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Xander walked out of the cabin, ignoring the slowly setting sun. He moved down the small woodland trail, completely oblivious to the picturesque scenery.

He stopped in a small clearing to sit and stare into the distance. He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. This was not how he had expected his afternoon to go. He should have been in a restaurant with two beautiful women; not in a log cabin in the middle of nowhere with a drug-addicted Slayer chained to a bed. He laughed a little, a sad half-laugh. He had always wanted this particular Slayer in his bed, just not like this.

Xander had been tempted by Buffy's offer. He knew, though, that sex under those conditions would be meaningless. That it would make him feel worse after the act. Faith had taught him that by kicking him out of the motel room shortly after they had had sex.

Xander punched the ground, hard. Standing, he kicked a tree, scaring a bird out of it. The bird squawked angrily at him, but he ignored it as he took out his anger and frustration on the tree, punching and kicking it repeatedly.

Breathing heavily Xander examined his knuckles; they were bright red and felt painful. At least he had more control now; the idea of walking away from Buffy, from everyone was slowly receding.

Seeing the Slayer taking drugs had rocked Xander to his core. He understood that the first priority was getting them out of her system, forcing her to clean up. The second priority was dealing with whatever had caused her to decide that drugs were the way to go.

Xander knew that Buffy's recent death and resurrection had had a profound effect on the Slayer's psyche. Since she had returned, it had been clear that she felt some resentment of him and to the others, for ripping her out of heaven. She had spent more time with Spike than she had before, because he knew more about what she was feeling. Xander felt a little guilty for being involved in getting her back; it was one of the reasons he was so willing to take control and help her. The other reason was obvious: Buffy was one of his girls and when one of his girls needed help, they could rely on Xander Harris to provide it.

Earlier in the afternoon Xander had been walking confidently; his demeanor that of a successful young man. Now he trudged dejectedly along the trail. As he walked up the steps, Xander ruthlessly shoved all of his negative thoughts and anger to the back of his mind. His back straightened and his head lifted.

Xander walked into the kitchen. Not hearing anything from the bedroom, Xander wondered if she was asleep. Feeling hunger pangs, he checked his chicken soup. He tasted it and smiled slightly, pleased with the flavor. He poured the chunky soup into a bowl and leaned leisurely back against the counter. He stared aimlessly out of the window as he ate. The hot food helped his mental state rebuild itself, fortifying him for the trial that was to come. He was under no illusions that it would be nice and pretty; he was expecting figurative hell.

Xander finished the bowl and placed it under the tap, rinsing before pouring a fresh bowl of soup. Taking one last spoonful of soup for himself and grabbing a roll of kitchen paper, Xander walked in to the bedroom. The petite blonde Slayer was asleep, lying as Xander had left her with tear tracks clearly visible on her cheeks. Walking over to her, Xander sat next to her head. The rocking of the bed waking her from her uncomfortable sleep.

"Xander," she said, her voice sounding rough.

"Food, Buffy," Xander said calmly. He put the bowl of soup down on the bedside table. He looked down at Buffy for a second, mentally running through the best way to feed her. He slid his legs on the bed, pulling the chained Chosen One's head onto his lap, sitting beside her and between the chains holding her arms up.

"Xander!" Buffy said sharply "You can't feed me, I'm not a baby, let me go, I promise I won't go anywhere."

"No." With that Xander reached for the bowl of soup and grabbed the spoon. Loading it he moved it to Buffy's mouth.

"I don't want to eat anything," Buffy said petulantly. She moved her head forwards fast, trying to knock the spoon away in a display of rebellion. Some of the warm soup fell on to Buffy's chin. Xander placed the spoon down and reached for the kitchen paper, wiping her chin clean.

"You'll feel a lot worse if you don't eat."

Xander placed another spoonful in front of Buffy, who opened her mouth this time. Xander moved the spoon in and Buffy sucked the soup down. The small taste of well cooked soup suddenly awoke a ravenous hunger in Buffy's body. Her super strength and agility as a Slayer meant that she often had to consume vast amounts of calories and Buffy had not eaten since breakfast. Not wanting to appear as if she was enjoying the food, she waited for him to continue to feed her, which he did.

Xander started a rhythm of spoon, bowl, soup, mouth, repeating as quickly as Buffy could eat. As Buffy ate, she was thinking of ways that she could regain some sort of control over this situation. Since she had become the Slayer at fifteen, she had had an almost pathological need to control both her surroundings and herself.

