17

He jostled the box a bit too hard as he stepped into the hall, and one of the jars tipped, cracking soundly against another. It broke then, one of the otter jars, and blood poured soundly through, sticking to the other jars, to the bottom of the box.

"Bloody hell," He snapped, realising then that he wasn't alone. Two Slayers were outside the door, as Buffy had promised, and he scoffed lightly in their direction. Their faces were drawn, but not haunted, and Spike could tell that these two hadn't been among the party to stay and try to capture Jade. Otherwise they'd be a lot more trembly in their skivvies.

"Here," He shoved the box into one of the chit's arms, a rather large looking broad who he'd wager had more strength at her disposal than flexibility. "Take that back to Manus or whatever the bloke's called. Tell 'im I want more Marmoset. Or chimps."

The chit blinked back at him, then her round face turned into one of disapproval. "Buffy told us to stay here and guard."

Spike had already backed away, shrugging. "Which is the boringest bloody job you can get, so congratulations to your buggering bad luck." Two pairs of rebelling eyes found his, and he sighed, rolling his eyes. "She's sleepin'. Ain't going to go anywhere. One of you can pop that off right quick, or give it to someone else roaming the halls. I'll be back in a jiff."

He wasn't. The moment the Slayers hesitated, he turned on his heel and walked down the halls, both hoping he'd run into someone to distract him and bloody well wanting everyone to leave him alone.

The last thing he could stand right now was a comment. Maybe that's what he deserved, running after Jade like he was the bloody white knight, ready to pluck her from the throes of sodding darkness, but he'd learned his lesson, hadn't he? She didn't want a thing to do with him, not now. And it shouldn't have hurt, but it sodding did. Worse than his buggering wrist or ribs. And he knew. Knew why. She was suffering, and the chit didn't know how to ask for help. Wanted to do it all by her own like the Slayer she still was. "Annoying bints," He muttered out loud. He just wanted to help her, damnit, but he couldn't do it like this, could he? Not in leaving her alone like she'd asked, where she didn't have a person to turn to.

And he was here. Bloody hell, he didn't give a damn about what she'd done. He had forgiveness and devotion, and all she wanted right now was anger and pain. Well, he could give her that too. Bloody yell at her until he was blue in the face if it'd help her. Not that he'd likely get any bluer, not needing to draw breath as he did.

The halls were a bit of a maze to him. He wasn't sure how far they extended or where exactly they led to, and he wouldn't have been curious at all about the matter if Jade hadn't asked him to leave. He'd be just bloody content with sitting there with her. Now he looked about, as if was doing something important and not just trying to kill time. He'd return eventually, and she'd better treat him a bit more civilized when he did.

He let out a sigh then, leaning against the wall. He tried to be angry, but he wasn't, not really. He did understand, even if his experiences differed somewhat. He hadn't gotten mad at the world when he'd had over a hundred years of memories to sift through. He'd just hated himself. Self-loathing so thick he'd thought he'd strangle himself on it. And it'd made him nearly bug-shagging crazy, although the First had helped with that a bit, it was only after he returned to SunnyHell that it'd nearly done him in to Dru's level. Minus talking to the stars bit, he'd chosen conversing with rats instead.

Wouldn't be that way for her. He'd help her through it. He bloody well hoped.

Walking down another hallway that looked exactly the same as the other ones, this time he heard voices. Familiar ones. Quiet and respectful, he knew who'd be in this room before he even stepped through it.

He was right. Angel, looking as solemn and as drab as ever, Faith now at his side, standing all too close, the two of them standing like a picture of innocence, though Spike wasn't one to be fooled. Illyria stood further away, her expression one of stone. In the middle, there was Gunn, less bloodied and dirty than he was before, looking all too immaculate. Wasn't the Charlie Boy he knew. The blood and dust suited him better. He was a fighter, and for a human, he'd been sodding decent. And his broad Gwen rested by the bed he was on, her bare hand gripping his, though it was obvious that despite all the electricity she might pump through his body, there was no reanimation 'bout to happen, like with Frankenstein's monster. Better that way. Zombie territory was nasty stuff, and Spike didn't want to see his friend brought back like that. 'Cause he had been a friend, true and proper, and it wouldn't be what Charlie Boy would have wanted, running around like spoiled meat.

