-Fandom: BtVS
-Title: Woman In Chains: Mercy (1/1)
-Author: Jainie (violetstarr@earthlink.net)
-Rating: R
-Spoilers: Yep... for Crush.
-Pairing: S/B
-Disclaimer:  Joss, you know I'd gladly join your writing team in a heartbeat!  Make me legit, Joss!  C'mon, you know you want to!  *le sigh*  Oh, well.  I did try... don't own these two... Kuzui, Joss, Sundollar, Grr Arrgh.
-Distribution: FINNatics, My Immortal Beloved - anybody else just ask :)
-Summary:  Spike pleads his case with Buffy.
-Feedback: Gives Jain a big, big happy!  (But it doesn't make her lose her
soul, so no need to worry!)  :D
-Notes: David Fury sucks.  Evil, EVIL DF!  Evil!  *ahem*  There... just thought I'd... get that out of the way.  The title of the story is also the title of a song by Tears for Fears, featuring the lovely Oleta Adams - and the (rather appropriate, I think) lyrics follow the story.  Yes, I'm too literal for my shorts.  After watching Crush, I just HAD to fix things!  True to my own stubborn character, I *refused* to let DF have the last word.  So... nyah.  I had half a mind to turn this one into a song fic, but I know how favorably those are looked upon, so I just did it the usual ficcy way...
Eternal thanks to: Lisa and the (currently away) Naomi for being my cheerleaders on this one.  Gracias, amigas.
***

Woman in Chains

"Get me out of these," Buffy ordered imperiously as she tugged at her restraints, causing the heavy, rusted links of chain to jingle against one another.

"Not until I say all I wanna say."  He scratched both of his hands through his hair as he paced back and forth -- bothered, unsettled, and frazzled -- like a panther in a cage too small for its wiry body.  Even at the most stressful times, she had never seen the blond vampire this agitated.

"Well, open these and then I'll listen."

"No!" Spike shook his head in an emphatic negative.  "Not until I've said my peace!  If I let you outta them cuffs, how do I know you won't just bugger off and leave me holdin' the bag?  No."  He shook his head again and spoke softly, almost to himself.  "No."

Buffy let out a harsh, ragged sigh of frustration, her eyes fixed on him in a half-hearted glare.

A tense silence stretched between them, then -- fine and fragile like a newly spun spider's web -- the slightest noise or movement and it would be broken.

Spike crossed over to the pillar he'd lashed Dru to, settled back against it and slowly let himself slide down it until his knees touched his chest.  Hands propped up on his knees, he stared at the dirt-covered floor and picked absently at the last vestiges of onyx remaining on his fingernails, his mind and body numb through and through.

"How could you not have known?  After all this time! “The question was put to her mildly, but Buffy could only gape at him, still horrified by the very idea of it.  Spike -- having *feelings.*  For *her*!  Having feelings, period.  The whole situation was, to say the least... wiggy.

Not to mention the fact that it went against everything she believed, everything she'd learned about vampires in her six years as a slayer.  Vampires were soulless, merciless, bloodthirsty killers.  She remembered Angelus all too well.  How could a *thing* such as that be capable of love?  As a living, feeling human being, Buffy was insulted by the very idea of it.

"You aren't just hearin' this for the first time tonight, though, are you?"

He raised his head and gazed at her quietly and as the realization dawned on him, his eyes widened.  "No!  You *knew*!  You knew already, didn't you?  That's why you've been actin' so bloody antsy all night!"  He bowed his head, jaw muscles clearly working under his skin as he gritted his teeth.  "So, what tipped you off?  How did you know?"

"I ... I just... guessed," she lied.  "When you opened that door for me, I knew something had to be up.  You've never done anything like that before, ever -- even if you weren't thinking."

"So just 'cause a bloke shows a girl some gentlemanly-type manners there's gotta be somethin' wrong with him?"  Spike's dark brows knitted together.

"Only if the 'bloke' is you."

