Chapter 1

“You think I came all this way to get knocked up by some demon dust?” Buffy questioned the three men somewhat sarcastically, although her tone of voice was probably lost on them. She gestured with her head towards the black swirling mist attempting to invade her body. “I can’t fight this. I know that now... But you guys? You’re just men. Just the men who did this... to her. Whoever that girl was before she was the First Slayer.”

Buffy ignored the fact that she was currently imprisoned, her righteous anger caused the chains securing her in place to rattle loudly in the cave.

“You don’t understand.” The man’s emotionless voice ignited her temper, causing her to argue with her captors.

“No, you don’t understand!” she shouted back at them. “You violated that girl, made her kill for you because you’re weak, you’re pathetic, and you obviously have nothing to show me.”

Thoroughly disgusted at their attitude and tired of being held bound, Buffy yanked the chain holding her right hand hostage free from the metal link in the ground. A length of chain nearly three feet in length dangled from her wrist manacle, and she turned it into a weapon, swinging it in a wide arc above her head. Then she struck, slamming it into the man standing closest to her, knocking him off his feet.  

With him out of commission, Buffy turned her attentions to the second man. He held a staff of some sorts in his hand like a weapon... but not for long. She snapped her hand and the end of the chain shot out and wrapped around the staff. Giving it a hard tug, she yanked the staff – and the man holding it – towards her. Her booted foot met his chest as he came flying forward; the breath left him in a loud whoosh and he fell to the ground gasping for breath. Now armed with the staff, she turned back to the first man slowly struggling to his feet and jabbed him in the stomach with it. He doubled over in pain, and she brought the end of the staff down on his head, rendering him unconscious.

Two down, one to go.

Her eyes lit on the remaining man standing before her. A quick tug of her left hand and she was free. She started walking towards him and was going to toss the staff aside to take him in hand. But at the last minute she stopped, brought it down over her knee and broke it in half. 

“I knew it. It’s always the staff,” she commented upon spying the black mist dissipate into nothing. 

“We offered you power,” the man sputtered, staring at the two wooden halves in disbelief. 

“Tell me something I don’t know…” she muttered sarcastically.

“As you wish,” the man replied evenly, his face having lost all expression again. He stretched out his hand, placing it on her head. 

Buffy struggled under the weight of the images that suddenly bombarded her brain. Her face paled and her eyes began to fill with unshed tears as she was assaulted by visions of the future the man enabled her to see. She opened her mouth, trying to suck in some much-need air, but it seemed the more she inhaled, the less oxygen she was actually able to take into her lungs. She closed her eyes, and even that wasn’t enough to break his hold on her. 

Too much, she thought. Followed by an, oh, god... no.

She had to escape. Had to make it stop. Needed desperately to escape the knowledge flooding her body, its onslaught like a whip, slicing into her flesh again and again. The cuts ran deep; she felt exposed, her body laid bare to its pain. Slight shudders wracked her body as if testament to the heartache she was witnessing. Over and over, her body felt lashed as she experienced the final confrontation with The First. 

Stop. Please stop.

She needed to make the agonizing torment end. A low whimper escaped her lips as she beheld that defining moment. The tears that she had bravely held back began to fall as she watched – felt – the scene play out. 

“Oh, God, no… please… no... ” The fervent plea escaped her parted lips. Her tears were falling in earnest now. Soundless sobs shook her slight frame. And still the images came. Her second whispered, “please… no...” fell on deaf ears, just as the first had. No one else was there to ease her suffering. 

And, she was. Suffering.

Then it was over. At first, Buffy thought she was dead. Surely no one could be exposed to that kind of grueling imagery and live. Then she realized that she was alive, and knew in that moment that this was her punishment. 

For all the horrible things she had done, this would be her penance. 

To know – and do nothing to stop it.

Vaguely, Buffy was aware of the man removing his hand from her head. Her legs buckled, unable to support her weight any longer, and she crumpled to the floor before him. She was left raw and bleeding there on the ground, her heaving sobs the only sound in the otherwise silent cave. She cried as if she had nothing left to live for. Finally realizing what was right there all along would soon be snatched from her hands. 

And, in that moment, she wanted to die. Wanted to retreat to the heaven that she had been ripped from – to lick her wounds. Because the final scene she had just witnessed was her hell. Hers, and hers alone.

One minute she was curled in a ball on the cave floor, the next moment she was in the same position – only in her own living room. 

Ever so slowly, Buffy became aware of her surroundings. She lifted her tearstained face to see the stunned expressions on that of her friends.

They crowded in around her, but she barely spared them a glance. She was looking for someone else. Her eyes darted past her friends, searching for the one person that she needed to see. He stood against the living room wall, apart from the others. As her gaze collided with his, Buffy watched his soulful blue eyes rake over her features. His blatant concern doing odd things to her stomach.

The emotion in his deep blue gaze visible for all to see – if they’d but take a moment to look – caused her eyes to well up once more. Her tears fell unheeded down her face. She heard her friends and the potential Slayers call out to her, asking if she was alright. She ignored them, instead concentrating on the blond vampire watching her intently. Silently, she conveyed her need for him. Attempted to will him to her side with nothing more than a look.
 