Apparently Gwen wouldn't agree with him, her countenance was turned to the last woman in the room, the one who wasn't part of Angel's little group, the witch, Aella. He hadn't seen her before this whole mess, but the way she'd been clung to by Giles, well there was obviously something going on there, and he eyed her critically. Could see why she caught Rupert's eye, he supposed. She was pretty enough, even if she did hold herself like some amazon warrior, and she was only slightly shorter than Spike himself, maybe an inch off, though it was hard to tell with the thick springiness of her hair.

"Why can't you?" Gwen was challenging the witch. Aella's eyes gleamed back, nearly gray in the bad lighting of the room, with nothing but candles lighting it. Spike watched Angel and Faith share a look, and they'd noticed him, although Gwen hadn't, demanding help from a source that wasn't going to deliver.

"Witches can't be bringing the dead back to life at a whim." Aella responded, her voice clear, and she seemed like a tenacious one, but for now, she played the understanding party, answering with patience.

"That… Willow's done it! So when you say witches, you just mean the weak ones." Gwen snapped back. Faith rolled her eyes, though she had a gleam of pity in those dark orbs. She wasn't exactly the comforting type, likely didn't know what to do with the devastated woman. But Angel kept a sympathetic expression on his face, of course. Wanker'd be understanding until it killed him, though Spike could tell this conversation had been going on for a while. Gwen was going in circles, not able to deal with her grief.

"It's not weak to stand by morals and rules that are put down for good reason." Aella responded, this time with a bit of irritation, her lips pursed, but she calmed then, the compassion back in her eyes. "Sorry. I can't help you. If any of you do decide you need healing, that I can help with." Spike noticed the woman was still clutching her arm protectively, so she hadn't quite done her own yet. Which meant she was on the incompetent side or the White Knight side who wanted to make sure everyone else was better before checking on herself, and he didn't know which was worse. Aella stepped towards the door, and that was when she noticed him.

"Spike," She said with a quick nod, and enough recognition in her eyes that Spike was sure Rupert had given her the full spiel on all things him. Sure Rupert hadn't glossed over the damning details either, no, of course those had to be delivered in full, lest something be forgotten, but there was no loathing or dislike in Aella's eyes, just a wariness. She had to pause while he still stood in front of the door. He noted her gaze flickering over his chest, where the bruises stood out proud, and in a rare occurrence, he felt self-conscious. Not in the fact that his torso was mainly bare, hell, he knew his body was something to display proudly, and that he did. It was the critical way that her eyes looked over all the wounds and cuts, knowing that Jade was the one who put them there. And he didn't want anyone bloody judging Jade for that, 'cause it wasn't damn well fair. He shifted his duster so it would cover his front more, and hid his discomfort with a sneer.

"Rupe's woman." He responded, although he knew her name, he hadn't exactly gotten the full report like she had on him.

She had the grace to flush, although she looked back at him defiantly. Not denying it, he noticed. "Aella," She corrected him firmly.

"Pleasure," he responded, enjoying the way she tilted her head to decide if he was being sincere or not. He still stood in the doorway, and she was unable to pass, so he knew she was about to ask him when he simply turned and allowed it.

She nodded in quiet relief. "Thank you," She said more haughtily than candidly and stepped past him, disappearing into the hall.

It was now that Gwen noticed him, tearing her red-rimmed eyes away from Charlie's corpse. "You!" She snapped.

"Me," Spike responded back placidly. He'd keep his distance with this one. Didn't want to risk his innards and his outer getting a good shock of lightning that'd turn him into dust. "Came to pay my respects."

Gwen snorted, or it might have been a hiccup. "Sure you did. Trying to get rid of your guilt, are you?"

She was trying to make him angry, trying to lash out. Hell, he could understand that too. He hadn't exactly been a sodding diplomat when he'd been trying to get Jade's soul back, worried for her wellbeing. Even the ones who'd tried to help him, he'd lashed at them anyway. But that was sort of his shtick, wasn't it?

"No," He answered honestly. Seeing Charlie's dead body didn't exactly take away the guilt, and he'd be naïve to hope that it would have.

Gwen narrowed her eyes, pushing herself off from the table where Gunn laid. He noticed both Angel and Faith tense, at the ready, but Gwen was shrugging, throwing her hair behind her shoulder. "I need a bit of air." She rose and crossed towards the door, which Spike was all too quick to abandon, back over by Angel and Faith instead. "Don't take your time," Gwen snapped at the white-haired vampire before leaving.