"When are you gonna give it up, pet?  Eh?  When are you gonna realize that he's not comin' back for you!  And even if he does, even if he does get this eternal bloody reward he's been workin' so hard for, what then?  Happily ever after time?  Settle down, white picket fence and a horde of snot-nosed kiddies?  Face it, he's not cut out for a normal life -- not after livin' and watchin' the world go by for nearly three hundred years -- and neither are you.  Chances are -- knowing how The Powers That Be just love to smack people over the head with life's irony -- by the time he gets this lovely little reward of his, you'll probably be --"  He drew up short, then, as though he'd suddenly lost his voice, his entire face
shrouded with remorse.

"Dead.  Yeah, I know.  But Angel was different.  He was always different.  He had a soul.  Curse, gypsies, Orb of Methuselah -- remember?"
She reminded him blithely.

"Yeah, well, he's not the only member of our happy little family who's cursed," Spike muttered, viciously crushing his cigarette out in the dirt.

"Oh, right.  Here we go again with the old 'poor widdle Spike, the bloodthirsty killer, got a chip stuck in his head that gives him owies when he tries to bite people' sob story.  Wah, wah --"

"That's not what I meant and you bloody know it," his words were low, nearly a growl.

Spike got to his feet and crossed over to her.  Looming over her, she was forced to loll her head back in order to see his face -- she concentrated on the thin, boomerang-shaped scar that cleaved the tail of his left eyebrow in two -- but she could not bring herself to look into his eyes.  And for just a moment, a cruel, silvery sharp tendril of fear shot through her.  After his explosive emotional meltdown in front of she and Dru, who knew what the unpredictable blond vampire had in store for her next?

Spike reached out a tentative hand to touch her hair and Buffy shied away from him, ducking his hand almost instinctively.  There was no cruelty, no wry knowing glint in his customarily fathomless dark blue eyes as he withdrew his hand.  Instead, there was only sadness, emptiness.... utter despair.  Buffy had never seen such sadness in his eyes before.  Even when he had come limping back to Sunnydale, broken, drunk and alone, pining for his beloved Drusilla, his eyes never exhibited the bleak cast that they bore now.

Buffy did her best to rein in the horror that gripped her at the thought of Spike’s touch, and put a mildly impassive but expectant mask up in its place.

Ever so slowly and carefully, holding both of his hands up so she could clearly see them, Spike knelt before her, his knees coming to rest in the gravel-strewn earth on either side of her tiny feet.  His movements consistently slow and purposeful, so as not to startle or frighten her, Spike’s arms wound around her waist and he pressed his cheek to her abdomen, nuzzling the soft crimson fabric of her blouse.

After all of his ranting, raving and threats, this was the very last thing Buffy would have expected.  She gazed down at him, confusion and curiosity furrowing her fair brows.

"Don't you think I know it? I know I don't... deserve you," Spike's arms tightened around her, almost imperceptibly, left hand sliding beneath the denim jacket she wore, thumb smoothing back and forth over the small of her back.  It was an unconscious, soothing gesture, but whether it was meant to soothe himself or Buffy, she did not know for certain.  "I know how wrong this all is.  But I can't stop, see.  You don't know how many times I tried.  Told myself it was just the chip, or I just was too soddin'... lonely.  And I am.  You may not realize that.  You probably don't even think twice about me when I'm not babysitting for you or givin' you info that you need... but I am.  I mean, sure, I've got Harm -- but bein' with
that hollow-headed bint, I might as well be alone, anyway."

Buffy frowned and Spike continued, arms wrapped tightly around her, clinging to her.  His voice was gravelly, roughened by the tears he choked back.  "I didn't want this.  When I first realized it, I was just as disgusted with myself as you are now.  You probably think this is just all some big scheme of mine.  Some plan I've been waitin' to spring on you to punish you for... whatever.  But it looks like you're the one doing the punishing, now, luv.  And rightly you should.  I shouldn't have done this to you..." Spike looked up, tears standing in his eyes, and he swallowed with effort, "but I didn't know what else--"  His throat constricted tightly around his last words, cutting them off, turning them into nothing more than a pained rasp.

