The interesting thing about pain is it comes in so many forms.

There's physical pain, the basest kind of all. Broken bones, torn muscles, abrasions, open wounds; the list goes on. They tingle, they burn, they itch. You cover them with bandages and make-up, because you don't want them to be seen.

Emotional pain is very different. You can't see it, but you can feel it. And you hide it, just like a bruise, because it's something to be ashamed of. Sometimes you joke about it, pretend it doesn't hurt. Or you deflect attention from it by changing the subject.

But when physical and emotional pain are combined, it is the most painful experience. The fire on your body and the freezing of your heart scorch you, until all that's left of you is a hollowed shell.

Spike sat in the basement on the lumpy cot, his arms chained securely to the wall. He twirled a cigarette in his fingers, contemplating it like it held the meaning of life.

Or merely the meaning of his. What was the point anymore? He was useless now, harmless against human threats because of his chip, maybe even harmless against demons because of his soul. And the First was his puppet master, and the only hope of cutting his strings lay in Romania. Or Ethan Raynes' sock drawer.

Deciding against it, he tucked the cig under the mattress where he hid all the things he wasn't supposed to have in Buffy's house. Like his Jack Daniels, or the Slayer's pink lacy underwear.

That last one he should burn, for all the good it does him. From the pounding he received tonight, it was clear that any chance he had with the woman he loves died when he did 180 years ago.

'Well, too bad for her,' he thought as he kicked off his boots. He tried to make himself comfortable, but the rattling of his shackles combined with the springs digging into his hip were making it a little difficult for him.

He wished he hadn't woken up today, that he'd just gone on sleeping under Buffy's blue comforter in Buffy's room, Buffy's bed…he drove her from his mind and rolled to face the wall. He'd get a good night's sleep and prove to the First that he was not completely under its thumb.

The basement door creaked open, and Spike's eyes popped open. He strained his ears, trying to focus his senses on the only sounds in the room other than the ticking of the water heater.

Light creaking of stairs as someone descended. Someone light…a woman. Nice strong heartbeat, if a little fast. Soft padding of bare feet as they approached him across the cement floor. The scent of vanilla and honey…

He rolled over then, and stared up at her. She stared back, wide-eyed, taking in his tattered appearance. Giles and Dawn had cleaned him up the best they could, but when Spike gained consciousness he had pushed them away. He wanted to feel the pain he deserved.

Neither of them moved, her standing open-mouthed and hesitant, him laying stiff and confused. The silence stretched between them like an elastic band, pulled like taffy until brown turns into white and the edges start to tear.

Buffy drew a breath, snapping the silence in two, and clasped her hands in front of her.

"I-I'm sorry."

Spike raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Sorry? For what, love?"

Buffy frowned slightly, then looked him in the eyes. "I'm sorry for hitting you."

He snorted. "As I recall, I hit you first. Fair is fair."

She shook her head vigorously in protest. "No, no…I don't mean to begin with, I mean, at the end…when I, you know." She gestured to her face.

Spike looked away from her and chuckled nervously. "Oh, that. Well, I was going to kill you, pet. So long as you're alive, I figure there's no harm done."

She knelt in front of him and reached out. Gently, she touched the purple bruise on his left eye. Her fingers trailed feather-light across his swollen jaw, and she brushed her knuckles against his split lower lip.

He stared at her in awe, both because she had felt the need to apologize to him and because she was touching him like she cared.

"I was wrong to do this," she whispered. Their eyes met and held. "I should have pinned you down, waited for the others to help. But I didn't. I let my Slayer powers get the better of me, and I…," she pushed him up into a sitting position, and she assumed the place his upper half had been laying on, "I hurt you. Not just today, either. That night outside the police station? And in the building, before we…you know. I've been doing it a lot. And I'm sorry."

Spike stared at her, at the beautiful woman beside him. He couldn't think of anything to say. So he tentatively touched her hand.

She looked down at the place where their skin was touching, but she didn't move. Either way. Cautiously, he slid his palm over the back of her hand, and slowly entwined their fingers.

Buffy looked up at him, tears in her eyes. "Spike…" she choked.

"Shhh…" he whispered, and with his other hand he pushed the loose hair back from her face. His fingers slipped around to the back of her head, and he pulled her down to rest on his shoulder.

Silent tears dripped down her face, and she put her arm around his waist. She snuggled into his chest, and he pulled out her hair tie. He used his fingers as a comb and smoothed the tangles out of her hair.

"I'm so sorry, Spike!" she whimpered. "I'm so, so sorry…"

He continued to shush her, inhaling her scent, feeling the warmth of her skin and enjoying the steady thump-a-thump of her heart. Sighing lightly, he smiled into her hair.