Spike glanced towards Angel and Faith to see another look pass between them. Faith sighed.

"Yeah boss, I'll keep an eye out." She stepped away from the hulking vampire, looking at Spike. "Knock yourself out," was her dry comment as she followed Gwen out. It was lacking a bit of her normal punch, which Spike suspected had something to do with general exhaustion and the somber attitude of the room. Also probably was why Gwen hadn't gone sodding postal on Spike.

Respect. Respect for the man in the middle, whose eyes were closed and wouldn't open again, for the life he'd lived and the company he'd kept. Even speaking loud seemed forbidden, and everyone had spoken in hushed, careful tones, not wanting to disturb the peace. Finally a peace for the man who'd fought most of his life. A sodding warrior if ever there was one.

"Another good one." Spike said aloud, after a few long moments. Even Illyria had been quiet. Though she'd looked down on all of them in the beginning, imagining herself still an Old God, she still held affection for Charles. Suspected it had something to do with Fred, if she was still in there, though all the signs pointed to 'no'. Just her memories. She'd been a sweet woman too. Caring and brilliant.

Angel nodded, his dark eyes riveted on the man in the middle. "Yeah." And the silence stretched out for longer, until the older vampire broke it. "Doyle. Cordelia. Wes. Fred." Illyria looked up sharply at the mention of Fred, but she didn't disagree. It was true. They were all dead and gone. "Gunn." Angel finished. And Spike knew the git. Peaches blamed him for every single one of those deaths, and more. Still, it'd just bolster his desire to keep on with the good fight. Always would, even if Angel was the last one going, and he had nothing but their names with him.

When Spike left the room, he felt drained. Hadn't even taunted Angel once, or reminded him to keep away. He could hear footsteps coming closer, knew it was Gwen and Faith returning, so he turned the other way. Knew he should probably get some sleep. He was knackered, but he hadn't asked where his room was, and since everyone likely assumed he'd just be with Jade, he didn't have the spine to correct them.

He found a corner that seemed empty enough and sat there against the wall for a while, closing his eyes for a bit of kip. It wasn't much, and he was on his feet again, wondering how much time could be spent before he'd be able to return to Jade, see how she was doing. Hours came and went, but he didn't build up the courage for it until he'd found Xander, managed to get some clothes and more blood out of the whelp. Clothes for him, since this place was apparently stocked, and some for Jade as well.

Still, he felt nervous as he approached Jade's door again, a different two Slayers watching it this time. It'd been most of the day now. He wasn't sure how many Slayers still remained here, who hadn't left to the remaining bases, but it was mainly the wounded that stayed put, with a few extra as protection. Likely not just from Jade, but in general. While they couldn't move to a safer place, Buffy wanted her Slayers as secure as they could be. Spike didn't care about it overmuch. He wasn't going anywhere.

Not until Jade was.

He stepped into the dark room, and he wasn't immediately attacked—verbally or physically—so that was a good thing. He placed the blood back on the table, his eyes flickering towards the bed. Jade was there, only her face visible, swathed in blankets, and it was an endearing look for her, her eyes closed, expression relaxed. But not quite peaceful. She hadn't noticed him enter the room, still sleeping. But not fitlessly, he could see her toss and turn beneath the blankets, her head lolling from side to side.

And he might be tempted, to watch her sleep, if a whimper didn't leave her throat, and he noticed then that her hands were gripped into a very tight ball, fingers digging into tender, burnt flesh. She had a habit of talking in her sleep, he'd noticed, sentences strung together that made very little sense, and often transposed with some superfluous comments from her Star Trek and Star Wars things that she loved so much, which made her sleep-talking completely nonsensical and admittedly endearing. But not now, not with the pain in her voice.

He reached her bed, nothing thinking for a moment of why he shouldn't, and reached for her neck through the blanket, pushing away the fabric so he could get one of his hands around her thin, slim shoulder and shake.

"Super girl," he muttered, and then shook her again when her eyes still stayed closed. "Jade, wake up." He leaned onto the bed, one knee in the sheets, as close as he could be without crowding her. Once more, he rocked her shoulder, and this time it was enough. Her eyes snapped open and she sat up abruptly, freeing her arm from the blankets to snap it tight over Spike's, imprisoning him more than he had her. Hers wasn't a grip that he could easily free himself from.