"I've always been an honest bloke - with m'self and with everybody else.  Never was very popular with those society gits when I was human because of it, but I guess you figured as much.  It's all the same with you lot.  I just thought that -- I've always thought that if you felt somethin’ for somebody, you should tell 'em, right?  If you don't, it's just the same as lyin' straight to their face, innit?"

"And I didn't wanna lie to you.  I wanted to prove to you that I could be good if I put my mind to it.  I did everything I knew how to do.  But you never saw.  No.  Instead it was always, 'Spike, you're disgusting, you’re beneath me, you're a pitiful, neutered loser.  Stop gettin' in my way, stop pesterin' me.'"  Buffy turned her eyes away from him then, shamed by the sound of her own words to him.  Ugly, cruel words, spoken without the slightest bit of concern about how they might make him feel.  Besides, vampires weren't human, they didn't *have* feelings... so it didn't count -- it shouldn't matter.  Right?

Spike stood and crossed to the center of the clearing, turning back to look at her - he smiled wryly, "But your G.I. saw.  Oh, yeah.  But he wouldn’t have mentioned that to you, though, would he?  That he dropped in, paid me a little visit one afternoon the day he buggered off, jammed a plastic stake in me and told me -- no, ordered me -- to leave you alone, like a good little vamp."
Buffy gaped at him openly.  "He wouldn't have!  Not Riley."

"Yeah?  Well, he *did, * alright?" Spike snapped.  "He pinned me to one of those pillars upstairs like a bloody gnat and told me that if I didn't back off and double quick, he'd be payin' me another little friendly visit.  Only he'd be usin' a real stake, the next time."

"So, what?  You think I should feel sorry for you, now?  After what you’ve done to me tonight?!"  Buffy yanked at the chains restraining her angrily.

"I wouldn't've hurt you, luv... and even though you're right pissed at me, now, I think, deep down in your heart, you know that."  He averted his eyes and concentrated on the ground, his words echoing off the walls with a pained lilt.

"Why should I know that?  Why should what happened tonight make any difference to me?  Huh, Spike?  Because I got a look at your shrine?" She jerked her head in the direction of the offending structure with a derisive snort.  "Because you suddenly get the urge to unload all of this crap on me and expect me to accept it?!  What did you think I would do?  Thank you?  For letting Dru zap me with a cattle prod until she knocked me unconscious and then chain me up?  For threatening to untie Dru and let her have her way with me if I didn't return your feelings?  Why should what you’ve done tonight make me look at you any differently?  I mean, I know you’ve been out of the singles' scene for a while now and you and Dru had your own weird little... *thing* going on, but last time I checked, these days, chaining a girl up and threatening to kill her is *not* the most romantic approach."

"Well, what did you expect me to do, eh?!  Come to your house with a bouquet of posies?  Send you a big box of chocolates with a little note inside saying, 'Will you be my Valentine?'"  Spike scoffed.  "As if you’d even accept flowers or sweets from me!  Y'know, I showed up at your house on your birthday... had a present for you and all."  At Buffy's abashed look, Spike nodded.  "Yeah.  You heard right.  Saw the Nibblet shinnying down the side of the house and the little chit backed right into me.  She saw that box and boy, did she have a right good laugh.  'Like she'd ever touch anything from you,' she said.  Yeah.  Laugh at Spike the pillock,
bringin' the Slayer a soddin' present on her birthday.  Well, I don't blame 'er.  I'd laugh at me, too.  I'm a fuckin' joke, I am!  Made myself into a joke... for you... and what did it bloody get me, eh?"

"You don't mean any of this, Spike," Buffy shook her head, speaking in smooth, placating tones.  "I know that and you know that.  Tomorrow, you’ll wake up and -- and you'll realize that this was all just a big mistake.  You can't -- you can't love me.  It's not possible, it's not."

