He ascended the stairs from the sewer tunnel beneath his crypt, the strange, unsettled feeling that had clenched his belly like a fist since she walked away spreading through his whole being.  It was irritating not to recognize the emotion.  It should have been anger.  “I can be alone with you here.”  The more he thought about that, the more it hurt.  But that was nothing, he reflected, compared to the hurt of knowing why she was in such pain.

He thought back, tried to remember why it was they had all been so sure that Buffy was in some hell dimension.  None of them had been in a place afterward to have an intellectual discussion about where Buffy’s soul was.  Those had been days best spent just trying to survive from one minute to the next without her.  So how had the hell theory become the unspoken consensus?  Spike wasn’t even sure, really, but he’d bought into it as sure as the rest of them.  They had seen the portal take her blood, but there was no evidence that it had taken anything else from her.  They had all just assumed…

Made him want to rip their lungs out, the witches, Harris and his girl.  The way they’d hurt her, so sure they knew what was best.  That lot always did.  He suspected Glinda had been only onboard because of Red, but still, one of them should have known better, and he’d have put his money on Tara.  But she’d gotten it wrong, too.

Did it matter?  If he’d known that Buffy was in heaven, would he have not wanted her back?  Been content to know she was happy and finished and at peace?  No, he thought ruefully, he was a selfish bastard who was so glad she was back in this world with him that he could have sworn she jumpstarted his heart when she walked down the stairs, big, hollow eyes and raw, bloody hands.  For when she was here, there was possibility.  Hope.

And yet, there was something else mixed in with that unbridled joy.  It was the cold, slippery sensation that he couldn’t identify, moving inside him, snuffing out his ecstasy like a wind extinguishing candles.  Anger was hot and quick, but this feeling was slow, deliberate, icy.  He stood quietly, thinking, letting the feeling come up into his throat, onto his tongue.  He closed his eyes and let himself taste the emotion, his eyes jerking open when it came to him.  Fear, helplessness.  What could he do for her?  What did he know of heaven?  She was as fragile as glass and cut to ribbons, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do for her.  It made him off-balance, clumsy, discouraged.  And it hurt like hell.

He saw shadows moving in the darkness, and she materialized before him.  How was it she kept sneaking up on him?  Was there something different about her now that she was back?  Or was it just the anguish rolling off her that made her difficult to recognize?

“Something else to get off your chest, Slayer?  Or just coming by to make sure I keep your secret?”  His voice sounded surprisingly calm and even in his own ears.  “I won’t say anything to your mates, you know.”

She stared past him, through him.  “I hadn’t said it aloud before.  I thought it would help.”  But it hadn’t helped.  She had walked out into the sun, but the words followed her, along with images, sensations, and memories of heaven.  Saying it aloud hadn’t taken the sting out of her loss; it had actualized it, made it real.  And now she was choking on it.

“But it didn’t.”

She wondered if he could hear her thinking.  The thoughts reverberating in her head were loud enough that it just seemed possible.  “No.”  She paused.  “The ‘special moment’ you overheard earlier?  They wanted me to thank them for bringing me back.  To thank them for—”  She watched him wince.  “And I did it.”

“I can’t imagine what that must have cost you.”

“No, you can’t.  You can’t even begin to imagine that.”  Her gaze transfixed him, but she was as distant as a ghost.  “Do you know what I think?”

“Tell me.”

“I was wrong when I said that this, being on earth, is hell.  You know where hell is?  It is here”—she gestured to her head—“and here”—she pointed at her heart.  “Hell is inside me, burning me.” 

“It’s supposed to burn, Slayer.  That’s life inside you.  The heat, it’s how you know you’re alive.”

“Alive.”  She laughed mirthlessly.  “Well, then I guess life is consuming me whole, and soon all that will be left is ashes.  I just want to be cold, not feel it.  The heat, the pain.”

“Give it some time, Slayer.”  God, the platitude sounded lame even to him.

“Because time heals all wounds, right?”  The hard smile didn’t make it to her eyes, which suddenly looked far too old for the rest of her face.  She stared reflectively into the middle distance for several heartbeats.  “I am lost.  Because I was finished, and now I’m not.  I don’t know who I am or where I belong anymore.”  She searched his eyes.  “Where am I now?”

“You’re here with me.”

“Am I?  I can’t feel it.”  She bit back the first sob, but the second tore from her throat, and she collapsed to the floor.  “It hurts so much – I can’t do this.”

He didn’t know if he’d ever been genuinely frightened since he’d been turned.  Worried, definitely.  Concerned, absolutely.  But frightened, the kind of numbing dread he felt now – this was brand new.  He hesitated, watched her holding herself, rocking back and forth on the floor, and then he knelt at her side. 

“Help me,” she whispered shakily.

“I don’t know how,” he said in frustration. 

“You said that every night you save me.”  Her tears muddied her make-up, made her face wet and shadowed.  “Can you save me tonight, Spike?”

He touched her tentatively, drawing her to him.  “Hold on to me.  I won’t let you go.”  As he gathered her in, he murmured, “As tight as you need to.  You can’t hurt me.”

And then she was surrounding him, and the scent of her, the feel of her was overwhelming, intoxicating, heartbreaking.  He supposed he’d dreamed of a moment when she would be this close to him, but never in his wildest imaginings did he expect it to become reality.  Part of him wanted to give a shout of triumph, but even if she hadn’t been squeezing the breath out of him, he was certain the cry would have died on his lips.  He never dreamed she’d be in his arms like this, battered and broken, and it muted the sort of bewildered awe that was bubbling deep inside him.

Buffy gripped the soft leather of his coat and buried her face in his shoulder.  She couldn’t touch anyone else the way she could touch him.  No matter how vise-like her grip, he matched her strength, and for a long moment, the world stopped tilting beneath her.  In that moment, he was saving her, just like he said he would.  She wondered why he alone could right her.  Was it because he knew the truth now, because she didn’t have to hide from him? 

No, it was more than that.  He was hers.  Hers in a way the rest of them weren’t.  They were other, external, even Dawn.  Dawn was a part of her, but she felt separate, distinct.  Spike was…different.  And she’d known it from the minute he’d taken her hands the night she was brought back.  She found herself feeling strangely proprietary toward Spike, and the feeling was dark and cavernous.  Something to get lost in, perhaps.

What was it like, she wondered, to want something the way Spike wanted her?  She couldn’t imagine it, couldn’t wrap her head around the concept.  And yet it gave her a surge of power, to feel the depth of his want, to know that she could twist it, manipulate it if she so desired.  The others made her feel like a dancing puppet on a string, limbs jerking in time to their tune, but Spike was hers to control... 

She wanted to try that control on for size, slip into it, but something inside her flinched away from the realization, and the world rushed back in.

“I have to go,” she said, and he watched her disengage again as she pulled away.  “They’ll be wondering where I am.  Worried.”

She rose, left him on the floor at her feet staring up at her.

“And I can’t—”  She cleared her throat awkwardly.  “I can’t do this again.”

“Right,” he answered slowly, automatically.  “Of course.”

“No, I just meant that I can’t break down like that.  I needed to grieve for it, for heaven.  But I can’t give into it again.  Ever.”  She turned toward the door and could feel his feeling of loss at her leaving.  It was tangible, powerful, almost…exhilarating.  “Maybe I could come back sometime?  Or you could stop by?”