"Just me," He said, probably a bit too hurriedly—not that he was afraid or anything. Strong bloody man he was, wouldn't tremble at a woman's hand, even if it was Jade's. Her grip was so tight it hurt, but she blinked to free the sleep from her eyes. It hadn't been a rejuvenating kip, that was for sure, and he felt a bit bad for waking her from it, but it hadn't been helping her. She gazed at him, still seeming a bit disoriented. She looked down at herself then, noting as he had that she was in nothing but her skivvies, her white skin almost luminescent in her black laced bra. And then there was something truly glowing just below her jugular, her Soul. And how bloody relieved he was to see it back where it belonged. "Know where you are?" He asked. It was mite to be a bit confusing for the next while, until she sorted all her memories back good and proper. She had yet to speak, but she nodded her understanding.

"Let me see your hands," he said, as she'd let go of his arm, and she frowned, not aware until he turned up the palm of her hand, seeing blood over the blistered flesh, and four half-moon shapes cut into the flesh from her fingernails. Been as he thought. Been in the throes of bloody nightmare in her sleep. He'd done her a blessing, waking her from that. Bloody doubtful if she'd see it the same way though.

Vampires didn't sweat as much as the average human, but her skin was slick with a shiny sheen, her hair half sticking up when she'd peeled herself from the pillow. He might have teased her about it, but not now. She was still groggy, her eyes having a hard time focusing on his face, but when they did, he saw how her brow furrowed and her teeth clenched.

She pulled her hand back. "It'll heal." He didn't hide his sigh as he pulled back, off the bed and onto his feet. Jade made no move to cover up, her gaze following him like blue fire. "You came back?" It was posed as a question, a mark of surprise in her tone.

He scoffed. "'Course I bloody came back." How long did she expect him to stay away? Her mouth was set in a stern line, but she didn't immediately respond, so he went back to where he'd left the box of blood and picked up the clothes ontop of them and tossed them to her. She made no move to catch them, absentmindedly reaching out and touching the shirt.

"You don't have to." She didn't look at him as she pulled the long shirt over her head. It wasn't exactly a perfect fit, similar to the long sleeved shirt he was wearing, both black. However his was tight to him, and hers hung on her thin frame.

"This again?" He growled. "Going to start with your guilt this early in the bloody—"

"I remember." She stated simply, letting the shirt fall, half-way to her thighs as her head popped back into view again, static making some of her hair stand up.

"Remember?"

"All of it." Jade stepped off the bed and onto her bare feet. She gave him a mirthless smile. "As you said, I didn't have over a hundred years to recount."

It was his turn to feel guilty. He'd been mouthing off, hurt and frustrated that she wasn't letting him help her. He hadn't meant to compare… bloody hell, there was no comparing something like that. No comparing their buckets of blood to see which was deeper. He knew better than to say a bloody idiotic thing like that, but keeping his tongue still was not a skill he'd ever mastered. He cleared his throat. "'M so—"

"Don't you dare." She interrupted. The grogginess of her sleep had passed, as well as the confusion as she had sorted her waking thoughts with her sleeping ones. Now her face was covered by a thin mask, the last of her reserves, her expression drawn and on the verge of breaking, and in her gaze there was an acute mix of anguish and fury and disgust. "Don't you apologize to me. Not after what I did." She shook her head helplessly. Her already mussed hair fell more out of place, falling in front of her red lips and pale skin.

"You can't blame yourself," He insisted in as calm a voice as he could manage.

"Who, then?" She snapped back, irritated.

"I don't bloody know, maybe the bint that took your sodding soul? That might be a good bloody place to start!"

"Oh, so she did it all, did she? I'm completely free of blame. What a relief." Jade's voice sagged with sarcasm, but she didn't allow him to answer. "Stop treating me like I'm the victim here!" It was the same as she had said last night, this frantic need to take all the blame for everything, march herself up to the sodding crucifix. "I'm not the victim. The people I slaughtered—the children, those are the victims here. Not one Slaypire who thought herself—me—mighty. I did that."

"I know." Spike answered. What else he could say. "But luv—"

"No buts. No explanation. I don't want an explanation! I don't want an excuse."

"Then what do you bloody want?"

She swallowed. Had a hard time looking him in the eye, but then she did. "I told you. I want to be alone."

