Over the course of the next few days, Spike and Tara spent quite a bit of time together.

Spike had been mostly staying in his crypt. He was more than a little nervous about venturing outside, not sure what Buffy's reaction would be if she happened to come into contact with him - but he was pretty sure that it would *not* be good. She did not come by the crypt again during those few days - but in a way, that only made him more nervous.

The longer she went without seeing him, the more volatile she was likely to be when she finally *did* see him.

Tara understood his fears, having experienced most of them herself on some level, and did her best to help him, bringing him blood from the butcher's and cigarettes from the corner store, to spare him having to go out and get them himself - and risk running into Buffy. She did not say it - not wanting to feed his fears - but she was also quite concerned about what Buffy might do if she somehow managed to get Spike alone.

Since breaking up with Willow, Tara had found that her social life was not quite what it used to be. She didn't spend much time around the Scoobies anymore, and although there were a few people she knew fairly well from college, there was no one that she had connected with so well as to spend time with them outside of classes.

She had found Spike in his crypt on a Thursday night, and after staying up all night caring for him, had slept through the day instead of going to classes. Because of her lack of social obligations, it had been easy for her to spend just about the entire weekend, just hanging out with him in his crypt. The hours had passed in surprisingly easy companionship as the two of them had whiled away the hours together - watching movies part of the time, but mostly just talking.

Tara would never have thought that she would have so much in common with the blond vampire - but their common past experiences were only the beginning. Tara found her suspicions confirmed, as little by little, Spike let down his protective shell around her, revealing the sensitive poet's heart that lay beneath the façade.

Monday morning came all too soon, and as much as she wanted to stay, Tara knew that she could not miss another day of classes.

The fact that Buffy had still not shown up since that first night worried her.

A lot.

She knew it was only a matter of time before the Slayer showed up at Spike's door again - and her uncertainty about how Spike would respond to her advances made Tara feel just a little bit sick inside.

"Um - I get out of class at three," she said as she headed toward the door. "But then I have to go to work until - until nine...so...um..."

"Would you come by?" Spike interrupted her softly, with a warm, endearing smile.

Tara's heart swelled with gratitude, as she returned his smile. She had really wanted the chance to check on Spike at the end of the day - but she had not wanted to invite herself over to do it.

"I'd love to," she replied, opening the crypt door.

She took a step outside the door, into the pre-dawn half-light - and then turned suddenly, nearly running into Spike, who had followed her to the door to close it behind her. Her eyebrows raised in an expression of mock sternness, Tara moved closer to him, catching the lapels of his black button-down shirt in her hands and looking him square in the eyes.

"Repeat after me," she instructed firmly, releasing one side of his collar to touch the wooden door. "This is my door."

Spike suppressed a surprised laugh, his blue eyes sparkling with mirth as he placed one hand obligingly over hers on the door, and repeated, "This is my door."

"I don't have to open it unless I want to."

Spike's expression softened slightly, his eyes widening as he realized what she was getting at, and he echoed softly, almost automatically, "I don't have to open it unless I want to."

Tara's eyes narrowed as she nodded in satisfaction, a little smirk on her lips as she finished, "And I *won't* open it for self-centered, abusive, bitchy Slayers, on pain of my new best friend Tara's never buying me new sheets or renting me movies again."

This time, Spike could not hold the laughter back - though before he lowered his eyes, his shoulders shaking with amusement, Tara thought she caught the slightest glint of tears shining in his eyes.

"I'm serious!" she insisted, her hands on his collar giving him a gentle shake, her wide eyes struggling not to contradict her words with their mirthful sparkle. "Spike - I mean it...I don't want to worry about you all day..."

"I won't let her in, love," Spike promised, dutifully adopting a solemn expression as he met her anxious eyes.

"Promise."

"I promise," Spike sighed, rolling his eyes slightly before meeting hers again with an indulgent smile.

Tara studied his expression for a long moment, before nodding and turning to go.

"Bossy bint," Spike muttered as he moved to shut the door.

"What was that?" Tara demanded in a playfully dark tone, raising one eyebrow in his direction over her shoulder.

Spike flashed her a dazzling grin through the slight opening that was left of his doorway, just before shutting the door completely. "I said, can't wait to see you later, pet!"