Buffy demanded almost total obedience from her friends and colleagues, although she was clever enough to disguise it

Realizing that she was in a position where Xander held most of the cards, Buffy decided the only way for her to regain control was to use her body. Her natural arrogance meant that the idea of Xander rejecting her again never formed in her mind.

Buffy had experienced relationships with everyone she had ever liked. Angel, a centuries old vampire, had fallen head over heels in love with her. He had been mysterious and dangerous when they met, appearing out of the night to save the day. Over the course of their relationship, she had changed him, molded him to fit her ideal. When he tried to resist and reassert himself, they had argued to the point of violence, before eventually splitting up.

When that relationship had ended, Buffy had slept with Parker. Although it turned out to be a one night stand, she had been an enthusiastic participant. When she had realized that Parker had no intention of having a long term relationship with her, Buffy had lashed out at him, knocking him flat.

After that came Buffy's attempt at normalcy, a relationship with Riley. Again it had ended with disaster, although Buffy could not see the parallel with Riley's flirtation with vampires to her own. She had followed a calculated plan to fruition; turning Riley from an independent commander of an elite demon fighting squad to her lapdog, with nothing more than a smile, a few words and some awesome performances in the sack. It was just a pity Riley couldn't keep up, but that wasn't important.

After her return from Heaven, Buffy had allowed herself to be seduced by another master vampire: Spike, Angel's Childe. The only difference between Spike and Parker was that when she had hit Spike, he had hit her back as hard. He was not daunted by her super strength or her sharp personality; he was a challenge to her.

Yet during all this Xander had been there. Her safety blanket. So obviously in love with her. All it had taken was the occasional smile, a tender look and the occasional glimpse of hidden flesh.

As Buffy had now eaten her full, she spat a mouthful of soup out and onto her chest, covering Xander's hand at the same time. She hoped Xander would not just leave her with the congealing soup on her chest and would remove her top to clean it. She was certain that seeing her topless would break down his reserves.

Xander looked down at his hand and cleaned it with another of the paper towels. He then looked down at Buffy's chest; the soup had left a large stain. He moved her head, sliding his legs out and stood up. He picked up the almost finished bowl of soup and the used towels and walked into the kitchen silently. Grabbing a large sharp knife, he returned to Buffy.

"Hey, wait a minute." Buffy said nervously, watching him approach her. Xander grabbed her shirt, lifted it clear of her body and carefully cut it off her torso. Buffy tried hard not to squirm,

"That shirt cost money, you bastard."

"Then you shouldn't have spat soup on it."

As he finished cutting Buffy smiled internally, looking forward to seeing how Xander dealt with her naked body. She wasn't wearing a bra.

Removing the tattered remains of her clothing, Xander looked down at her chest for a second. Buffy unconsciously flexed her muscles a little, forcing her chest up to him. Without a change in his expression, Xander tucked a small blanket over her chest and carried the rags out.

Buffy almost exploded with rage: "How dare you ignore me, you know you've wanted me since we met - " her voice changed to a mocking tone.

"Can I have you? They were your first words to me. Now I'm here, helpless and half naked. Come and touch me. Use me, god damn it. Or was all that talk from Anya just that, talk? Don't you walk away from me; I'm what you always dreamed off."

Xander turned slowly and faced her, his patience snapped. The stress of the day caught up with him as he whispered, "At the moment Buffy, I would rather sleep with Drusilla." With that, Xander walked out as Buffy burst into tears again.

Xander lent against the now closed bedroom door and slumped down. Images of a half naked Buffy under his power played havoc with his mind. He wanted to go back in there, to take what Buffy had offered, to bury himself in the golden Slayer. He wanted to kiss the areas he had exposed, explore them with his mouth and tongue. What she had said was true, all of it.

But Xander had grown to like himself; he had gained self respect. There was a time when he had given in to lust, kissing Willow in the Fluke incident. The painful break up with Cordelia that had followed, combined with the loss of Willow's close friendship, had taught him a lesson he would not forget.

Through everything Xander had experienced in his young life he had found an inner peace, built on the knowledge that he had made worthwhile contributions to society. They might not be public knowledge, but Xander had a great job that he was very good at, an apartment in a nice block, friends that he could rely on and the knowledge that he had personally saved the world on more than one occasion. Xander knew in his heart that he deserved a relationship with an equal, someone who could trust and love herself.

