"Spike?"

Oh, God. It was starting again. The voice sounded far away, but Spike still flinched at the sound of it, as if the word struck and stung his skin. The thought that the voice sounded different somehow flickered through his mind, but he couldn't quite put his finger on why.

Pain. Searing pain, blinding pain. Don't move. If he could just lie still enough, maybe the voice would go away again. Maybe they would all go away. If he could just concentrate hard enough on those other words, her words...

Wait, he knew now why the voice sounded different.

There was a question in this voice, and she, the dark one who pretended to be her, never sounded uncertain or questioning. The dark one had just whispered those honeyed words to him in *her* voice and made him do things he knew he musn't.

"Spike?"

The voice was closer. Stop, stop, stop. The things the dark one had said to him came flooding back. So seductive, so easy. Or they would have been. Before.

Now they just beaded up and ran off, like rain on a newly waxed car.

Buffy believed in him. *Believed* in him. He tried to remember what else she'd said, but it had run together like inked words smudged by careless fingers.

Something about fighting the monster inside him.

Yes, that was it. That he didn't see the man he could be but she did. She saw him.

The earth below him started to shake. From beneath.... Oh God, no.

But the shaking never became a rumbling. It was something else. Footfalls. A heavy tread. No, running. Someone was running close by. Coming this way. Eyes shut, eyes shut. No problem there. He doubted he could open his eyes if he wanted to.

Buffy caught a glimpse of him, and her breath stuck in her throat.

He was stretched out awkwardly on the ground, as if he'd been unceremoniously dumped on his back and hadn't had the strength to move a single muscle. The darkness of his bruises, the welts on his face, looked even more striking next to the shock of unkempt platinum hair. Her eyes were drawn to his chest, to the patterns of dried blood. She could make out the wounds, strange symbols carved in his flesh. She winced. Her heart thudded heavily in her chest, looking at him like that. God, he looked dead, she thought. No, stupid, ashes would have been dead. A vision of Spike in his crypt after the Glory-beating leapt to her mind. "You're all covered in sexy wounds," she'd said then, trying to trick him into confessing what he'd told Glory about Dawn. She had no glib words now, as she dropped the axe she'd been carrying and knelt beside him.

She slid the strap of her bag off her shoulder.

Bandages, antiseptic, pain killers, blood. She wondered if he'd been drained dry. She lifted up his head gently with one hand, trying to maneuver a towel beneath him with the other. Thank God he was unconscious.

But he wasn't. He groaned. Or it would have been a groan if he'd had any voice to give to it. His eyes flickered open for a moment, and he caught sight of her face.

"Dawn?" he asked hoarsely, running his tongue over parched, bloodied lips. His eyes were closed again.

"What?" Oh, God, he was delirious. Or maybe it was the other thing that had him. "No, Spike. It's me. Buffy."

Her voice was gentle, and for a brief moment he thought it was the dark one. But she was touching him, this Buffy, and the feel of her hand was soft and cool. He knew the other one couldn't touch him.

"Is it Dawn?" The words were so low that she had to bend down to his mouth to hear.

"What?" Then the realization struck her. He thought something was wrong with Dawn. "No, Dawn's fine. Why? Did they say something to you about Dawn?"

Buffy fought to keep panic out of her voice.

He shook his head almost imperceptibly, and Buffy let out the breath she didn't know she'd been holding. 

"Your face. You looked so worried," he whispered.

"Oh." She paused in her ministrations. "I *was* worried. I've been looking for you for days. I was worried about you."

He pried his eyes open through sheer force of will to look at her. She met his gaze evenly. Bloody hell.

She was worried about him. Her hand closed on his, and he closed his eyes again. He could rest now.