Tara's smirk matched his as she slowly made her way toward the cemetery entrance, calling over her shoulder, "That's what I *thought*!"

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

It was nearly six o'clock, and just shortly after sundown, when Spike first felt the signature tingles announcing her nearness.

His favorite show was on - he never missed a moment of *Passions* -- but his focus was shattered in an instant, when he realized that she was in the cemetery...and not just in the cemetery, but headed for his crypt.

Expecting her to attempt her signature entrance, and slam his door open by force, with an extreme effort Spike forced himself to stay in his seat, his wide, uncertain eyes fastened on the television screen. When she kicked the door in this time, he had no intention of allowing her to see how her very presence shook him.

Except - she did not kick the door in.

He felt her approach, knew when she stopped on his doorstep - but she made no attempt to enter the crypt. He barely had time to wonder nervously what exactly she was playing at, before he heard it...smelled it...

The soft sound of quiet sobs...the salt tang of her tears.

He froze for a moment, unsure of what to do. Buffy rarely cried these days - and never in front of him.

At least, not when she thought he was looking.

His immediate desire was to go to her, to throw the door open and bring her in with him, to take her in his arms and offer her the comfort she came to him for - the fulfillment of the need that she had told him again and again, only he could meet for her.

*What if she's hurt?* he wondered with a sudden pang of fear and regret. *What if she needs my help?*

He did not remember rising from his chair - but suddenly, he found himself standing at the door, his ear hovering a bare inch from the wooden surface...just listening...waiting.

For a few long, agonizing moments, there was no sound but the desperate longing ache of the Slayer's soft sobs. And then - in the midst of her quiet crying, he heard her speak his name - softly, uncertainly, and with a broken desperation like he had never heard in her before.

"Spike?"

He closed his eyes, steeling his jaw for a moment as he fought with himself.

He tried to call to mind the memory of her brutal fists, slamming into his face and shoving him into the wall, taking advantage of his injuries and her greater strength to bend him to her will - tried to picture the cold cruelty on her face as she had pinned him beneath her on the bed and forcefully manipulated his body against his will...

But all he could see in his mind's eye were wide, tearful emerald eyes, shining with a hurt and vulnerability that never failed to grip his heart and draw him in - until there was nothing left of him, but her need.

And then, the image was no longer only in his mind's eye, as Spike swung the door open, to see the bold and powerful Slayer, huddled on her knees on his doorstep, choking back sobs as she swiped weakly at tears with the back of her hand. She looked up at him through those huge eyes, full of such loss, such devastation - and Spike was lost to her.

"Buffy," he said softly, his voice full of concern as he went to her, putting his arms around her huddled, shaking form. "Buffy, love, what is it?"

Trembling hands reached up to clutch weakly at his sides, as the Slayer lowered her head to his shoulder, her own shoulders shaking with sobs of sorrow and relief.

"Spike," she sobbed out, her breath hitching in her throat every few words, as she struggled to get them out. "I'm sorry - I'm so sorry, Spike - please, you have to forgive me - you have to! I need you, and I never meant to - never meant to - h-hurt you! *Please* forgive me!"

Spike felt his own eyes well with tears, at the soft, pleading words, and her warm, gentle hands clinging to him with such need.

In his heart of hearts, he had clung to just such a fantasy as this - just such a fantasy as what was now reality...his Slayer, returned to him, sorry for the hurt she had caused and *needing* him, really needing him...

"Buffy, love, shhh," he murmured softly, tightening his embrace around her. "It's all right. It's all right, love..."

"You must - hate me," she sobbed out with despair in her voice as she clung to him, her eyes still buried against his shoulder, tears streaming from them to soak the black lapels which Tara had held earlier - when she had gently pulled from him the promise, not to let Buffy in tonight.

What she hadn't known, was that Spike had never truly locked her out to begin with.

"No, Buffy," he assured her quietly, his own voice thick with tears. "No, I don't hate you - could never hate you, love. I *love* you, Buffy. God, Buffy, I love you so much!" he sobbed, lowering his head to rest on her shoulder. "Buffy, you've no bloody idea how much I love you - how much I *need* you!"

And just like that, the roles began to reverse, as she straightened slightly, raising her head and sniffling back her sobs, making an effort to control her shaking, as she wrapped her arms gently around him in a comforting embrace. "Shhh," she soothed him gently, pressing gentle kisses into his hair as she rocked him slightly. "It's okay...it's okay, I'm here now, Spike...I'm here..."

