A/N: Some of the dialogue and plot was taken directly from the season 7 episode 'Beneath You.'

Buffy woke from her dream, a scream dying on her lips, as she squinted in the darkness to find Dawn and Spike standing over the bed. A chill ran through her, both at the dream and the way Spike was looking at her, the intensity and concern almost too much.

Since their chat in the basement, Spike started to turn away from her again. Buffy thought they had been making progress, but his moods often turned into brooding, which he preferred to do in solitude. He'd either lock himself away in the basement or head out into the night, even after patrolling. Sometimes, if she listened closely enough, she thought she heard him muttering to himself and a few times, she caught him pacing, but he made it clear that he needed privacy and she didn't want to make him leave.

She missed his presence, even just knowing he was downstairs or coming home, joining her on patrol or taking over the TV, making dinner and helping Dawn with homework. Now finding herself under his gaze, and in this position, she felt her cheeks flush hot, wondering how to explain.

The dream came back to her then, the young girl running in the dark night, the voice speaking to her. It had sounded so familiar, those suspicious tingles were creeping over her, and she realized where she had heard it before.

"From beneath you it devours-"

Spike startled, looking between her and Dawn with wide, panicky eyes.

"It's what you said those things said to you when-"

"Niblet, big sis is fine, you should get to bed."

Dawn turned her doe eyes on him. "But-"

"Just a dream, yeah?"

He was aiming for casual, but Buffy sensed the conspirator in him and Dawn wasn't fooled either. She tried her luck with Buffy.

"Beneath you what devours the what?"

"Haven't a clue," Buffy shrugged. "It was probably nothing. Just a dream like Spike-"

"But you said Spike heard it too. And your dreams are never just dreamy dreams."

"'T's nothin' we'll figure out at three in the morning, Bit. Head to bed, you've both got school in the morning."

"Speaking of three in the morning," her big eyes zeroed in on him again, this time without a trace of innocence. "What were you doing at this hour? I heard the door slam as you raced upstairs."

"'M a vampire, Pet, and don't you forget it. Creature of the night and all that rot."

Amused, Buffy watched as her sister and vampire engaged in a staring contest she was glad not to have been included. They could both be stubborn and ruthless, but then again, so could she. Buffy allowed it to continue for a few moments before she opened her mouth to break it up, but was cut off by Dawn's dramatic sigh.

"Fine. I'll leave, but we'll be going over it again tomorrow." She started to walk out of the room, but stopped halfway out the door and faced them with a smirk. "I'll let the two of you be alone."

Spike opened his mouth to protest, but stopped when he realized Buffy wasn't chiming in with one of her own. A slight blush crept over her face again, but she didn't look altogether displeased. With or without the soul, he wanted to explore that, but right now, he was too freaked.

"What exactly were you doing out there so late?"

"That's what you want to discuss right now?"

Chagrined, she pouted and looked up at him, having a go at Dawn's doe-eyed tactic and hoping for better results. Thrilled, she watched as Spike's tense body softened, but noticed his eyes remained firm as he looked back at her.

"Fine, go do your Big Bad things in your Big Bad way. Just remember I'm the Slayer and will take you out if I have to."

She intended it to be a joke, but his expression remained serious.

"I'm banking on it."

"Spike-"

"What happened in the dream? Tell me exactly."

"Geez, gimme a minute, Mr. Serious. Like I told you and Dawn, there was a girl being chased, but then these shadowy guys came into the mix, killed her, but then she spoke, those words you said before-"

"From beneath you, it devours."

"Yeah, but that's it- Spike, would you calm down for a sec?"

Buffy let the sheet slip as she jumped up and latched onto Spike's shoulder. The vampire was grumbling to himself, trying to pace in the small space between the wall and her bed, grabbing at his hair. He stilled under her touch, so she guided him down to sit on the bed, one hand remaining on his shoulder, the other at the base of his neck where the curls were fraying from the gel.