He scoffed. "For the rest of your bloody life? You think that'll help? Well I'm not doing it. Not letting you mope about or waste away 'cause you think you bloody deserve it."

"I do deserve it!" Jade shouted. She moved like a blur, not the fastest she'd ever gone, but still, he could scarcely blink before she was before him now, scarce inches apart. She grabbed his arm before he could stop her, and this time it was his broken wrist that she flicked with her thumb. Not carelessly, but with a calculated amount of force.

"Bloody hell," he ground out. Jade hadn't let go of his arm, although her grip moved further down his forearm, away from his tender wrist. She held him firm, keeping him captive again. Again. The word didn't mean to come to him, but it did. Like how she had pinned him to the ground, and he hadn't been able to move or help or do a bloody thing but wait at her mercy. And this was reminiscent of that time, and he knew it was purposeful.

"I did these." She swung out slower, with the arm that had the burnt hole in it, and flicked at his chest with a finger. He winced as she struck tender flesh, the ribs that had yet to mend. She knew where all of his weak spots were, how to make him squirm with pain. Of course she did, since she had done it. And she knew it too. "I hurt you. And I remember. Every second. I was punishing you. I remember."

"Jade…" He said, shaking his head. "I don't care. It doesn't bother me."

"It bothers me!" She yelled again. Her eyes glistened.

"It'll heal!" He insisted.

"So?" Jade snapped, indignant, pained. "That makes it alright? That doesn't make it alright. It doesn't matter how much forgiveness I get. Or don't. I did this to you. I did. I'm supposed to watch your back, I'm supposed to help you to the end. And I know what I feel for you, but when it was her…when it was me." She corrected herself, closing her eyes and opening them back again. "It was so twisted. I obsessed over you." She pulled his arm and brought him closer to her, so close their chests were nearly touching, eyes inches away from each other. And she looked up at him like she wasn't shorter at all. He couldn't do anything, captivated and caught by her magnetic gaze.

"I obsess over you." She corrected herself in present tense. "I don't deserve to call it love. Not after what I did. Not ever."

"You didn't have your bloody soul!" He growled, trying to implore the chit to see some bloody reason. She was so sodding upset, and what, over him? What she'd done? A couple of cuts and bruises and broken bones, hell he'd suffered much worse from Buffy, and that was a Slayer with her soul. He understood how some of the other things that Jade had remembered she'd done would torture her, like the Orphanage, but he didn't have a bloody inkling as to why there was such guilt in her gaze when she looked at him. Like there was a single thing she needed to apologize for—

"I tried to rape you, Spike." She forced out in a broken tone, and it was there that all the pieces fell into place.

He shook his head. "Luv, no—"

"No. That's what you said to me." The tears should have fallen, so abundant were they in their quantity, but she had yet to blink, so they just shimmered there, like pearls, caught up in her dark eyelashes, waiting for release. "You said no. And I kept forcing."

"Jade—"

She pushed him, hard, and it was so unexpected and so rough that he fell back, sprawled onto the floor. Bloody familiar, and there was Jade, following him. Straddling him, her legs on each side of his hips, recreating the scene from before. Her pale, bare legs contrasted against the dark of the room, the black of his clothes. She was light, and she must have kept most of her weight on her knees, because she didn't press her center into him like she had before. She was touching him, but only barely. At some point the tears had reached their breaking point and fell, small rivulets that ran down the curve of her marble cheeks, and she spoke to him in between sobs. "I forced you down. You tried to stop me." She took his good hand, and her touch was so different now, so very gentle as she took his hand and directed it against her stomach, her cold touch lighter than a feather as her fingers overlapped his own. "And I pushed your hand away." Her fingers curled tighter around his hand, pulling it off her again. She looked at their entwined fingers as if she couldn't believe her eyes. "And then I…" She directed her other hand towards his belt, and he could see how badly her fingers were shaking. She couldn't touch him with that hand, stopped her fingers with inches to spare. Couldn't bear to recreate it, not completely.

"And you told me don't," She sobbed. "And I didn't listen. I thought it'd help me get rid of you in my head, in everywhere. The whole time, all I could think of was you… and I wanted it to stop. If you wouldn't give yourself to me, I'd just take…"

He couldn't remember to speak. He was as captive in this memory as she was, except he couldn't recall any of the words he'd said.

