went to his ribcage, as he looked down, feeling across his torso carefully as he noted the freshly changed bandages that bound it - and the encouraging fact that it was no longer sore and painful to his touch. His bruises and other injuries seemed to have mostly healed while he had slept.

His jaw set with determination, as he pulled back the sheet and examined his legs. The right one had been splinted, the left nearly purple with bruises, when he had gone to sleep. Now, the left appeared undamaged - as if the beating had never occurred - and the right was free of the splint that had held it in place. Glancing to the side, he noticed the splint leaning against the foot of the bed, and wondered when it had been removed.

He had no doubt as to who had removed it.

His eyes widened as the foggy memory of the spell Tara had described came back to his mind - and he found himself wondering anxiously if Buffy had been by since then. It was not really very likely, considering that it was just barely beginning to get dark outside now.

Still...

He steeled himself for the pain as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, and cautiously got to his feet - but was pleasantly surprised at how mild the pain really was. His legs were not *completely* healed - it seemed that the damage to them was too much for even Tara's healing spell to do *overnight* -- but he found that he could easily walk on them, with only a slight limp.

He glanced dubiously at the ladder, wondering if he could manage it.

He had just about decided that he could - and was at least going to try - when he heard footsteps on the upper level floor, moving toward the ladder.

He hated the sudden lurching of his stomach, the freezing of his muscles, as he momentarily wondered if it was Buffy.

After all, it was rare for anyone else to visit him here.

Until last night.

*Not Buffy - couldn't be - would have sensed her by now - besides - she can't get in - can't get in until -- *unless* -- I invite her,* he reminded himself firmly, physically forcing himself to relax a little, returning to sit down on the side of his bed as Tara descended the ladder.

She smiled in surprise when she saw him awake, alert, and waiting for her.

"Hey," she greeted him softly, as she moved to sit down on the bed beside him, handing him the warmed mug of blood in her left hand. "How'd you sleep?"

Spike stared at the mug in his hand as he nodded. "Good," he replied, unusually subdued. "Thanks," he added softly, meeting her eyes for a moment, almost shyly, before turning his full attention to the blood, downing it in a single draught.

"No problem."

"Good timing," Spike remarked, nodding toward the empty mug in his hand. "Just woke up."

"I knew the spell would be wearing off around now," Tara explained softly, not quite looking at him.

There was a moment of awkward silence between them, before Spike cleared his throat and asked in a carefully casual voice, "So...when did you get here, love?"

"A couple of hours ago," she admitted with a self-conscious smile. "I checked your bandages, and - and straightened up a little...upstairs."

"You didn't have to do that, Glinda." Spike looked up at her in surprise, and just a little bit of wonder.

He could not remember the last time someone had treated him as kindly as Tara had been treating him these past couple of days.

Tara shrugged. "I wanted to be sure you were okay."

The vampire was speechless for a long moment; that statement was even *more* stunning to him. Finally, he cleared his throat again a bit nervously, before venturing the question that had been in his mind almost since waking up.

"So - anyone - come by? While I was sleeping?"

Tara looked up at him sharply, and Spike quickly looked away, struggling to keep his expression neutral. After a moment's pause, Tara replied in a voice that was just a bit too knowing for Spike's comfort, "No. Not since I've been here, anyway." After a moment's hesitation, she added in a soft voice with just a slight edge to it, "Were you expecting someone?"

"No," was the immediate answer, as Spike shook his head firmly. "No, no one."

"Uh - *huh*..." Tara's voice was skeptical, as she rose from the bed, holding out her hand for the mug.

Spike glanced up at her through anxious, uncertain eyes, placing it in her hand - and grimaced slightly at the tight expression of controlled anger he saw on her face. Of course, Tara's anger was nothing like Buffy's anger; Spike had no fear that she might strike out at him as the Slayer did so often, and even had she chosen to do so, he knew that she would not have been able to really hurt him.

Still, he couldn't help feeling strangely bereft, as if he had somehow offended this unexpected angel of mercy, as she made her way back up the ladder without another word to him.

When she returned a few moments later, he was surprised to see that she had refilled the mug, without his asking.

"Thank..." he began - his words cut off suddenly when she thrust the mug into his hands, nearly splashing blood out onto his bedspread. He watched her warily as she crossed her arms over her chest, stalking angrily back toward the ladder.