"I know you are, love. I know."

She sniffled once, then asked, in so tiny a voice he barely heard her, "Forgive me?"

His fingers paused in mid-stroke, and if he'd had breath, it would have caught in his chest. Slowly, he pulled away from her, and she tilted her face up to look at him, her eyes doe-like and her lips trembling from withholding sobs.

"Buffy," he began, using her given name, not her title or a pet name, because what he was about to say was important. "Buffy, the moment you walked down those stairs, before you even opened your mouth, I forgave you. If you can forgive me for the impulses I have, for the things I do that I can't control, then I can forgive you for those moments when you lose yourself to your instincts, however that may result."

"No," she whimpered, "no, you don't understand! I can't do that! It's wrong to hit you just because I can, it's wrong to have to keep you locked up down here, and it's wrong that I can't trust myself around you! That I can't trust myself not to hurt you, not to punch you or kick you or call you names. Until I can control myself, and you're in total control of yourself…I'm not even sure we should be in the same room together."

Silence once again descended on the pair. Spike stared at her in shocked silence. Buffy stared at him with fear and guilt fighting for dominance of her gaze. Suddenly, he gripped her shoulders roughly, and she gasped.

"Don't do this, Buffy. Don't let it win! This is what it wants, it wants to separate us, make us weaker. We're stronger together, and you know it, Slayer! We're formidable opponents on our own, but as a team, we're practically unstoppable. Like goddamn Batman and Robin, we are! Listen to me. Listen! If I get out of hand, if I threaten you or yours, I give you permission to kick my sorry ass, okay? I want you to stop me, whatever way you have to. I can't kill again, I just can't. This will heal, Buffy. These wounds, they're temporary. But if I kill again…that's one thing I'll never be able to forgive of myself. My soul is no good against the First. I need you to be my soul. Can you do that for me? Please?"

Buffy felt the world fall away in that moment. He asked her to be his soul, and suddenly, she knew he was right. They were a team, Slayer and vampire. Her green eyes held his blue ones, and she felt safe, strong, and she realized that she trusted him beyond a doubt. She wanted to return that feeling.

"Yes. I-I'll be your soul, Spike. If you'll help me control my demon, I'll help you control yours."

He frowned in confusion. "Your demon? What are you talking about?"

"I need to control the demon inside me, the part of me that makes me the Slayer. And I'm going to teach the girls what it means to be a Slayer - using their senses to hunt vampires, knowing the root of their power, embracing it, but not letting it consume them. And I want you to help."

She smiled shyly at him, but her eyes glowed in anticipation. He knew how important her Slayer heritage was to her, so he nodded.

"I'll do anything you want me to, love. Anything at all."

Her smile turned into a grin, and she just stopped herself from throwing her arms around him in wild hug. But she couldn't contain all of her happiness - she found herself uncharacteristically bouncing on the bed.

"Ooh, I knew you'd do it! Okay, so tomorrow night we're going to take the girls patrolling, show them how to hunt, but also the finer points of extracting information from demon world. I want them to start slaying real vampires soon, not just jamming stakes into dummies. Oh, and I want to use you as a practice run, so they can get to use their vampire sense before the hunt -"

"Woah, woah, woah! Tomorrow night? That's a little gung-ho, don't you think?"

"What, think you can't handle it, 'Big Bad'?" she teased.

He put on a look of mock indignation. "I'll have you know that I'm a fast healer. Especially when there's Slayer blood in my system."

"Hmph," she said, pulling entirely away from him and crossing her arms. "Is that all I am, just a cheap meal?"

"Au contraire, love. You are the finest meal I've ever had."

Buffy rolled her eyes playfully and smacked him lightly in the chest. She stood then, and turned to him.

"You should go to bed now. I don't want you bleeding all over the girls tomorrow."

She headed up the stairs, but he called out to her. Pausing, she turned and looked at him quizzically.

"So, uh, these little Slayers…"

"Potentials."

"Oh, yeah, Potentials. Um, what's the deal with them, anyway? I kinda missed the initial introductions."

Buffy winced a little at her ignorance. "Crap! I totally forgot to give you the lowdown. Well, I'll give you the whole story when I get home from work tomorrow, k? I'm just too tired to go through it all now."

He nodded his ascension, and she smiled at him once more before walking through the door and leaving him to the solitude of the basement.

Spike didn't move for a long time, just running the events of the last few minutes over in his mind.

He hunkered down on the bed, pulled the scratchy brown blanket over himself, and smiled.

Maybe there was a chance after all.