At the moment Buffy, regardless of her physical attractiveness, was not that person. Xander was not going to enter into any form of relationship purely for physical attraction. He had tried that one with Anya and while they had had almost fallen in love; his endless devotion to Buffy had caused him to make some decisions that had made the relationship self destruct. So now Xander was here fighting his primal urges with pictures of the beautiful (and topless) Slayer stuck in his mind.

Xander yawned and went to have a shower. He soaped himself automatically and washed his hair. Drying himself, he pulled a pair of soft training pants out of his bag and put them on. Barefoot and topless himself, Xander half carried, half dragged the couch from the living room into the bedroom with Buffy. Buffy raised her head and watched him, trying to ignore the fact that working construction had left him with a body to be envied and admired. Placing the couch near the bed, Xander left again silently. He returned carrying a bowl of warm water and a cloth. Xander pulled the blanket off Buffy, and then knelt by her shackled feet. As Buffy lay there motionless, he removed her socks. Moving up, he undid the buttons on her skirt and unwrapped it from around her, leaving her in just her plain white panties. For a second both Xander and Buffy imagined this situation, him taking care of her when she was ill, only without the drugs; thinking of where this act could lead.

Keeping his face carefully expressionless, Xander gave Buffy a full bed bath, wiping her skin with the warm damp cloth. Buffy watched him from under her lashes; she was cried out for now, she had no tears left. She wondered what he was feeling, wondered if he hated her, hating that he had to do this, hating everything to do with this situation. For some reason the thought of Xander hating her caused her to suddenly feel sick.

Xander carefully washed her chest. He concentrated on making sure that he treated her breasts like every other part of her, not showing any attraction or desire. As Buffy felt Xander rub the cloth over her sensitive breasts with no more emotion than a chiropodist examining a patient, Buffy started to realize that using her body was simply not going to work. With that option fading fast, Buffy was confused. She simply had no idea what to do next to try and regain control. Xander finished washing her and placed the cloth in the now cold water. He wrapped the blanket back around Buffy and tenderly pushed her hair back.

"Sleep Buffy," he said softly, "Tomorrow is going to be bad."

Trying to ignore the softness and warmth of his touch, Buffy paid no heed to his words and rested her head back, "I can't sleep like this," she said firmly.

For a second Xander's face showed some emotion: humor. "Learn," was all he said.

Xander lent down on the couch and prepared himself for an uncomfortable night's sleep.

It was a clicking sound that eventually woke him. Like a tap dripping, the sound impinged on his unconscious mind, forcing him out of his sleep. Opening his eyes slowly, he glanced at his watch. 3:47, the digital display taunted him. He looked around for the source of the tapping. The bed was moving against the wall. Looking further up, he sat up straight, fast. Buffy looked very flushed, the blanket was drenched with sweat. She tossed and turned uncomfortably with her arms and legs still tied, whimpering almost silently. Suddenly she groaned, and tried to curl up but was stopped by the chains.

Xander recognized the signs of withdrawal for what they where and made a quick decision. He undid the heavy cuffs around her arms and feet. Half waking, Buffy groaned in relief as her muscles contracted for the first time in hours. Buffy curled into a fetal position, shivering more violently now, clutching her stomach as she woke fully.

"What's happening to me, Xander?" she asked softly, a terrified look in her eyes.

"You're going through the stages of eliminating the heroin from your body."

"It feels like I'm dying. Please Xander, you have to help me."

"You know I will, Buffy."

"Then get me a hit; it will make all of this go away. I'll be better again, not being tortured to death."

"I can't do that Buffy, and I won't do that. I'm going to help you by making sure you get over this as soon as possible."

"But it hurts so much." Buffy's teeth started to chatter as she suddenly felt incredibly cold; her skin was cooling down, the sweat now working against her.

Xander reached down and pulled Buffy up. He wrapped a fresh blanket around her and sat down on the couch. He cuddled her to his chest like a child, wrapping his arms around her and resting her head on his shoulder.

"Shhh, try and sleep now," he whispered tenderly.

Buffy shook a little in his arms, but felt a near peace for the first time in many months. She closed her eyes, feeling safe and warm. As she fell into a restless sleep, she was comforted by Xander's smell.

Buffy woke in pain again; the cramps shooting through her were incapacitating. Xander was no longer with her, although she was still free on the couch. For a second, she thought about escaping, getting to civilization, finding some drugs, but then another cramp hit her. Buffy decided it would be a lot better to just lay here and die. At least that will make him feel guilty, she thought to herself. Wrapping herself more firmly in the blanket, her knees on her chest, Buffy prepared herself for the end.