"But *why*?"  He'd seen the passage of nearly two centuries and yet at that moment he sounded as though he was all of four years old.  "Why is it so impossible?  Because you're scared of me?  I mean -- you're not -- you’re not scared of me, are you?  Think that soon as you've got your back turned, I’ll hurt you?  Hurt your family or your mates?"  His hands were splayed out before him, an imploring gesture.  "I know your little sis and mum and the Scoobies mean the world to you, I know that!  In all the time that I’ve known you, apart from that first time at the school, have I ever tried to hurt Joyce?  Or the squirt?  Have I?  Angelus, he didn't think twice about sneakin’ in and leavin' little drawings and love notes on your pillow, lurkin’ about and scaring the bejesus out of Joyce and Dawn."

"*Angelus. *  Angelus did that, not Angel.  There's a big, big difference."

"But still," he sighed wearily, shoulders sagging, "I've never tried to hurt any of the people you care about.  Even when we were still fightin’ each other, even when I was doin' my damnedest to bag my third slayer, even before I got wired for sound -- I never touched your family or your friends.  I've always known they were everything to you.  I knew it'd hit you where you lived if I did and that I just might gain the upper hand, but I didn't."

"So why didn't you?" Buffy asked, genuinely curious, in spite of herself.  "I mean, you knew that... so how come you didn't try to use it to your advantage?"

"I may not have a soul, Slayer, but I've still got principles." He straightened, shoulders back and squared proudly, then.  "Where I'm from, the lads would just as soon filet you as look at ya, but touchin' a bloke’s loved ones was strictly off limits.  My quarrel was with you and only you, Slayer.  Family and mates ain't got nothin' to do with it.  Sure, if they’d got in my way, there mighta been trouble, but my quarrel was always with you."

"I didn't just love Dru.  She was my midnight, she taught me how to hold my head up.  But when I saw you... the first time I laid eyes on you... I felt the sun on my face for the first time in over a century.  Dru courted me with death and shadows and I was so empty and alone, I thought it was the answer to all my problems.  Somebody gets in your way you just cut 'em down - bugger the consequences.  Never ask, never pay, never beg, never apologize and don't ever, ever regret what you do.  But when I saw you... for just a second, I thought maybe it didn't have to be that way!  There was always somethin' in me - some remnant of my life before - that kept eatin’ away at my insides.  Tellin' me I could still be good, if I wanted to.  But... believe me, pet... being good is a hell of a lot harder than being evil."

"The right things are always the hardest ones," Buffy replied softly, "but they’re not impossible."

"I know that a few weeks of lendin' you and the Scoobies a hand ain't gonna clear the slate for me.  I know that.  I just wanted you to see... that there’s still a man inside me, somewhere.  I dunno... maybe somebody that you could trust, given time.  I'm not askin' you to elope with me, Slayer.  Not yet, anyway.  I just wanted you to understand.  Just... wanted you to see me.  *Me.*"

"For the first time in centuries, I want to be more than what I am,"
Spike's admission seemed almost at once to surprise and amuse him.  "You did that.    See, Dru was never really mine... yeah, she sired me, but deep down, I knew she'd always love Angelus more, no matter what I did.  I want to win you; I want you to be my own.  I knew it wouldn't be easy from the start, that it'd take time, but if you could just give me even the tiniest sign that you might could feel something for me -- let me know that I'm not doin’ all this for nothin' -- I'd give you all the time and space you want so you can think this through.  You could be my sunrise... I could stare daylight right in the bloody face... and for once, it wouldn't burn me.  I'd give you the universe of my heart... if only you'd take it."

Spike shrugged out of his duster and tossed it on top of one of the broken caskets sitting against the far wall with a weary sigh.  He shoved his hands into his pockets and paced, eyes concentrating on his boots, not daring to look at Buffy or look her directly in the eye.

