*Poem by Thomas Hardy **Poem by William Blake

Buffy stopped crying long enough to look up at him. "No, I'm fine. I should shower. I'm filthy." She stood up on her own and made her way slowly to the bathroom. She opened the door and then turned again toward the hall. "Oh, I need some clean clothes." She started towards her bedroom.

For a moment, Spike thought that it would be just fine if the only thing she ever wore again was that leather duster, but he shook that off as he intercepted her. "Here now, you go take a nice, hot bath. I'll get you some clothes. All those hours of rummaging in your room last year will finally pay off," Spike said with a little smile.

Buffy just looked at him with an accepting expression, "Oh, ok." She went into the bathroom and turned on the water.

After Spike had picked out some comfortable clothes, he headed to the bathroom. He paused at the slightly opened door. He heard Buffy talking.

"God...what happened to *me*? Oww...geez. Everything hurts..." Buffy trailed off as Spike knocked lightly on the door.

"Um, Buffy? I have some clothes for you." Spike stuck his arm in the door opening and handed over the clothes, mindful not to look. Not that he didn't want to, but it just felt very wrong right now. Buffy seemed to have all this new-found trust with Spike, he didn't want to do anything to mess it up.

"Thanks, Spike. Um, can you get me a towel?"

"Sure, pet. Be right back."

When Spike returned with the towel, he heard the water running. He reached in the door again.

"Um, can you just bring it in here? I can't reach."

Spike took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He opened the door slowly and tried to feel his way toward the bathtub. Buffy let out a tired chuckle.

"Spike, I don't have a lot of modesty right now. I think you already saw me in all my glory...ugh, remind me to remove that word from my vocabulary. Anyway, it's ok. I mean, don't stare at me or anything, but you don't have to be so...un-Spike like. Why aren't you jumping at the chance to ogle me? Granted, I don't feel very ogle-worthy right now..."

"Hey, I can be a gentleman if I want. And, you're always ogle-worthy." Spike still held his eyes shut tight. Then something struck him. A memory from his human life. "I don't deign to look upon my love, my eyes not worthy of her form. She is a golden gift from gods above, placed gently in our tempest storm."

"That's nice. Who wrote that? Is that Shakespeare?"

Spike let out a loud laugh, so loud that he startled Buffy. "No, not *that* William."

"*You* wrote that? Cool...I want to hear more." Buffy encouraged him eagerly. Spike still stood in the middle of the bathroom with his eyes shut tight. "Sit down, tell me some more poetry. Please." The 'please' broke him. He had fully intended to leave her to bath and sit outside in the hall like a good puppy. But her 'please' sounded so...well, pleading. So he sighed and sat down on the cold tile, his back against the bathtub.

"I'll recite some more poetry, but nothing of mine. Besides that one poem that got some small notice in my town newspaper, all the rest of my stuff was.....'bloody awful.'" He said the last bit with noticeable disdain. Buffy wondered what it meant, but pressed on.

"Come on, I want to hear more of your stuff. It can't be all *that* bad."

"Ha! It certainly can be, and it *is*. Besides, I don't remember any of the rest." Buffy knew he was lying, but she decided not to push him too much.

"Ok, then 'recite' me some other stuff." She busied herself washing as she could almost feel Spike's mind churning, trying to decide which works to lavish her with.

Spike listened the splashing water for a moment. Tried to mentally picture her in the water, because he did not dare to turn and look at her. He was snapped out of his thoughts when Buffy cried, "Ouch!" He instinctively turned to her to see what was wrong, but then immediately looked up at the ceiling.

"What? What is it, love?"

Buffy bit her lip and sighed, "It's just...all these...my body hurts and I don't know why. All these cuts and bruises, they feel so fresh, but I don't remember anything. Did I hit the ground or something? I don't remember much right before I saw you guys...I remember falling...into something. Did I hit the ground?"

"No, me. I mean, you fell into me. Whatever happened to you happened before you fell to us. You don't remember?" Spike was still not looking at her, but his gaze lowered to a spot on the shower wall just above her head.

"I remember...no, I don't know what happened to my body, but..." Buffy seemed very hesitant to continue.

"It's ok, love. You don't have to talk about anything you don't want to."

"Will you tell me some poetry, Spike?" Spike smiled weakly, disappointed that she didn't want to talk about coming back, but still thrilled that she wanted him there while she bathed, reciting poetry to her like they were lovers. He turned around again and settled against the tub. He recited Wordsworth and Keats, a bit of Shakespeare, noting to her when he quoted him. It was while he quoted Hardy that he heard an imperceptible sigh and moan from Buffy.

-- * I need not go-- Through sleet and snow-- To where I know-- She waits for me;-- She will tarry me there-- 'Til I find it fair,-- And have time to spare-- From company.

When I've overgot-- The world somewhat,-- When things cost not-- Such stress and strain,-- Is soon enough-- By cypress sough-- To tell my Love-- I am come again.

And if some day,-- When one cries nay,-- I still delay-- To seek her side,-- (Though ample measure-- Of fitting leisure-- Await my pleasure)-- She will not chide.

What--not upbraid me-- That I delay'd me,-- Nor ask what stay'd me-- So long? Ah, no!-- New cares may claim me,-- New loves inflame me,-- She will not blame me,-- But suffer it so.

--

He silently wondered if it touched her as much as him, and he felt compelled to just look at her face. When he looked, she was sleeping. He smiled to himself and reached around to touch her face. "Buffy, love. Wake up now. Let's get you to bed, ok?" Buffy didn't stir except to roll her head into his cradling hand. "Um, Slayer? You really can't sleep in the tub. I don't think it's good for you." He gently tapped her face with the hand that held it.

She furrowed her brow and whimpered, "'S not a school day, Mom. Was patrolling late."