"Y-you hurt me so much, Buffy!" he cried quietly in an anguished voice, without lifting his head, his hands clinging to her in desperation. "I - I didn't know what to do - I was - so - so scared..."

"It's okay," she reassured him in a gracious whisper, accepting the implied apology in his explanation - the implied apology for locking her out of his home. "It's okay, Spike, I understand...I'm so sorry. So sorry I hurt you, Sweetheart. Listen to me...look at me, Sweetie," she urged him softly, pushing gently on his shoulders to get him to look at her.

His eyes were wide, pleading, searching for the truth behind her words as she held his gaze with a firm intensity, and vowed, "I will never -- *never* -- hurt you like that again. I promise."

His gaze faltered slightly, uncertain - as he had heard those words many times before.

"Spike, you have to believe me!" she insisted, her tone on the verge of panic, her eyes welling with fresh tears. "Please, Baby, you've got to believe me, I mean it! I won't ever hurt you again!"

"Buffy, I..." Spike began, shaking his head helplessly, his eyes lowered in confusion and pain. "I can't...I mean...I *want* to believe it...I want to believe *you*..."

"You *can* believe me!" she whispered passionately, reaching down to tilt his chin up toward her in an effort to make him meet her gaze. "Spike, you have to know I'll *never* do that again! I wouldn't - I - I love you!"

Spike's eyes shot up to lock onto hers, wide and startled - and wildly hopeful.

"Y-you...?" he echoed weakly.

"Spike, I love you - I know I do," Buffy sobbed softly, lowering her head as tears streaked her cheeks. "I - I've been lying to myself - you were right - but - being without you - being - shut out of your life - it helped me to see..." She looked up at him, eyes shining with hope and affection. "...and I *need* you, Spike. I love you. I really love you..."

Spike was momentarily speechless, his heart torn between the desperate hope he had clung to for the past two years - and the dark truth of reality that still nagged at the edges of his emotions, warning him to caution.

"Buffy, I - I need..." he fumbled, uncertain what it was that he needed, as he pulled back away from her, his eyes downcast. "I need to - to think..."

Buffy clung to him, pulling him back toward her. "Spike, wait!"

"No, Buffy, let me go," he whispered, shaking his head as he tried again to pull away from her and struggle to his feet.

Her greater strength prevented him, as she held him down on the ground with her, intent on her goal of making him accept her words. "Spike, listen to me! Don't you believe me? Don't you want..."

"I *want* you to let me go!" he cried out, his voice shaking dangerously with a mixture of fear, and a hundred other nameless emotions evoked by her sudden, unexpected confession.

Buffy froze, but did not loosen her grip.

Spike swallowed hard, his eyes closed for a moment, before he met her gaze with a firm, wary determination in his own. "Buffy," he whispered, shaking his head slightly, "Buffy, love - if you ever expect me to - to believe you - you have to let me go..."

Buffy stared at him for a long moment, the wild need fading slightly from her eyes as his words sank in.

And then - she let him go.

She drew her hands back against her own chest, her gaze lowered to the ground, as Spike scrambled to rise on shaking legs, backpedaling a couple of hurried steps back through his own doorway. He stood there for a moment, gasping for breath, trying to regain control over his wildly careening feelings.

Buffy rose slowly to her feet, without looking at him - defeat in every subtle nuance of her stance.

"I - I'll go," she whispered after a moment. "I understand you - you need time. It's not the kind of thing you just - get over. I - I'll leave you alone."

And she turned to walk away.

Spike stared after her, his heart crying out to hers, longing to draw her in - but terrified to. In that moment, when she had ignored his words, and held him back, restraining him and once again holding him to her desires rather than his own - a sort of panic had filled him, reminding him of why she was locked out of his crypt to begin with.

But then - she had let him go.

And that was something that Buffy had never done before - ever.

If she wanted something from him - she took it. Period.

Until now.

*She means it,* his heart sang with a wild, hopeful excitement. *She must mean it! She said she loves you - and she means it!*

And in the next moment, the words slipped from his mouth, before he could think twice - and before the Slayer had gone far enough to keep her from hearing them.

"Come in, Buffy," he whispered in a trembling, longing voice. "Please come in."