"Angelus hated you... said you'd loved him and that wasn't the kinda thing you just forgive.  That was his true nature... no soul... and he hated you right down to the very bottom of that hollow place inside him where his soul used to be.  Even as a human, he was a heartless, drunken rotter -- demon only made him worse -- he wasn't capable of lovin' anybody.  Time made him what he was, the Angel that you knew... time and killin' and that soul," Spike turned his world-weary eyes her way.  "I don't have a soul... but I love you.  My demon tells me that this is just about as wrong as wrong can get -- a vampire in love with a slayer, the very thing I should
run a mile from... but I want you anyway.  Deep down, that part of me that’s still human -- that part of me that held on even after I died -- it needs you.  Needs you so bloody much.  Sometimes I'll look at you and it almost *suffocates* me... the wanting."  Spike curled his hand into a fist, pressing it to his abdomen.  "I'm sick of bein' stuck on the outside, lookin’ in -- I want to be a part of your life, a part of your world.  I wanna hold you when you've had a hard day; I wanna bandage all the cuts and scrapes you get on patrol.  I wanna fight the baddies beside you and make love to you while the adrenaline from the fight is still runnin' hot in our veins."

"But it's not enough," Buffy said softly, her tone almost apologetic.  "All those things you want... it's just because you think you love me."

"Isn't that enough?  Everybody's got reasons for doing what they do -- isn't it enough that I wanna be good because I love you?"

"But you don't know what being good means, Spike, that's the problem!  Being good doesn't mean you help people just because you love me; you help people because you want to help them.  Doing it for my sake isn’t enough!"

"I've been the Big Bad for over a century, Slayer," Spike raked a hand through his hair and sighed.  "Being bad is what I *do. *  It's gonna take me some time to get used to this whole white hat thing.  I've been... practicin'.  Don't help that every time I try to do somethin', you think I’ve got some secret, sinister plan."

"All that stuff you did, you did it to get my attention, to show me how much you'd 'changed.'  So don't tell me there was no ulterior motive on your part, Spike."

"Yeah, so maybe some of the things -- now I'm just sayin' *some* of the things I did, mind, not all -- I did to catch your eye.  So what?  Is that so bloody wrong?  There are blokes out there right now, human ones, doing all sorts of shit they'd never do, all just to impress a bird.  It's not exactly like I was up against a couple high school puppy crushes, here, Slayer.  I mean, what with Angelus out in LA doin' the poncy private detective bit and your other ex off in the -- soddin' who knows where -- takin' on entire demon nests barehanded.  Then there's me... pitiful, chipped me... tryin' to prove to you that I could be a big puffed up hero,
too, if I wanted.  But how could I ever measure up to them in your eyes, eh?  Your precious Angel, your virtuous bloody Riley.  How could I?  There's no way."  He shook his head, chased it with a half-hearted shrug.  "Got several strikes against me, already, don't I?  Don't have a soul, so there's no way I could ever really love you.  Killed two slayers, so it's not love -- just some twisted obsession, right?  Don't think I didn’t wonder about it myself, 'cause I did.  Every question you've asked yourself since you found out that I loved you I asked myself a millions times over and in just as many different ways.  The chip might be short-circuiting, maybe that's it?  Or is it my fascination with slayers?  Or this or that or a hundred other things!"

"Soul or no soul, it don't change the facts and the facts are, kitten, that your ex killed thousands of people.  Thousands.  He was in the game for several innings before I ever came on the field."  He eyes were fixed on her intently; boring into her, hoping that she'd meet his gaze.  At last, she looked up and their eyes locked.  "Whether he's got a soul or not don’t make a whit of difference.  All those people he killed?  They're dead and they’re gonna stay dead, even after he gets his blessed bloody reward -- there’s nothin' you or Angelus or me can do to change that.  And your latest beau... he was as All-American as they come, sure... but he got his rocks off watching lab geeks crackin' open demon skulls and slicing vamps to pieces, trying to figure out what made 'em tick."

"He was a soldier!  He was doing what they told him to," Buffy retorted.

"Yeah, but you didn’t see him puttin' up much of a bloody fight did you, pet?  Ol' Riley wasn't exactly a champion for demon civil rights, now, was he?  No -- and I'll tell you why not: because he hates us, just like you do.  He thinks we're monsters, just like you do.  He thinks we're just things and he thinks he's only doin' his effin' job by killing us, just like you do."  He moved towards her slowly, hands planted on his hips, fingers flexing as they made visible impressions in the black denim.  "If we’re *things, * we're easier to kill.  If we don't have feelings, you don’t have to lose sleep over the fact you kill ten or twenty of us a night.  If we don't have faces and names and histories, then we're not human, we can’t be human -- we can't be like you with your feelings and your souls.  We
don't deserve to live.  Isn't that right, pet?"

