Thanks to both Eurydice and i_digress_uk for their help on a tricky wording problem in this chapter. And, of course, to t_geyer for her help on this and every chapter.

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Chapter 18 - Warning and Trust

It's late when I finally get home. Gina and I finished our shopping, then went to get something to eat. We talked a lot more over our meal, and by the end of it, I was feeling happier. I sometimes wonder why Gina never got into counselling - she seems a natural to me. She put me straight on some things, and her belief that Spike's love for me is obvious made me feel a lot better.

I hear the TV as soon as I open the door, and I recognise the show immediately. Not that I would have just a short while ago, but since Spike's been living here, it's become a regular fixture.

I dump my purchases in my bedroom, and take the jacket out of its wrappings. I hang it over the closet door and admire it for a moment, wondering when I should let him see it. I feel awkward about it now, almost afraid of his reaction, and put it in with my own things until I decide how to do it.

I go into the living room, greet him to be answered by a grunt, and proceed into the kitchen to get myself a soda. I go back, and sit down beside him. He doesn't seem to notice me, so I watch the show with him.

Well, no, I'm not really watching the show. But, sitting here with him, it actually gives me a feeling of security I didn't even know I was missing. The show breaks for commercials, and he turns to me, favouring me with his attention.

"So, how'd the shopping go? Manage to clear out the cash?"

"No, we didn't, but I think I got enough for now. Did Wesley call?"

"No, heard nothing from the Watcher. But then, since you were out with his missus, he may have guessed you'd not be in."

"He could have called to talk to you," I remind him.

"And I was supposed to be of the shopping party, until I started losing brain cells too quickly and decided to abandon you."

"It wasn't that bad," I argue, and he fixes me with a look that makes it perfectly clear that he doesn't agree. I shrug.

"It's not like you tried to persuade me to stay," he continues.

"Well, there're some things it's better to shop for without male interference."

It's fleeting, but I'm sure I see him redden at those words. He turns away, walking to the kitchen, asking if I want anything. I tell him I don't, and he disappears for a few minutes, only to reappear when his show starts again. There's no remaining sign of whatever it was, if it even was at all.

"Is there anything else you thought of?" I ask, when the show finally ends. "You know, any clothes that could be useful?"

He looks at me, as if weighing up whether or not I'm trying to make a point, but it doesn't seem like he sees anything like that on my face, because he answers a moment later.

"Well, " he pauses, then goes on. "There is one thing I didn't think of. You know, being in California, it's not as if you have any real weather, if you know what I mean. But sometimes, at night, it'd be good to have a jacket - nothing fancy mind, just something to keep the breeze off. Never mattered too much when I was room temperature - I suppose it takes a bit of getting used to. The coat - well, let's say it's seen better days, and there are times when it almost gets in the way."

I grin, wondering at the fact that he's giving me the perfect opening. I don't say anything, just get up and go into the bedroom. I lift the jacket out of my closet, smoothing down the leather as I do so. It's stiff, unyielding, and very different from the coat, but then, that's hardly surprising. I walk back to him, surprised to note that I'm nervous. I'm unsure how he's going to take it. Am I organising him too much? Did he look at it in the window thinking it was hideous? I swallow hard, and go back into the living room.

"Would this do?" I ask. There's no reply, and I don't dare look at his face to see if there's a reaction there. "If it's no good, I can always take it back, and you can choose something for yourself. I mean, if you don't like it."

I look at him, and he's standing beside me. I didn't hear him getting up. He holds out a hand to take the jacket from the hanger, and I hazard a glance at his face. I'm still mystified. He doesn't look happy, but then he doesn't look angry either. He unbuttons the jacket, and slips it on. Of course, I didn't imagine him wearing it with the usual black on black ensemble, but I'm relieved to note that it's a perfect fit.

He flexes his shoulders, rolling them, getting a feel for the jacket. He looks down, and I realise he's trying to see how it looks.

"There's a mirror in my closet," I offer. "Only one for now, but it'll give you an idea …"

He nods, not speaking, and I lead him into my room. I open the closet door, and he stands in front of it, smoothing the leather with his hands.