In the kitchen, Xander made himself some breakfast, just some Captain Crunch cereal. He moved outside to the porch and relaxed - his thoughts on the day. He knew Buffy was going to be incredibly lucky. Her Slayer physiology was going to take her through all the symptoms of withdrawal much quicker than a normal addict. It might hurt more, but it would only last for a few days, if that. Her body was going to purge the drug out of her system. It interfered with her primary duty, slaying vampires. Thinking of vampires for the first time, Xander walked over to his car and got his phone. He was relieved that there was a faint signal and called Willow.

"Hey Wills"

"What time is it?"

"Early."

"Call back later, sleepy now."

Xander laughed, "Just wanted to check everything was OK."

He heard Willow groan, "Everything is fine. We patrolled last night. Spike helped, although he was acting weird."

"Weird in what way?"

"He kept asking where you and Buffy were, he didn't accept that we didn't know. I heard him mutter that she would need him soon." Xander could hear the grin in Willow's voice, "We told him that the Slayer would never need him and he stormed off in a huff."

"Thanks Will, I'll talk to you later. Every thing's going well here, hopefully it will only be for another few days."

"Take your time, Xand, we're having a blast here. We stayed up after patrol watching movies and eating frozen pizza. Dawn fell asleep about three a.m. on the couch, she's still there now."

"Love ya, Will."

"Love ya back, Xandman."

Xander smiled and hung up, then frowned. A thought suddenly occurred to him. Behavior for the past few months was examined, scenes put together in context, and strange meetings were explained. Xander froze as the answer came to him. With a voice dripping with hate, Xander said one word. "Spike."

Returning to the kitchen, Xander started to cook some porridge. He wasn't sure but he didn't think that Buffy would be able to handle solid food for the next few days.

After the porridge was cooked, Xander left it to cool and returned to the bedroom. He found Buffy curled up, rocking slightly. He picked her up and gently put her onto the bed.

"Feel like talking?" he asked quietly.

Buffy opened her eyes and stared at him. She groaned softly "Sure, let's talk about the hell you're putting me through, let's talk about the fact that I want to die and go back to heaven, let's talk about how my life here is a living hell and drugs are the only thing that gets me moving. Let's talk about that, shall we?"

"If you want," Xander said amicably. "Start by talking about how your life is a living hell, then talk about why you want to go back to heaven, and then finish on how you started taking drugs."

"Wait a second," Buffy frowned, "That's not what I said."

"It's your choice, Buff. Either that or we go back to uncomfortable silence."

"It didn't seem uncomfortable for you."

Xander merely shrugged and returned to the kitchen. He ladled a few large spoonfuls of porridge into a bowl, added a sprinkling of sugar and returned to Buffy. He held the bowl out to her and she tried to take it. Tremors wracked through her body, making her hands shake as she tried desperately to control herself, to take the offered food. With a few tears of frustration, she gave up and slumped back onto the bed dejectedly.

Again, Xander moved behind and slowly spoon-fed her. Buffy ate, trying hard not to think about the humiliation that being fed like a baby was causing her.

Xander finished feeding her, sat back on the couch, and placed his feet on the bed. He relaxed as much as possible, projecting an outward appearance of total calm and control. It was a front to cover the internal dread and despair he was feeling; he felt literally sick to his stomach as he thought about how this conversation was going to happen. Looking at Buffy, he said, "Talk."

Buffy thought for a second, contemplating ignoring Xander. Eventually she decided to talk, to get everything off her chest, maybe if he knew everything she had been through he would let her go and she could end this suffering. For a second, the mental image of taking the drug horrified her, but her addiction quickly changed that to desire.

She started speaking softly, barely audible. For almost the first time since she had become the Slayer, she talked directly from her heart, her soul; without conscious thought and without filtering it through her mind. "You have no idea what heaven is like, you can't describe it. It's not words, but concepts. Peace, Hope, Love, all of that and more. Then I felt my whole soul being wrenched, grabbed, pulled away, and when the pain stopped, I was in a coffin. I had to claw my way out of my own grave.

"My own grave, Xander. One minute I was in heaven, the next I was in a grave. How was I supposed to feel?"

Buffy took a deep breath, suddenly hot. She slipped the blanket down her chest until it barely covered her as she talked. It took all of Xander's will power not to stare at her exposed flesh.