"You said it, not me," she replied, with neither the venom or certainty that she'd exhibited up until that moment.

"Yeah, that's right.  You're just doin' your job." Spike's smile was thin, devoid of mirth.  "One last bit of business, here, and then I'll let you go, I promise."  Spying her apprehensive look, his features softened considerably.  His words were almost tender.  "Don’t worry, pet, this’ll hurt me far more than it'll hurt you."

With that, he turned and crossed over to the shrine he'd built, littered with stolen photographs, drawings and token scraps of her clothing, so recently pilfered that her scent still clung to the fabric.  He dug through the items scattered on the table, searching determinedly, and tucked the particular piece of the shrine he'd been looking for.  Spike turned back to face her, and, tucking the item into the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back, he withdrew a key from his pocket.  Coming to stand before her, he paused, drinking in every last detail of her face, her body, the clothes she wore, the way her skin smelled and her blood sang to him, even now.

With trembling hands, Spike reached up and inserted the key into the lock on the shackle binding Buffy's right wrist.  As the catch opened, he could see that the ring of rusted metal had abraded the delicate skin of her wrist -- caused; more than likely, by all of the acrobatics she'd employed to protect herself from Dru, even in her helpless state.

Cradling her hand in both of his, Spike gingerly peeled back the cuff of her jacket and pushed her sleeve up to the crook of her arm, distancing the coarse material from the injury.  Buffy watched, at once horribly confused and unspeakably entranced, as Spike nestled his face into the palm of her tiny hand.

Oh, the warmth... he hadn't felt anything like it in ... so long.  She was his sun... and he so desperately wanted, needed to feel the warmth of it on his face, just one last time... and thankfully, graciously, she didn't pull her hand away.

Cold, heavy and bitter tears pressed against the backs of his eyelids, demanding release, but he would not allow it.  With a faint shudder, he released her hand, eyes pinched tightly shut as he expended the last of his will, reining the tears in.  He opened his eyes and, purposefully avoiding the Slayer's incredulous gaze, unlocked the remaining shackle.

He backed away, tossing the keys aside heedlessly, not bothering to see where they landed, as he reached into the waistband of his jeans and withdrew the stake.  Eyes downcast, Spike held it up in the air for a moment, long enough so that she would surely see it, and then threw it onto the ground that lay between the two of them.

"There's one thing I want you to do for me before you go.  I'm gonna give you a choice, the one thing I didn't do in this whole pointless lark... you can walk away now -- I'll let you go, won't bother tryin' to stop you -- but if you leave, I'll take that to mean that you feel somethin' for me and don’t have the heart to do it.  Means that you'd be willin' to give it a chance, give me a chance.  And if you did, I swear to you, I'd keep my word; I'd leave you be for however long it'd take so you could get everything right in your head."

Spike turned and, facing the shrine, he quickly stripped off his t-shirt and let it drop to the dirt floor at his feet.  Bracing his hands on the table upon which the shrine rested, his eyes traveled upwards, skimming over photographs and sketches, some of which he'd spent days, even weeks, working on and perfecting.  He could not bear to look her in the face, but her face would be the last thing he saw -- he'd make damned sure of that.  Spike swallowed thickly around the knot in his throat, gritted his teeth against the anguish

"Or you can pick up that stake," he continued, his voice soft and deep and remarkably steady, "and do what you do best.  Give me my peace.  I won’t turn around, won't try to fight ya or duck away.  I can't keep going like this anymore, hoping that you'll love me back, fightin' for you to see me, only to have you keep pushing me away.  There comes a time when even ol’ Spike can't fight anymore.  So you can either walk away... or bury that stake in my back and put me out of my misery.  'Cause my life would be nothing but misery if I'm not able to have you.  But no matter what happens, no matter what you decide... I love you... and nothin's ever gonna change that."