"'M not crazy," he muttered as he looked at her, his eyes a shocking blue, wild, almost pleading rather than telling her.

Her voice caught in her throat a moment too long and he twisted her lack of answer into something ominous. Pulling away from her, he jumped up, began his pacing, and repeated, "'M not crazy. 'M not- not crazy. I am not crazy-"

Spike froze, stopping Buffy from shifting off the bed to catch him, and looked at her, his wild eyes calmer, but fiercer.

"Am I crazy?"

This time, she didn't hesitate as she stumbled off the mattress and took his hand.

"You are not crazy. There is something going on here that's not right-" she tightened her grip as he flinched and tried to shove away from her. "But it's not you."

"'M the only one seeing dead people."

"In front of you maybe. But I'm seeing them in my dreams, so if you're crazy, then maybe I'm crazy too."

They stood still for awhile, Spike shifting his gaze out the window, seeming to seek something in the night that didn't exist. Waiting until she was certain he wouldn't go berserk again, Buffy encouraged him to sit back down on the bed, still holding his hand.

Carefully, she pulled away and slid her hand up his back, grazing soothing circles as her fingertips swept over him, resting again at the curls at his neck.

"I see them, you know?" His voice was barely a whisper. "The Slayers I killed before, all the people I- They come to me, spitting and hissing words, coming so close, but never touching and I- But I deserve it, I know. Sometimes it's Dru too, she'll start off saying these sweet words, words I always wanted, but she never- And you-"

She flinched, but waited for him to continue, knowing he needed to confide in her.

"It wasn't just that once in the school basement. It's downstairs, at Willy's, in my crypt when I went to see what the Whelp did with it. 'M afraid it's doing something to me, Buffy. There are times I can't remember, when I don't know- I'll be out, on a walk, patrolling, then my mind'll go all fuzzy and suddenly I'm outside standing on the porch. So I'll ask again, am I crazy?"

"Whatever is happening, it's not you doing it, Spike. Remember that, okay? I'm- I'm glad you told me this, so that we can face it. Together, okay?"

Resting her head on his shoulder, after a few minutes, Buffy sensed him relax. She was about to suggest they lie down when he stood up abruptly, almost knocking her over. Preparing for him to go into another rampage, she jumped up, but was surprised to find him looking at her, a little grin on his lips, and totally normal.

"Off to bed now, yeah? You've got your new job tomorrow?"

"But, I-"

"Good luck, Slayer. You don't usually need it, but, teenagers-"

Spike walked out of the room, shaking his head, a small and tired laugh echoing in his wake.

Buffy had a busy morning convincing Dawn that she would try her best not to embarrass her, setting up her desk, trying to get a sense of Principal Wood, and waiting for the zero students coming into the office seeking guidance. The afternoon was spent prepping Xander for his big normal-girl date and talking Anya down from any major Vengeance Demon happenings. Thus far, the girl hadn't done anything too incriminating to warrant destruction, and Buffy was grateful, but the demon side definitely lingered on the grey areas. But then Xander didn't like the Vengeance Demon thing at all and Anya didn't like the idea of him dating, so instead, they settled on a temporary impasse as they both tried to figure out what they did want from the other.

Having Xander to keep an eye on Dawn, making sure her sister finished her homework, ate dinner, and went to bed at a decent hour, Buffy intended to go off on a quick patrol before indulging in a long, hot bath. The demon population seemed to be as tired as she felt and there was minimal action. Realizing that she hadn't seen Spike all day and still worried from the night before, she started home to see if she could continue the conversation.

She got home in time to find the vampire in question coming out the door, walking right past her without a word. Annoyed, Buffy opened her mouth to call out a witty insult at him, but her slayer instincts kicked in, noticing the way he was mumbling and didn't seem aware of his surroundings or what he was doing. Chilled, Buffy followed behind him, not exactly inconspicuous, but Spike didn't notice.