Buffy watched as he pushed himself away from the wall and started towards her.

~*~*~*~*~

Spike looked down at the Slayer as she lay curled on her side, her friends crowded around her. When he’d made eye contact with her, he almost buckled under the pain he could see in her eyes. Whatever had happened to her in that portal had obviously hurt her. The need in her eyes called to him and before he could stop himself he was pushing away from the wall and walking towards her. Then, he stopped. 

Her whispered words as they stood outside and he offered to leave came back to him. She had never answered his question about the principal, whether the two were now an item. It was no longer his place to try and offer her comfort; he had to let her go. As much as he hated to, Spike made to turn away and resume his place against the wall. But, the look at the anguish in her eyes before she laid her head back down made him pause. Her tears began anew, and her muffled sobs tore at his soul until he could stand it no more.

“Fuck it,” he muttered under his breath.

Pushing his way through the small crowd and ignoring the uproar his actions caused, Spike knelt down beside the huddled body of the Slayer. 

“Slayer?” he called softly, attempting to break through her crying jag. He gave her shoulder a gentle shake and was pleased when she stopped long enough to look up at him. He had a brief moment to see… was it gratitude? in her eyes before she launched herself at him. The force propelled him backwards, and he landed on his ass, a bundle of Slayer now clinging too him, her head buried in his chest. His momentary respite from her tears was gone, if anything it was worse than before, and he wondered if perhaps he’d made matters worse. He tried to ease away, maybe direct her towards one of her friends, but she wasn’t having any of that. And he finally gave up and held her as she cried.

The room eventually cleared. The snide, whispered comments as they left, Spike ignored. He was well aware of their feelings towards him, even with a soul, they treated him like so much dirt beneath their feet. Never mind that none of them were free from casting stones; they’d all done their own share of evil.

With just the two of them in the room, Spike settled the Slayer more comfortably on his lap. At one point, he tried to get her to tell him what was wrong, but was met with a vigorous shake of her head and more tears. He’d given up then, continuing to hold and pet her until her tears dried up and she gave one final shudder and fell asleep.

Spike rose awkwardly to his feet, intent on finding somewhere more comfortable for the Slayer to stretch out and sleep. His bed in the basement probably wasn’t the most comfortable, but it was private – no one bothered him down there. He walked into the kitchen, and gestured with his head for someone to open the door for him. Willow took pity on him and hurried forward.

Spike pretended not to notice the sharp jab she gave the whelp when he opened his mouth to object.

~*~*~*~*~

Spike settled the sleeping Slayer on the twin bed that was shoved up against the one wall of the basement. He removed her shoes, allowing them to fall soundlessly to the floor, then grabbed a blanket off a nearby shelf and settled it around her shoulders. He was about to move away and settle himself against the far wall to begin his silent vigil, when he felt her hand close over his, heard her sleepy, “stay” issue forth from her lips.

He nodded, but she couldn’t see, having fallen back asleep once more. Her grip relaxed and Spike stepped back to shed his coat and shoes and join her on the bed. Quietly, so as not to wake her, he climbed in behind her. He lay on his side facing her, his back to the wall. It was selfishness on his part, selfishness to touch her, that had him drawing her body back against his chest. A soft sigh escaped her lips, but she didn’t waken.

Spike held her while she slept, his senses alert for any signs of distress. Several hours passed and nothing happened. The sound of her slow, even breathing eventually lulled him to sleep, and with a soft kiss to the back of her head, he drift off.

It seemed like he had just closed his eyes when he was thrust awake to the feel of the Slayer thrashing about in his arms. She was moaning in her sleep, obviously having some kind of nightmare.

“Buffy,” Spike called softly, gently shaking her shoulder. “Wake up, luv. You’re dreamin’.” Her thrashing increased and he noticed she was openly weeping now. Worried, he began to shake her harder. He had to end the nightmare that held her in sleep’s grip.

“Buffy,” he called a little louder this time. “Slayer, wake up, dammit!” 

After a few more vigorous shakes, Buffy’s eyes flew open, a silent scream poised on her lips.

She looked up to see Spike’s concerned gaze staring down at her.

“Spike?” she asked confused, the images in her head playing havoc with her mind.

“It’s me, luv. I’m right here. You were having a nightmare.”

“Oh, God!”

With no other warning, Buffy wrapped her arms around his back, holding him tight. She pressed her face into his chest as if she were trying to mesh their bodies into one and absorb his strength.

“You wanna tell me about it, pet?”

Again, she shook her head, adding a whispered, “I can’t.”

“Alright, luv. Shhh...” he soothed, pressing a kiss to her temple. “It’s ok. I’m here. I won’t let anything happen to you. Promise.”

His impassioned vow caused Buffy’s tears start anew, soaking his black t-shirt. She knew he meant it. It was one promise she knew he would keep – she had seen the truth of his words.

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