A few feet from it, she spun around to face him, her jaw stubbornly set, her normally soft gray eyes flashing fire at him.

"I know you don't want to talk about this," she began, her words coming out in a hurried stream, for once devoid of her usual stutter, "and you don't have to, it's totally up to you. But I just have to say this."

Spike immediately knew where she was going with her statements, and found that he could no longer hold her gaze. "Tara," he began in a nervous, almost pleading voice. "Tara, just..."

His words broke off suddenly as a loud crashing sound was heard from upstairs - and Spike flinched violently, his wide blue eyes staring up the ladder with obvious dread.

He recognized that sound.

The sound of his crypt door smashing open as it had done so many times before was followed by the sound of the Slayer's voice, cursing furiously as her foot followed the door - and slammed painfully into the invisible barrier.

"What the...?" they could hear her mutter from the doorway - and then louder, as she called, "Spike? *Spike*!"

The vampire rose from the bed on trembling legs, his downcast eyes glancing sideways at Tara as he hurried toward the ladder. "S-stay here," he said softly, his tone more plea than command. "It's best if she - I mean - I'd rather talk to her alone..."

Tara caught his arm as he stepped onto the ladder, her heart smitten within her when he flinched slightly at the touch. But he *did* turn halfway toward her, though he did not look up to meet her eyes.

"Tara - please, just..."

"You don't have to let her in."

Spike froze, swallowing back a hard lump in his throat, as his desperate blue eyes flickered up to hers for just a moment in somewhat awed surprise. "I - I don't know what you..."

"Spike."

He gave up for the moment, waiting for her to go on.

"*Spike*! Where are you?" Buffy's demanding voice called sharply from upstairs.

Tara's suspicions were confirmed when Spike's arm began to shake slightly under her hand. "You're safe in here. No one can get in unless you let them," she reiterated softly, firmly, as she reached up a hand to turn his face toward hers, and he reluctantly met her eyes.

"And you *don't* have to let them."

Spike was silent for a long moment, not sure how to respond. "I - I have to go," he finally replied in a voice that was barely over a whisper. "Just - just please wait here. She might not like it if she knew you were here - might - might think I was up to my old evil tricks."

Tara was firmly convinced that his real fears were much different - but she did not press the issue. "I'll be right here if you need me," she nodded slowly, releasing her gentle grip on his arm.

***********************************

"What's this?" Buffy's voice was hard, demanding, as Spike stepped out onto the upper level of his crypt.

He hardly dared to meet her eyes, shrugging casually as he forced himself to approach the doorway, and finally, to look up at her. "Just your basic protection spell," he replied in a carefully casual voice. "No one gets in without my invite."

One perfectly shaped eyebrow rose dangerously - and Spike had to look away. "To keep the monsters out - while I was healing up," he explained quietly.

"Oh," Buffy nodded with false understanding, her arms crossed over her chest in impatience. Her sharp eyes raked over him, up and down, before she added in a voice of flat suspicion, "You sure healed up fast, didn't you?"

"Not quite - healed yet," he pointed out, his gaze lowered again.

"Close enough. Invite me in," was her sharp command.

He was silent for a moment, at a complete and utter loss as to what to do.

He was terrified of what she might do if he let her in - not to mention the fact that she would certainly want to go downstairs, where Tara was still hiding...and he knew that Buffy would *not* be pleased to find another woman, even the gentle lesbian, in his bedroom.

And yet - there was a part of him that still ached for Buffy's approval - what scant affection she offered him - and was screaming at him in desperation to *let her in*!

*You don't have to let anyone in...you're safe in here right now...*

"Buffy, I - I don't think I want to do that."

Spike felt as surprised as Buffy looked, when the words actually left his mouth.

"I'm sorry, *what*?" Buffy finally asked in sarcastic disbelief, stepping closer to the barrier, her arms uncrossing, her hands balled into frustrated fists at her sides. "Let me in, Spike!"

"I - I don't think so," he persisted, his voice rising in strength and certainty with the continued evidence that as things stood, she could not get to him. Bravely he lifted his gaze to hers, his jaw set with determination. "You - you bloody well hurt me, Buffy. Badly. And - I'm not so soddin' eager to get beat down again."

"Then maybe you'd better open the freaking door," the Slayer bit off her words in barely restrained anger and impatience.