"Then I didn't know what to do. You were all so happy to see me, so pleased I was back, that I couldn't bring you down. I couldn't feel anything, Xander; you had bought my body back to life but left my soul. I fought, I worked and I slept, I tried to be cheerful with you guys. Then one night, I was out with Spike and I said something to him, he turned around and hit me. It hurt, but I felt something, I wasn't dead. I talked to Spike about it and he was wonderful, he knows what it's like to be dead and he helped me. At first it was through pain; after not feeling anything for so long, it was so pleasurable to feel pain.

"Then one night he offered me a cigarette, he said it was a special one. It was cannabis. I smoked it and felt warm throughout my body, like my soul was returned to me, but then it wore off. I tried it again, but it wasn't the same, so I asked Spike for something stronger. He looked at me and said that this stuff wasn't free. I asked him how I could pay; I was barely earning enough for food, never mind anything else. He just grinned and kissed me. He pushed me against a wall and ran his hands over my body roughly. "

Buffy was lost now, she wasn't paying any attention to Xander; thoughts of making him pay were gone. For the first time Buffy unloaded everything that had happened to her to someone who cared.

"It made me feel dirty, it made me feel horrible, it made me guilty, but I enjoyed it, Xander. I felt repulsive when it was finished, when I walked home, sore, from that dark alleyway. But I felt. God, I felt something. It gave me enough to get through the day. The next night, Spike turned up and offered me the needle. I refused, but he said if I didn't, he would tell everyone that I had slept with him and that he would then vanish, go to Africa or something and leave me alone, with all of you gone and no one who could make me feel anything.

"I took it. I was worried about the scars, but my Slayer healing took care of that. It was so good; I felt free, I felt normal, even sleeping with Spike afterwards was good. And so it went on. I took drugs, I slept with Spike and when I wasn't doing either, I felt dead. I think I hated you guys for bringing me back, but at least I could feel occasionally."

Buffy finally looked up at Xander, waiting for his reaction.

Xander's mask dropped as he looked directly at her. She could see the burning passion in his eyes, the rage in his soul. His whole body was trembling. His hands desperately clawed at the couch cushions, trying to keep control.

He didn't say anything immediately. He fought an internal battle with his feelings; hate and love swirled around his mind, each vying for supremacy. He looked Buffy directly in the eye, then spoke fast.

"What sort of person do you think I am, Buffy? A nice person or an awful person; a liar and a cheat?" He didn't wait for a reply before continuing, "The best moment of my life was the first time I saw you, but the worst time was when I watched you die; when you were laying there, broken and lifeless.

"You have been the center of my life since I was fifteen. I have stood by you through master vampires and demon mayors. I have saved your life more times than you will ever know. And suddenly you were dead. I took care of Dawn; I survived with the center of my universe ripped out of my chest."

Xander took a deep breath, still fighting for control. "Life went on for us, but we thought you were in a demon dimension. That you were being tortured. I could not live with that thought; none of your family could live with that thought. We had to do something. And you know what Buff? We assumed that if by some chance we were wrong, that you were in heaven, and then our spell would fail. Satan himself can't touch anyone who has been accepted in to heaven so what chance would we have had against the Almighty?"

As Xander spoke, his self-control started to slip. "When you came back and told us that you had been in heaven, I thought that you had been sent back for a reason, that heaven wasn't your destiny; it was a temporary reward. A place for you to recharge.

"I can understand you backing away from me, from us, and feeling resentful. In a weird and twisted way, I can even understand you spending more time with Spike. But Buffy," Xander's chest was heaving with restrained passion as his expressive eyes flashed brightly, "instead of allowing people who truly love and care for you to help you, people who have sacrificed for you in the past you turned to a soulless demon. You allowed him to touch you, to get you on drugs. You choose to allow yourself to become addicted to both him and the filth he was peddling. You choose a coward's way out; you choose to kill yourself slowly."

Xander's eyes burned into Buffy's, "I don't know who you are anymore, Buffy. I don't know if we are friends now or if we will be friends in the future."

Xander climbed out of the chair and walked out of the room, leaving a shell-shocked Buffy behind as she tried to grasp what he had said to her. She didn't even notice the sound of the front door slamming as Xander left.

Xander collapsed by his car, sobbing, and curling up as he tried to deal with his sadness and rage. Only one thought echoed through his mind. 'Spike Must Die.'

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