"Hard to get used to," he offers.

What? Me buying him coats? Well, yeah. Then he continues.

"Having a reflection. You get so you make yourself believe it doesn't matter, but deep down, it does. Gets so you avoid places with mirrors, and if you can't avoid them completely, you make sure you don't look."

"So, there's an upside to being human?" I ask.

"To make up for the getting older and dying, and being easy prey for any big bads around? Doesn't seem like a lot."

"Hard to believe, seeing you looking at yourself like that."

He turns from the mirror, and I metaphorically kick myself since it seems I've said the wrong thing. Again. In an effort to change the subject, I ask, "So, is the jacket ok? Like I said, I can take it back."

"Jacket's perfect, Pet. Admired it when we were out. Didn't think you'd notice. Was a time you wouldn't have."

And of course, he's right. There was a time when all that interested me about Spike's clothing was whether or not he was wearing any. Oh, and watching muscles rippling under a tight T shirt, and wondering how he actually got into jeans that tight.

"You really like it?" I ask, my voice soft.

"That I do, Pet. It's right natty. I'll be suited and booted in this."

Now what on earth does he mean by that? My confusion must be obvious.

"You'd think, number of years you spent with Giles, you'd have picked up a bit of the English language."

"There's nothing wrong with my use of the English language," I protest, and he grins, and I realise I'm smiling again too.

"If you say so, Pet. If you say so."

We go to our beds soon after that, each to our own rooms. I spend a few moments looking through the underwear I bought, trying to imagine Spike's reaction to it, but I give up. I need to stop torturing myself like that. If Gina's right, and we're going to be able to find a way to be together, then it'll happen. If it doesn't, then I'll just have to deal.

My mind flips back to just after Riley left. I can look at that now and realise that he did both of us a favour. And Xander nearly made me make a serious mistake. If I'd managed to stop Riley that night, it would only have prolonged the agony for both of us. I was so desperate for normal then, and he seemed my best hope.

I remember visiting a convent - I mean, I was chasing a demon, and that's why I was in the area, but I actually asked one of the nuns about the whole 'doing without men' thing. Not going to try anything like that again.

I pull on a tank top and shorts. I climb into bed, and toss and turn for a while before eventually managing to sleep.

I know it's a dream, but it seems so real it hardly matters. I'm in the bathroom, in the house on Revello.

I haven't thought about that night for so long, but every detail is crisp and clear. I feel the pain in my back from being thrown against the head stone. Spike comes in, and I'm my usual bitchy self, telling him to leave me in peace. I see something snap in him, as if he's been holding the demon back with sheer force of will, and then he's pulling at my clothing, trying to make me see that I care about him. I'm struggling, but this time, it's as though either he's stronger or I'm weaker, because I can't push him away.

And then the scene changes. I'm no longer in the bathroom, but in my bedroom, my here-and-now, LA bedroom. I'm lying in my bed, and Spike's there, pulling the straps of my tank top down my arms, then giving up and just snapping them.

I can see his face then, human, but there's no sign of lust or anger or any of the things I remember from before. The expression on his face is absolute terror. I think it's then I realise I'm not dreaming.

The tank top's been pulled down, and he's struggling with my shorts, and I'm still trying to stop him. Somehow, now I know I'm awake, it's easier, and I manage to push him away. He lands in a heap on the floor, and I pull a sheet around myself. He's shaking his head, and I'm about to ask him what's happening when he speaks.

"Slayer," he starts. It's his voice, and the intonation he used back in the days when killing me was a major pre-occupation. The look of terror is still there, in his eyes, and my heart goes out to him as he speaks again, his voice more measured, almost slightly stilted.

"I think you've been wasting time. You've got a job to do, and if you don't get on with it, this will seem like a pleasant interlude compared with what I'll make him do next. Did you know that he remembers every person he killed? Every person he hurt? He's got it all stored in his head, and I don't even have to imagine anything, all I have to do is persuade him to act out one of his memories. You know what that could mean, don't you?" He's got some absolutely delicious memories.

