Spike was awakened sometime around three AM to the sound of whimpering. Immediately he was up from the chair in which he slept and he glanced at the door, assuming the noise had come from Dawn's room next door. He was surprised, then, to hear it again from Buffy's lips.

She lay in bed with her hands balled into fists, the sheets tangled up around her ankles. A look of fear was written on her face. It looked like one hell of a nightmare, and knowing the dreams Slayers often got, he was sure it was horrific. Spike approached her and laid his hand on her shoulder, shaking her slightly.

"Wake up, love," he said softly. He shook her again, slightly harder. "Buffy. Buffy, wake up!"

She snapped awake and shot her fist out so quickly Spike didn't see it coming. She caught him square in the cheekbone and he heard it crack. He backed off, scowling slightly.

It took Buffy a moment to realize she was awake. She looked down at her hand as though wondering what had happened, then looked at the welt growing on Spike's cheek, which she could see clearly in the darkness. An embarrassed look formed on her face.

"Sorry," she mouthed. Spike felt the mark gingerly, wincing slightly. That definitely hurt more than usual. He smiled at her.

"S'alright, love. It'll heal." He sat down next to her on the bed, careful to mind his distance in case she was feeling jumpy. "You alright?"

Buffy nodded slowly, the tension in her posture escaping. She sat in a slightly hunched position, hands in her lap. "Just a bad nightmare. It's fine. I get them all the time."

"That one looked a little worse than normal." And he would know, though he didn't want to clue her in as to how many times he had watched her sleep. "Want to talk about it?"

Buffy shook her head. "No. I just want to forget about it." She turned over on her side and lay down, back facing him. He nodded, though she couldn't see him, and stood, making his way back to the chair.

"I dreamt I attacked Dawn," she said abruptly, almost whispering. Spike raised his eyebrows and came back to the bed, sitting back down in the same spot.

"Buffy." His voice was stern, and she turned her head back to look at him. Spike could see she was on the verge of tears.

"It seemed so real," she whispered, choking on the last syllable.

"Pet, you could never hurt her. You love her too much. That kid's still safer with you than with anyone else on the planet." Buffy looked slightly cheered by this.

"When I had just been turned, I still loved my mother. I had lived with her at the time, and she was frail and weak. I took care of her as much as I could. And when I was turned into a vampire, I wanted to turn her, too. So she could be strong again."

Buffy, unsurprisingly, looked startled by this information. Spike nodded, understanding. At the time, it had seemed perfectly acceptable. The only people he had cared for that much at the time were his mother and Drusilla, and he would have done absolutely anything for either one of them.

"Becoming a vampire doesn't necessarily make you completely evil, love. You still have feelings. You can still love. And you do still have self-control. You'll gain even more with practice." He daringly reached across and touched her cheek, grazing his thumb lightly against her jawbone.

"You won't hurt Dawn. Worst comes to worst, I'll stop you if you try. Deal?"

She looked most comforted by this promise, and nodded.

"Thank you, Spike." She turned back over, nesting her head into a pillow that didn't look like it had any substance to it, it was so soft. He got up again to make his way into the chair. Bloody thing was uncomfortable after a few hours.

"Spike," he heard her mumble, though she sounded half-asleep already.

"Yeah, love?"

Buffy scooted over to the opposite side of the bed, moving a good foot and a half away from him. "C'mere. Stay with me?"

If his heart could beat, it would have jumped right out of his chest. Not wanting to give her time to change her mind, Spike strode back to the bed, kicking his combat boots off and removing his duster. He slid underneath the heavy comforter and laid his head on the pillow next to Buffy. Miraculously, she snuggled back against him. Her body was the same temperature as his now, cool as marble. He tentatively put a hand on her hip and held her against him. Stop that, now, he told his loins, which had stirred at the sight of Buffy's rock-hard body so close to his. Rock-hard, but still soft somehow. She was strong, but she still had feminine curves that made him stare. He pushed the thoughts away; Buffy needed him now. Sane Spike, not shag-Buffy-senseless Spike. If he played his cards right, there would be time for that later.

He had a vague feeling he would regret this in the morning, but Spike held Buffy, hoping he could at least help with the nightmares. Within seconds they had both fallen back asleep.