They walked for a long time, no clear direction and not meeting anyone on the way. When he started moving up the path to the church, Buffy hesitated, but followed as soon as she heard the doors creak and Spike disappeared inside.

Stepping inside, she found him kneeling on the pew. She reached out to him, not knowing her intentions, but his voice cut her off.

"I figured it out. Took awhile, yeah, but- I think the real problem is- I was once this really nice guy."

Alarmed, Buffy tried to break him from the reverie with a punch of humor.

"So that's the problem. Got news, Spike. You're not that nice."

He laughed, his voice lacking humor.

"Yeah. I've been- Well come on, let's face it, been a one-man slaughterhouse, last hundred years. Murdering. And for what? Kicks."

Still he wouldn't look at her, and though it was obvious he was speaking to her, Buffy wasn't certain Spike registered that she was there with him.

He continued, "William the Bloody awful poet, skipping down the lane- Good boy, bad boy, all the sodding same. You like it? Wrote that one myself. Is it hot enough in here to burn all your mortal sins away?"

Spike paused for so long, Buffy thought it might be safe to interrupt, but he shot up and stepped into the aisle.

"Or am I just crazy? Stuffy. Stuffed. Full, packed, sorry mate, no room, out you go, we're packed to the bloody brim, standing room only and no room for that. We-Are-Full. Full of sin. Full of guilt. Full of hate and love and loss and feeling. Full of it, quite frankly and it's been so long since we felt anything here. Rusty switchboard, sparked to life, bound to be more'n a few sharp shocks."

Shaking now, Buffy pulled the stake from her pocket, more to use as a threat in a case of emergency than anything else, and followed as Spike made his way down the aisle. His voice was full of emotion, his limbs loose and wild, but he seemed to only be in his own head.

"Right? Right? Shh. Quiet. Church. His house. Place of clasped hands, reverent hymns, and massive raw amounts of begging. On your knees, boy. Beg him. Beg him- For forgiveness."

Her throat raw, tears streaming down her face, Buffy realized he was heading straight for the large crucifix hanging in the front.

"Spike-"

"Buffy. I can't sleep. Can't think. There's voices and darkness and blindness and pain and help me, I- I-"

"Your soul."

"It's killing me."

Standing before the crucifix, Spike latched onto it before Buffy could react. As the steam billowed off of him, she stooe still, shocked, and unable to move."

"God. God hates me. You hate me. I hate myself more than ever."

A step closer, she dropped the stake and said, "I don't hate you. Why-?"

"You know why. I got my soul back- So I could be the kind of-Person- You could care for, the man you would come to- The man you could love."

Rushing to him, she pulled him off the crucifix and held him against her. Spike's body was hot, steam still coming off him, but he was silent now, except for the sobs he couldn't keep from escaping.

Spike laid on his cot in the basement, regretting his refusal of Buffy's offer of her bed or her company. Embarrassment flushed through him, remembering what he had done and what she had seen. In most cases, he couldn't remember anything that happened, and he wondered if it was her presence that called it back to him.

He'd been lying on his cot, just like now, and thinking it might be worth it to get up to kick the Whelp's ass at the video game of the week and then all of sudden he'd been in Buffy's arms, burned and broken in front of the crucifix. The words and actions came back to him then and he tried to push away from her, but she'd just held him closer, murmuring that she didn't hate him and that they'd have to be strong. It wasn't just the soul doing this to him, she'd whispered, but something else, darker and more ominous. It wasn't him.

Eventually, she had guided him home, her words and actions gentle and supportive, as she led him past Xander's sleeping form on the couch to the kitchen and had him lean against the counter for support. And now, his only comfort was the remembrance of the softness of her expression as she looked at him, telling him that he was safe, that he was home, and she was there to keep an eye on him as she fed him a bag of blood and applied cream to his sore chest.

Spike knew that he didn't deserve it, her ministrations, attention, or friendship, if that was even what they shared, but he'd take it, take whatever she was willing to give him, so long as she kept giving it.