Spike closed his eyes and sighed, "Bugger." He stood up and looked around the bathroom, not certain of what to do. He knew he couldn't leave her to sleep there, and he certainly couldn't carry her to bed. Or could he? Why not? It was innocent enough. He wasn't taking advantage. And more importantly, there was no one there to argue with him. He picked up the towel he had brought in and took it to Buffy's bedroom. He laid it out on her bed. He returned to the bathroom and hoped silently that she wouldn't wake up while he was carrying her. He brought her into the bedroom and laid her gently on the towel. He stood and looked at her for a moment, uncertain of what the next step should be. Snapping out of the enjoyment of looking at her naked body, he realized she was still very wet. He went to get another towel.

When he returned, he noticed that she hadn't moved at all. He started methodically drying her body, cursing his growing arousal that felt very inappropriate just then. He tried to imagine that it was just a task, something he had to get done as quickly as possible. But it was very hard to keep his gaze from lingering over her firm breasts and tight stomach. Consequently, the towel lingered over those parts too. But then, all of a sudden, like he had never noticed before, he saw all of her markings. Scars, fresh cuts, bruises, all the wounds she had complained about earlier. Drying her legs only brought more injuries to light. Gashes on her thighs that were not bleeding, but appeared fresh, nonetheless. Spike decided he'd better dress her wounds before he dressed her body.

He went to the bathroom to retrieve some first aid supplies, as well as Buffy's clean clothes and his duster. He dumped the garments on the bed next to her stilled form, and began working with the supplies. He decided to treat the injuries on her torso first, so he could stop looking at her beautiful breasts and focus. He was rock hard by now, but kept trying to put thoughts out of his mind of a Buffy on Spike variety. Buffy awoke when he was finishing treating a particularly nasty cut on her ribs. She sat bolt upright and glared at Spike. "Easy there, I'm just--" Spike stopped when he saw her eyes filled with anger. "Look, I know this looks bad, but you were out cold and I just thought..."

While Spike searched for a reason he shouldn't be a big pile of dust right now, Buffy's eyes softened and she whispered, "It's ok. I was just...scared. I didn't know...I mean, go ahead. Finish whatever you're doing." She laid back on the bed slowly. Spike nodded his head and quickly finished with her torso. He picked up the shirt he had gotten for her and she sat up again. She took it from him and he felt the need to avert his eyes while she put it on. He laughed at himself for doing this, as he had just had his hands and eyes all over her body. Buffy also took the opportunity to put on some underwear.

Spike continued to treat the wounds on her legs. When he was done, he helped her slip on some sweatpants. He then tended to her face, which consisted of a slightly swollen eye, a split lower lip, and a large cut on her cheek. She sat mutely while he worked, never looking at him. When he finished, she reached up and held his hand to her face, almost absently. "They brought me back, didn't they?" She was staring off into the darkness of her room.

"Yeah, they did." Spike pursed his lips, wondering where this line was going.

"Why? Why did you bring me back?"

"Well, I wish I could say I helped, but it was really just the Scoobies. Left me pretty much out of the loop, as always. But as for the why...well, I imagine because they love you, pet. Missed you. We all missed you." Spike spoke softly, trying to look into her averted eyes.

"Oh...is that all? I figured...I don't know. I guess I figured they brought me back because of some big bad that only I could fight. I could understand that. But love? They brought me back because they love me? I don't want any part of that kind of love." Buffy laid back on the bed and turned her back to Spike.

"Pet, what do you mean? They didn't want you to suffer in some hell with Glory." Spike looked frantic and confused again.

Buffy turned and looked at him incredulously. "Hell? They thought I was in hell?"

Spike took a look over her body and injuries and said, "Well, yeah. You don't get these wounds skipping across the golden streets of heaven, love."

Buffy glared at him so hard that he had to step back a bit. "Wherever I was, I wasn't with Glory or in hell. I was...good. I was..it was all so good and nice and calm. I don't even have words to describe it. It's like my senses weren't really experiencing it, but my mind was. I just remember softness and calm. I felt like...like I was somewhere dark, but not scary. Not dark, even...like soft candlelight was all around me, except there wasn't one point of light, it was just a glow...I can't.....I don't know. It wasn't bright and hard like everything here is. I couldn't feel anything except contentment. I don't know what happened to my body, but I wasn't with it. I was...happy. I haven't been happy in so long. Why would they take that from me? They were so selfish that I couldn't be happy for a while?"

She was sobbing now and Spike wanted to hold her. But it didn't feel right. He felt like one of the gang who had brought her back. He felt a twinge of guilt that he was still so happy she was here, even though it was causing her so much pain. He silently removed the wet towel from beneath her and tossed it to the floor. She laid back down on the bed and reached for Spike's duster. She laid it across her body and curled up underneath it. Spike watched her for a moment as she softly sobbed herself to sleep. Then he gave her one last recitation.

-- **

Sleep, sleep, beauty bright,-- Dreaming in the joys of night;-- Sleep, sleep; in thy sleep-- Little sorrows sit and weep

As thy softest limbs I feel,-- Smiles as of the morning steal-- O'er thy cheek, and o'er thy breast-- Where thy little heart doth rest.

O the cunning wiles that creep-- In thy little heart asleep!-- When thy little heart doth wake,-- Then the dreadful night shall break

--

Spike slipped out of her room and closed the door softly. He resigned himself to keeping guard outside her door, lest she wake and need something, anything of him. He sat beside her door and leaned on the wall. He took a deep breath and it came out shakily. Before he could convince himself to stay strong, he was weeping into his hands. For joy, for pain, for every emotion he had ever known. They were all upon him now, and it was ok, because there was no one around to see the master vampire cry for his slayer.

**

TBC-if feedback warrants it.