Spike shuddered slightly at the menace he heard in her voice, taking an unintentional step backward away from her.

"See - see, no, Buffy," he shook his head, raising imploring eyes back up to hers, suddenly flooded with unbidden tears. "No - I don't think you understand. I - I'm tired of letting you - do this to me. And I'm *not* going to let you in." He paused before adding in a soft, almost despairing time, "It's about bloody time I could feel safe in my own bleedin' home."

The tears made his voice shake dangerously, as he backed a couple more steps away from the door, not daring to look up at her, for fear of seeing the violent rage he could nearly feel radiating off of her slight but powerful form.

"Spike," she finally replied, and he was surprised at the soft, patient tone of her voice. "Spike - I'm not going to hurt you, Sweetie. I just want to talk to you. About what happened." She hesitated, before adding in a tone that sounded like genuine regret, "About - what I did. I'm - so, so sorry, Spike."

Spike longed to accept the words at face value - but he knew better by now.

Still, he looked up at her with an uncertain hope clearly visible in his vulnerable gaze.

"I know I hurt you, Spike," Buffy admitted, her own emerald eyes welling with tears that made them glimmer in the moonlight outside his door. "I know. But it's never going to happen again, Baby. I'm so sorry. Just - let me come in, and talk to you. Let me show you that I mean it..."

Spike wondered incredulously if she even remembered that she had been threatening him not thirty seconds before.

"If you want to talk, Buffy," he said quietly, his resolve strengthened by her slip, "then we can talk...but I'm not inviting you in. Not - not yet..."

He watched with a sense of instinctive dread, as the Slayer's face twisted in rage that she was clearly having a hard time holding back. "Spike," she ground out quietly, "this is ridiculous. I'm not going to hurt you - just ask me in."

"No."

"Spike, I swear if you don't take this wall down *now*...!" Buffy snarled, all at once losing control in her frustration and slamming her fist angrily against the invisible wall in question.

Spike flinched - but she had just made up his mind for the moment.

Willing himself to remain strong, he tried to hide his limp as he made his way deliberately to the door, taking it in his hand.

"Go home, Buffy," he advised her quietly, meeting her gaze with his own sad, serious eyes. "You're not coming in here tonight." With those emphatic words, he closed the door firmly in her face.

His legs shaking beneath him, in a state of near-shock from his own actions, Spike started back toward the ladder.

Suddenly, the door flew open again, driven inward by the Slayer's powerful boot - and he spun around to face her, fearful, though he knew she could not get in.

She was smiling at him in cold fury, her arms crossed again as she met his gaze, and replied, "Maybe not tonight."

And with those words, she turned and walked away.

Spike moved to the door, almost on autopilot at this point, and watched her until he was sure she would not be coming back right away, before closing the door again, and resting his head against it, drawing in deep, settling breaths as he struggled to recover from the intense and frightening encounter.

At a soft, warm touch on his arm from behind, Spike whirled around, already pushing the invasion away, his eyes closed and his back to the door, in an automatic, instantaneous panic.

"Shhh," Tara soothed him gently, steadying him with a hand on each arm. "It's okay - just me..."

Spike opened his eyes, now wild with confusion and shock, and stared at her for a long moment. The sympathetic, understanding expression on her face made it clearer than ever that despite his efforts to conceal it before, she had heard every word, and knew exactly what had just happened up here.

"I - she...I just...couldn't..." he tried to explain, his breath coming fast and shallow in a delayed reaction, as he found that his thoughts would not straighten themselves out enough to allow him to form a coherent sentence.

"It's okay," Tara repeated softly, raising a hand to his face in comfort. "It's all right. You did the right thing, Spike - and if anyone knows that wasn't easy, *I* do - and I'm so proud of you."

He stared at her, his eyes widening in bewilderment at her words - words that he was not quite sure he had *ever* heard before, from anyone.

And then, though he was never quite sure afterward just how he came to be - he was in her arms, clinging to her, as his long-repressed tears coursed down his face. Unsurprised by his inevitable eventual reaction, Tara held him close to her, going down with him when his weakened legs gave out under him, and just sitting there with him on his living room floor, as he poured out his wordless pain.

"It's okay," she whispered finally, as his tears and trembling began to ebb. "It's okay, Spike - you're not alone anymore."