Buffy stepped down from the archway on unsteady legs, the heels of her shoes grinding into the dirt and grit that made up the floor.  Keeping her eyes trained on Spike's still form, she bent down and retrieved the stake.  She studied it for a moment, turning it over in her hands, and her eyes made their way back to him.  Perfectly silent, waiting... a resigned set to his narrow shoulders.

With dawning horror, Buffy realized why:  he believed she *would* stake him.

* I... I can't-- I can't do this, * her mind's voice whispered even as her body began to tremble.  *I can't do this!  I'm a fighter, I'm the Slayer!  I'm the *good guy* -- good guys don't stake people in the backs, even if they *are* bad guys -- even if they are asking for it!  He’s tougher than this; he's a fighter, just like me -- why the hell is he doing this?  Why is he giving up?!*  Buffy took an involuntary step towards him, boots crunching in the gravel, the stake gripped in her fist.  She could see the line of Spike's shoulders tense as he braced himself.

*...I *never* touched your family or your friends. I've always known they were everything to you. I knew it'd hit you where you lived if I did and that I just might gain the upper hand, but I didn't...*

Spike had once told Buffy that her friends and family were her ties to the World, the essential bonds that kept her alive.  He knew this for a fact, he’d told her as much.  He also knew that hurting her family would yank the rug right out from under her, make her vulnerable... and yet, despite countless opportunities to do just that... he never had.

For all of his begging and screaming, cajoling and threats, there was one thing Spike had failed to do: offer himself up to her.  He had offered to kill Dru for her, had threatened to turn Dru loose on her, pleaded for her to give him even the tiniest shred of hope, but through it all, she had remained unmoved.

But now... he was placing himself, his very existence, in her hands -- a willing sacrifice, bent over the altar built to proclaim his love for her -- to do with as she chose.

The stake fell from her shaking hands, clattering to the floor and effectively shattering the eerie silence that filled the room, and she backed away, shaking her head.

Buffy sensed that she was approaching the steps that led up to the ladder which ascended to the main inner chamber of the crypt.  She turned sharply on her heel and ran up the steps, taking them two at a time, tears filling her eyes, her rapid footfalls ringing hollowly off of the stonewalls.  Buffy scrambled up the ladder purely by instinct, her vision blurred by tears, and sprinted out of the crypt as though she was being chased by something that even she could not slay.  And, in a way, she was.

Spike leaned against the shrine, the muscles in his arms distended with the considerable effort it took to remain still and support all of his weight at the same time.  He had begun to shake, his pale face dotted with silvery beads of perspiration.  Finally, his arms gave out on him and he collapsed bonelessly to his knees before the shrine.  Spike buried his face in the crook of his left arm, his right hand curling into a tight, hard fist.

The tears came, then, but by that time, William the Bloody had neither the physical nor the emotional strength necessary to keep them from falling.  But it was not anguish that caused him to weep, now... it was relief.

He had been granted clemency.  Mercy.

It was the finest valentine he'd ever received.

*The End*

**Woman in Chains by Tears for Fears

You better love loving and you better behave
You better love loving and you better behave

Woman in Chains
Woman in Chains

Calls her man the Great White Hope
Says she's fine, she'll always cope

Woman in Chains
Woman in Chains

Well I feel lying and waiting is a poor man's deal
And I feel hopelessly weighed down by your eyes of steel

It's a world gone crazy
Keeps Woman in Chains

Trades her soul as skin and bones
Sells the only thing she owns
Woman in Chains
Woman in Chains

Men of Stone
Men of Stone

Well I feel deep in your heart there are wounds Time can't heal
And I feel somebody somewhere is trying to breathe
Well you know what I mean
It's a world gone crazy
Keeps Woman in Chains

It's under my skin but out of my hands
I'll tear it apart but I won't understand
I will not accept the Greatness of Man
It's a world gone crazy
Keeps Woman in Chains
So Free Her
So Free Her