Buffy awoke slowly with the realization that she was unable to move. Wriggling in her restraints, she realized exactly where she was and how she was immobilized. Somehow, in the middle of the night, Spike had awoken, spooned up behind her and gathered her into his arms. Gently disengaging herself from his grasp, she eased off the sarcophagus to check on her patient.

Her first glimpse was gratifying. Some of the bruising and swelling on the vampire’s face had gone down and his cheekbone seemed to be rebuilding itself. His face bore a grimace of pain, however, and Buffy realized it must be his dislocated shoulders causing the discomfort. The time had come to definitely do something about resetting them.

Running her fingers through the riot of curls on the sleeping vampire’s head, she said: “Spike, you need to wake up. We’ve got to do something about your shoulders. There’s no way you can be comfortable lying on them.”

With a groggy “Bloody hell,” Spike attempted to sit up, and was unable to do so. “Lend a hand ‘ere, pet. Seem to be havin’ some difficulties in getting upright.”

Buffy snaked her arm around his thin waist, and helped to push him upright into a sitting position. “Gods, Spike. What the hell happened to you? If I hadn’t’ve tripped over you last night, you’d’ve dusted in the sun, or else have bled to dust. What did you do to piss someone off so badly?” she asked, sympathy coloring the words that were harsher than she’d meant.

“Don’t rightly remember much, luv. Went to a new club for a few games of poker to pass the time. Must’ve won more than they wanted to pay out.” He groaned, trying to stretch out his back. “D’ya think you could help me reset the shoulders? Not quite able t’do myself with both of ‘em out.”

One after the other, Buffy raised his arms, pulling them out slightly to realign the ligaments, and then pushed forward with all her weight behind her, to push the shoulder back into it’s socket.

“Bloody, buggering FUCK!”

Gingerly testing out the function of his arms, Spike rolled his shoulders and twisted his torso from side to side. “Better, luv. Thanks for the pain and suffering.”

“I’m really sorry for hurting you, Spike – there was just no… “

Cutting off her apology, Spike said, “No worries. Been through worse in the day. Might linger for a bit, but give me a day or so and I’ll be right as rain. Can do me a favor, pet – if you’ve a mind.”

“Sure, if it can wait until after I stop off at home, first. I’ve got to let Mom know I’m still alive. You know she’s still not thrilled with the Slaying gig, especially when I stay out all night”

“No worries, pet. Just want you to find my duster, if you can. Don’t see it in around the crypt, and I doubt you threw it downstairs,” he sighed. “I get that it’s not your favorite piece of m’wardrobe, knowing how I came across it, but I’ve had it near thirty years. S’more of an homage these days, than a trophy piece.”

Heading towards the door, Buffy turned and said, “Doesn’t matter, Spike. It’s a coat. If someone or something hasn’t stolen it I’ll bring it back. Dunno if you’re up for it, but do you think you’re steady enough to get downstairs and shower?”

Flexing his right leg, Spike grimaced. “Leg’s a mite tender. If I remember right, the buggers broke it with a baseball bat. Feels like you set it good and proper, though. Think I’ll give the shower a go. See you later, Slayer, and thanks for – well, everything.”

“Later, Spike,” Buffy said, smiling fondly. “I’ll pick you up some human blood from Willy’s to help the healing along.”

Waving her out the door, Spike attempted to stand – and realized for the first time he’d been conversing with the girl whilst starkers. And it hadn’t phased her one bit. Looking down at his Technicolor body, he noticed the sets of stitches and remembered. Three stab wounds.

He tried to catalogue his injuries; to remember what happened. Bat to the head and face - healing, broken leg and dislocated shoulders – reset and also healing. Busted ribs – aching, but healing – all good so far. Running his fingers over the knife wounds, he realized he’d be able to remove the stitches the next day. Quite the little seamstress, Buffy was. He also remembered her forcing him to eat a couple of containers of blood, which had gone a far way towards healing his injuries.

He’d made it down to the lower level of the crypt without much trouble when the waves of nausea hit. There was more – much more, to the injuries he’d received. He’d felt it when he climbed down the ladder. His bits and pieces… bruised beyond all recognition – remembered them being grabbed and twisted near to being torn off. His stomach lurched as he recalled trying to fight when he realized what they were after - being held down by four men as he was ripped into and buggered dry by the rest of the pack.

And Buffy had seen it all. She knew what had been done to him, and …

Vomiting up whatever remained in his stomach, and sobbing wildly, he stumbled into the shower and turned the water on as hot as it would go. Stepping under the burning hot spray, he never heard Buffy re-enter the crypt.

“Spike? You downstairs?” she called out. Hearing the shower running, Buffy deposited the duster she’d found on the couch, and climbed down to the lower level, calling out his name again.

Getting no response, she approached the shower cautiously. “Spike, you in there?” Hearing sobbing but no reply, the blonde pulled open the curtain and found the distraught vampire huddled against the wall, hot water cascading unnoticed over his pinkening skin.

Buffy turned off the steaming water, wrapped a towel around Spike’s waist, and led him to the bed. He’d tried to push her away, sick with shame. Instead, she held on tightly, whispering words of comfort, making shushing sounds and crooning softly to him, gentling him as best she could.

Settling him under the covers, she said, “Spike, it’s over. It’s gonna be okay, I promise. It’s not your fault.”

Looking up at her with the most wretched expression she had ever seen, he whispered, “But you saw… what they did to me. You touched me – their filth…” he broke off abruptly, unable to continue.

Buffy sidled into bed, next to the overcome vampire, and just hugged him tightly to her. “Nothing’s changed, Spike. All I did was clean you up. Had to make sure you were okay. I’d have done the same for any of the Scoobies. You’re no different – well, except for the being a vampire thing.”

Pulling back a little, she placed her hands under his chin and tilted his face upwards so he could see her. “We’ve got history, Spike. You may be a pain in the ass, but you’re my pain in the ass. Nobody does this to someone I care about. We’ll find out what’s behind all of this, I swear it.”

Feeling him relax somewhat, she pulled something out of her pocket.

“One more thing if you can – before you go back to sleep. When I found your duster, there were cards scattered all around the area. All of them diamonds. Do you have any idea what they mean?”

Taking a deep, unneeded breath Spike answered in a shaky voice. “I took a deck from that club I told you about – The Crazy Eights – as a souvenir. I guess they took exception to me lifting it, and when they were done with me, the bastards threw those cards at me. I think they took back the deck I had. Don’t rightly remember.”

As she watched him slip quietly into slumber, Buffy covered him gently with his blanket. She climbed up the ladder, and closed the vault door behind her. There was something seriously wrong, and she’d have to look into it.

She took off for the Magic Box, to see if Giles or any of the Scoobies had heard of this mysterious Crazy Eights place.