The hand that she wouldn't let touch his belt now drifted upwards towards his face instead. He could see the drawn look on her face, the pain as she moved her wounded shoulder, but the grip on his fingers had tightened more, and she didn't seem to even be aware that she could release his hand, holding onto him like he was the only thing keeping her from lifting up into the sky and floating away. "I hit your arm," her fingers drifted to his upper bicep, fingers trailing there softly, because she knew if she squeezed it'd aggravate the aches. "And then your head against the rubble." Those fingers reached towards his cheek bone, and he laid there waiting but the touch never came. "I found the stake in your hand and I broke your wrist. The same snap as breaking a candy cane." She looked at where his arm was resting.

"And then you held my arm down. To distract me. And I hit you. Hard. Bounced your head off the edges again. Could smell the blood. If Lyth hadn't put the soul back on me, I would've—" Her voice caught, a shaky edge. "I would have…" She brought her feather-light touch to his face now, caressing the curve of his cheek. She leaned towards him then, her hair falling past from where she'd tried to tuck it behind her ears, framing her face in dark as her skin glowed a pale white. She leaned down, and he couldn't help but shift himself up, his shoulders pushed upwards even as his lower half was trapped, pinioned beneath her. Then her fingers travelled to his chest, over his heart. She tapped it. "I was thinking that once I killed whoever was attacking me, I'd kill you too. Except I'd rape you first. Because I just had to have you and once I did you wouldn't be in my head anymore." Her tone which had gone progressively quieter and quieter now turned hard and cold, her sobs momentarily halting so that her speech was clear and uninterrupted as she trapped him the same way she had before.

And then she was gone. Like a blur, a breath of air, the weight from him was lifted, and he could move again. He scrambled up onto his feet while she was already standing halfway across the room. His throat felt dry, blocked, and he whet his lips to speak. "Jade—"

"You know, my memory's not that good. Never was. Memorization in school was a nightmare. I'm not the kind of person who can recall a moment with perfect lucidity, and being a vampire hasn't helped my memory at all. I get more perceptions, but that doesn't mean I retain things better. Even now, most of the events of those last three days are fading. Only the most poignant moments stand out. Y-you know, I don't remember what he looked like. The first boy I killed. I don't remember the color of his eyes or his hair or how tall he was or if he had freckles, or what he was wearing. It didn't matter. All I remember are the cries he made as they dwindled out, and how he tasted. So. Delicious." Her chest rose and fell as if she were taking a shaky breath.

"And I remember killing Rachel. Rachel. After rescuing her from that magical cult, I'm the one who kills her? What was the point of it all? Everything good I ever did or ever could do if I undo it in three days? Build up a tab I can't repay. And you know what else I remember? Everything about you. All my thoughts. I went to sleep at night covered in a duster that looked like yours. It helped convince me that I was going to find you. And then when I did. I try to… to. And I can remember every. Second. Of. It. The way you felt, the way you looked, what you said. How much I wanted you. I remember it so clear. What does that say about me? That that's what I remember the most? I knew you would never want me so I decided to just take it instead. From you. From someone I'm supposed to… how much I care about you, and I…" She shook her head, no longer able to hold his gaze. "I am a disgusting monster. I didn't do those things because I had to, but because I wanted to. And I can't look at you without seeing what I did."

"It wasn't bloody rape," Spike finally forced out. He'd done his best to be patient, let her say what she had to, but she'd stopped, and he had to let her know how ludicrous it was. He hadn't been bloody near-raped, not at all. Least it'd never occurred to him, not while she'd been on him. He'd been thinking of how she'd feel about the whole thing, not him. He wasn't the victim here. She was no bloody thing to be loathed, and she had to know that he would have been willing.

"So you wanted me to have sex with you then? In the broken basement of that building? To fuck you into submission, until you were bloody and broken, because that's what I wanted." Her voice was rough, and she cringed at her own language, closing her eyes briefly.

He hesitated. He wanted that, some of it. Wanted her body for a while now, though it hadn't been right, not while he was still with Buffy. He wouldn't have done that, couldn't have. She didn't know that, of course. And bloody hell, he didn't think it was the time to tell her. But it hadn't been her that was revolting to him, and she used her and soulless her as if they were one person but there were oceans of difference. Her on him and Nyx on him were two entirely different experiences.

And he had to be honest 'bout that because she'd see through him in an instant. Always bloody did.