It takes me a moment to realise what's happening. Lilah. Once I've done that, I manage to answer.

"Leave him alone. You've got a problem with how I'm doing the job, you take it out on me. He wasn't part of the deal."

"Ah, but he was. Remember, I can control him. It's even fun. But I won't unless you make me do it."

"But he's human, he hasn't got the strength to hurt people like he used to have." I'm grasping for anything to stop her doing as she's threatened. There's a pause then, as though Lilah is thinking about something.

"Ah, but you're wrong. I can make him as strong as I need him to be. Of course, it's not going to do his body any good - that's why people are generally limited in strength, but it's possible to tap into reserves, for a short while anyway. And, if I need to, I will."

I know she's gone by the way Spike slumps. He dissolves into tears, shaking and murmuring the same words over and over.

"Couldn't stop her. Sorry, sorry, tried, couldn't."

I pull the sheet tighter around me, quickly tying it, and sit on the floor next to him. I put my arms around him, and hold him tight. At first, he pulls away, and the muttered words change to "Don't, don't, don't deserve."

I hold him tighter still, as tight as I dare, and stroke his hair.

"It wasn't you, I know that. You're not to blame."

He looks at me, and his eyes are full of self-loathing. "But it was, Buffy. It was what I tried to do to you before. She's right - she didn't give me the idea. That came from in here."

As he says that, he points towards his own head.

"I was going to force you, to show you, part of me was watching, trying to stop myself. I just wasn't strong enough."

"It doesn't matter, Spike. It's over, and it wasn't real. Just Lilah messing with your mind. She can do that, you know. I mentioned it when I told you about the amulet. Wes is working on a way round it, and Willow said she would too, so it's only for a while."

"But, Buffy, first, I was in your … bathroom. I thought it was a dream, but then it changed."

"I know, I dreamt about it too. Seems she can also get into my mind."

"I'm sorry," he says again. "I know it doesn't mean anything, saying sorry for trying to hurt you like that, but I am sorry."

"I just said, it wasn't real."

"The first time, it was. I'm sorry."

"What? For turning the tables on me? Our relationship then was built on violence."

"I know," I say quickly before he can interrupt. "I was the one who kept the violence going when you would have changed things. I did a lot of thinking after Sunnydale, and I know that you were driven to do that. I'm not saying it wasn't wrong, but you did so much trying to keep your demon in check, and what credit did we give you? None. Hardly surprising it managed to escape its leash. And I pushed you away, remember? And you knew I could, just like I knew I could. I was never really in any danger that night, and, shocked as I was, I did know that."

He's shaking now, and I realise that he's coming up in goosebumps over his chest and arms. He's only wearing his jeans, but they've been hastily pulled on, and the zipper's still open. Whatever else I do, I can't leave him shivering like that.

"Just a moment, Spike," I tell him, getting up and going to my drawer where I find some exceedingly frumpy pyjamas. You know, the sort of thing you wear when the cramps are bad, or you're just feeling rotten. Comfort clothes. I go into the bathroom and pull them on, then go back into my room.

He's sitting where I left him, and if he even noticed I'd gone, he's giving no sign of it. I pull him up, finding it surprisingly difficult, even though he's not resisting. I pull him towards my bed, and push him onto it.

"Buffy, no," he says, realising at last what I'm doing. "You can't trust me. I've got to go."

"No," I answer simply. "You're staying here. Lilah would expect you to leave, or me to throw you out, so that's exactly what we're not doing."

"But after …"

"After what? If it happens again, I can stop you. We proved that."

"But …" he starts, but I'm not going to listen to him giving me chapter and verse on why this isn't a good idea.

"Stay with me, Spike? Just hold me. Please. I need to know you're there."

And, as I knew he would, he nods his head. While he thought I was doing it for him, he'd never agree. Doing it for me, though, is another matter. The silly thing is, that although I really do want to have him here, he needs this more than I do. He needs to know, to feel that I trust him. And I do.