The door opened as Buffy washed dishes, the slam and rushing noises filling the previously quiet room. As usual, everyone turned in the direction of the door, although the vision of Spike bursting in was nothing new. It just made Xander want to kill him, which was usual. Buffy continued to wash the dishes, dispondant as ever she had been since her return from the grave. Spike knew where she'd been, but no one else did. Giles was mad at Willow. He would be for a while, and in a way, it made up for Buffy's inability to be angry with the witch. Spike looked at Buffy as he tossed his blinket over the coat rack.
"How you holding up, Slayer?"
She continued to wash dishes, the world around her barely reaching her. Her mind was lost in a tune somewhere.
"Buffy?" Spike asked again. She finally looked up.
"I touch the fire and it freezes me. I look into it and it's black. Why can't I feel? My skin should crack and peel. I want the fire back." Her words sounded course to her, but she tried anyway. It came out in a tune, but she kept at it.
"The world I knew, it calls to me. It tells me I can touch the flame. That I could feel , I wouldn't crack and peel, but it would cost the same. So I should walk through the fire, there's no where else to turn. I should walk thorugh the fire, and let it…" Spike grabbed her shoulders and made her look at him.
"The torch I bear is scorching me, and I'm watching all the pain. You saved the day, and got punished in this way. You've got some place to turn. Cause I will walk through the fire, to make sure you're alright. I will walk though the fire and let it burn." He felt more than heard Buffy's voice joined him as he repeated, "Let it burn. Let it burn. Let it burn."
Buffy looked at him for a second, then looked away again. "Thank you," she whispered, the sound barely audible, but clearly heard by the vampire. He reached forward and pulled her to him, and she began to cry.
"What just happened?" asked Xander, who was completely oblivious to the two's little duet.
"Spike's being helpful, silly," Anya said, also oblivious to the song.
"But since when does Buffy use Spike as a comfort pillow?"
"Oh wake up and smell the sexual tension, Xander!" Anya berated her boyfriend again.
"But he's a demon! Vampire! Disgusting vampire!"
"So what am I?" Anya was highly offended.
"You're an ex-demon. That's different!"
"No, it's not."
Meanwhile, Spike had picked Buffy up and left the room. He carried her up to her room and put her down gently on her bed. Tucking her n, he got up to leave.
"Wait, Spike!" she whispered, somehow knowing it would stop him. "Can you… uh… stay? I'm just…" He walked back over and sat down beside her on the bed spread.
"I know. Shh." And he lay down next to her. He held her as her sobs wracked silently through her body. He just held her and let her be herself. She didn't have to pretend here. He wouldn't have bought the lie even if she had pretended. He knew her. And she was finally letting him in. It was okay. She was in hell, but for some reason, in his arms, it didn't matter anymore. She could be in hell, but he would stand beside her and make sure that she would be okay. Because that was who William the Bloody was. He was a poet, and a lover. And he was her protector.