"Not—" He wasn't quite sure how he was going to finish that sentence. Not her, or not like that, or could he bloody admit how he felt about her without making it worse. Shouldn't. If she just realised that he wanted her, that it hadn't been one-sided or forced at all. Telling her was one thing, making her hear it and understand it was another sodding matter entirely.

And she didn't let him finish. "You said no. And I wouldn't listen. I tried to force you… and compromise you. And I beat you when you resisted me. And if I hadn't been interrupted, I would have done it. Imagined doing it. And I saw you in pain, and I just hoped it'd make you… make it easier for you to obey."

"You make it sound like you're a sodding villain, but you're not. It was nothing, luv, it was a bit of… close contact, is all." Bloody hell, he'd never thought he'd shy away, use euphemisms instead, but Jade was sensitive, and damn easily embarrassed. "Bloody hell, it wasn't—"

"If the roles were changed. And you'd been the one without a soul, and I'd been the one on the floor, trapped. And you were doing to me what I'd been doing to you, what would you call that?" Jade demanded, her gaze that of steel.

And all he could think of was Buffy's body beneath his on the bathroom, tiled floor. Tears in her eyes as she beat against his chest, and all he'd wanted was to be loved, thought that was the only way he could make her see. Realisation hit him like a heavy brick. And he knew she could see it then, the understanding dawn in his expression. Yeah, he bloody understood the reference. If he'd done that to Jade, too… the guilt he still felt over what he'd nearly done to Buffy hadn't dissipated. He'd hoped it would, when he'd gotten his soul, but it had just made it worse. It nearly destroyed him, the combined weight of all his deeds. But that near-rape of Buffy had been one of the worst.

He understood then, how she felt, even if she shouldn't. It wasn't the same. Buffy hadn't wanted a thing to do with him, but Spike… hell, he didn't have that same kind of pride. He didn't feel demoralized or exploited. He just felt pity. Pity for how tortured she was, and anger at himself for not being able to fix it.

And relief when she leaned forward to him again and said, "Leave. Just leave, please."

This was it. His chance to tell her that she had it all wrong. Thought she'd taken advantage of him? Though that he could never bare to touch her and didn't want her? She was so, so far off, and that was part of the guilt she'd wrapped around herself, sodding tendrils that wouldn't release their hold. She thought he didn't love her back. He did, and he could tell her now, set it right. Put her worries at ease.

But he wasn't the soulless vampire he'd once been, thinking that telling someone he loved them would make it all better. Hell, he'd damn well learned that there was a wrong and right time to say it. Learned it, not without stumbling a hell of a lot first. And he couldn't make the same mistake he made with Buffy, couldn't see that look of disgust and revolting on her face when—but it wasn't even that. Wasn't selfish this time. He wasn't worried about rejection, because hell, he'd had his share. He'd borne it before and would do so again, no matter how much it bloody hurt. He'd do it for Jade 'cause she was worth it, even if the heartbroken chit couldn't see it herself.

And that's why he couldn't tell her. Not now. He bloody wished it was that simple, but he knew Jade. Knew all the way through that bleeding heart of hers, knew her pain. Knew a thing about self-deprecation, hell, he was the sodding king in that regard. And he knew how she was feeling. If he told her that he loved her, right now, hoping that it would fix all her little cracks, it wouldn't. She'd think… she'd think it was from pity. That he was just trying to make her feel better, make her feel less guilty. She wouldn't believe it, and he'd gone through that too many times, trying to prove his love, and it wouldn't work like this. She had to know, somewhere in that anguished mind of hers. And he had to let her remember it of her own accord, as much as it bloody stung him.

He'd thought it had shown courage, admitting it to Buffy. That it was the next step. Yeah, I hate this love, but 'ere it is, don't throw it in my face. But it had been. Loads of times. It wasn't the time. He was a right ponce, he knew that. But it wasn't pity, what he felt for her, not one bloody bit, and he couldn't bear her thinking that's what it was.

So he'd be a bastard for staying, trying to tell her what she didn't want to hear, or he'd be the bastard that abandoned her. Bloody hell, it wasn't a sodding choice. But it was what she needed most at the time. Not him. He'd make that sacrifice. She'd sure as hell do the same for him. Maybe not now, but she would. If it was ever needed.

So he did what was hardest. What she wanted.

He left.